Parchment and Old Lace Page 7

  Vesper was at his side in a heartbeat. “You want silk and fancy lace?” she snarled. “Be serious. It’s a casket, not a wedding dress!”

  Which set Ellie to crying piteously and Naomi to looking angry and stunned.

  “Can you believe this?” Ava said to Carmela. “Are these not the most dysfunctional people you’ve ever met?”

  “Not really,” Carmela said. “You forget that I was married to Shamus.” Shamus Allan Meechum was Carmela’s ex-husband and heir to the Meechum banking family. Shamus (he of the wandering eye), his big sister Glory, and the rest of their snarling clan took the grand prize when it came to dysfunctionality, if that was even a legitimate word.

  “Can we please make a decision?” Vesper cried. “Mr. Bothell here has work to do. After all, we’ve got the viewing tomorrow evening and then the funeral the very next day.”

  “Where’s the funeral?” Carmela asked Ava.

  “St. Patrick’s Church,” Ava said. “You know. That lovely Gothic church in the . . .”

  “. . . Seedy part of town,” Carmela finished. “Okay. I’m getting a fairly clear picture here.”

  “Ellie doesn’t have a lot of money,” Ava whispered.

  Naomi suddenly jumped up, tossed Bing Bing into Carmela’s lap, and dashed over to hug Edward. They embraced warmly for a few moments, and then she smiled and whispered something in his ear. Now Edward was smiling as well.

  “What’s with those two?” Carmela asked. She winced as Bing Bing dug sharp little claws into her leg.

  Ava shook her head. “You mean the hot mess and the cold fish?”

  “Are they old friends?” Carmela decided their embrace bordered on more than a little friendly. Did this warrant looking into?

  “Can we please get back to the casket selection?” Vesper demanded.

  Carmela jumped up, the fuzzy little dog dangling from her outstretched arms. Talking over everyone, she said, “I’ve got an idea. Let’s take another vote. All those in favor of the simple walnut casket, raise your hand.”

  Chapter 8

  THREE hands shot into the air. Hands that belonged to Carmela, Ava, and Ellie.

  “Excellent,” Carmela said. “We’ve got three votes for the walnut casket. Now who wants the whorehouse mahogany one?”

  Edward tentatively raised his hand.

  “I’m seein’ a trend here,” Ava muttered.

  “And who likes the Snow White casket?” Carmela asked.

  Naomi voted for the frou-frou white casket, and the voting continued with Vesper being the lone vote for the plain black casket.

  “That’s it,” Carmela said. “Ellie’s choice of the simple walnut casket wins. Meeting adjourned.”

  “That wasn’t fair,” Vesper protested. “We were railroaded!”

  “Momma,” Edward said, “just sign the papers so we can be done with this, okay?”

  Even though Vesper humphed and bumphed in protest, she still pulled out her American Express Platinum Card and shoved it into Mr. Bothell’s hands. She’d capitulated, but not very graciously, like Germany surrendering to France at Compiegne.

  Which gave Carmela a chance to pull Edward aside, introduce herself, and have a few words with him.

  “How are you doing?” she asked finally. She was using her I’m-gonna-pull-the-truth-outta-you-if-it-kills-me nicey-nice voice.

  Edward bobbed his head, looking somewhat relieved. “Hanging in there. I guess I should thank you for coming tonight. We were all sort of going in circles, chasing our tails.”

  “Not a problem,” Carmela said. She paused, and then said, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you at the cake tasting.”

  Edward looked surprised. “You were there last night? At Commander’s Palace?”

  “Having dinner with my boyfriend, Detective Edgar Babcock.”

  Edgar aimed a finger at her. “I talked to him. Last night and again today.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be talking to him lots more.” Then Carmela decided to dive right in. “Do you have any idea why Isabelle might have ventured into that cemetery?”

  Edward seemed genuinely stumped. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it long and hard these past twenty-four hours. There was no reason for her to be in the cemetery alone, especially at night.”

  “There must have been some reason.”

  Edward squinted at her and scratched his chin. “Isabelle could have been taking a shortcut through the cemetery to get to my house.”

  “You live close by?” Carmela asked.

  “Well, my mother does. Her house is on Prytania Street, just a block or so away.”

  “And Isabelle thought you might have gone there? After you ducked out of the cake tasting?” Carmela eyed him carefully, trying to see if she could pick up any sort of vibe. “Because I understand you did leave early.”

  “Look, it’s traditional that I have dinner with my mother on Sunday night. So, yes, I did leave early. I mean, I was there lobbying for chocolate cake, when everyone else wanted vanilla cream.” Edward shrugged. “I was completely outvoted, kind of like tonight, so what exactly was the purpose of my staying?”

  “Poor you,” Carmela said. “So who else might have noticed which direction Isabelle was headed?”

  “You should ask Naomi. She’s been incredibly involved. She was there last night for the whole thing.”

  Carmela thought about the last few terrifying moments in Isabelle’s life. Lonely moments. “Well, not exactly,” she said. She patted Edward’s hand and then turned to talk to Naomi. The girl was stuffing Bing Bing into an oversized tote that was littered with G’s. Or maybe they were C’s. Carmela wasn’t sure.

  “Naomi,” Carmela said. “You’re just the person I need to talk to.”

  “The white coffin would have been better,” Naomi grumped. “Then we could have surrounded it with a backdrop of purple violets.”

  “I’m sure your taste is impeccable,” Carmela said. “But I have a couple of questions for you.”

  Naomi blinked.

  “About last night,” Carmela said. “Do you have any idea what Isabelle was doing in that cemetery?”

  Naomi rearranged her face into wide-eyed innocence. “Gosh, I don’t know. Isabelle just took off in a flash. In fact, we all kind of scattered to the wind.” One hand fluttered to stroke her dog. “I just assumed she was heading for her car.”

  “Or to Edward’s mother’s house?”

  Naomi shrugged. “Maybe. Gee, I really don’t know.”

  One more gosh or gee and Carmela decided she was going to buy the girl a ’50s-era pink poodle skirt. Was this girl just a simpleton or did she really know something? Turning back to Ava and Ellie, who were pulling on their coats, she asked, “Who needs a ride?”

  “Me,” Ava said, holding up her hand. “Ellie’s got her own car here so she’s heading directly home. Poor girl is dead on her feet.”

  “I am,” Ellie said. “But I’m feeling a little better.” She gave Carmela a quick hug. “Thanks to you.”

  “Not a problem,” Carmela said, even though the entire evening had been one big, ugly, matted fur ball of a problem.

  Carmela and Ava trailed everyone upstairs, where every light but one seemed to have been shut off. Then, when they got to the portico, the two of them held back, watching as the rest of the group dispersed on the street.

  “Who’s got the big-time limo?” Ava asked. Then a liveried driver suddenly snapped to, opened the car door, and Vesper climbed in. “Oh. Her.”

  “I don’t think it’s hired, either,” Carmela said.

  “I never met anybody before who had a car and driver,” Ava said.

  “Driving Miss Daisy.”

  Ava snorted. “Huh, more like Driving Miss Poison Ivy.”

  They watched as Edward and Naomi sauntered over to a candy apple red Pors
che 911. Edward climbed in and then rolled down the window so Naomi could talk to him.

  Ava bumped Carmela’s shoulder. “What do you think’s going on with those two?”

  “Dunno,” Carmela said. “But I don’t think it has anything to do with the funeral.”

  Naomi leaned forward and her tinkling laughter drifted toward them.

  “It sounds like you’re suspicious of them,” Ava said.

  “Are you kidding? I’m suspicious of this whole crazy wedding party.”

  “Except now it’s a funeral party.”

  Carmela peered at Naomi and Edward through the gloom. “But those two,” she muttered. “It does feel like something might be percolating.”

  “Maybe they’re just friends?” Ava said.

  “And maybe they’re not. Come on, jump in, let’s see what happens.”

  Ava jumped into Carmela’s car, a two-seater Mercedes that Shamus had popped for several years ago. “We’re going to tail Edward?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we’re just all going in the same direction.”

  But when Edward drove back through the French Quarter on Tchoupitoulas Street, and then angled off on Poydras and cut over to Perdido Street, Carmela followed.

  “Where’s he going?” Ava wondered. They were right on the edge of the Central Business District, or CBD, now. It was an area that had fallen on hard times, and then been rejuvenated when real estate developers bought up parcels of land. Luxury hotels, condos, and town houses had been built and the prices jacked up sky-high.

  “He must live here,” Carmela said. “There. He’s pulling into the garage in one of those row houses.”

  “Sweet.”

  The row houses were sleek, three-story contemporary-looking town houses. The garages were on street level with two living levels right above them.

  “Do you see Naomi’s car?” Carmela asked.

  “No,” Ava said. “I guess she didn’t follow him.”

  “Do you know what she drives?”

  “Maybe a green Prius?”

  “She’s a pain in the butt,” Carmela said. “But at least she’s reduced her carbon footprint.”

  “Something’s gotta give.”

  They waited on the street, watching Edward’s town house as the lights came on upstairs. But Naomi never showed up.

  * * *

  Because Ava hadn’t eaten yet, either (and Carmela felt guilty for taking her on a wild-goose chase), Carmela invited her over for a late supper. While Ava skittered across the courtyard to change, Carmela greeted Boo and Poobah, and then heated up what had been the beginnings of her pasta primavera. As her herbs and oils sizzled yet again, she deftly chopped carrots and celery, and dug a bunch of spinach out of the refrigerator. Then she turned on her water to boil.

  A few minutes later, the doorbell dinged and Ava came swishing in. She’d changed into a black-and-white zebra-striped caftan and had added a wide black belt embedded with jewels. Carmela thought she looked like something out of 1001 Arabian Nights.

  “I didn’t know what you were cookin’, cher, so I brought both red and white wine.” Ava held up two bottles. “See? A Merlot and a Chardonnay. What’s your fancy?”

  “Let’s do white,” Carmela said. She noticed that her water was boiling, so she tossed in two handfuls of fettuccini pasta.

  “White wine it is,” Ava said. She pulled open a kitchen drawer and grabbed a corkscrew. “Who says I don’t know my way around a kitchen, huh?”

  “You’re going to have to learn to cook someday,” Carmela said.

  “Why? When I’ve got you.” Ava grabbed two wineglasses and poured out servings of wine. Generous servings.

  Of course, Boo and Poobah couldn’t bear to be left out of the fun. So they danced around, pawing at Ava’s caftan.

  “Be careful with Auntie Ava’s outfit, darlings,” Ava told them. “Satin pulls, but organza rips forever.” She took a quick sip of wine. “Ah, just what I needed. So, tell me . . . what was your overall impression of the Battling Baudettes?”

  Carmela twirled the pasta as the water bubbled and roiled. “I always thought Shamus’s sister, Glory, was the most irritating woman on earth, but Vesper could certainly give her a run for her money.”

  “A face-off,” Ava said.

  Carmela continued. “Vesper is annoying, bossy, and egotistically wrapped up in her own son.”

  “Baby boy.”

  “That’s exactly how she treats him, too,” Carmela said. “Like he’s a little prince.”

  “And did you see how he acquiesces to her?”

  “Yes,” Carmela said. “And how dare Vesper be so rude to Ellie. If the wedding had taken place, Isabelle and Ellie would have been family. I mean, how do you think Vesper would have behaved toward them once they were related by marriage?”

  “She’d probably act the same way,” Ava said. “Rude and obnoxious.”

  “This whole situation just breaks my heart,” Carmela said. “And, you know, earlier this afternoon, when Ellie was telling us her suspicions about Vesper . . . well, I kind of blew that off. But now that I’ve met the woman, I think she does have a violent streak.”

  “Vesper obviously knew about the cake tasting at Commander’s Palace,” Ava said.

  “She’d have to.”

  “So maybe she was lurking outside?”

  “Maybe.” This still felt a little thin to Carmela.

  “And they had a confrontation,” Ava said. “Or . . . better yet, maybe Vesper was suddenly nice to Isabelle.”

  “You’re saying Vesper might have caught her off guard,” Carmela said.

  Ava snapped her fingers. “Yes, that’s it! And then they just kind of wandered into the cemetery. Or Vesper got her talking and Isabelle just figured it was a shortcut.”

  “Could happen,” Carmela said. “I guess.” She turned, drained the pasta, and then quickly tossed it with the oil and vegetables. Once she’d transferred two servings into yellow Fiesta bowls, she sprinkled each one with freshly grated Parmesan cheese.

  Ava took a deep breath as they carried their bowls to the table. “I don’t know what smells better, your primavera or this cheese topping. I loves me an aromatic cheese.”

  “You usually refer to them as stinky cheeses,” Carmela said.

  “Hey,” Ava said. “I’m tryin’ to be a lady here.”

  They ate and sipped wine for a while, enjoying the companionship and the simple meal.

  Then Ava said, “I wonder what the deal is with Naomi?”

  “She turned out to be a real crazy,” Carmela said.

  “Crazy about Edward is what I think.”

  “She did seem to be putting the moves on him.”

  “No kidding,” Ava said. “Naomi was pulling out all the stops.” She tossed back her mass of dark hair and said, “Honey, if I put moves like that on a man, it would mean I was seriously angling for a diamond.”

  “Huh,” Carmela said. “So something to think about.”

  The jingle of the telephone interrupted their conversation.

  Ava gave a wicked leer. “Maybe that’s Babcock calling. Mooning around for a little romance.”

  “Could be,” Carmela said as she jumped up.

  “Tell him to bring another bottle of wine.” She burped slightly. “Preferably a really pricey Cabernet.”

  Carmela snatched up the phone. “Ava says you can come over, but only if you bring an expensive bottle of Cabernet.”

  A deep male voice let out a rumbling chuckle. “If I did that, darlin’, Baby would have my head on a stick.”

  “Del?”

  Del Fontaine was a well-known, high-priced New Orleans attorney. He wore two-thousand-dollar suits and played golf at the exclusive Commodore Club. He was also the husband of Baby Fontaine, one of Carmela’s best friends and avid custo
mers.

  “I’m sorry,” Carmela laughed. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Carmela, honey,” Del said, “I haven’t had an offer anywhere near that exciting since, oh, maybe last night when Baby asked me to bring her a nice cup of chamomile tea. I’m not much in the kitchen, but that sweet little brew I concocted was well worth it.” He chuckled again.

  “What can I do for you, Del?” Carmela was well aware that Baby’s birthday was this Friday and figured Del’s call had to be related. She was right.

  “I know you and Ava are planning to come to our big party Friday evening at Parpadelle Restaurant . . .”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Carmela said.

  “The thing is,” Del said, “Baby might suspect about the party—the fancy dinner and the birthday cake and champagne—but she doesn’t know about the entertainment.”

  “What do you mean, Del?”

  “The whole shebang is going to be a Murder Mystery Party.”

  Carmela was slightly taken aback. “Really?”

  “Sure,” Del said expansively. “I hired a genuine stage actor to come up with a script and sort of MC the whole thing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Anyway, the really big surprise is that some of the guests will have actual roles in the show. That’s why I’m calling.”

  Uh-oh. “Wait. You’re saying you want me to play a part in the play?”

  “You and Ava. You’ll do it, right? I mean, Baby is gonna go bonkers over this. She’ll love it. I just know she will.”

  “Well . . . sure,” Carmela said, even though she wasn’t really sure at all.

  Del laughed uproariously. “I’ll send over scripts for you two darlin’s, so you can get started memorizing your lines.” And with that he hung up.

  Carmela stood with the phone in her hand.

  “What?” Ava said. “What’s up with Del? And why do you look like someone just stole your cookies?”

  “Because Baby’s birthday party just took a hard left turn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Besides shrimp étouffée, roast duck with cornbread dressing, cake, and champagne, it’s going to be one of those murder mystery parties where all the guests play a role. All the guests meaning you and me.”