Bound For Murder (21 page)

“You made soup?” Ava never made anything. She either chugged a can of Slim Fast, grabbed takeout, or ate in a restaurant. There was no in between. Certainly no actual
cooking
.

“Pull yourself together and take a closer look at me,” said Ava. “Do I look like a fat little Italian granny? Hell no. It’s
canned
soup, Carmela. Minestrone. So don’t make a big thing of it, okay?”

Carmela smiled. “Okay. But it sure smells good.”

“That’s because I added a few spices along with some grated cheese and a splash of red wine. Oh, and I ran across the courtyard to my place and grabbed a few extra ingredients. So we’re also having bruschetta.”

“I love bruschetta,” said Carmela as Ava ladled out soup.

“So do those dogs,” said Ava.

“Oh, the dogs!” said Carmela, about to jump up. “I didn’t feed the dogs!”

“Already taken care of,” said Ava. “I gave ’em some of those kibble bits and they went face down like a couple of professional chow hounds.”

“That’s cause they are,” said Carmela. A stock broker friend of Carmela’s had once told her that one of the stepping stones to wealth was to never own anything that needed to be fed. And now she had
two
dogs slopping around in her kitchen. Oh well.

Over steaming bowls of minestrone soup and crusty slabs of bruschetta, Carmela and Ava rehashed the afternoon.

“What do you think really happened out there,
cher?
” asked Ava. “Did you just smack your head on one of those tumbled-down timbers or did somebody club you? Somebody who thought you might be gettin’ in the way. Doing a little too much investigating.”

Carmela nibbled at her bruschetta. It was garlicy and cheesey and smothered with bits of chopped tomato drizzled with olive oil. Fantastic.

“That blue car that you saw earlier,” said Carmela. “Who drives a blue car?”

“Aha,” said Ava. “Told you so. I thought some yahoo was following us.”

“The question is, which yahoo and why?” said Carmela.

“Don’t know,” said Ava. “But it sure looks like somebody might have been checkin’ us out. Trying to figure out what we were doing. Or, if we really want to stretch the bounds of paranoia, trying to
stop
us.”

“Maybe,” said Carmela. She took another bite of bruschetta, wiped a dribble of olive oil from her chin. “But try this on for size. What if somebody was
looking
for something out there?” Still fresh in Carmela’s mind was the nagging feeling that someone had been prowling about Biblios Booksellers yesterday. Looking for something there, too.

“Do you think it was the same somebody who wanted us out of Jamie’s house last Friday night?” asked Ava. “When that damn snake just happened to make a guest appearance?”

“Maybe,” replied Carmela.

“So . . . this person,” said Ava, “and I’d have to say he or she is a very
dangerous
person . . . what are they looking for?”

“Search me,” said Carmela. “But it feels like I’m starting to get a slightly clearer picture of what’s going on.”

“Then kindly tell me what’s going on,” said Ava. “Because nothing’s clear as far as I’m concerned.”

“What if Jamie Redmond had something very valuable in his possession?” proposed Carmela.

Ava considered this. “Like what?”

“Don’t know,” said Carmela. “But it must be something valuable enough to kill for.”

Ava frowned. “Whatever it is, they obviously
didn’t
get it when they killed Jamie.”

“Let me show you something,” said Carmela. She got up from the table, found the file with the photos and news clipping about the Bogus Creek Boys, then handed it over to Ava. “Take a look at this.”

Ava quickly scanned the clipping. “Right,” she said. “You mentioned some of this before. Kind of a shocker for Wren, huh?”

“She was stunned,” said Carmela.

“So . . . what are you thinking?” asked Ava. “You think Jamie’s got money stashed away somewhere? Counterfeit money?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” said Carmela. “His family was in the printing business.”

“And someone knows about this money,” said Ava, catching on. “And is looking for it.”

“What else could it be?” asked Carmela.

“I have no idea,” said Ava. “But now the actions of certain suspects start to make a little more sense.”

“Explain,” said Carmela, gesturing with her fingers.

“Well, you told me that Dunbar DesLauriers was hot to trot about buying the bookstore from Wren. Why would that be?”

“Because he thinks there’s a pile of counterfeit money stashed inside?” answered Carmela.

“Bingo,” said Ava. “Cold cash, hot moola, the mother load.”

“But Blaine Taylor doesn’t come off looking completely innocent in all this either,” said Carmela. “He was Jamie’s business partner in Neutron Software and he’s the one who’s been oh-so-solicitous to Wren. Offering to help her wherever he can.”

“Right,” said Ava. “Trying to get close to her. Or close to Jamie’s stash, if there is one. Plus, Blaine just happened to pop up right after the snake incident.”

“But if this mythical funny money is so important to Blaine, why is he trying to cut Wren out of the Neutron sale, if there ends up being a sale?” asked Carmela. “Doesn’t that just draw the wrong kind of attention to him?”

Ava shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe Dunbar and Blaine are in cahoots.”

“Doesn’t feel right,” said Carmela. She sat there thinking, as rain began to patter down on the roof. “Rats. It’s starting to rain.”

“It’s been threatening to for the last hour,” said Ava. She leaned forward, flipped her hair forward, then straightened up and let it settle about her shoulders, suddenly looking like a beauty in a Pre-Raphaelite painting. “What about this Margot Butler? You’re the one who thought she was acting so kooky.”

“She was . . . is,” said Carmela. “Then again, Margot may just be a genuine kook.”

“It’s not like New Orleans is immune to people with personality disorders,” said Ava. “In fact, sometimes I think we’re a big fat magnet for them.”

“Amen,” said Carmela, thinking immediately of Shamus and his nutty family. They were about as dysfunctional as any group could hope to be.

Ava tapped a fingernail against the file folder Carmela had given her. “This is pretty interesting stuff.”

“There’s more,” said Carmela. “I went back to Biblios last night and unearthed another file folder. I just haven’t gotten around to looking at everything yet. The contents were in pretty tough shape. All gunked together because of mildew and water damage.”

“Well,” said Ava. “
You’re
supposed to be the expert when it comes to paper restoration and photo conservation, aren’t you?” She jumped up to clear the table. “So let’s get busy and see what little tricks you can work to remedy the situation.”

“Okay,” said Carmela, jumping up, too, and heading for the kitchen.

“I’ll clear,” said Ava as Carmela pulled open the freezer door. “Got a hankering for ice cream, do you?”

“No,” said Carmela. “This is where I put the contents of that folder.”

“You’re kidding,” said Ava. “You froze it for safe keeping? Is that kind of like hiding your diamonds in the icebox?”

“Not quite,” said Carmela. She pulled out a square tray that held an inch-thick pile of photos and papers. “Freezing wet paper makes it a lot easier to separate.”

“Do tell,” said Ava, intrigued. “You certainly come up with the darndest things.” She followed Carmela to the table, then sat down and watched as Carmela slid a thin steak knife into the top of the pile and pried very gently. Like magic, the top few papers released themselves from the bottom pile.

“Amazing,” said Ava. “I would have steamed everything.”

“Steaming paper just makes it wet and gloppy,” said Carmela. “And it can actually cause paper to disintegrate. But freezing dries papers out. The moisture turns into ice crystals so everything can be easily separated. Well,
sort of
separated. She inserted her knife and pried another few papers loose.

“Now what?” asked Ava.

“Now we separate them again and try to dry them,” said Carmela.

The two women worked diligently for several minutes until finally they had a half-dozen photos and five pieces of paper spread out on the dining room table.

“This one’s still folded in half,” Ava told her, plucking at it with her fingertips.

“Are you always this impatient?” asked Carmela.

“Always,” said Ava. “I’m an instant gratification kind of gal. I like instant coffee, minute rice, and pop-top pudding. When I want something, I want it
now.
”

“Then take the bone folder and try and work it in there,” Carmela instructed. “If you can get it open, I’ll hit it with a shot of archival spray.”

“It’s working!” exclaimed Ava as she worked the bone folder in and loosened the folded paper. Then, ever so gently, she flipped it open.

“Well done,” said Carmela as she went over to the sink to rinse her hands.

Sitting at the table, head bent low over the still-wet piece of paper, Ava studied the sheet intently. “It’s a news story,” Ava told her.

“From the
Times-Picayune?
”

“Not sure,” replied Ava. “There’s no newspaper mast-head or anything like that.”

“What’s it about?” asked Carmela.

Ava was hurriedly scanning the story. “Some party that apparently got out of hand.”

“Uh huh,” said Carmela. Nothing weird there. Lots of parties in New Orleans got out of hand. Especially during Mardi Gras.

“Uh-oh. Guess who’s the star of this little article,” said Ava, with a note of triumph in her voice.

“Surprise me,” said Carmela. Although she didn’t think she would be.

“Blaine Taylor,” chortled Ava. “Apparently, as a result of rowdy goings-on, old B.T. was arraigned on charges of assault and battery.”

Carmela came around to the table and stood next to Ava, drying her hands. “So Blaine Taylor’s a regular bad boy, too.”

“Looks like,” said Ava. “Do you think that’s why he and Jamie ended up as business partners in that computer software thing?”

Carmela frowned. Interesting thought. Perhaps theirs
was
a case of two bad boys finding each other. Two rotten eggs who’d connected on a visceral level and then just naturally sought each other out on a business level.

“It’s a thought,” Carmela told her. “On the other hand, Blaine’s bad boy escapades might help explain why he was trying to claim Neutron Software as his own.”

“You mean Blaine’s a cheat and a jerk and his true character is just shining through?”

“Something like that,” said Carmela.

“Do you think Blaine Taylor could have been one of the Bogus Creek Boys?” asked Ava.

“He wasn’t mentioned in the article,” said Carmela.

“Maybe the authorities just didn’t catch him,” said Ava. “Or Blaine was what you’d call a silent partner.”

“Maybe,” allowed Carmela. “Maybe.”

 

 

TWO HOURS LATER, A SLEW OF UNANSWERED questions still buzzed like angry bees inside Carmela’s head. Ava had cleaned up the kitchen, then slipped out the door and dashed across the courtyard as Carmela drifted off to sleep in her leather chair. Around 9:00 PM Carmela woke up feeling groggy and sore and more than a little discombobulated. Rain was still drumming down on the roof and there was the rumble of thunder off in the distance.

Struggling out of the chair, Carmela padded into the kitchen, figuring a glass of water and another Motrin might be in order. Ava had put the bottle on the kitchen counter so she’d have easy access to it. Plus, she needed to climb into bed, where she could get some proper rest and log some serious REM time.

As Carmela waited for the water to get cold, which always seemed to take an eternity, she noted that Boo and Poobah were snuggled together, muzzle to muzzle, on Boo’s comfy L.L. Bean bed. She hoped Boo wasn’t getting too attached to the little guy, because there was no way he was going to stay.

Carmela swallowed her pill, downed half a glass of water, and headed for the bedroom. As she passed the dining room table, a spill of light from the kitchen cast a faint glow, causing her eyes to be naturally drawn there. Drawn toward the articles that had been laid out to dry.

Carmela hesitated.
Had Blaine Taylor been one of the Bogus Creek Boys?
she wondered. No, she didn’t think so.

She didn’t think Blaine was completely innocent. But was he a murderer? A cold-blooded killer?

The tips of her fingers hovered above the photos and articles that lay there. One photo of Jamie that they’d found—maybe even his graduation picture, since he was neatly dressed in a suit and tie—caught at her heart. He looked so young, so eager, so innocent.

Almost like he had the night of the pre-nuptial dinner, Carmela decided. The night he was murdered. When he’d looked happy and eager to start a new life with Wren. And very much in love.

A sudden crack of thunder and bright flash of lightning caused Carmela to jump.

Feeling foolish, knowing it was just positive and negative charges cast off from the storm’s roiling clouds, Carmela glanced out the window, wondering if Ava had been shaken by nature’s heroic display, too.

But what she saw silhouetted in the window rocked her back on her heels!

Three more pulses of lightning strobed in rapid succession.

Racing to the window, Carmela pressed her face to the glass and peered into the courtyard. Because just for a flash, just for an instant, she thought she’d seen Jamie Redmond’s face at her window!