Keepsake Crimes (18 page)

Carmela shook her head. Tears had begun to gather in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks.
Why
, she wondered,
am I getting so damned emotional about this all of a sudden?

“My God,” exclaimed Jekyl, peering at her. “You still love Shamus!”

Carmela shook her head fervently. “I don’t. Absolutely not.”

“Yes, you do!” Jekyl insisted.

“Leave her alone,” hissed Tandy. “Can’t you see she’s upset?” Tandy slipped a thin arm around Carmela’s waist and pulled her close. “Don’t you dare make her any more worried than she already is,” she sternly admonished Jekyl.

“Sorry,” said Jekyl. “Really. I had no intention of . . . ah . . . upsetting Carmela.”

“I think the two of us better go outside for a little fresh air,” Tandy announced imperiously. She grabbed Carmela’s elbow and began to lead her through the crush of people that buzzed about the makeshift bar in Baby’s game room. “S’cuse us, s’cuse us,” Tandy intoned as they pushed their way through the crowd, heading for the French double doors that led to the patio outside.

 

 

JUST AS THEY HAD FOR LAST YEAR’S BIG PARTY,
Baby and Del had hired two different musical groups: a string quartet that played in one corner of the living room from seven-thirty until about nine o’clock, and a zydeco band that had as its venue an enormous white tent in the Fontaines’ backyard.

Carmela’s and Tandy’s heels clacked across the bricks of the patio as they crossed toward the tent. They could see that the zydeco musicians were just starting to warm up, and a few couples were already lolling about the dance floor in anticipation of the music. Carmela knew it wouldn’t be long before the entire crowd, lured by the rousing music and wildly engaging beat, would thunder outside, lubricated with drink and ready to cut loose. And Carmela also knew that once the really wild music started, the party would go on until God knows when.

“Tandy,” said Carmela, “you go on back in. Let me take a breather by myself.”

Tandy’s pencil-thin eyebrows shot up, and her face suddenly assumed a worried look. “Are you sure, Carmela? Because you seemed awfully upset in there.”

Carmela sighed deeply. “Ruby Dumaine just got the best of me for a moment. Plus I went out to Shamus’s camp house today and found it totally trashed.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Tandy. “Who on earth would want to—” She stopped suddenly, bit her lip. Obviously, someone
did
want to discredit Shamus or cause him serious problems.

“I’m pretty sure Shamus
is
in some sort of trouble,” confided Carmela. “I just don’t know what kind.” She was also recalling the blue sedan that had followed her for a while this afternoon. Suddenly her rollicking adventure didn’t seem quite so rollicking anymore.

“Jeez,” breathed Tandy. “So your ex is seriously on the lam. I didn’t know old Shamus had it in him. The Meechums always seemed like such a prim and proper family. The kind of people who are born with the proverbial stick up their butts, if you know what I mean.”

Tandy’s somewhat unkind characterization of Shamus and his family brought a wry smile to Carmela’s face. “Lots of people think that,” she admitted. “But the fact remains, Shamus is an
honest
person, a
good
person.” Carmela wanted to add,
Except with me,
but she didn’t. Instead she simply added, “I can’t believe Shamus was in any way involved in Jimmy Earl’s murder.”

“Course he wasn’t, honey,” said Tandy. “Ruby Dumaine is just a big old loudmouth pea hen. She’s got nothin’ to do all day but fret, bug her daughter Swan to death, and spend Big Jack’s money as fast as he makes it. It’s a lethal combination. Breeds contempt of others.”

“I think you’re right,” said Carmela.

“I
know
I’m right,” responded Tandy. “Now you go on and take a few minutes to pull yourself together, then I want you to march that cute little tush of yours back here. I am hereby issuing strict orders that you’re to be on that dance floor shaking your booty in approximately five minutes. Okay?”

She didn’t know how much booty shaking she’d be doing, but Carmela decided the easiest thing to do was agree with Tandy. “Okay,” she told her.

Tandy leaned forward and gave Carmela a motherly peck on the cheek. “Good girl.”

Standing on the side portico, some twenty feet away, Dace Wilcox had just witnessed this exchange between Carmela and Tandy. And, from the depths of the shadows, he was staring at them intently.

S
LIPPING down a stone walkway into the shrouded depths of Baby Fontaine’s backyard garden, Carmela was decidedly glad to have a few moments away from the crush of the party. It had been wonderful to see all her friends, and the food was truly delightful. But why did catty old Ruby Dumaine have to bring everything to such a screeching halt?

Did Rhonda Lee Clayton
really
believe there was some
master plan
? And was Rhonda truly spreading stories about her and Shamus?

As a gust of cool air swept through the sweet olive and boxwood trees, stirring the shrubbery around her, Carmela gave a little shiver. Clutching her arms to her chest, she was still reluctant to go back inside. Like an F5 tornado, the party was swirling at a feverish pitch. Men were drinking, women were flirting outrageously, the zydeco band was about to cut loose big time. But then again, that’s what a Mardi Gras party was all about. The word
carnival
was derived from a Latin word meaning “farewell to flesh.” And the whole concept of the Mardi Gras
carnival
was to eat, party, drink, live fast and hard, and commit more than a few sins. Because once Ash Wednesday arrived, you had to slam on the brakes and observe forty long days of denial.

A glint of moonlight illuminated a stone bench just ahead of her. Carmela walked over and sat down, still reluctant to return to the party. Out here, she could still
feel
the residual rush of the party and hear the muffled voices and musical strains. But it was removed, filtered, safer.

As Carmela stared into the darkness of the garden around her, she could hear the strains of
“If Ever I Cease To Love.”
As the official Rex anthem, it was played constantly during the Rex parades and the Rex krewe’s imperial receptions. Today, most of New Orleans viewed the song as the official Mardi Gras ballad.

Humming along to the haunting tune, Carmela
still
couldn’t get Ruby Dumaine out of her head.

What is her problem?
thought Carmela.
Why is Ruby so all-fired set on spreading rumors, on promoting Rhonda Lee’s paranoia? Is this just sport on her part? Does she just want to see Shamus’s ears get nailed to the wall?
Carmela shook her head regretfully. There were a lot of things she was having trouble figuring out. Like why did Bufford Maple, the columnist, seem to have it in for both her and Shamus? And what was Dace Wilcox’s connection to all this, if anything?

Carmela stood up, strolled to the back gate, and pushed it open. Now she found herself in the middle of a narrow cobblestone alley that ran between the backyards of a half-dozen enormous houses. A hundred years ago, this had been the carriage lane, the tradesman’s and servant’s entrance. Now BMWs, Porsches, and Audis were the only vehicles that rumbled down this lane. And tonight, hired car parkers had jammed extra vehicles up and down the length of it, narrowing the roadway even more.

Gingerly, Carmela eased her way past the parked cars. She was beyond the boundaries of Baby’s estate now and staring at the back of the house next to them. These neighbors were throwing a party, too, albeit a smaller, more sedate one. If there was such a thing as a sedate Mardi Gras party.

Carmela paused, ready to turn back toward Baby’s house, when she was suddenly stopped in her tracks. Parked across the alley from her was a dusty blue car.

Even in the dim light Carmela could see the windshield had streaky smears on it.

She blinked, looked around, wondered again whose car this was and did they live around here or had they just popped in for a visit?

Carmela’s eyes sought out a glowing window on the second floor. And there, sitting just a few feet from the window, talking on the phone or maybe to somebody else who was in the room, was Swan Dumaine, Ruby and Jack Dumaine’s daughter!

How bizarre
, thought Carmela.
This is Ruby and Jack Dumaine’s home!
And on the heels of that came the thought,
It also feels like a scene out of the movie, Rear Window.

All her sensibilities told Carmela to just walk away. Yet she was drawn by the thought of the blue car.
Was the driver of the blue car a guest in Jack Dumaine’s house? And who exactly was this person who found her trip down to the Baritaria Bayou so all-fired interesting?

Carmela tiptoed down a gravel path toward the back of the house, acutely aware of rocks crunching underfoot.

As if in answer to her question, a muffled roar of applause emanated from the tent in Baby’s backyard. Then the zydeco band started up with what sounded like a cat aclysmic crash.

Carmela put a hand into a clump of bushes and parted it slightly, the better to catch a glimpse of the lower floors.

Carmela suddenly caught a flicker of movement on the first floor of the house.

Her curiosity made her bold. Creeping closer to the house, Carmela peered in through draperies that were not fully drawn.

Jack Dumaine was sitting behind a massive wooden desk in what had to be the library. Behind him, bookcases lined the walls, and books with leather bindings gleamed in the low light. A Tiffany lamp with a dragonfly motif sat on Jack’s desk. It was one of the old ones, a mosaic of brown and gold glass with a burnished brass lamp base. Surrounded by all that apparent luxury, Jack was smoking a cigar and haranguing an unseen person who seemed to be perched at a right angle to his desk.

Jack Dumaine was angry, though. Extremely hot under the collar. Red-faced, with thunderclouds for eyebrows, he bounced up and down in his leather chair, speaking with great force and stabbing the air with his cigar, as if to underscore each point he was making. Since Carmela couldn’t hear Jack Dumaine’s words and could only see his angry expressions, it was like watching the antics of an overwrought mime.

Feeling with her toes, which were by now half frozen, Carmela gingerly shuffled her way around the bush. Then she took a deep breath and leaned toward the window, peering between Ruby Dumaine’s not-quite-closed curtains of green velvet.

Carmela was rocked by who was sitting across from Big Jack.

Granger Rathbone sat in a high-backed chair that was set at an angle to Jack Dumaine. His pockmarked face was set in grim repose, and he looked like a bobble-head doll, as he bobbed his head and nodded while Jack lectured to him.

So what is Granger Rathbone doing in Jack Dumaine’s library?
wondered Carmela.
Has Jack Dumaine got Granger on his payroll? Did Jack Dumaine kill his business partner, Jimmy Earl Clayton, and now he’s enlisted Granger Rathbone to help him cover it all up?

Maybe, could be
were the answers that came back to her.

And on the heels of that happy thought came the grim realization:
They’re trying to set Shamus up!

Suddenly panic-stricken, Carmela tried to halt her runaway thoughts.
Are they? Really?

She backed slowly away from the window.
Let’s just think about this for a minute,
she told herself.
Someone murdered Jimmy Earl Clayton by feeding him a megadose of ketamine. And a lot of people close to Jimmy Earl seemed to be growing increasingly suspicious of Shamus. But nobody had uncovered any hard evidence that linked him to the deed. So far, this whole thing against Shamus was being fueled only by rumors and innuendos.

The thing she had to decipher was,
who exactly was doing the fueling?
Jack Dumaine and Granger Rathbone? Or were they working on something else?

Carmela quietly exited Jack Dumaine’s yard, pondering the whole mess. One thing was for sure, Jack Dumaine seemed to have Granger Rathbone in his hip pocket. And that wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. Granger Rathbone was a nasty, vindictive cop of the worst kind. And in New Orleans, cops had power. A lot of power.

As Carmela stood in the alley, she heard the back door open and a low mumble of voices, then footsteps crunch on gravel.

Diving behind a silver BMW, Carmela ducked down and held her breath. As the footsteps passed close by, she allowed herself a quick peek.

It was Granger Rathbone, all right.
What a creep
. Remaining in her hiding spot, Carmela waited until she heard his car door open, then slam shut, hesitated as the engine revved and turned over. Then headlights flared, and Granger’s blue car swept noisily down the alley away from her.