Keepsake Crimes (22 page)

As Carmela pulled into her parking space in the alley behind her apartment, Ava was just returning from a trip to the market. “Hey,” she called to Ava, “you ever make it to Brennan’s?”

Ava shifted her grocery bag from one arm to the other. “No. I ended up at Cardamom’s with some other friends. Obviously not you.”

Carmela jumped from her car, hauled Boo out of the back.

“What’s that awful smell?” asked Ava, wrinkling her nose.

“Air freshener,” said Carmela. “That car wash down on Marais Street is letting me try out some new chemicals they developed. Smells real bad at first, but then the interior of your car reverts to that pleasant new car smell.”

Ava narrowed her eyes. “Well, it smells like dog puke, if you ask me. In fact, it’s amazing what companies will try to foist on an unsuspecting public.”

“Hey,” said Carmela. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight. I made jambalaya the other night, and I’ve still got gallons.”

“Why don’t you come to the Bachus parade with me?” asked Ava. “I’m supposed to meet Smoochy Peabody and some of his friends over at Tipitina’s.”

“To tell you the truth, Ava, I’m kind of paraded out,” admitted Carmela. In the final twelve days of Mardi Gras there were something like fifty different parades. The whole thing could really set your head to spinning.

Ava brushed back a mass of auburn hair and rocked back on the heels of her espadrilles. “You want to talk, huh?”

“Kind of,” admitted Carmela.

“You found something out today?” inquired Ava.

“I did,” said Carmela, “but I’m not exactly sure what it means.”

Ava put a hand to the side of her face to shade it from the late-afternoon sun. “To tell you the truth,” she said,

“I’m a little bit paraded out myself. What say I drop by in an hour or so? Would that work?”

“I’ll heat up that jambalaya,” said Carmela. “And chill a bottle of wine.”

“You might want to chill two bottles,” suggested Ava. “And while you’re at it, better wipe that yellow glop off your dog’s chin.”

C
ARMELA and Ava chatted their way through dinner, helping themselves to extra large servings of Carmela’s very excellent jambalaya, slices of prune bread, and sipping the crisp white Vouvray they’d uncorked. They talked about Baby’s party, the strange tissue paper- looking dress that a woman by the name of Magdalen Dilworth had worn, and about the Swedish crystal chandelier Jekyl Hardy had apparently found for a song at an antique sale over in Destrehan. They even skirted around the issue of the amazing disappearing Shamus but never did attack it head-on.

Now, with the dishes piled in the sink and the second bottle of wine uncorked, they were ready to get down to it.

“You found something out about Shamus today,” began Ava. She was lounging at the little dining table while Carmela made a pretense of rattling dishes in the sink. “How did this all come about?”

Carmela abandoned the dishes and came over and sat down across from Ava. “I paid a little visit to Glory Meechum, Shamus’s sister,” said Carmela.

Ava made a face. “Always a challenge dealing with the queen of the harpies.”

“Actually, Glory wasn’t in
that
bad a mood,” said Carmela. “I’ve seen worse.”

Ava shivered. “Tell the story.”

“Well, long story short,” said Carmela, “I talked Glory Meechum into escorting me to the Crescent City Bank office and letting me snoop around inside Shamus’s office,” said Carmela.

Ava took another sip of wine. “And what incredible findings were unearthed from his inner sanctum?” asked Ava. “Gold from Carthage? Tutankhamen’s Treasure?” Ava paused dramatically. “Wait just a minute, that stuff is already in the British Museum, isn’t it? Silly me.”

Carmela pulled the stolen file from her handbag, unfolded it as best she could, and handed it to Ava. “I found that,” she said.

Ava set her glass of wine down, uncrumpled the folder. “You didn’t find it, you pilfered it.”

“Well, yes,” admitted Carmela.

“Good girl,” said Ava as she opened the manila folder. “And who exactly is this Theriot fellow?”

“Part owner in a real estate company,” said Carmela. “Trident Realty.”

Ava nodded, then spent a good three or four minutes poring through the documents. Finally, she frowned, then looked up at Carmela. “What?” said Ava. “I don’t see any connection.”

“Neither do I,” replied Carmela.

Ava stared blandly at her. “Then why did you steal it? Or is this just a practice exercise for some far grander cat burglar caper?”

“The thing of it is,” said Carmela, “I
know
there’s some important tidbit of information in that file. But I’m just not seeing it.”

“Okay,” said Ava. “Let’s try to be analytical and completely emotionless about this, which is no small task when you’re of the female persuasion and have just downed a few glasses of wine.”

“Agreed,” said Carmela, taking another sip of wine.

However,” continued Ava, “let’s try to recall every single detail concerning this entire Shamus mess. Going back to the absolute very beginning.”

“The very beginning,” agreed Carmela.

“We were at the parade . . .” Ava prompted.

“And saw Jimmy Earl Clayton collapse on his float,” said Carmela.

“And then right after that, all sorts of strange rumors started flying,” said Ava. “About Shamus.”

“It was like someone was feeding them,” said Carmela. “Busily fanning the flames.” She hunched forward and stared at Ava. “And then Bufford Maple wrote a nasty column implicating Shamus.”

“Right,” nodded Ava. “It ran the day of Jimmy Earl’s funeral, which I’m sorry I missed since, aside from Baby’s party, it seems to have been one of the pivotal social events of the season.”

“Then Hop Pennington, one of the property managers from Trident Realty, called and tried to muscle me around,” recalled Carmela. He said Bartholomew Hayward from next door wanted my space.”

“Oh no,” said Ava, dismayed. “They can’t do that. That’s the absolute
perfect
space for you!”

“Don’t I know it!” responded Carmela. She was still ticked off by Hop Pennington’s macho power play attempt. “And get this, afterwards I called and schmoozed the receptionist at Trident Realty. And I found out that the company is owned by Bufford Maple and Michael Theriot.”

“Bufford Maple penned the nasty column, and now we have Michael Theriot’s bank folder in front of us,” finished Ava. “With a turndown from Shamus.”

“Right,” said Carmela.

“But people get turned down for these kinds of loans all the time,” said Ava. “That’s not a reason to try to pin a murder on somebody. Unless, of course,
they’re
the murderers and they need a handy pigeon to foist the blame on.”

“I hate to think of Shamus as a pigeon,” said Carmela.

Ava stared at her. “What do you think of him as?”

Carmela shrugged. “I don’t know. My soon-to-be ex, I suppose.”

“A couple weeks ago a very smart and together lady I know referred to him as a cad, a rat, and a louse.”

Carmela squirmed uncomfortably.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?” said Ava, emitting a huge sigh.

“What’s happening?”

“You’re starting to feel
sorry
for him.”

“I—” began Carmela.

“Don’t!” admonished Ava. “This changes
nothing.
Shamus is still the man who boogied on out of your life with no just cause. He’s still the man who left you in the lurch. You know,” said Ava, peering carefully at her, “Shamus
could
be a murderer. He’s secretive enough. And he’s colossally hotheaded.”

Ava’s harsh words cut Carmela to the quick.
Shamus a murderer? My Shamus? Well, the man who used to be my Shamus? No, I still don’t believe it. Or maybe I just don’t want to believe it.

“Up until this afternoon, I harbored a funny feeling about Dace Wilcox. I thought that he might be a suspect in Jimmy Earl’s demise,” said Carmela. “When I ran into him at the Marseille Ball, he pretended he really didn’t know Shamus. Then later on at the shop, CeCe and Tandy discovered an old photograph that proved Dace
did
know Shamus. In fact, the two of them were in the same fraternity together. And then when we started talking about Dace, Gabby said that Dace Wilcox had been talking to Jimmy Earl right before he climbed up on his float.”

“Hmm,” said Ava. “Dace Wilcox. Yes, you mentioned him before. He’s kind of a wild card in all this, isn’t he?”

“And let’s not forget about Granger Rathbone,” said Carmela. “He’s been harassing me
and
trying to locate Shamus. Plus I found out that Granger Rathbone is very tight with Jack Dumaine. Might even be working for him on the side.”

“This
is
getting complicated,” acknowledged Ava.

“I also have a slight confession to make,” said Carmela. “I
followed
Jack Dumaine last night. That’s where I disappeared to,” admitted Carmela.

Ava’s eyebrows shot up. “Followed him as in
tailed
him?” asked Ava. “PI style?”

Carmela nodded.

“Jeez, you really are a squirrel,” said Ava.

“Thanks a lot,” said Carmela.

“So where did our boy Jack run off to?” asked Ava.

“To the Calhoun Motel over near the airport,” said Carmela. “Where he met up with one Rhonda Lee Clayton. She’d already reserved a trashy little motel room and was obviously expecting him.”

“What?” Ava squawked. “Big Jack Dumaine had a clandestine rendezvous with Rhonda Lee? Jimmy Earl’s
widow?
”

Carmela nodded, pleased that she’d been able to arouse so much outrage from Ava. “What do you think it means?” she asked excitedly. Maybe Ava could offer some insight as to this strange alliance.

Ava’s face was a mixture of curiosity and shock. “It means the two of them are either thick as thieves or else that love is completely blind.”

I
T was a show of solidarity that warmed Carmela’s heart. Baby and Tandy were standing on the sidewalk outside Memory Mine, waiting for her when she arrived for work Monday morning.

“Hey, talk about a surprise!” exclaimed Carmela. “I didn’t think anyone would show up today!”

“We didn’t want you to be alone,” said Tandy.

Carmela’s smile immediately slid off her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“She hasn’t heard the news,” said Baby to Tandy. “I
told
you this would come as a complete surprise.”

“What’s going on?” asked Carmela. Watching the two women fidget, Carmela was growing more and more nervous.

“Del heard a rumor via the old boy’s grapevine,” said Baby.

“About what?” asked Carmela, instantly on the alert. She knew that, as a high-profile attorney, Baby’s husband was privy to all sorts of inside information.

“Now don’t come all unglued, sweetie, but Shamus has been hauled in for questioning again,” finished Tandy.

Carmela put a hand to her mouth. “Oh no.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper; the ring of keys she had clutched in her hand suddenly clattered to the pavement.
They found Shamus
, she thought to herself.
Or at least caught up to him.

Tandy knelt down to scoop up the dropped keys. “Let me get those,” she said.

Carmela turned to face Baby. “What else did Del say? Did he know if the police had any hard evidence against him?”

“Shush, dear.” Baby put a hand on Carmela’s shoulder. “That’s all we know for now. Just that Shamus is being questioned again. Del has court all day today, so he’ll be able to keep an ear open. Plus he knows where I’ll be. He promised to call if there’s any news.”

Tandy put the key in the lock, fought with it for a couple seconds, then finally wrestled the door open. “C’mon, Carmela,” she said in her characteristic upbeat, no-nonsense style. “There’s really nothing you can do. So the best thing is to just stay busy.”

Promptly at 9:00 A.M. Gabby came marching into Memory Mine and handed Carmela a steaming cup of café au lait that she’d fetched from the Merci Beaucoup Bakery down the street. Carmela, sitting at the back craft table with Tandy and Baby, murmured a quiet
“Bless you”
as she accepted the cup.

Unsnapping the white lid, Carmela took a sip of the hot, steaming coffee. “This really hits the spot,” she declared as Gabby continued to stare at her silently. She took another sip. All the while, Gabby’s eyes never left her.

“What?” asked Carmela finally.
“What?”

Their antennae suddenly up and sensing an impending problem, Tandy and Baby squirmed at the sudden tension developing between Gabby and Carmela.

“Stuart says I have to quit,” said Gabby quietly.

Gabby’s words hit Carmela like a bolt from the blue. “Gabby, what are you
talking
about? Why on earth would you quit?”

Gabby hung her head. “Stuart thinks it’s for the best. Until this whole mess is resolved.”

“This whole mess meaning . . .”

“Well . . . Shamus and everything,” stammered Gabby.

“And this is
Stuart’s
idea, not yours?” said Carmela, peering up at her.

Gabby’s pleading face spoke volumes. “Oh, Carmela, you
know
I don’t want to leave you in the lurch like this.” Gabby looked like she was about ready to cry.

“Don’t you think you should make up your
own
mind?” Carmela asked her gently.

“Honey,” said Tandy, suddenly interjecting herself into the conversation, “are you suddenly experiencing a tremendous hormonal imbalance at your tender young age? I mean, what
is
this all about? Why on earth would you be doing this?”

“Because I promised Stuart that I would love, honor, and obey him?” ventured Gabby, her voice quavering wildly.

“Obey!” snorted Tandy. She glanced around the table, realized she had overreacted a bit, decided to try to diffuse the situation. “Is
that
all! Thank goodness, I thought we really had ourselves a big hairy
problema
here.”