Tragic Magic (10 page)

“Okay, I’m up against the back door now,” said Ava.

“Got it open?” asked Carmela.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” said Ava. “But it’s, heh heh, stuck.”

“Stuck?”

“I’m gonna twist around and give it a good kick,” said Ava.

“You got room?”

“Sure. If I pull myself into a ball and pretend I don’t have any lower ribs.” There was a clunk and a soft grunt, and then Ava said, “Here goes.”

Her boot heels hit the back door of the hearse. Once, twice, and then . . .
boiiiing!

“Success!” exclaimed Carmela.

“Open sesame,” Ava puffed, scrambling out the far end.

Carmela heard footsteps scuffing cement, then the metallic rattle-clink-rattle of the garage door going up.

“Your turn,” called Ava.

“Good work,” said Carmela, as she eased herself over the backseat, gripped the side handle of the casket, and pulled herself along. In no time at all, she’d ducked under the garage door to join Ava outside. Carmela inhaled fresh, cool air and decided it had never felt better.

“How we gonna close the door behind us,
cher
?” asked Ava.

Carmela leaned into the doorway, hammered the inside button with the flat of her hand, then pulled her arm back fast.

Another rattle-clink-rattle and the garage door slowly descended.

“Okay,” said Ava, as they turned in unison and started up the patchy cement ramp. “No more haunted . . .”

They both caught a hint of movement at the same time, then saw the caped man emerge from the darkness above them.

And lifted their voices together in a shrill scream!

“W
HO are you?”screamed Ava. “Back away!” yelled Carmela, trying to put some grit into her voice. “Or I’ll hit you with a dose of pepper spray!” She didn’t actually have a canister of pepper spray with her, but she hoped her threat would scare him off.

The man wearing the cape threw up his hands in an anxious gesture and took a step back. “It’s me! It’s only me!”

“Who’s
me
?” demanded Carmela.

“Sidney,” came his voice. He sounded nervous. Like he was the one afraid of being attacked.

Carmela and Ava relaxed slightly as they gazed at each other. Ava raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Sidney St. Cyr?” she called out.

Sidney stepped forward into a puddle of light. “Ava?” he said. “Hey there.” Now he sounded cautiously friendly.

But Ava wasn’t having it. “What the heck are you
doing
out here, Sidney?” she demanded. “You scared the living crap out of us!”

“I live down that way,” said Sidney. He flapped a hand to indicate a spot somewhere down the dark alley, looking as meek and hunched up as he’d appeared on TV the other night. “On Frenchmen Street. This is my neighborhood.”

“Oh yeah?” said Ava. She sounded as though she didn’t believe him.

“I just finished guiding one of my ghost walks,” Sidney explained. “The History and Mystery Walk. And I was on my way home.”

“You just happened to be passing Medusa Manor?” Carmela demanded. Sidney’s story sounded fishy to her.

“Hey,” said St. Cyr, petulance creeping into his voice. “Melody was a
friend
of mine. I feel awful about her murder. The only reason I was lingering back here was I was kind of paying my respects.”

“In the alley behind Medusa Manor,” said Carmela. His explanation still sounded wonky.

Sidney bobbed his head. “Sure. Why not? Medusa Manor was one of Melody’s big passions. She had high hopes for this place and shared a lot of her ideas with me.”

Emboldened now, Carmela stepped forward, forcibly invading Sidney’s personal space. “Speaking of ideas,” she said, “do you have any idea who might have wanted Melody dead?”

St. Cyr looked at her sharply. “No! Of course not! Melody was a terrific person. Everyone simply adored her.”

“Clearly someone didn’t,” Ava murmured.

“You say the two of you were friends?” said Carmela, vowing to check Sidney’s story with Garth. “Compadres? Then maybe you know what Melody had been involved in recently.”

“Like what?” Sidney asked, sounding puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

“Anything besides Medusa Manor?” asked Ava.

Sidney thought for a minute. “Certainly this was Melody’s pet project. I mean, she was the one who found this
property and went through the whole bidding process with the city to obtain it. Then she drew up a very credible business plan and convinced Olivia Wainwright to become her silent partner.”

“I’m looking for something that might have been a bit more unusual,” said Carmela.

Sidney gazed at Carmela for a long moment. “Well . . . I suppose there were a few things. Melody did have a slightly dark side.”

“After prowling through Medusa Manor, we’re beginning to understand that,” said Ava.

“I don’t mean that in a
bad
way,” said Sidney, a hint of indignation creeping into his voice. “Melody was just extremely . . . what would you call it? . . .
knowledgeable
about the supernatural. She was a tremendous resource in helping me put together my ghost walks. Selecting routes and points of interest, helping me script my narration. Melody was especially good with the cemetery crawls. She was very much into New Orleans hauntings and history and had amassed tons of research.”

“Melody did this for you gratis?” asked Carmela. It sounded like a lot of work to her.

Sidney St. Cyr bristled slightly. “Melody’s research dovetailed with what I do and with a lot of her other interests.”

“Like what?” asked Ava.

Sidney thought for a moment. “She was a member of the Hellfire League and the Restless Spirit Society.”

“Ha ha,” said Ava, taking a step back. “You’re trying to scare us. Nice try.”

“I’ve heard about the Hellfire League,” said Carmela. It was a private club that was more society than spooky. “But the Restless Spirit Society? That’s a new one.”

“Probably because they’re a relatively new group,” said St. Cyr.

“Restless spirits,” said Carmela, wrestling with the notion.

Sidney gave a shrug. “The group’s really a bunch of ghost hunters and paranormal freaks with a few quasi researchers thrown in for good measure.”

“And they do . . . what?” asked Ava.

“Investigate supernatural phenomena,” said Sidney.

“New Orleans has been experiencing a lot of supernatural phenomena lately?” Carmela asked in a clearly skeptical tone.

“Well . . . actually, yes,” said Sidney. “You undoubtedly know the same stories I do. About the ghosts, vampires, and even saints that are supposedly prowling our city.”

“Okay,” said Carmela. “I suppose so.” He had her there.

“Actually,” said Sidney, “the Restless Spirit guys are a fairly cool crew that gets together to creepy-crawl old buildings, looking for signs of haunting or supernatural phenomena. They take readings using infrared cameras and magnetometers. That sort of thing.”

“You’re telling me they crawl through old, deserted buildings?” asked Ava. “With spiders and rats and stuff.” She touched her fingertips to her hair, as though she could feel crawly things bothering her.

St. Cyr nodded. “Sometimes. RSS, Restless Spirit Society, is basically urban explorers with a paranormal bent. They’ve explored several old factories and abandoned buildings. And Melody once told me they went through an old mortuary and a salt cave. She was really into that stuff.”

Ava shook her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” said Sidney. “I’m absolutely serious.”

 

As they were driving home, Ava asked, “Do you trust Sidney St. Cyr?”

“Not sure,” Carmela replied. “I don’t know him well enough to make any sort of pronouncement.”

“What did you think about this Restless Spirit Society?”

Pausing at a stop sign, Carmela stared up at spidery
branches etched against the silvered, almost-full moon. “I think they sound very strange.”

“You think we should check ’em out?” asked Ava.

Carmela thought about Medusa Manor, the Hellfire League, and the Restless Spirit Society. Three keen interests of Melody’s. Almost a . . . what? A triple witching?

“What do you think?” pressed Ava.

“I think . . . yes,” said Carmela.

Back in the French Quarter, Carmela dropped Ava off outside the front door of Juju Voodoo, then circled around the block, bumped down a cobblestone alley, and pulled her car into one of the long, low garages that backed up against her apartment building.

Hurrying across the dark courtyard to her apartment, Carmela was thinking how nice it would be to ease into her cozy bed and curl up with a good book—until she saw her door standing ajar. Two inches ajar, to be exact.

She paused beneath the canopy of the spreading live oak tree, listening to the patter of the fountain. This was bad, she decided. This was very bad. Had someone broken into her apartment? And if so, where exactly were the dogs? Her so-called
guard
dogs?

Lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, Carmela went to the door and called out in her gruffest voice, “Is someone in there?” Then, as if they’d really answer her, she called, “Boo? Poobah? You guys okay?”

Easing the door open with her toe, moving with extreme stealth, Carmela tiptoed in.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” said a man’s voice.

“What!” exclaimed Carmela.

There was a long, low chuckle, and then a light snapped on. Edgar Babcock was stretched out in her leather easy chair with Boo and Poobah curled up next to him.

“What do you think you’re doing!” exclaimed Carmela.

“Waiting for you,” replied Babcock.

“Excuse me,” said Carmela, “but I’m talking to Boo and Poobah.” She planted her hands on her hips and stared directly at her two dogs. “You guys are supposed to be on red alert. On guard duty. Not asleep at your post. Ten demerits for each of you!”

Boo raised her head daintily and gave a delicate snort. Poobah kept his head between his outstretched paws and rolled his eyes nervously.

“A likely story,” sniffed Carmela. She turned her attention back to Babcock. “And how exactly did
you
get in here?”

Babcock favored her with a lazy grin, then an affable shrug. “Picked your lock.”

“What!” she cried. What was it with locks tonight? “You didn’t really.”

He cocked his head and reached out an arm to grab her, but Carmela danced away from his fingertips. “Sure I did,” he told her. “It’s a piece of crap. You oughta invest in a Schlage or a Medeco. Something substantial that the creeps in this city can’t pop like a grape. Something that will protect you, keep you safe.”

“I thought that’s what you were here for.”

Babcock stretched farther and grabbed her hand, then finally pulled her down next to him. “Mmm,” he said. “That’s how you think of me? As your own personal Rottweiler?”

Carmela finally broke down and gave him a teasing smile. “It’s
one
of the things.”

Kisses were in order then. Long, slow kisses that went beyond mere greetings.

“Where were you?” Babcock asked, when they finally pulled apart. He sounded more than a little breathless.

Carmela gave him what she hoped was a totally innocent smile. “Out with Ava.”

“
Out
can be a pretty big area,” Babcock said in an agreeable tone. “
Out
could be shopping on Magazine Street or having gumbo over at Mumbo Gumbo and flirting with that
oily-looking owner who’s always asking you for a date. Or
out
could be sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“You’re wrong on all counts,” Carmela told him. “We just popped over to Medusa Manor.”

Babcock reacted as if an electric wire had been run up his leg. “What?” he cried, then leaned forward in his chair. “Are you crazy! After what just happened, why in heaven’s name would you venture back there?”

“Olivia Wainwright asked us to continue with the decorating.”

“And you said yes,” said Babcock, incredulous.

Carmela gave him a look of pure innocence. “Well . . . yes.”

“Bad idea,” snapped Babcock. “Wait a minute, did you cross the police line? I’m pretty sure our crime-scene tape was still strung up.”

“Oh, that,” said Carmela, feeling a twinge of guilt. “I think it all blew down.”

“Yeah, right,” said Babcock, gripping her hand tightly. “I have to say, it’s particularly disheartening when the public, you in particular, has little or no regard for police authority.”

“Sorry,” said Carmela, with faux contriteness.

“And I really hate the idea of you going back to that place.”

After their terrifying little lockdown experience tonight, Carmela might have agreed that Medusa Manor wasn’t exactly a user-friendly place, but she wasn’t about to give Babcock the satisfaction. And she sure as heck wasn’t going to tell him about how she’d shimmied through a hearse to escape!

“Ava and I are pretty pumped up that we’re going to continue working on the place,” Carmela told him.

“Who hired you to do this?” Babcock asked.

“Olivia Wainwright, the silent partner.” She stared at
him, thinking. “But you already know about Olivia, right? You must have talked to her.”

“You might say that,” he said, rubbing his hand up her arm.

“Olivia’s not a suspect or anything like that, is she?” asked Carmela. “She’s on the up-and-up?”

“I’m really not at liberty to say.” He cocked his head and gave Carmela a half smile. “You don’t by any chance have something to eat around here, do you?”

“Since you already invaded my home, I assume you checked the refrigerator.”

“Guilty as charged,” said Babcock, “but I didn’t see much.”

Carmela sighed. “What are you in the mood for?”