Maybe.
Chapter 7
“A
SENSE of the absurd?” said Ava. “Olivia Wainwright really said that?” She lounged against the refrigerator door, dressed in a faded denim skirt and black turtleneck, sipping a glass of wine.
“Oh yeah,” said Carmela as she pulled open the oven door, added Parmesan cheese to her shrimp bake, then shut the door so her dish could bubble and brown for another couple of minutes.
Ava, tilting her head to one side, looked a little pleased. “It’s like she really
knows
us.”
Carmela grinned. “I’m not sure whether we should be flattered or insulted.”
“And the money,” said Ava, a little breathless. “Olivia really said fifteen thousand each?”
“That’s what she dangled,” said Carmela.
“Then I think we should go ahead and grab it,” said Ava. “Before Olivia changes her mind, anyway. Lord knows, we
can both use the extra bucks. I know I could. Business has been okay, but no way has it been gangbusters.”
“I hear you,” said Carmela.
“What’s this Olivia really like?” asked Ava. “Besides rich.”
“She seemed nice,” said Carmela. “Maybe a trifle distant. But I think she was just feeling overwhelmed, since she was the silent partner in Medusa Manor, the person putting up all the money. Melody had been honchoing the actual day-to-day stuff. Handling real estate details, set design, buying trips, and decorating. Like that.”
“That’s why Olivia wants us,” said Ava. “Rich people always think they can fix a problem by throwing money at it.”
Carmela thought about the divorce settlement she’d quickly read through, the papers sitting on the table over there like some kind of hot potato. “Sometimes they can,” she told Ava.
“Your shrimp bake is delicious,” raved Ava. They were at the dining table, still discussing the pros and cons of working on Medusa Manor—though most of the cons had pretty much been sloughed aside. “It was either come over here and stuff my fat face or go out for pizza with Tommy Drummond.”
“Isn’t he the guy who does odd jobs at Hooligan’s Bar?” asked Carmela. “The one who always looks like he’s on a work release program from prison?”
Ava nodded. “He’s a sweet guy, but constantly on a tight budget.” She grimaced. “I don’t want to sound like a complete gold digger,
cher
, but I’m not a big fan of men on a budget.”
“That’s because you’re a champagne-and-caviar lady,” Carmela pointed out. “You’ve developed a taste for the finer things in life.”
“I try to,” said Ava. “Of course, when the occasion is right,
I’m also willing to settle for a glass of Big Easy Beer and a plate of Louisiana oysters.”
“Nothin’ wrong with that,” said Carmela.
“Hey,” said Ava. “Let’s turn on the news, see if they’re any closer to catching Melody’s killer.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Carmela, aiming the remote control at the TV set. “Let’s hope something is happening.” She hadn’t heard a word from Edgar Babcock yet today, even though he’d promised to call.
“Look at this,” said Ava, as the six o’clock news flickered on. “Kimber Breeze is doing her thing. Big whoop.”
“Uh-oh,” said Carmela. “Forgot to tell you. Kimber came steamrolling into Fire and Ice this afternoon when I was delivering flowers to Garth. I have a feeling her report this evening isn’t exactly going to be flattering to him.”
“Kimber’s like the proverbial bad penny,” observed Ava. “Always turns up.”
“And when she does, she’s trouble,” added Carmela.
“What’s she holding in her hand there?” mumbled Ava, squinting at the TV set.
“Cremation jewelry,” Kimber answered from the screen. “A rather bizarre and strangely morbid collection found right here at Fire and Ice Jewelers in the French Quarter.”
“What!” said Ava.
“See,” said Carmela, “I told you it wouldn’t be flattering.”
They watched as Kimber Breeze did what she termed a “follow-up report” on the murder of Melody Mayfeldt, but what really turned into a commentary on the curiosities found at Garth Mayfeldt’s jewelry shop.
“She’s makin’ him look bad,” commented Ava. “Manipulating her words to make it look like he’s obsessed with death and funerals. Like some sort of ghoul.”
“Which he’s not,” said Carmela.
“At least you don’t
think
he is,” said Ava. She thought for a moment. “You don’t think Garth could have . . . ?”
“See,” said Carmela, shaking her head. “Now Kimber Breeze even has
you
thinking Garth might have been involved in his own wife’s murder.”
Ava frowned. “I suppose he could have been.”
“No,” said Carmela, “Melody and Garth were in love. And I can tell you he’s extremely torn up.”
“You can bet your Detective Babcock will check him out,” said Ava.
“I’m sure he will,” said Carmela. “It’s doubtful Babcock will leave any stone unturned. But Garth as the killer? I just don’t see it.”
As Kimber Breeze wrapped up her report, Ava said, “Do you think Kimber had her nose done? It looks a little upturned to me. Kind of piggy.” She studied the screen intently. “Or maybe a brow lift? There’s something different about her.”
“If you ask me,” said Carmela, getting up to clear plates, “I’d say she gained weight.” Obviously, Carmela harbored no love for Kimber Breeze.
“That’s it,” laughed Ava, as Kimber signed off. “Kimber’s packed on a few pounds. Her face looks fuller and I’ll bet her caboose is, too.”
“Maybe more than a few pounds,” Carmela called from the kitchen, really getting into it now.
“She’s probably got those jiggly little dingleberry things under her arms,” giggled Ava. “She better get in gear and start lifting dumbbells.”
“Better lifting one than marrying one,” said Carmela. Returning to the table, she plopped down a heavy manila envelope.
“What’s this?” asked Ava. “You got a pen pal?”
“Lawyer stuff,” said Carmela. “Shamus’s attorney sent over what he termed a generous and thoughtful offer.”
“Uh-oh,” said Ava. “In other words, they’re tryin’ to weasel out.”
“Bingo,” said Carmela. “That would definitely be my soon-to-be-ex’s pedigree. Clan of the weasel.”
“That boy’s got more money than some of those Shreveport oil men who drive gas-guzzling Hummers,” said Ava. “And Shamus
still
won’t play fair with you!”
“It’s mostly Glory’s doing,” said Carmela. “Since she controls the family purse strings.”
“If you ask me,” said Ava, “I’d say Shamus is tied to big sister’s
apron
strings.”
“Strangling him,” added Carmela.
Once the table was cleared, Carmela and Ava laid out the plans for Medusa Manor.
“When you said
plans
,” said Ava, “I thought you meant ideas and stuff. Concepts. But these are real roll-’em-out blueprints.”
Carmela nodded, then dug into her bag for the rest of the papers Olivia had given her. “I’ve got the concept and creative plans, too,” she told Ava, fanning out a thick stack of papers.
Ava took a sip of wine, then began sifting through the loose papers. “Oh, hey. A memo regarding set decoration ideas for the Haunted Library and the Morgue of Madness. Yup, we’re gonna need that.”
Carmela shuffled through papers, too. “Here’s a list of stuff Melody bought at an auction over in Jeanerette. Two tufted leather chairs, a baroque mirror, two oil paintings, a library table. Sounds like some of the stuff I saw today.”
“You went over there?” asked Ava.
“Took a quick tour and jotted down a few notes,” said Carmela. “I wanted to have some idea of what we had to work with.”
“Coffins, for one thing,” said Ava.
“Plus witches’ masks, a canopy bed like we talked about . . . listen, that basement’s absolutely
stuffed
with props.”
“Really,” murmured Ava. “So it is mostly decorating, just like you said. Move some furniture around, figure out themes for the different rooms, add the haunted touches.”
“Except,” said Carmela, “we have to do it all rather quickly. That horror convention I told you about . . .”
“DiscordaCon.”
“Yeah,” said Carmela. “That takes place in three weeks.”
Ava let loose a low whistle. “So we gotta hustle. Get the fun-house mirrors and flickering skulls in perfect working order.”
“That’s right,” said Carmela. “And we have to figure out special effects and get cracking on that, too. Then plan to move furniture starting next week. Maybe hire a couple of professional furniture movers so we don’t break our backs. I know Jekyl can give us some names.”
“Sounds good,” said Ava.
“You know,” said Carmela, tapping her pen against a blueprint, “this place is controlled by a computer program. There are apparently lights, sound effects, and special-effects projections. I noticed some of the equipment today in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”
Ava groaned loudly and touched the back of her hand to her forehead. “Just shoot me now,
cher
. Because I am totally phobic when it comes to computers. Computers, iPods, BlackBerrys, those things all
hate
me.”
“No way,” said Carmela. “Besides, how could you be phobic about computers? You have your entire store inventory on computer.”
“Lot of help that is,” grumped Ava. “It’s all I can do to turn on that vile machine and figure out if I’ve got one shrunken head or an entire case of saint candles.”
Carmela patted Ava’s hand. “You’ll be fine. In fact, I’ll talk to whoever installed the stuff and put them in charge of getting everything else online.”
“I did see something about computers,” said Ava. She shuffled through a stack of papers and pulled out a couple of loose pages. “Here it is. Company called Byte Head.”
“Is there a person’s name, too?”
“Tate,” said Ava. “Tate Mackie.”
“So he’s the guy,” said Carmela. “Excellent. Another problem almost solved.”
“So what now?” asked Ava.
“Before we do anything,” said Carmela, “we should go back over there. Like I said, I made notes today. But we should put our heads together and figure out what we have to work with, finalize our major room themes, and make a list of what props we need to buy.”
“You mean go over to Medusa Manor,” said Ava. She suddenly didn’t look too sure of herself. “When?”
Carmela glanced at her watch. “Well, you have to work all day tomorrow. And I have to work tomorrow. So . . .” She raised her eyebrows.
Ava finished her sentence. “So we should drive over there right now. Even though it’s very, very dark outside.”
“There are lights in the house,” said Carmela.
Ava grimaced. “Let’s just hope they’re in good working order.”
Chapter 8
“T
HIS place looks like the Addams Family lived here, let the place sink into utter disrepair, then skipped out on the rent,” said Ava. They stood on the cracked sidewalk, gazing up at the old mansion that seemed to loom over them like the hulk of a wrecked ship. A flat silver moon, not quite full, shone down upon them, icing the house in a cool glow.
“Medusa Manor’s supposed to look that way,” said Carmela as she stuck her key into the lock. “It’s a haunted house.” She jiggled the key, but for some reason it seemed to be stuck. She jiggled some more.
“What’s wrong?” asked Ava.
“Don’t know,” said Carmela. “The lock worked fine earlier.”
“Maybe it’s an omen,” said Ava.
“Maybe it’s a bad lock,” said Carmela.
“Gotta hit it with a shot of WD-40,” said Ava, when the lock finally clicked open. “Do the hinges, too.”
“Then you give up the cool sound effect,” whispered Carmela, as the door creaked open.
“Oh crap,” said Ava, snapping the light switch by the front door. “It’s not exactly megawatts, is it?” Two dim lights over the fireplace glowed a sickly yellow, giving the room an ominous feel.
Carmela dug in her bag and pulled out a Maglite. “I brought along a flashlight.”
“Good,” said Ava. She edged a little to her right. “Wait a minute, there’s another panel here. Push buttons.”
“Give ’em a try,” urged Carmela.
Ava punched the top button, immediately triggering a deafening cascade of wild organ music. “Yipes,” she cried. “Hit something.”
“Try again,” said Carmela.
As Ava fumbled with the buttons, the overhead chandelier began to glow. First a low pearly white light, then subtly changing to ghostly green. And, much like the Wizard of Oz himself, who’d appeared as a terrifying, disembodied head, a woman’s face suddenly materialized in the center of the chandelier.
“What’s
that
?” Ava shrieked, as the eyes in the ghost woman’s head suddenly rolled back, her mouth gaped open, and a long tongue lolled out. “That’s hideous!”
“Projected image,” said Carmela. She’d already spotted the equipment behind her and was now standing beneath the chandelier, peering up. “Look,” she said, “we thought this fixture was just dingy and dirty when we first saw it, but that’s because there’s really fine gauze fabric covering it. Works like a kind of movie screen.” She searched for a more appropriate word and remembered the window shade screen upstairs. “A scrim, really.”
“Clever,” said Ava, rapidly recovering from her initial shock. “Hey, you think they used Glory’s face as the model for that little sweetheart?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” said Carmela. She clapped her hands over her ears. “Think you can turn that music off?”
Ava fumbled with the switch again, and the music as well as the ghastly face faded away.
“Thank you,” said Carmela. “So, volume needs to be adjusted. That’s just way too loud.” She made a note. “But I like the chandelier effect.”
“You said something about a vampire inside the coffin?” asked Ava.
“What do you think?” asked Carmela. “Good idea? Bad idea?”
“Works for me,” said Ava. “But we’ll need to huddle with that special-effects guy. What was his name? McKenzie?”