Gossamer Ghost (24 page)

Carmela checked Ava's patron saint chart, found out that Saint Andrew was the patron saint of singers, and promptly sold a half dozen candles. Then she climbed a rickety stepladder to snag a wooden skeleton that was dangling from the rafters and ended up selling a Day of the Dead sugar skull, too. Two giggling teenagers wanted a love potion, so Carmela searched a shelf of purple bottles until she found Lady Amore's Sure Fire Love Potion.

As she was ringing the potions up, a familiar face seemed to ghost past her.

Huh?

A man circled a shelf containing magic kits, voodoo charms, and skull jewelry, and then cruised back in the direction of the cash register.

Oh shoot, it's that awful Johnny Sparks. What on earth is he doing here?

When Sparks recognized her, he sputtered out, “What are
you
doing here?” in a none-too-friendly tone of voice.

“I work here,” said Carmela.

“Yeah?” said a disbelieving Sparks as he furowed his brow. Then, “You got any tarot cards?”

“Of course,” said Carmela. “Would you like Rider-Waite or our new vampire wisdom cards?”

Sparks scowled at her. “Just give me the cards and make it snappy.”

*   *   *

An hour later, most of their customers taken care of, Ava's werewolf came loping in.

“Bert,” said Ava, looking flustered. “You're early.”

Bert, who wasn't dressed in his werewolf costume yet, just jeans and a leather jacket, looked at his watch and said, “You told me five. It's five.”

“Already?” said Ava. She threw a pleading look at Carmela. “Can you get Bert zipped into his werewolf suit? It's hanging in my office.”

“Come on, Bert,” said Carmela, taking his soon-to-be paw. “Let's pretend there's a full moon and change you into a loup-garou.”

The suit wasn't the best werewolf suit Carmela had ever seen. First of all, it was cheesy brown polyester that looked more grungy than furry. Still, in the darkness of a cemetery, with candles flickering and imaginations running wild, it would probably be just dandy. Carmela reasoned that most people signed up for a Cemetery Crawl because they
wanted
to be scared. Hence, once Bert was zipped into his suit and let loose a few maniacal howls and grunts, he should fill the fright bill nicely.

But the zipping up of the suit proved to be a huge problem.

“This suit is a size medium,” complained Bert. “And I'm a large.”

“Try to suck in a little,” Carmela coaxed. Bert was a good old boy with long hair, whiskers, and an ample tummy.

“I'm
try
ing.”

“Try harder. There, now it's . . . oops!”

“What?”

“The zipper's caught,” said Carmela. “Brace yourself, I'm going to give it a good . . . shoot, now it's really stuck.”

“Oh man,” said Bert. “I don't wanna lose this gig.”

“Relax, I'll just sew you into your costume,” said Carmela. She scrounged through Ava's desk drawer, finally coming up with a needle and thread. Two dozen good whipstitches later and the suit was a permanent part of Bert.

“Feels good,” he said, patting his tummy. “Nice and tight.”

“Just don't try to bend over,” Carmela warned. “Or take a deep breath.”

Bert grabbed the werewolf head and plopped it on his shoulders. “Grrrrr!”

“Perfect,” said Carmela. “You're gonna kill 'em.”

Bert took the head off and gave her a puzzled expression.

“Well, not
literally
kill,” said Carmela. She grabbed the head and stuck it back on. “Go out there and show Ava. Let her see how professional you look.” She steered Bert out the door.

“Oh my gosh, that's great!” Ava exclaimed when she caught sight of him. “Really perfect.”

“Thanks,” came Bert's muffled reply.

“You know where to meet us?” said Ava.

The werewolf head bobbled an affirmative.

“Perfect. We'll see you there.”

Bert waved a paw, turned, and promptly banged into a cabinet. There was a muffled, “Ouch.”

“Oh dear,” said Ava, scrambling to help. “This is kind of like playing blind man's bluff, isn't it? Maybe you should take that big old head off.”

Bert pulled the head off. His face was already bright pink from being encased in all that fur. “But I want to wear it when I'm driving.”

“Sure,” said Ava as he bumbled out the door. “Whatever.” She turned to Carmela and chuckled. “How'd you like to be the guy who pulls up next to him at a red light?”

L
AFAYETTE
Cemetery No. 1 was the perfect setting for Ava's Cemetery Crawl. Crumbling and sublime, it was located on the edge of the Garden District and boasted black wrought-iron gates, tumbledown tombs, ancient mausoleums, and several hair-raising legends that involved ghost sightings and hovering orbs.

Carmela and Ava both wore black velvet vampire dresses that Ava had pulled from her closet. They'd clipped in long hair extensions and applied black lipstick. Now Ava stood just inside the gates that were kitty-corner from Commander's Palace, consulting her clipboard and efficiently checking off names as her Cemetery Crawl guests showed up.

As Carmela adjusted the bloodred sash on her dress, she had to marvel at Ava's amazing wardrobe. Her large walk-in closet rivaled that of a Vegas showgirl who moonlighted as a Halloween-loving stripper. Except when it was Mardi Gras, and then Ava seemed to have ball gowns galore.

“Names?” said Ava, as two giggling women hurried toward her.

“Beth Crowley and Barb Higgins,” said one of the women. She was dressed in a black tunic and shiny black leggings. Her friend wore a black sweater, long skirt, and boots. “Are we almost ready to go?”

“Almost,” Ava replied sweetly. “All you have to do now is go over to where Carmela is standing and pick up your official Crawl candle.”

Carmela had been designated Keeper of the Candles tonight. As such, she passed out white candles with black paper ruffles at the bottom to all the guests who arrived. And plastic glow-in-the-dark skull rings, too. That had been Ava's last-minute brainstorm.

As more guests arrived and nervous giggles ran through the crowd, Carmela lit all the candles and then made her way over to Ava. “Are you about ready to get started? I think the crowd is growing restless.”

“We're still missing two of our guests,” said Ava. “I hate to take off and just . . . oh, wait, I see a couple of stragglers coming now.”

“Wait!” screeched a familiar voice as two women dashed through the rather foreboding gates. “Don't leave without us.”

“Oh my,” Carmela said under her breath. “It's the countess.”

“But without her count,” said Ava. “Does that make her countless?”

“Don't let her hear you say that.”

Instead, Ava beamed happily at her late arrivals. “You're just in time, ladies, not a second to spare.”

The countess left her friend with Ava and made a beeline for Carmela. “I had a feeling you'd be here tonight,” she gushed.

“And here I am,” said Carmela. “Did you get a chance to stop by Memory Mine and pick up your necklace?”

“Yes, indeed. Gabby gave it to me. So not to worry, it's safe and sound, back where it belongs.”

“Thank you again for letting me wear it—that necklace was a real showstopper. A conversation starter, too.”
Was it ever.

“Really, Carmela, anytime you'd like to borrow a piece of jewelry just let me know. I'm more than happy to oblige and I do have some
marrrrvelous
pieces.”

“That's very kind of you.” Carmela suddenly felt a twinge of guilt for thinking that the countess might be a garden-variety crook. After all, here she was, being generous to a fault. Or was it some kind of act? Only time would tell. Or maybe a little more investigating.

Ava held her candle high and waggled it back and forth, like she was out on the tarmac, guiding in a celestial 747.

“This way, everybody come this way,” she cried. When her guests had gathered around, she said, “Now stick close to me. We're in one of New Orleans's oldest cemeteries. And since it harbors many restless souls, I can assure you there have been numerous spirit sightings reported here.”

That brought on a round of giggles.

“The first tomb I want to show you in this City of the Dead is right this way.” They crunched along a narrow pathway, threading their way through rows of tombs. Bits of moonlight shone through bare trees, lending a ghostly quality to the white gravel underfoot.

Ava stopped near a large marble mausoleum with an engraved plaque and bars on the double doors. “If you've ever seen the movie
Double Jeopardy
, a few of those scenes were filmed right here.”

There were nods and murmurs. The strange guest that Carmela had sold the ticket to nodded and exclaimed,
“Nish au vlek!”

“And over here is a very unusual cast iron tomb.” They all gaped as Ava gestured to a rusty metal tomb that looked half-melted and pitted with age. “You might also find this factoid a bit unusual,” she continued, “but almost seven thousand people are buried right here in a single city block.”

“How is that even possible?” asked one of the guests.

Ava bit her lower lip. “Heat, humidity, and the hands of time. And the fact that many of these old family tombs have what you might call
cellars
underneath them.”

“Gulp,” said one woman, realizing exactly what this implied.

Ava continued her tour, keeping up her running commentary as she guided her group through the dark cemetery. Candlelight flickered and bounced off the whitewashed tombs as she pointed out the most interesting graves and shared spooky legends and lore that served to prickle the hair on the back of their necks.

One woman raised her hand tentatively. “Is this the graveyard Anne Rice always wrote about?”

“Yes, it is,” said Ava. “Her house is just a few blocks from here, and I happen to know that she based the Vampire Lestat's tomb on one of the tombs right in this area.”

“Do you know which one?” asked the woman. “Do you have any idea?”

“That's still up for speculation,” replied Ava. She gazed at her group, a twinkle showing in her eye. “But if it were up to me . . .” She threw out an arm. “I'd select
that
one!”

All eyes jumped to the tomb Ava had just pointed at. Which was the opportune moment for the werewolf to suddenly leap out!

“Arrh!” growled the werewolf, scrambling on top of the tomb, then sinking down into a menacing crouch.

“Eeeek!” cried the guests. Those who were thoroughly startled by the werewolf's surprise appearance backpedaled quickly, while a few brave and curious souls moved closer. All in all, they were perfectly delighted to be scared out of their wits.

*   *   *

“That sure went well,” said Ava, as Carmela wove her car down St. Charles Avenue. They were scurrying home so they could change into formal attire for tonight's big ball.

“It did, but now I feel like Cinderella, rushing home to change,” said Carmela.

“Oh yeah?” said Ava. “Then who am I supposed to be, the ugly stepsister?”

Carmela chuckled. “If the glass slipper fits. After all, it
is
called Pumpkins and Bumpkins Ball.”

“Jeez,” said Ava. “The last thing I want is to turn into a pumpkin.”

“Or end up with a bumpkin,” said Carmela.

“How are we gettin' there?” asked Ava. “Since we're supposed to meet our sweeties at the hotel.”

“Hang on to your garters, Babcock is sending a limo for us.”

“For us? That sounds extremely glam.”

“Oh, I don't know,” said Carmela. “I think some guy . . . um, owed him a favor.”

*   *   *

Their white stretch limousine glided up to the circular drive in front of the Hotel Barnabas.

“Holy gumbo and grits,” said Ava, peering out the window at the red carpet and all the lights. “I feel like I'm hangin' with P. Diddy. Or like I'm one of those celebs you see on E! Entertainment.”

“Just make sure everything's strategically covered when you step out.”

“Don't worry. I don't plan to end up on some crazy Internet peep show.”

The driver pulled open the door and Ava, in her full-length black and purple gown, stepped out carefully. She lifted her chin, posed carefully, and gave a big smile to three very bored-looking photographers who'd probably been sent out by their very bored editors. “Please,” she called out as she dramatically threw up an arm, “no photos.” Which only served to capture their attention and make them rush forward to snap copious photos of Ava.

“You minx,” said Carmela. She gathered up the skirt of her strapless black gown as the two of them hurried up the steps and into the ornate hotel lobby.

Ava arched an eyebrow. “Ain't I just? But isn't this fun?”

“You know,” said Carmela. “It kind of is.”

*   *   *

The hotel's Millennium Ballroom was already crowded with men in tuxedos and women wearing hybrid costumes that combined ball gowns with masks, outlandish headgear, and other fun trinkets.

The band, the New Improved Headbangers, was dressed in bright orange jackets and black slacks and were already blasting the roof off the place. Their horn section was just capping off a rousing version of “Down to New
Orleans,” then the whole band jumped in to play “Apache Rose Peacock.” Gilded pumpkins, silvered cobwebs, and tree branches hung with fluttering ghosts lent an air of Halloween elegance as guest swirled on the dance floor.

“The bar,” said Ava, glancing around. “I'm supposed to meet Charlie at the bar.”

“Let's do it,” said Carmela. “I think we could both benefit from a cool, refreshing drink.”

They threaded their way through the revelers, dodging a man in a black sequined dinner jacket and a woman in a gold ball gown with a boa of brown, furry rats strung around her neck.

“Lots of cool costumes,” said Ava as they bellied up to a bar that was swathed in orange and gold.

“Take a look at that bondage couple dancing over there,” said Carmela.

“Mmn, studded leather, chains, and a little skin peeping out. Be still my heart.”

“Ava!” said Carmela.

“Just looking,” she said primly.

They ordered Witches' Cauldron cocktails, which were basically a lethal concoction of rum and fruit juices.

Ava took a sip from her giant goblet. “Tasty.”

Carmela took a sip and made a face. “Strong.”

“Too strong?”

“I can live with it.”

“Look,” said Ava. “There's Baby and Del over there.”

“And Tandy and Darwin.”

“Cher,”
said Ava. “Who's that guy staring at you?”

Carmela frowned as she glanced around. “What guy?” Was Babcock hanging back somewhere, watching her, and doing his undercover cop impression?

“That guy over there in the weird green slacks and shiny black jacket.”

Carmela's eyes continued to search the crowd. She saw a lady in an ermine cape, a man in a black velvet tux, a woman in a medieval-looking gown, and . . .

“Boyd Bellamy,” Carmela murmured.

“Who?” said Ava.

Bellamy gave a knee-jerk reaction when Carmela spotted him, and quickly turned away. Started jabbering, in fact, to a woman in a poufy red dress.

“Boyd Bellamy, my landlord,” Carmela explained. “You remember . . . the guy who drop-kicked Mavis out of her space so he could lease it to the countess. The one who insulted us at the buffet table last night.”

“Oh,
that
jerk. So why do you think he was watching you?”

Carmela shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe he wants to kick me out of my space, too. He came tromping into Memory Mine a couple of days ago chortling about how he'd love to relocate me.”

“Don't do it.”

“I have no intention of moving. I've got an ironclad lease, or so my attorney insists.”

“Good girl,” said Ava. “Smart girl.”

“Ava. Oh, Ava.” Charlie Preston was creeping toward them, grinning like a lovesick puppy. He was dressed in a T-shirt and tux, and wore a blue baseball cap that bore a yellow
CSI
logo.

Ava took one look at him and snatched the cap from his head. “Take that silly thing off.”

“What?” said Charlie, looking a little hurt. “You don't like it?”

“Nope.” Ava snuggled up next to him and rubbed a bare shoulder against his chest. “But I'm glad
you
showed up.”

Charlie suddenly looked like he'd died and gone to heaven. “I thought about you all day long.”

“Just the day?” teased Ava. Which made Charlie blush even more furiously.

“I don't suppose you know the whereabouts of Detective Babcock, do you?” Carmela asked.

“Oh, he's here,” said Charlie. “Somewhere.”

Carmela cast her eyes into the crowd again. When she still didn't see Babcock anywhere, she took a step closer to Charlie. “Charlie, sweetie, do you know if there's anything new in the Marcus Joubert investigation?”

Charlie swallowed hard. “You know I'm not supposed to talk about ongoing cases.”

“But it's just us,” Ava cooed.

“We were
there
,” Carmela reminded him. “We're already part of the inner circle.” They weren't really, but, hey, it was a shot.