Gossamer Ghost (27 page)

“Carmela,” said Babcock, “you've been under a lot of pressure lately. You've taken your promise to Mavis—to investigate Joubert's death—way too seriously. I mean, your kindness is all very noble and good, but . . . don't you think you might have been
imagining
things?”

Carmela thought about his words for one full second. Then she nodded slowly. “You're probably right,” she said. “Maybe I imagined it.”

“But
cher
!” said Ava.

Carmela shook her head silently as Babcock hugged her again. “Good girl,” he said.

But Carmela knew she hadn't imagined that bullet. She knew it had been for real. Just as she knew the green alien's warning last night had been for real.

“Okay, crisis averted,” said Babcock. He held up a hand and gestured to a nearby uniformed officer. “Frankie, have you got two of those gift certificates?”

The officer hastened over with the certificates. “Yes, sir.”

“Here you go,” said Babcock. He smiled at them. “Everything okay now?”

Carmela nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

“Sweetheart,” said Babcock, “I worry about you.”

“That makes two of us,” said Ava.

Babcock hesitated, as if a fleeting thought had crossed his mind. A thought that perhaps Carmela hadn't imagined it? “You two are going to be okay?” he asked.

“We're just going to head home now,” said Carmela. “Get ready for the Ghost Train.”

“Have fun then,” said Babcock. He watched them go, waved, then turned and shook his head, a concerned look on his face.

“I believe you,” said Ava, as they headed for the car. “Even if Babcock doesn't.”

“Thank you,” said Carmela.

“But you changed your . . .”

“Story,” said Carmela. “Yeah, I did. To make things simpatico and to keep Babcock from flipping out.” She hesitated. “Still . . . why would someone
shoot
at me?” She wondered if it was connected to last night, to the green alien.

“Maybe for the same reason somebody ransacked my shop last night, broke all my bottles, and scribbled that warning?”

Carmela just shook her head. She was feeling disheartened. She hadn't figured anything out and had seemingly put the two of them in serious danger.

As they settled in the car together, Ava scrunched up her face. “If you ask me, you must be dang close to figuring out who Joubert's killer was! In fact, you have to be getting way too close for comfort.”

“Even if I'm close, I don't
know
I'm close.”

“It doesn't matter,” said Ava. “You have to look at this logically. If somebody
thinks
you're close to solving the murder, if they're worried you're going to break open the whole case, then their perception is really their reality. You see what I'm saying?”

Carmela shook her head. “No, I don't. In fact, now I'm more confused than ever.”

C
ARMELA
stood at her stove, stirring a pot of seafood bisque while Ava lounged at the dining room table, pawing through her makeup case. Boo and Poobah danced around the table, toenails clicking, tails wagging, as they grinned up at their beloved aunt Ava.

“This is so sweet of you. To cook actual food.”

“Hard to live on virtual food,” said Carmela as she lifted a spoon to her lips and tasted. “Mmn, we're ready. I think dinner is a go.”

“Hot diggity, want me to set out bowls?”

“Just clear your makeup case off the table.”

“Done.” Ava swept up her eyeliners and shadows, dropped the case on the floor, and immediately started punching buttons on her phone.

Carmela carried two bowls of bisque to the table and then plopped down blue-checked napkins and spoons. “We're informal tonight. I hope you don't mind.”

But Ava was hot and heavy into her Facebook page. “Dang, no new friend requests.”

“Which probably means you haven't been out and about much.”

“Every night this week,” protested Ava. “The problem is, the men I meet don't want to be just friends.”

“I could have told you that,” said Carmela.

Ava laughed. “Come on. You know what I mean.”

“You're big into social media, aren't you? Facebook and Twitter.”

“And I'm plugged into all those celebrity sites, too,” said Ava as she continued to scan her screen. “I love it all.” She frowned. “Unfortunately not much is happening right now.” She set her phone down and picked up her spoon.

“No?”

“What we need is a good celebrity death,” said Ava. “Nothing brings out the worst in people like a good celebrity death.”

*   *   *

“So how do you want to work this?” asked Ava. With dinner finished and dishes cleared, she was sipping a glass of wine as she emptied the entire contents of her train case onto the table. Besides bottles of foundation, pots of lip gloss, eye shadows, tweezers, blushers, and eye pencils, there were also firecrackers, baby doll contact lenses, and a vial of fake blood.

Carmela looked nervous. “You're positive we need this kind of heavy-duty makeup?”

Ava nodded. “We gotta look like
ghosts
, not all fresh and flowery like Cindy Crawford.”

“You're scaring me.”

Ava gave a wicked grin. “Good.”

“We should probably get dressed first,” said Carmela.

“Yeah, that way if we spill puke-green eye shadow on our dresses it'll blend right in.”

“I love your logic,” said Carmela as they both shucked out of their clothes and pulled on their ghost gowns.

“Yowza,” said Ava, as she preened in the full-length mirror. “I love it. You really worked wonders with this crazy '80s dress.”

“Ah, but there's more,” said Carmela. She pinned an overskirt to Ava's costume, one she'd fashioned from some old sheer curtains, then wrapped a sash around her waist. “And we've got our shrouds, too.”

“It just gets better and better,” said Ava as Carmela tied on her own overskirt and sash. “But now we do makeup.” She tapped a chair. “Sit down and let me make with the magic.”

Carmela sat stiffly as Ava applied a sticky makeup base and then fluffed on a heavy layer of white powder. Gray and green eye shadow was brushed above and below her eyes to give her a hollow, haunted look.

“Are we done yet?” Carmela asked. She was antsy, ready to go.

“Nope.” Ava outlined Carmela's lips with red lipstick and filled them in with purple lipstick.

“Now?”

“Not quite,” said Ava. She took a kohl pencil and heavied up Carmela's eyeliner on both the top and bottom rims, extending the edges into a modified cat eye. “How's that feel?” she asked.

“Weird. Sticky. But the important thing is how it looks.”

“Here,” said Ava. She handed Carmela a hand mirror. “Take a look.”

“Eek!” Carmela could hardly believe how awful she looked!

“You like it?”

“It's . . . uh . . . unusual, to say the least.”

“The white powder lends a nice ghostly look, don't you think?”

Carmela frowned. “I look like that French mime, Marcel Marceau. I feel like I should be pantomiming riding a bike or sewing my fingers together.”

“Enough with the kvetching,” Ava said as she daubed a touch of pink blusher under Carmela's eyes.

Carmela stared in the mirror again. “Now I look like I've either aged sixty years or been perpetually hung over for six months.”

“That's the whole idea. To get rid of that all-American peaches-and-cream glow you always seem to exude. And impart a nasty death-like pallor.”

“But nobody's going to recognize me.”

“That's a good thing,
cher
. Think how free you'll feel. You can throw off the bounds of normal constraints and just be a . . .”

“Free spirit,” Carmela laughed. She glanced down at Boo, who stared up at her with a worried expression. “What do you think, baby girl?”

In answer, Boo spun around, ran into Carmela's bedroom, and dove under the bed.

“She's a little afraid of you,” said Ava.

“You think?” said Carmela.

But Ava was busy applying her own makeup, doing the white-powder thing but using a lighter touch (or so Camela thought) on the purple and green eye shadow. She smiled at herself in the mirror. “You think I should black out a tooth?”

“Couldn't hurt,” said Carmela. She glanced at her watch. “Okay, go time. We gotta throw on our shrouds and head for Audubon Park.”

Ava popped up. “Do mine?”

Carmela draped Ava's shroud around her shoulders, pulled it up in back until it formed a sort of collar, then wrapped it around her a second time.

“Now you got me wrapped up like a hard shell taco.”

“Sounds about right.”

They exchanged stares for a long moment and then broke into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

“We look totally weird,” said Ava.

“Which is why Jekyl is gonna love us,” said Carmela. “Come on, let's go.”

“Hang on a minute.” Ava pawed around on the table, then grabbed her purple lipstick and vial of fake blood. She slipped them into her tiny silver shoulder bag.

“Is that for luck?” asked Carmela. “Or in case we need a touch-up?”

Ava winked as they hustled out the door. “You never know.”

*   *   *

Audubon Park was thronged with people as they pulled into the parking lot.

“Good thing we got here early,” said Carmela.

“What a crowd,” said Ava.

Almost a hundred people milled around the grassy park, waiting to climb on the Ghost Train. All wore costumes, most were guzzling drinks.

“Look at that,” said Carmela, pointing to an elaborate setup of coolers and lights. “They've even got a portable bar set up.”

“And velvet ropes just like Studio 54,” said Ava.

Then, as they pushed their way through the crowd, they caught sight of the train. Seven vintage Pullman cars had been strung together behind a magnificent-looking steam-powered locomotive. The whole thing looked glamorous, extravagant, and extremely fun.

“There's Jekyl,” said Carmela. “Over by the ticket booth.”

So of course they hustled over to greet him.

“Ladies,” said Jekyl when he caught sight of them. “Welcome to the Ghost Train.” Jekyl was all tricked out in a fabulous vampire costume. His black cape was lined with purple velvet, he wore fake fangs, and his slicked-back hair was pulled into a low ponytail.

“You look very Transylvanian!” Ava gushed.

“And you're right off a ghostly runway,” said Jekyl. “Let me take a gander at those fabulous gowns.”

Carmela and Ava both struck a pose.

“Delightful,” said Jekyl. He touched Ava's arm. “Do a twirl, darlin'. So I can get the full effect.”

Giggling like crazy, Ava happily obliged.

“Really fantastic,” said Jekyl. “You'll both fit right in.”

“We were wondering about that,” said Carmela. “How exactly
do
we fit in?”

“Come on aboard and we'll talk about that,” said Jekyl.

The three of them climbed aboard the train.

“This is amazing,” Ava marveled as she gazed at the interior of the antique car. “I feel like I just took a giant step back into the 1890s.”

“It's very glamorous,” agreed Carmela. The restored passenger car had plush plum-colored seats, mahogany woodwork, and smoked mirrors. Besides the cobwebs and sparkly ghost decor, the car was lit with a soft pinkish glow from old-fashioned frosted lamps.

“I created seven themed cars in all,” Jekyl explained. “All highly atmospheric.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “There's
Murder on the Orient Express
, a ghost car, undertaker's coach, jazz car, two haunted club cars, and my Sherlock Holmes car.”

“And this is the ghost car?” Carmela asked.

Jekyl beamed. “That's right.”

“How many players will be working on your Ghost Train tonight?” Carmela asked.

Jekyl touched an index finger to his lips. “Let's see. There are about thirty of us, all told. Bartenders and waiters, plus musicians, actors, dancers, and jugglers. You know . . . performers. The kind of folks you see working the crowd in Jackson Square or at a Renaissance fair.”

“And then there's us,” said Ava. “Just floating around to lend a little ethereal loveliness.”

“Oh no,” said Jekyl, “you need to work up a slick little act, too.”

“What?” said Carmela, suddenly taken aback by Jekyl's words.

“Huh?” said Ava. “We have to
work
?” She said the word
work
like she was referring to manure.

Carmela just winced. She'd been under the impression that this gig would be a push. That they'd swan around, contribute to the overall atmosphere, and enjoy a few drinks. Now Jekyl was telling them they had to . . . gulp . . . work?

“You're telling us there's no free lunch?” Carmela said to Jekyl.

“How about free drinks?” asked Ava.

“Listen,” said Jekyl, suddenly looking serious. “Each and every one of our passengers shelled out one hundred dollars per ticket for the pleasure of this ghostly experience. So they're expecting over-the-top excitement.”

“Can't they just wander down to the bar car?” said Ava. “Wait a minute,
is
there a bar car?”

Jekyl chuckled. “Basically, this train is one enormous bar.” He nodded to a group of men who were just getting on. “You see those guys in the green jackets and orange fedoras?”

“They're the waiters?” said Carmela. “And bartenders?”

“Right,” said Jekyl, “They'll be serving Hurricanes, Bloody Marys, and champagne for the entire ride.”

“So we're not just dealing with passengers who are expecting a rip-roaring good time,” said Carmela, “we're talking about passengers who might be rip-roaring drunk.”

“And want to have a high old time,” finished Ava.

Jekyl shrugged. “What do you expect, my lovelies? It's Halloween in New Orleans.” He paused. “Any questions?”

Carmela sighed. “Did you find anything out about the necklace?”

“Not a thing,” said Jekyl as he turned to go. “And, Carmela, I really think you might be barking up the wrong tree.”

*   *   *

“Jeepers,” said Ava, looking a little lost. “What did we get ourselves into?”

“A lot more than we thought,” said Carmela. She was leaning over one of the seats, peering out the window. “Do you know who's about to get on this train?”

“No, who?”

“Titus Duval,” said Carmela.

“Uh-oh, that's one dude we better try to avoid,” said Ava.

But he wasn't the only one.

As soon as the conductor swung down from the steps and sang out, “All aboard!” a veritable who's who came pouring onto the train. The Countess Saint-Marche and her husband scrambled aboard, wearing his and hers goblin costumes.

“Carmela! Fancy seeing you here,” cried the countess. “And Ava, too!”

Carmela and Ava smiled weakly, then hastily squeezed down the aisle, edging past witches, Robin Hood, Spiderman, and two skeletons, finally taking refuge in one of the bar cars.

“Safe at last,” breathed Carmela.

“I'm not so sure,” said Ava. “You'll never guess who I saw as we squeezed through the jazz car.”

“Who?”

“Your buddy James Stanger.”

Carmela was about ready to throw up her hands. “This is just terrific. Every stupid suspect we thought might've had a hand in Marcus Joubert's murder is here tonight.”

Ava suddenly clutched Carmela's arm tightly. “It's a sign from above. It's like a
real
murder on the Orient Express!”

“Don't say that,” said Carmela. “Quick, knock on wood.”