by Laura Childs
Darnella shook back a head full of white wooden beads and said, “What on earth are wish tags?”
“They’re very popular right now,” Carmela explained. “You make them using small squares or rectangles of really fine paper stock. At the top of each wish tag is printed, My wish for you. Then, during your wedding reception, each guest fills out what they wish for the happy bride and groom. Your maid of honor collects them all, and when you return from your honeymoon, the wish tags are presented to you.”
“I love the idea,” Penny said. She’d been hanging on Carmela’s every word.
“Me, too,” Darnella said. She jumped from her chair and headed for the paper bins.
Carmela circled back to the main table where Tandy and Rae Anne were working away diligently. Tandy had assembled a collage of floral bouquets that Rae Anne was poring over.
“I think I’m more of a traditional bride than I thought I was,” Rae Anne said to Carmela. “I had all these ideas about carrying just a single flower instead of a big bouquet, or maybe even wearing a blush pink wedding gown, but when it comes right down to it, I think I still subscribe to the old adage of ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.’”
“There’s certainly nothing wrong with that,” Carmela told her. But as she moved around the table, that particular wedding ditty seemed to stick in her brain. Hmm. Had Isabelle been a traditional bride? she wondered. Was she going to wear “something old, something new”? And, if so, what would that have been?
As Carmela moved to the next table, she decided to ask Ellie tonight at the viewing.
“Wherever did you get the idea for concept boards?” asked one of the women. She held a glue stick in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other, and her concept board was already half finished.
“I make them all the time,” Carmela said. “They work just great for anything you’re trying to figure out. Holiday plans, a Halloween party, really almost any occasion. I even know one woman who created a concept board to help plan a business.”
“No!” the woman cried.
“You know Ink Drop, that cute earring kiosk over at Riverwalk?” Carmela asked.
This time all the ladies at the table nodded.
“My friend put together a concept board to help her figure out her kiosk design, her audience, her choices in merchandise, and her marketing tactics.”
“Carmela!”
Carmela glanced up. Gabby was calling to her, waving frantically at her from the front counter. “Excuse me.” She hurried up there.
“Do you know if we have any more of this silver gossamer ribbon?” Gabby asked. She held an empty cardboard spool in her hand.
“I guess it’s been popular?” Carmela asked.
“We’re out.”
“Let me look in the storeroom.”
Gabby’s mouth twisted into a grin. “We don’t have a storeroom.”
“Sure we do,” Carmela said. “It’s that box of junk that’s sitting on top of my filing cabinet.”
“Then you’d better say a prayer to St. Jude, patron saint of lost causes,” Gabby remarked. “Because once it’s been tossed in there it’s gone for . . . Oh my!”
The very flamboyant Countess Saint-Marche knocked on the front display window, disappeared for a few seconds, and then suddenly rushed through their front door. Gold jewelry jangling, rings sparkling from every finger, the countess was resplendent in a hot pink tweed jacket and matching skirt. And wouldn’t you know it, she was wearing hot pink stilettos to match.
Could this be classified as a legitimate hot pink mess? Carmela wondered. Then, adopting a friendly smile, she greeted the woman with, “Fancy seeing you here.” Because fancy was certainly what the countess was, the only one who could outdo Ava when it came to high drama.
“Carmela, darling,” said the countess. “I’ve just acquired the most fascinating ring and I thought of you instantly.” The countess owned Lucrezia, a high-end jewelry store located right next door to Memory Mine. She specialized in vintage jewelry, though Carmela harbored a secret suspicion that the woman might also be a receiver of stolen goods.
“Let’s see it!” Gabby exclaimed. She never could resist an eye-catching bauble.
The countess extended her right hand and fluttered her fingers, letting the ring catch the light. “It’s expensive, but oh so worth it.”
“Spectacular,” Carmela said. The ring was a ginormous sapphire set in an intricately braided gold band. “The design looks very medieval.”
“From Vincenza,” the countess proclaimed. She never just talked; every word was a grand proclamation. Alert the drummers, cue the bagpipers. Then she glanced about the shop and, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, said, “And what do we have going on here?”
When Gabby quickly explained about the wedding workshop, the countess was over-the-top delighted.
“Brides-to-be!” she exclaimed. “And might they still be in the market for a ring?”
“You never know,” Carmela said, knowing full well what was coming next.
The countess dipped a hand into her Gucci handbag and pulled out a stack of business cards. “Carmela, do you mind? We have so many exquisite rings on hand. Even a collection of old mine-cut diamonds from the late 1800s.”
“Go ahead,” Carmela said. “Go ahead and pass out your cards if you want.”
“Mon ange,” she purred. “Merci beaucoup.” Then she air kissed Carmela and disappeared into the fray, leaving behind only a faint trail of L’Air du Temps.
Chapter 11
“THAT’S what you’re wearing?” Carmela asked. She’d just opened her front door to find Ava lounging there, looking like a refugee from an old MTV video. She had on a pair of thigh-high boots, a red leather miniskirt, and a black off-the-shoulder T-shirt. Even Boo and Poobah seemed startled.
“What?” Ava asked. “This isn’t dressy enough?”
“Oh, it’s dressy,” Carmela said. “If you’re a backup dancer for MC Hammer.”
Ava pulled her face into a pucker. “You think my outfit’s too over-the-top?”
“Wait a minute,” Carmela said, taking a step back. “Let’s see. Leather skirt? Check. Spring-loaded bra? Check. Four-inch-high Lady Gaga boots? Check.” She cocked her head. “No, you’re just perfect, honey. I wouldn’t change a darned thing.”
“That’s what I thought,” Ava said as she sashayed past Carmela and headed for the dining room. She sank into a chair and said, “Really, Carmela, when are you going to have these seats re-caned? My tushy is practically touching the floor.”
Carmela just smiled. “It’s on my to-do list. Right up there with putting new shelf liners in all my kitchen cupboards, getting my tires rotated, and winning the lottery.”
“So . . . like, not?”
“Let’s just say that task is off somewhere in the distant and foggy future. Now, would you like some leftover Big Easy chicken or do you want to keep complaining?”
“Chicken?” Ava brightened. “And what else?”
“Mmn, I’ve got some sweet potato casserole here, too.”
“Sold,” Ava declared. “It sure beats eating leftover Halloween candy.” She moved to a seat that was a little less saggy and gave Boo and Poobah some much-requested pets.
“I thought so,” Carmela said. While the chicken and sweet potatoes heated, she put some French rolls into the oven to warm. Then, five minutes later, she put everything onto plates and put the plates on a tray. She added the basket full of crusty French rolls and carried everything to the table.
“There’s French bread, too?” Ava said.
“Petit pain,” Carmela said. “From the Merci Beaucoup Bakery.”
“My heart tells me to go for the French bread, but my skirt is like, ‘Hey, lady, you should munch a carrot stick instead.’”
“Want to do a master cleanse instead?
Enjoy a nasty little cocktail of maple syrup and cayenne pepper?”
“Ooh. Pass,” Ava said. “In fact, pass me that bread.”
“Besides, you’re thin as a rail.”
“You think? Well, I am a size six.” Ava sniggered. “Or maybe that’s my shoe size.”
Carmela suddenly jumped up from the table. “Forgot something.”
“There’s more?” Ava asked.
“Honey butter,” Carmela said, returning with a small dish.
“Be still my heart,” Ava said. “Now I’m gonna have to have two rolls. Just hopefully not around my waist.”
As Carmela dug into her chicken, she said, “Guess what turned up in my e-mail this afternoon?”
“I don’t know,” Ava said. “One of those crazy messages that promises there’s eighty million dollars waiting for you in a Liberian bank?”
“Noooo,” Carmela said. “Del sent me the script for Baby’s Murder Mystery Party.”
“Do I have a nice, juicy part? Maybe even the starring role?”
“I don’t know yet. I printed out two copies but haven’t had a chance to look at them.”
“A Murder Mystery Party,” Ava mused. “Who’d have thought we’d get involved in something like that?”
“Are you kidding?” Carmela said. “I feel like that’s all we ever do. And now, tonight, we’ve got Isabelle’s viewing. It feels very strange, very coincidental.”
“I think it’s totally fitting that we’re going to a funeral home tonight,” Ava said. “Since I’m in mourning over my recent breakup.”
“Who’d you break up with now?” Carmela could barely keep track of all Ava’s dates, boyfriends, and paramours.
“Teddy Binger and I have parted ways. Sob.”
“What went wrong?” Carmela asked. “The poor guy didn’t have enough Roman numerals after his name?” Ava did enjoy her romps with trust fund babies.
“No, no, we just weren’t all that compatible.”
“Remind me. How long had you two been seeing each other?”
Ava lifted her shoulders and stretched languidly. “Um . . . five days.”
Carmela smiled. “And they said it wouldn’t last.”
* * *
Bothell Brothers Funeral Home didn’t look all that different tonight than it had last night. Except there were a lot more cars parked out front.
“Looks like there’s a real crowd,” Ava said as they climbed the front steps.
“That would be nice,” Carmela said. “Comforting for Ellie, anyway.”
“Especially since it was just the two of them.”
Inside the front door, gloom pervaded and the same creepy music emanated from the speakers.
“Isn’t that the theme song from A Nightmare on Elm Street?” Ava asked.
“Shhh,” Carmela said. “Just be polite and sign the guest book.”
“You think people really save these stupid books so they can page through them later and look at all the signatures?” Ava looked puzzled. “Or do you have to write thank-you cards to people who showed up?” She looked around and her eyes landed on a young, three-piece-suit-wearing funeral director. “Now he’s better looking than that stiff who showed us caskets last night. And he’s more in my age range, too.”
Noticing Ava noticing him, the funeral director approached them with a polite, contained smile. “May I help you, ladies?” he asked.
Ava’s eyelashes began batting at a hundred beats per minute. “We’re here for the Isabelle Black visitation,” she said.
He stuck out an arm. “I’d be pleased to escort you.”
Ava dimpled. “And you are . . . ?”
“Billy Bothell.”
“Oh, Carmela, dear,” Ava said. “This handsome young gentleman has offered to escort us to visit poor Isabelle. Isn’t that kind of him?”
Linking arms with Ava, Billy Bothell led the way to Slumber Room Two.
“And you’ll be around?” Ava asked as her eyelashes continued to flutter like windshield wipers. “In case we need you?”
“Count on it,” Billy Bothell told her.
“Come on,” Carmela said, plucking at Ava’s sleeve. “Get over yourself and let’s get this done, okay?”
“I know, I know,” Ava said. “But I’m nervous. You know me. I’m no good when it comes to looking at dead people. I mean, I can barely watch Weekend at Bernie’s without getting creeped out.”
“Just follow me and you’ll do fine.”
They edged through the crowd and headed for the casket. Halfway there, they caught a quick peek of Isabelle lying in her casket.
“Oh no!” Ava said, horrified. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
Carmela never considered herself squeamish. But what she saw gave her a true case of the willies. Isabelle was lying in her casket outfitted in her long white wedding dress!
They were both struck silent for a moment. Then Ava said, “I hate to say this, but she kind of reminds me of Evita Peron.”
“Was she buried in her wedding gown?” Carmela asked.
“I know it was some kind of long, flowy gown. I think I saw pictures of her in an old Life magazine.”
They took two steps closer. Pillar candles flickered, and a sweep of white lilies surrounded the casket.
“It is a pretty dress,” Ava said. “I particularly like that sweetheart neckline. It’s very . . . demure.”
“And seed pearls,” Carmela gulped. She wondered if the undertaker had slit the dress up the back, like all those horrible funeral suits you hear about. “Who doesn’t love seed pearls?”
Ellie suddenly caught sight of them and rushed over, a look of relief sweeping across her face. “Thank goodness, you’re here. Now I at least know someone.”
“Of course you do, honey,” Ava said, putting an arm around her.
“Most of the people here are friends of Edward and Vesper Baudette,” Ellie said. “Or Isabelle’s friends from work.” A tear trickled down her cheek as she turned to look at the coffin. “Isn’t it awful? I cringe every time I look at my own sister. It’s bad enough to see her like this, but to have her wearing her wedding gown . . .” Ellie shuddered.
“Why on earth . . . ?” Carmela began.
“It was Edward’s wish,” Ellie said. “He wanted to see his bride in her wedding gown.”
“I guess that’s kinda sweet after all,” Ava said.
“You’ve been a saint,” Carmela told Ellie. “Putting up with so much from these people.”
“And you’ve been a good friend,” Ellie said. She moved a step closer to Carmela. “Are you still, you know, looking into things?”
“Yes, I am,” Carmela said. “I’ve talked to quite a few people about this.”
“Anything yet?” The look on Ellie’s face was pleading.
“No, but I know something will turn up,” Carmela said. She glanced at Edward and Vesper, who were sitting off to the side of the coffin. “I suppose we should go over and pay our respects.”
“Be careful,” Ellie warned. “Vesper’s in a horrible mood.”
They stood in front of Isabelle’s coffin for the requisite ten seconds. Ava made the sign of the cross while Carmela bowed her head. Then they stepped over to talk to Edward and Vesper.
“Edward,” Carmela said, extending a hand. “My heartfelt sympathies.”
“Thank you, thank you so much,” Edward said. He was duded up in a sleek-looking black suit, but looked a little dazed, as if he might have leveled himself out on Xanax. In fact, Carmela wasn’t even sure that Edward remembered her from last night.
Whatever. She moved on to Vesper.
“My sympathies,” Carmela murmured.
Vesper stared at her through bleary eyes. “Yesh, thankth for coming,” she said. “Sush a tragedy, hmm?”
Uh-oh, Car
mela thought. Vesper wasn’t goggle-eyed from crying. Vesper Baudette had clearly been nipping at a bottle before she came here. Or, heck, maybe the woman had a flask tucked in her panty girdle?
Carmela and Ava ducked behind a bank of white gladiolas interspersed with pink carnations.
“Has she been drinking?” Carmela asked Ava. She was steamed. For Vesper to be three sheets to the wind was just plain disrespectful. “I mean, who turns up at a wake half drunk?”
“You would if it was a good old-fashioned Irish wake,” Ava said.
They both craned their necks to stare at Vesper. Now the woman just seemed bored. She fidgeted in her chair, then opened her clutch purse, pulled out a mirror, and proceeded to study her eyebrows.
“She’s a crazy lady,” Carmela said. “I get the feeling she doesn’t much care about Isabelle. And that she’s bored stiff being here.”
“Huh,” Ava said. “You think her shoes match her broom?”
“Doggone it, now I really feel bad for Ellie.”
“Me, too. In fact, I . . . Say, who’s the good lookin’ guy over there who’s talking to Ellie?”
Carmela glanced around and saw Bobby Prejean standing close to Ellie. He was murmuring something to her, and his hand rested gently on her shoulder. From the look on Ellie’s face, his words seemed to be offering enormous comfort.
Carmela’s heart warmed to this. Here was a guy, a politico, at that, with a very busy schedule. Yet he had offered both investigative help and had taken the time to come to the visitation. The world would be better off with a few more guys like Bobby Prejean. She glanced around the room. Now she was beginning to recognize a few more people. There was Naomi Rattler, the former maid of honor, and Julian Drake, the former best man. She noted that as Bobby Prejean bid good-bye to Ellie, Drake immediately rushed to Ellie’s side to offer his own words of comfort. This was the first time she’d seen Drake since he was pulled sweating and struggling into her presence at the cemetery, and now she was starting to form a new opinion of him.
“Let’s go talk to Julian Drake,” Carmela said to Ava. “I haven’t seen him since . . . well, you know.”
“Okay.”
Ellie was nodding at Drake, even managing a faint smile, when Carmela and Ava joined them.