by Laura Childs
“Bobby Prejean isn’t trying to shut you down?”
This time Drake gave a derisive snort. “Are you serious? The D.A.? I sincerely hope not, since the governor is slated to be here tonight. And, hopefully, the mayor will show up fairly soon.” He frowned again and glanced around. “Something must have kept him.”
Suddenly, Carmela’s cell phone rang. She jerked it out of her purse and put it to her ear as Drake said, “You have to tell me where all these rumors are coming from.”
“Carmela?” It was Babcock calling.
“What?” she said as she turned away from Drake, the better to hear.
“Listen to me, Carmela. You and Ava need to leave that party immediately.” When she didn’t respond—she was almost too shocked to respond—he said, “Promise me you’ll get out right now. In fact, I’ll send a patrol car to pick you up. Get into it and don’t ask any questions.”
Everything came together for Carmela like a tsunami wave gathering its strength from the ocean’s floor and then curling up toward the sky. Babcock would only order her to leave if she was in grave danger. Which meant he must have just learned something in his meeting with the mayor and the chief of police.
“Is this about Bobby Prejean?” she asked.
“Good Lord, Carmela, how did you know? Are you psychic? Never mind, don’t answer that. If you see Prejean, just stay as far away from him as possible. In about five seconds he’s going to be under federal indictment for racketeering, bribery, and extortion.”
“What?” Carmela was stunned.
“Your friend Isabelle? Turns out she’d been secretly compiling evidence against Prejean.”
“Oh no,” Carmela groaned. “Prejean must have found out about it. That’s why he killed her!” Now she knew why Prejean had been pointing his finger at Julian Drake. To throw everyone off the track. She gulped and said to Babcock, “And I just found out about the lace!”
“Lace?” Babcock said. “The lace? Carmela, I want you to listen carefully . . .”
But Carmela didn’t need to hear any more. She dropped her phone into her bag and dashed through the crowd, frantic with fear. She was on the lookout for Bobby Prejean now. And Ava. Because, dear Lord, the last time she’d seen him, Ava had been with him.
Carmela bumped and dodged her way through the crowd. Drinks spilled, waiters glared, people muttered after her, but still she doggedly went on. Angling toward the dance floor where the orchestra was playing Lionel Richie’s “All Night Long.”
Stopping abruptly, Carmela caught her breath and looked around. Couples floated by as if in a dream. But for Carmela it was the worst kind of torment.
Then, she spotted Prejean across the room, holding on to Ava. His head was bent toward her and he was smiling, as if he was hanging on her every word. His arm circled her waist possessively.
Carmela ground her teeth together and sliced through the melee of dancers like a great white shark on the hunt. Twenty-five feet, twenty feet, she was closing in.
When Carmela figured she could be heard above the music, she shouted, “Ava, get away from him! Run!”
Ava heard Carmela’s shout and cocked her head to one side, as if to ask, “What’s wrong?”
And then Prejean saw Carmela steamrolling toward him, eyes blazing, her entire body quivering with rage.
Prejean and Carmela locked eyes for an instant, and Prejean’s expression clouded. He suddenly knew he was in trouble. Realized that he’d somehow been found out.
“Ava,” Carmela cried again. “Get away from him.”
Flustered now, Ava took a step back from Prejean. But it wasn’t far enough. Like the snap of an alligator’s jaws, he reached out and pinched Ava’s arm. Then he grabbed her and spun her around so hard that one of her gold earrings flew off and hit the floor.
Dragging a protesting Ava, Prejean propelled her toward the narrow back entrance of the tent. Ten seconds later they disappeared through the slit and were swallowed up by the night.
Poof, they were gone!
Chapter 31
PUSHING aside the canvas, Carmela left the glittering party lights behind and slipped into the night shadows. She was mere seconds behind them. And yet, Ava and Prejean seemed to have completely disappeared.
Where are they? Where could they have gone?
Carmela peered into the inky darkness, trying to get her bearings. But all she could see were the ruins of the abandoned theme park. The ravaged roller coaster had a gaping hole where support beams had once stood. A Tilt-A-Whirl had tilted off its axis.
Listening carefully, trying to alert herself to any telltale sound, Carmela thought she heard a little squeak.
Was that Ava being dragged through the ruins by Prejean?
“Ava, is that you?” Carmela called out.
But there was no response save the wind whipping the tattered canvas of a carnival booth and the ripple of faint laughter from the party behind her.
Carmela made a split-second decision and dashed across the gravel into the abandoned theme park.
She knew they had to be in there. It was the only possible place Prejean could have taken Ava. Not only was it dark and spooky, but it offered a million twisty little hideouts.
Carmela shuddered as she walked past a dilapidated kettle corn stand. This run-down amusement part was anything but amusing. Once the grounds had been jam-packed with folks out for a good time, enjoying a heart-stopping ride on the giant Ferris wheel. Now it was a pile of trash with a murderer hiding in its midst.
And the murderer has Ava.
Carmela ducked around a web of thick black cables that dangled precariously from a metal stanchion. More cables were lying in fetid rain puddles. Carmela gave them a wide berth—who knew if any of the wires were still live.
Pieces of track from broken rides littered the ground. Bumper cars were scattered about the landscape as if Godzilla had grabbed them and tossed them like Tinkertoys.
Carmela stumbled on, past another ride and what was left of a carnival ringtoss game, half of the wooden pop bottles rotted away. Just past that concession her right foot sank into a sticky pit of mud and trash.
She fought to pull herself free and ended up slipping and sliding. Then she lost her balance and, arms flailing, went crashing down. She landed with one knee half in a puddle, the other on the cracked blacktop.
Shaken by her fall, scuffed and hurting now, her anger flared even hotter. Hobbling along on mud-slicked shoes, Carmela yelled out to Prejean, “Let her go, Bobby. It’s all over. You’re under federal indictment.” She hesitated. “And we know you killed Isabelle.”
Her voice echoed hollowly in the vast, deserted amusement park. There was no answer.
“Prejean,” Carmela called again. “The police are on their way.”
Prejean’s voice finally floated out to her. “Go away.”
“I will go away. I just need to take Ava with me.”
“That’s not going to happen. She’s my ticket out of here.”
“A hostage situation isn’t going to help you,” Carmela called back. Maybe if she tried reasoning with him?
But Ava was completely hysterical. “Help,” she screamed. “Carmela, get me out of here!”
But where are you?
Carmela could hear Ava struggling. It sounded like she was slapping at Prejean, struggling mightily to escape from his grasp.
They must be about fifty feet away, Carmela figured. On the other side of a forlorn merry-go-round, its brass poles stolen and most of its wooden animals destroyed.
“Ava,” Carmela called out.
“Carmela!” came Ava’s scream.
Prejean snarled at Ava. “Shut up. Or I’ll snap your arm like a twig.”
Carmela crept forward slowly. At the same time, luck was with her and a puff of clouds parted. A brief sliver of moonlight shone down, il
luminating their faces. There was a sound of scuffed gravel.
Prejean was dragging Ava into the abandoned fun house!
Carmela glanced up and saw two ugly orange clowns grinning down at her. And suddenly remembered the Ouija board spelling out C-L-O-W.
Was that word supposed to have been clown? Had some prognosticating spirit actually been tossing her a clue?
Carmela shivered and glanced around. There was no help in sight. Nothing. Just an abandoned shooting gallery.
Shooting gallery.
That gave Carmela a lightning bolt of an idea. She quickly dug in Ava’s clutch purse, hoping it was still there. It was! She almost grinned to herself as she pulled out Ava’s paintball gun. It was time to level the playing field.
Gripping the gun, Carmela dashed into the fun house. There was an enormous cutout of a clown directly in front of her. To enter, she had to dive through the clown’s gaping mouth, braving a dirty, shredded curtain.
Carmela took a deep breath and jumped through, batting away the stinking curtain and thick strands of spiderwebs. She was in a long, dark hallway now, creeping along. She could hear faint sounds of Ava and Prejean somewhere ahead of her. Ava whimpering, Prejean barking at her.
Sneaking along, Carmela hugged the rough wall until her right hip bumped hard against the edge of a frame.
A mirror? It was a mirror, one that was stained and discolored and cracked. She eased her way past it, the fun house mirror making her appear three feet tall and five feet wide. The next mirror made her look nine feet tall and one foot wide.
Carmela was beginning to feel like Alice in Wonderland—that she’d tumbled down the rabbit hole. This place was awful and strangely disconcerting. Tiptoeing along, she went from the mirror room into a room where the floor canted at a steep angle. Hanging on to tables and chairs that were bolted to the sloping floor, Carmela picked her way through, her head spinning from this strange encounter.
Emerging into a narrow hallway, Carmela crawled into the lower half of an enormous wooden barrel-of-fun. The barrel no longer rotated, thank goodness, and the roof above it had caved in. The hole allowed just enough moonlight to seep in for Carmela to catch sight of Prejean dragging Ava into the next room.
“Stop right there, Bobby Prejean!” Carmela screamed in her most commanding voice. “Don’t take another step!”
Prejean’s disdainful laugh came back to her. “Or what?”
Carmela gripped her gun harder and stepped out of the barrel where she could be seen. “Or I’ll shoot.” She raised the gun to shoulder level and aimed it directly at him.
“You don’t have the guts to . . .”
Carmela pulled the trigger. The gun kicked like a mule in her hand and then, a millisecond later, she heard the sound of a loud splat.
“Oh my God, I’ve been hit!” Prejean screamed. “I’m really hit!” As Prejean stumbled backward, Ava wrenched herself out of his grasp and scurried toward Carmela.
Prejean, stunned beyond belief that he’d been shot, touched the center of his chest where the paintball had whacked him hard and exploded. His eyes goggled as his hands came away smeared with red and his jaw worked furiously.
“Help me,” Prejean cried out in a piteous voice. “Don’t let me bleed to death.” He sank to his knees and croaked out, “I am bleeding to death.”
Ignoring Prejean completely, Carmela grabbed Ava and pulled her along. “Come on,” she urged. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Prejean stretched an arm out, begging for help, but they never looked back. They scampered back through the barrel, back through the tilted room, past the mirrors, and finally came shooting out the clown’s mouth.
As they greedily gulped fresh air, the night exploded with red and blue flashing lights.
“What?” Ava cried.
A siren rose and fell like one of Prejean’s screams.
“I think Babcock just arrived,” Carmela said. She was flooded with relief. “And it looks as though he brought the cavalry.”
Two uniformed officers jumped from the nearest squad car, guns drawn.
“Where is he?” one officer demanded.
“Fun house,” Carmela said. “Inside. Just follow the wailing.”
“Are you ladies okay?” the second officer asked.
Before Carmela could answer, she heard a familiar, calming voice.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
And then Babcock was pulling Carmela close to him, letting her bury her head in his chest while he reached out to put an arm around Ava’s shoulder.
“You two okay?” Babcock asked. “You’re not injured? You don’t need an ambulance? Carmela? Ava?”
“We’re okay,” Carmela said. But her knees wobbled and she felt like she was on the verge of collapse.
“Is your arm okay, Ava?” Babcock asked. She’d been rubbing it where Prejean had pinched her.
“I’m okay,” Ava said. “But Prejean . . . I think he’s in a bad way.”
Carmela glanced back at the fun house where more cops were pouring in. “Good,” she said.
Chapter 32
POLICE officers swarmed the old amusement park like mosquitoes hovering over the bayou after a heavy rain. Some wore SWAT uniforms complete with helmets, but most were in crisp blue uniforms. A welcome sight, indeed.
Carmela watched two burly officers drag Bobby Prejean, hands cuffed behind his back, out of the fun house. He was fake-bloody and filthy and struggled like crazy as he let fly an angry barrage of curses and insults.
“You’re making a grievous mistake,” Prejean screamed to anyone who would listen. “I’m warning you. My office will have your badges for this.” His voice rose into a shrill screech. “Do you know who I am?”
“You’re a nasty jerk,” Ava scoffed.
“No, he’s a killer,” Carmela said quietly.
When Prejean caught sight of Carmela and Ava, he doubled up on the drama.
“You two,” Prejean screamed. “I’m coming after the two of you first.”
Carmela hefted the paintball gun up in front of her so he could see it. Offered him a thin, chilly smile.
Babcock stepped in front of the two women. “Enough,” he shouted at Prejean. “You’re going straight to jail.”
“Do you have enough to hold him?” Ava asked.
“Can you pin Isabelle’s murder on him?” Carmela wanted to know.
“Here’s how it shakes out,” Babcock said. “And you’re hearing this for the first time, just like I did a half hour ago.”
“Okay,” Carmela said.
“Apparently, for the last six months or so there’d been an undercurrent of rumors about Bobby Prejean,” Babcock said. “That he was operating fat and sassy in his own private fiefdom. Spreading a few bucks around, lining his pockets, profiteering wherever he could. But he was slick and nothing ever stuck. The man was like Teflon.”
“Wow,” Ava said, engrossed in the tale.
“Anyway,” Babcock said, “this was all very hush-hush. Only a handful of people in the mayor’s office had their suspicions about him. But two months ago they caught a break. A brave, young assistant D.A. stepped forward.”
“Isabelle,” Carmela said.
Babcock bobbed his head. “Isabelle volunteered to be the whistle-blower, the insider who would try to provide the mayor with the ammunition he needed to come after Prejean. If she could uncover solid links between Bobby Prejean and several high-level drug dealers, and could expose a couple million worth of bribes to city officials, then they would have him.”
“But Prejean found out about Isabelle’s clandestine snooping,” Ava said.
“It was suspected that Prejean found out,” Babcock said. “But there was no proof. So the mayor still couldn’t go after him.”
“But how did you guys find the proof that was needed
to expose Prejean?” Carmela asked.
“Isabelle’s cell phone,” Babcock said. “One of the techs called just as our meeting was breaking up. She’d stashed a bunch of her notes on her cell phone. Enough to incriminate Prejean and probably even send him to prison for good.” He smiled at Carmela. “And, strangely, at almost the exact same time, Carmela got the poop on Prejean the old-fashioned way. By snooping.”
“When I found out about the lace,” Carmela said, “and the parchment invitation . . . I knew we had him.”
“Parchment and old lace,” Babcock said. “Amazing.”
* * *
Of course, KBEZ-TV rushed out to catch the excitement. Zoe with her microphone and battery pack, Raleigh with his camera. Lights flared brightly and Babcock gave a quick statement, made all the more dramatic by his standing in front of the crumbling fun house. Then Raleigh managed to press his camera lens up against the back window of the squad car where Prejean was being held.
Thanks to a quiet word from Babcock, the two officers in the car took their own sweet time in pulling away.
“Think he’ll get a fair trial?” Ava asked as they watched the taillights slowly disappear.
“Who cares,” Carmela said. “Prejean robbed the city, murdered Isabelle, and faked his own car accident. It’s over.”
“Not quite,” Babcock said to Carmela.
“What?” she asked.
He reached for the paintball gun she held in her hand. “Time to give it up, 007.”
Carmela grinned as she relinquished the gun. “So I don’t have a license to kill?”
Babcock bent down and kissed her. “Just a license to thrill.”
Ava cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but we do have one more thing to take care of.”
* * *
Ellie opened the door to her apartment slowly and gazed at them wide-eyed, a great big question on her face. “What happened?”
“It’s over,” Ava said. “Carmela apprehended Isabelle’s killer.”
“The police apprehended the killer,” Babcock corrected.