Photo Finished

by Laura Childs

  “It is true,” said Tandy. “Now there’s a warrant out for Billy’s arrest!”

  Carmela grimaced. Tell Tandy? Not tell her? She held her thumb to her lips, nibbled nervously at a fingernail.

  “Tandy…,” began Carmela, “someone came…” She hesitated. “That is… I saw Billy last night.” This last part came out in a rush. There, thought Carmela. I finally spit it out. For what it’s worth.

  Carmela’s words had a profound effect on Tandy. Her eyes went wide as saucers, a tiny hand flew to her birdlike chest. “You what?” Tandy was truly shocked. Dumbfounded, in fact.

  “Billy knocked on my back door last night,” explained Carmela.

  Now Tandy put a hand to her mouth. “You actually talked to him? Really and truly?”

  “Honey,” said Carmela, “I wouldn’t characterize it as a heart-to-heart talk, but, yes, we spoke. Truth be known, it was a fairly one-sided conversation. I asked Billy a few probing questions, Billy shifted from one foot to the other, pretty much unwilling to answer any of them.”

  “But he’s okay,” said Tandy. Her eyes gleamed; a healthy color had suddenly returned to her face.

  “Physically, Billy seemed fine,” said Carmela. “But something has definitely got him running scared. And I get the feeling it’s not necessarily the police.”

  “Oh my lord!” exclaimed Tandy. “I’ve got to call Donny and Lenore immediately.”

  “No!” protested Carmela, knowing this could turn into a major problem for her.

  Tandy stared at Carmela. “Why in heaven’s name not?” she asked. “Billy’s their only son, they’re worried sick about him. And they want him to come home!”

  “Listen,” said Carmela, “I got the distinct feeling Billy’s not about to saunter into Donny and Lenore’s house, hang up his baseball cap, and sit down to a nice dish of jambalaya. Billy’s definitely on the run and I’m pretty sure he’s going to stay on the run.”

  “Dear God,” said Tandy in a small, tight voice. “You mean… Billy’s never coming home?”

  “Probably not until Bartholomew Hayward’s murder is solved anyway,” said Carmela. “Until this whole thing gets sorted out.”

  “But the police aren’t doing anything,” wailed Tandy.

  “They do seem incredibly myopic,” admitted Carmela. She was miffed that Lieutenant Babcock still hadn’t gotten back to her about the list she’d given him.

  “Then it’s up to us,” declared Byrle in her typical gung ho style. But as she delivered her words, she stared pointedly at Carmela.

  “Darned right, it’s up to us,” said Tandy, struggling to get a rein on her emotions. She, too, was staring directly at Carmela.

  Why do I get the feeling that ‘us’ suddenly means me? wondered Carmela. When did I get appointed Sherlock Holmes? But even as the words free-floated through her brain, she knew the answer. Because Barty Hayward was killed in back of my store. Because he was probably staggering toward my back door for help.

  “Listen,” said Carmela finally, “I’m not making any promises, but there are a couple things I could look into. Okay?”

  Both women exhaled in unison as they leaned forward expectantly.

  “Okay,” whispered Tandy.

  “But you’ve got to keep quiet,” warned Carmela.

  Byrle made a zipping motion across her mouth.

  “Mum’s the word,” promised Tandy.

  “And you have to promise you won’t breathe a word of this to Donny and Lenore,” said Carmela, directing a firm gaze at Tandy.

  “I won’t,” said Tandy.

  “Because the last thing I want is a bunch of police swarming around here asking questions,” said Carmela. Would they, really? Oh yeah, they would. And then I’d really be in a pickle. Aiding and abetting a felon and/or fugitive. Withholding evidence. Yipes.

  Tandy’s eyes shone brightly. “I knew we could count on you, Carmela.”

  “What did I tell you?” said Byrle. “Carmela’s got more sleuthing ability in her little finger than all of us put together.”

  “Shhhh,” warned Carmela. Three customers had just entered her store and were clustered around a display of foil papers up front. Even though Gabby had rushed to help them, you never knew what might be overheard and passed on.

  “We’ll make like church mice,” said Tandy, suddenly happy.

  “We’ll work on our scrapbooks,” said Byrle as she plunked her craft bag on top of the table and began pulling out a jumble of photos, albums, and scissors.

  “Okay,” said Carmela. “I’m going to see if Gabby needs any help.” She hesitated, waggled a finger at Boo. “And you, my dear girl, had better remain back here for the time being.” Boo, who was lying at Tandy’s feet, gazed up at Carmela solemnly as if to say, Pardon me, but I am too well mannered a canine to be receiving such a stern lecture on protocol.

  THE WEEKS BEFORE AND AFTER A HOLIDAY, ANY holiday, were always frantically busy at Memory Mine. And this pre-Halloween week was no exception. In fact, these three customers, just like all the others, had come in search of stickers, rubber stamps, decorative papers, and ribbon. As Carmela well knew, they’d use some of the craft items for Halloween scrapbooking, others for decorating trick-or-treat bags, rubber-stamping invitations, and making window decorations.

  Carmela had laid in a good supply of special Halloween papers and rubber stamps. She knew most of her regulars would be making Halloween scrapbook pages to celebrate the exploits of their own little monsters or, like Tandy and Baby, their grandchildren’s Halloween capers. Carmela’s stock of rubber stamps now included ghosts, skeletons, and classic movie monsters, while her supply of Halloween paper boasted bats, pumpkins, haunted houses, creeping vines, and star and moon motifs.

  Carmela was just sliding sheets of beige kraft paper with large orange pumpkins emblazoned across them into an oversized envelope, when Tyrell Burton came trooping into the shop. And, lo and behold, Sweetmomma Pam was with him.

  “Hey, Tyrell,” called Gabby from behind the front counter, where she was ringing up a customer. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” She smiled at Ava’s wizened little grandmother. “Hi there, Sweetmomma Pam.”

  “I’ve got another customer for you,” said Tyrell. He put his hands on Sweetmomma Pam’s narrow shoulders and gently pushed her forward, presenting her to Carmela. A tiny woman with curly white hair dressed in an innocuous navy blue pantsuit, Sweetmomma Pam was definitely dwarfed by Tyrell’s imposing form.

  “Hey there, dawlin’,” she said, waving to Carmela as a smile lit her lined face.

  “Tyrell?” said Carmela. “Is there something going on I should know about?”

  “I realize you’re extremely busy, Carmela,” began Tyrell, “but there are two of you”-his glance quickly flashed to Gabby-“and only one of me. Things are in a tizzy at the voodoo shop, on account of Halloween. And Sweetmomma Pam requires a tad more chaperoning than I am able to provide.” This explanation was delivered with such tact and delicacy that Carmela had to smile in spite of herself.

  “And,” continued Tyrell, “Miss Ava assured me that you and your friends would extend every courtesy to Sweetmomma Pam.”

  Carmela reached out, gently put a hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “Of course we will. In fact, we’re delighted to have Sweetmomma Pam join us.” Ava had been such a good sport about taking Boo out for walks when Carmela couldn’t make it home at noon, that Carmela was glad she could finally reciprocate.

  Tyrell was visibly relieved. “Ava promised she’d be back by four o’clock at the latest.” Spinning on his heels, Tyrell was about to make a hasty exit, when he suddenly paused and turned around. “Thank you, ladies,” he said. “And God bless.”

  Leading Sweetmomma Pam back to the craft table, Carmela made hasty introductions. And, as she got Sweetmomma Pam settled in, she began to formulate a plan. Sweetmomma Pam was the perfect candidate to help her finish up the menu cards. It was an easy project that would keep her guest busy and hopefully amused. If
all went well, she’d then be able to zip over to the Art Institute after lunch and deliver said cards to Natalie.

  “You got a boyfriend, honey?” Sweetmomma Pam asked Carmela as they sat side by side, Carmela stamping images on her menu cards and Sweetmomma Pam adhering them to the larger card using Carmela’s faux finished photo corners.

  “No,” Carmela told her. “I’m still married.”

  Sweetmomma Pam squinted in disbelief. “You’re married? So how come y’all are livin’ alone? In that little apartment in back of Ava’s?”

  “Um… actually I’m separated,” Carmela explained.

  “Separated,” snorted Sweetmomma Pam. “That’s nothin’ but a fancy term for a bad marriage. In my book a woman’s either married or she’s not. There shouldn’t be any middle ground.”

  Darn it, thought Carmela, Sweetmomma Pam is probably right. There shouldn’t be any middle ground. Either Shamus and I should stick together through thick or thin, or we should get that divorce. So why is it I’m still hovering in marital purgatory? Stuck right smack dab in the middle, not knowing what’s going on. Not knowing if we’re gonna divorce or reconcile.

  Sweetmomma Pam suddenly turned her attention to Tandy, sitting across the table from her. Tandy was using one of her objets trouvés-found objects. In fact, Tandy was big on found objects. She’d once done an entire scrapbook using fabric scraps, old buttons, and angel charms as accent pieces.

  Today Tandy was designing a scrapbook page using the front of a Wheaties box. She had cut away the picture of the sports hero du jour and replaced it with a photo of one of her grandsons whacking out a homer in a Little League game. The headline now read SLUGFEST OF CHAMPIONS.

  “Who’s that fella?” asked Sweetmomma Pam, poking a finger at the grinning sports hero Tandy had discarded. “The one that got eighty-sixed.”

  Not a serious sports fan, Tandy shrugged. “I don’t really know. Probably some hotshot named Barry or Bobby or Bubba.”

  Sweetmomma Pam wrinkled her nose and smiled. “This is fun.” One of her sharp elbows jabbed at Carmela’s ribs.

  “Eleven o’clock,” a mechanical voice announced brightly.

  Tandy jumped in her seat. “What on earth was that?”

  Sweetmomma Pam stuck her skinny wrist out. “My talking watch. Ain’t it a pip? I ordered it off the TV.”

  “That voice sounds like it’s been sucking helium,” exclaimed Tandy.

  “It’s amazing what they can put on a chip these days,” added Byrle.

  But Sweetmomma Pam’s watch had also told Carmela that they were definitely making progress on the menu cards. They’d been at it a half hour and were more than halfway done.

  “You’re an absolute whiz,” Carmela told her. And she was, too. Sweetmomma Pam’s gnarled fingers had been working double time, deftly sticking on the little photo corners. In fact, Carmela had finished her stamping and was moving on to her next last-minute project. Glassware for Baby’s party.

  Baby was in the throes of decorating her palatial Garden District home for Halloween and was planning to throw a huge party for her family on Saturday night, just a few short hours before she and husband Del scampered off to the Monsters & Old Masters Ball. Baby had wanted to create something really special for her dinner table and Carmela (scrapbook and craft masochist that she was) had promised Baby she’d decorate some glassware for her.

  So, early this morning, Gabby had accepted delivery of two dozen martini glasses. Not the garden variety kind, but whopping, oversized, long-stemmed martini glasses that you could really serve a serious drink in.

  “Watcha gonna do with those, cher?” asked Byrle. She eyed the giant martini glasses expectantly as Carmela pulled them from the confines of their carton.

  Carmela held up a finger. “Give me a minute and I’ll show you.”

  She opened a stamp pad of black ink, rocked a rubber stamp against it gently, then applied the stamp to the side of one of the martini glasses. When Carmela removed the stamp, there remained the perfect image of a spider.

  “A spider… cool,” said Sweetmomma Pam.

  Carmela spun the glass around and carefully added another dozen or so spiders until the little arachnids appeared to be crawling all over the martini glass.

  “That’s quite a Halloween effect,” said Tandy. One eyebrow was raised. She didn’t dislike the spider effect, it was just taking her a while to warm up to the idea of spiders.

  “What the heck is Baby gonna serve in that?” asked Byrle.

  “Something she calls a Monster Slosh,” said Carmela.

  “Dear lord, a drink that size, one surely would get sloshed,” said Sweetmomma Pam with a gleam in her eye.

  “What’s in a Monster Slosh?” asked Tandy.

  “Ginger beer, lime juice, and a shot of dark rum,” said Carmela. “Baby’s gonna serve it on the rocks with a gummy worm dangling over the side for garnish. And maybe a lump of dry ice for a nice spooky fog effect.”

  “Baby really loves to go all out,” remarked Tandy.

  Carmela smiled as she held up her handiwork. “Don’t we all,” she said.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, CARMELA’S GOOD MOOD evaporated when a disheveled-looking man entered her shop and introduced himself as Reed Bigelow. Dark haired, dark complected, and seemingly dark tempered, Reed Bigelow had a nose that looked as sharp as the bill of a hawk.

  He thrust his embossed business card into Carmela’s hand. “I represent the Harget Brown Insurance Company,” he told her. “Offices in New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Shreveport, and Alexandria.” He rocked back on his heels, the picture of pride and puffery, as he hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his trench coat and waited for Carmela to react.

  Carmela studied the man’s card, wondering exactly what reaction it was supposed to elicit from her. Stunned silence? Respect? “Life insurance or business insurance?” she finally asked him, since it wasn’t readily apparent from his card.

  He shrugged. “Does it matter? I just want to ask a few questions.”

  Carmela gave an answering shrug, then handed the card back to a surprised Reed Bigelow. “Excuse me,” she said, “I have customers to attend to.”

  “Look, lady…” The insurance man was suddenly right behind her, dogging her steps.

  Carmela stopped and turned. “Oh,” she said, a look of surprise registering on her face. “I guess it does matter.” Don’t try to bully me, friend. I haven’t lived in the South all my life and dealt with blustering men without picking up a trick or two. Fact is, it’s a little bit like handling bull elephants. Kindness combined with brute force.

  Carmela smiled to herself. Now why couldn’t she use that line of reasoning with Shamus? Good question.

  He had already backed way off, partly because of Carmela’s no-nonsense attitude and partly because of the audience he had suddenly acquired. “Look,” he explained, mindful that several pairs of eyes were now focused on him, “I didn’t mean to get off on the wrong foot here. It’s just that I’ve got this crazy lady constantly calling my office and haranguing me. When you gonna mail out the check, Reed? When do you think I’m finally gonna get a settlement?” By raising his voice and putting a little wheedle into his tone, Reed Bigelow had managed to do a fairly good imitation of Jade Ella Hayward.

  “Jade Ella,” said Carmela, trying her best to suppress a knowing smile.

  “Bingo,” he said unhappily, trying to figure out some way to get his business card back into Carmela’s hands. Much to his dismay, she had stuck her hands deep into the pockets of the craft apron she always wore when she did rubber stamping.

  “When is Jade Ella going to get her payoff?” asked Carmela, who was suddenly more than curious. “And I assume this is life insurance.”

  Bigelow nodded as he scrunched his face into a grimace. “That’s the thing of it,” he said. “These situations are extremely hard to predict. There are no hard-and-fast rules. In most cases, once the deceased is buried, our company cuts a check. However, in situations where
a homicide has occurred”-he suddenly lowered his voice-“then we have to make sure that the beneficiary is what you’d call a noninvolved party.”

  “And is Jade Ella a noninvolved party?” asked Carmela, who was starting to enjoy herself in this little cat-and-mouse game with Reed Bigelow.

  The man continued to look unhappy. “Not exactly,” he said.

  “So Jade Ella’s a suspect?”

  “Not exactly,” he told her.

  “Let me get this straight,” said Carmela. “From what you’ve determined so far, Jade Ella is a non-noninvolved party, yet she hasn’t been elevated to murder suspect.”

  Bigelow narrowed his eyes. “You got a funny way of putting things, lady.”

  “So I’ve been told,” said Carmela. The phone next to her shrilled and she casually reached over to pick it up. After listening for a few seconds, Carmela covered the mouthpiece and turned toward the back of the shop.

  “It’s the Merci Beaucoup Bakery,” she called to Tandy, Byrle, Gabby, and Sweetmomma Pam. “They’re checking to see if we want lunch delivered today. Do we?”

  “Ooh,” exclaimed Byrle. “How about muffulettas?”

  “Yum,” said Tandy.

  Besides the po’boy, the muffuletta was the other signature sandwich of Louisiana. Back in the early 1900s, a Sicilian grocer, gastronomically inclined, combined various meats, cheeses, and olive relish onto a round, seeded muffuletta loaf, thus launching a deliciously enduring trend. Although there were endless variations on the muffuletta sandwich, they all shared one thing in common-muffulettas were wonderfully messy to eat.

  “Salami and cheese for me,” called Tandy.

  “Tell ’em to skip the capers on mine,” said Byrle.

  “I’m dying for an oyster po’boy,” screeched Sweetmomma Pam.

  Carmela smiled sweetly at the unhappy little man who hovered nearby. “This lunch thing will probably take a while to sort out,” she told him. “I’m gonna have to get back to you.”

  Chapter 14

  THESE are terrific,” murmured Natalie Chastain as she turned over one of the menu cards and studied it. “Really terrific.”