by Laura Childs
“Uh-huh,” T.J. said. Because Ava continued to rattle on, he looked to Carmela for help.
“About Devon’s paper stuff,” Carmela said. “Where would we find that?”
T.J. nodded and scratched his stomach. “Back room. Help yourself.”
“I guess we always do,” Ava said.
They walked into the back room, which was even more of a mess than the front of the shop. Devon’s desk and large worktable were mounded with an array of crumpled paper, mismatched cups and saucers, broken pocket watches, vintage glass jars, old Christmas decorations, and assorted tchotchkes.
T.J. lifted a hand. “Some of the old papers you might be interested in are scattered around that big table there. And there’s plenty more stuff stashed in boxes. Just look around and help yourself to whatever. Oh, and be careful of those ugly Chinese pots, they’re kind of tippy.”
“I like the one with the pouncing dragon,” Ava said.
T.J. wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. You could probably buy it for a song. So . . . I’ll be in front packing if you need me.”
“Right,” Carmela said. She was eager to get started.
Ava put her hands on her hips. “What a mess.”
“But every mess holds a potential treasure,” Carmela said. “Just look at this.” She picked up a newspaper that was folded accordion style and had bright red type.
“Wrinkled old paper. So what?” Ava said.
“It’s a Chinese newspaper that was probably used as packing material. It’ll make a terrific background for someone’s travel scrapbook.”
“What about this old calendar?” Ava asked. “And these certificates of authenticity?”
“Perfect. It’s all perfect.”
Mimi wandered in and Carmela picked her up and gave her a kiss. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”
“She looks sad,” Ava said.
“All pugs look a little sad to me,” Carmela said. “Because of their eyes. But I suppose Mimi spent so much time here she still might have deep-seated feelings.”
“Or anxieties,” Ava said. She spotted a blue dog bed and said, “Maybe she’d be more comfortable in her little bed?”
Carmela carried Mimi to her bed and slowly set her down on the tufted mattress. Mimi sighed and closed her eyes.
“Perfect,” Carmela whispered. Then she sat down at the worktable and tried to decide how to organize the mounds of paper. “Ava, grab a couple of boxes, will you?”
Ava walked out front, rustled around, and returned with two cardboard boxes.
“Now what?”
Carmela picked up a felt-tipped pen. “I’m going to label them Background and Ephemera.”
“How do I know which is which?”
“We’ll put all the stuff like the Chinese newspaper in the Background box and items such as stamps or fancy labels into the Ephemera box.”
Ava dug into one of the nearby boxes, ripping out folded-up paper. “Got some maps here. Looks like Norway . . . Nope, I’ve got it upside down. Italy.”
“Perfect! When you’re talking vacation scrapbooks, maps make great backgrounds.”
“And here’s some packing paper from Germany . . . or is it France? What would Deutsche Post be?”
“Definitely Germany.”
Ava continued to rummage through the large box, pulling out the occasional unique piece. “I thought this would be drudge work, but it’s actually kind of fun.”
“T.J. was right when he said these papers might be interesting,” Carmela said. “Some of these pieces are going to be perfect for my classes. Fancy European labels and stamps . . . oh, and a bill of lading from Paris. Look at this miniature Eiffel Tower stamped in the corner.”
Ava leaned across the table. “Looks old.”
“Because it is.”
“Devon was a real pack rat, huh?”
“I like to think of him as a collector.”
Carmela and Ava worked for a good couple of hours, poring through a dozen boxes, sorting, smoothing, unearthing treasures as they went along. T.J. looked in on them once but wasn’t much interested in their paper hunt.
But what they discovered was gangbusters! They found gallery invitations, business cards, handwritten receipts, old photos, antique advertising, and some vintage paper watch faces—all of it a unique bit of history.
“Our two boxes are completely stuffed,” Ava said. “I’m going to have to start a third one.” She hoisted the box marked Background and struggled to move it out of the way. “I think we need . . .”
The corner of Ava’s box bumped up against a green Chinese vase that was sitting on a narrow rosewood stand. As the vase began to tip precariously, Ava cried out, “Oh no!” and Carmela made a dive for it.
It was too little, too late. The vase wiggled and wobbled and then tumbled to the floor.
CRASH!
Shards of hundred-year-old ceramic flew everywhere while the rounded base with the dragon motif rolled under the table.
“What was that?” T.J. cried out. Footsteps hurried toward them and then he appeared in the doorway, looking startled.
“Sorry!” Ava cried. “So sorry! I didn’t mean to break it.” She looked like she was ready to cry.
T.J.’s eyes roved the floor and spied the dozens of shards. “Oh, that stupid thing,” he said disdainfully. “Not to worry.”
“Really?” Ava said. “Because I can pay for . . .”
But T.J. had already disappeared and gone back to his packing.
“Whew.” Ava blew a hank of hair out of her face. “I sure didn’t mean for that to happen. Maybe I should grab a broom and try to . . .”
“Ava, shhh.” Carmela held a finger to her mouth.
“Huh?”
When part of the vase had rolled under the table, a brown paper package had spilled out and struck one of Carmela’s feet. Now, curious, she leaned down and scooped it up. Though it was loosely tied with string, she pushed a corner of the brown paper wrapping aside and peered in. And couldn’t believe what she saw.
White. Loosely shaped and wrapped in plastic. It looked like a brick of cocaine!
Holy shit! Is this even possible? Cocaine hidden in Devon’s shop? How could that be?
Carmela studied it again. Yes, it was possible.
Ava stared at her with trepidation. “What, Carmela? What is it?”
“We have to go,” Carmela said, standing up fast.
“Now? Shouldn’t we clean up all these broken pieces?”
Carmela scooped Mimi into her tote bag and grabbed one of the cardboard boxes. “Change of plans. We have to go now. Can you manage that other box?”
“Yeah, but . . .”
Though she was burdened like a pack animal, Carmela swept into the front of the shop.
“T.J., thank you so much. This paper stuff is absolutely wonderful.”
T.J. looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, wrapping an amber glass lamp. “So you salvaged some interesting pieces, huh?”
“Great stuff, interesting stuff,” Carmela said as she blew past him.
“Thanks,” Ava said, following closely in Carmela’s footsteps. “Sorry about the vase.”
* * *
* * *
“Quick,” Carmela said once they were outside. “Get in the car.”
Ava wedged her box in the back seat of Carmela’s car. “You gonna tell me what’s going on or . . . ?”
“Just get in the car.” Carmela had already jumped in and started the engine. As soon as Ava’s passenger door clicked shut, Carmela accelerated away from Dulcimer Antiques. She swerved down Royal, turned at St. Louis Street, and pulled over to the curb.
“What’s going on?” Ava cried.
Carmela glanced around quickly, then reached into her handbag and pulled out the brick of cocaine. Handed it to
Ava. “You tell me.”
Ava looked stunned. “Holy cats, is this what I think it is?”
“I think it is.”
“Like . . . a special delivery from El Chapo himself?”
“I’m right, huh?” Carmela asked. “This is a packet of drugs?”
“Unless I’m mistaken, this is cocaine, honey. Blow. White Lady. California Cornflakes.”
“How do you know so much about this?” Carmela asked.
“Because I’m a devoted reader of Star Whacker magazine. They’re always doing huge exposés on celebrities who’ve been caught red-handed with drugs. Or who are just coming out of rehab.” Ava snorted as she reached up and adjusted her wig. “As if that ever works.”
“Do you think Devon Dowling could have been dealing drugs?”
“Devon? No way,” Ava said.
“What about T.J.?”
“With his appetite for getting high, I don’t think he would have left a pound of cocaine just lying around unopened.”
“It wasn’t just lying around. It was in that Chinese vase you tipped over.”
Ava frowned. “In the vase? How do you think it got there? Who put it there?”
“No idea.”
“Where’d it come from? Where was it headed?”
“Again, I don’t know,” Carmela said.
“I’m thinking we should get this stuff to Babcock. Like, right now!” Ava said. “I for one don’t want to get locked up in some dank jail cell for possession! I don’t want to submit to a body search, work on a chain gang, or play a supporting role in Orange Is the New Black.”
“You watch too much sensational TV,” Carmela said. “We found the drugs, we didn’t buy them. It’s not like we’re actual drug traffickers.”
“Try telling that to the guys in the black helicopters from the DEA.”
“Of course we’ll turn the drugs in. But aren’t you curious as to how these drugs ended up in Devon’s shop? And do you think they might be connected to his murder?”
“You think Devon’s killer was really after drugs?” Ava asked. “And he killed Devon because of . . . these drugs?”
“I don’t know, but it’s a very strange coincidence.”
“Two crimes in one small antique shop,” Ava said slowly.
Carmela looked at the brown paper the drugs were wrapped in. “There’s no name on here, just an address. No postage stamp, either.”
“So what does that mean?”
“They had to be delivered by someone. A courier or private messenger.”
“Drug mule?” Ava volunteered. She wiggled her fingers. “Here, let me take a look at that.”
Carmela passed her the package.
Ava studied it. “Yup, this was probably hand delivered directly to Devon. Look at the address, it’s 715 Royalton Street.”
Carmela shook her head. “That’s not right, Devon’s address is 715 Royal Street.”
“So it’s a little off,” Ava said. “You’re talking three extra letters. So what?”
“There’s something really wrong here. There’s no Royalton Street in New Orleans,” Carmela said.
Ava scratched her head. “Then where is it? Is there a Royalton Street somewhere else or is this address just a complete screwup?”
“Give me your phone.”
Ava handed over her phone and watched as Carmela Googled “715 Royalton Street Louisiana.”
“Anything?” Ava asked.
“I’m looking, I’m looking. A lot of ads for Royal Street restaurants are clogging the page. Wait . . . yes. It’s an actual address in New Iberia. There’s definitely a 715 Royalton Street in New Iberia.”
“You think some coked-up drug mule dropped the cocaine off at the wrong address?” Ava asked.
Carmela stared at her. “And then the person whom these drugs were intended for dropped by and murdered Devon? Because Devon was being a good guy and was about to turn the drugs over to the police?”
Ava’s eyes widened in surprise. “Is that what happened?”
Carmela pursed her lips and sucked in air. “Dear Lord, Ava, I think that’s exactly what happened.”
“So who’s the jackhole cokehead who lives at 715 Royalton Street in New Iberia?” Ava asked.
But Carmela’s brain was already spinning.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Chapter 29
BEFORE Ava could catch her breath, Carmela hit the gas and they were barreling out of New Orleans, headed west.
By the time they flew through Gretna, Mimi had started to whimper.
“Slow down, would you? Even the dog is scared,” Ava said.
Carmela, always a speed junkie, was energized by both the freedom of the lightly trafficked highway and the possibility of getting a bead on Devon’s killer. With her adrenaline pumping, she ignored Ava’s pleas and continued to race west on U.S. 90.
Towns became fewer and smaller as they drove through Terrebonne Parish and then St. Mary Parish. Louisiana swampland hugged both sides of the road.
“Pretty out here,” Ava said. “Lots of birds.” She lowered her window slightly and was greeted with a cacophony of soft coos and caws. “What are those guys?” she asked as a flock of large birds flew gracefully across their path.
“Blue herons,” Carmela said. “Probably flying home for the night.”
“Which is what we should be doing. Instead of chasing our cute little tails.”
“You think this is a waste of time?” Carmela asked.
“I . . . I don’t know. Maybe. But I suppose it’s worth a shot.”
“Thank you.”
The sun was sitting low in the sky and sparkling off the dark waters. Bald cypress poked their trunks up everywhere as well as black gum trees and willows. The palette of greenery was amazing—bright yellow marsh marigolds surrounded by light green spike rush. In other areas, the brackish green of floating fern and water spangles covered the murky water.
“Remember the plant material that was found in Devon’s shop?” Carmela asked.
Ava gazed out the window at bayous and swamps that stretched as far as the eye could see. “Lots of plant material out here.”
Ava’s phone chimed. She dug it out of her bag and said, “Hello?”
Carmela glanced at Ava. Her lips were pursed, and she did not look pleased.
“Who is it?” Carmela whispered.
“It’s my date from hell.”
“The Miss Penelope date? Hang up.”
But Ava was talking to him now.
“Thursday?” she said. “Not a chance. When, you ask? How about never—is never good for you?”
She hung up, smiled at Carmela, and said, “So that’s that.”
“Good for you. Pull out that road map, will you?”
Ava opened the glove box, pulled out a Louisiana state map, and unfurled it. She studied it for a moment, frowned, and then turned it right-side up.
“Uh-oh,” she said.
“What?”
“I’m not very skillful at map reading. I’m no Magellan.”
“If Google Maps is correct, we don’t go all the way into New Iberia,” Carmela said. “We need to turn south on Darnall Road. Do you see that anywhere on the map?”
Ava squinted at the map. “Nope.”
“Keep looking.”
“I am.”
“Because we’re getting pretty close. Have you seen any road signs that indicate a Darnall Road?”
Ava lifted her eyes from the map and scanned the road ahead. “Um. Yeah.”
“Where?” Carmela asked.
“Right here! Turn!”
Carmela hit the brakes, skidded across two lanes of traffic as angry drivers honked their horns. She made her turn, but just barely.
“Ava! You have to gi
ve me more warning than that!”
Ava had let the map slip to the floor as she cuddled Mimi in her lap. “I apologize. My faux pas. I’m just glad you’ve got grippy tires and excellent reflexes.”
Carmela let out a shaky breath. “Me too.”
They drove down a macadam road littered with potholes and lined with bald cypress trees dripping with gray-green Spanish moss.
“This is more like it,” Ava said.
“More like what?”
“More like a hiding place for a notorious drug ring.”
Carmela drove across a rickety wooden bridge and onto more broken blacktop. The road twisted along, skirting groves of tupelo trees and marshes redolent with sea lavender.
“Are you sure we’re headed in the right direction?” Ava asked.
“Not exactly. But if that’s the town of Lydia up ahead, we’re at least in the general vicinity.”
“It is Lydia. We just passed a dilapidated sign that said ‘Beautiful Downtown Lydia, point six miles.’ Maybe we should stop and ask for directions?”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Carmela said. She slowed down as she drifted past a couple of small wooden houses. The exterior wood shingles were weathered and silver from continued beatings by the rain, wind, sun, and occasional hurricane.
“I see lights,” Ava said.
Carmela turned into a rutted driveway as Ava started bouncing in her seat.
“It’s a honky-tonk. We can ask for directions and maybe have ourselves a nice, refreshing beverage.”
Carmela gazed at the pitted stucco building that may or may not have been a rehabbed gas station. The low-slung roof held a solitary string of holiday lights—most of which had burned out. A white tin sign with faded black letters spelled out BUMPERS. It hung tilted and haphazard from the roofline.
“Directions, yes. Drinks, no,” Carmela said. “We’re not here to barhop and mix with the local gentry. In case you forgot, we’re on a secret mission to track down a possible drug dealer.”
“Spoilsport,” Ava said. But she seemed okay with Carmela’s decision.
Carmela parked her car between a rusted-out Chevy Silverado and a shiny new Ram Laramie. A few motorcycles—mostly Harley-Davidsons—were parked in the lot as well.