Gilt Trip (24 page)

She backed slowly toward the hallway. Three more steps, maybe four more, and then she could turn and run. Make a mad dash for safety.

Ever so carefully, Carmela backed up two steps, then three. She hesitated. Nobody coming after her yet, thank goodness. Hoping this was her one big chance, she took a final step backward.

And that's when a pair of arms came out of nowhere and wrapped themselves tightly around her!

C
ARMELA
let out a startled scream and spun around, wriggling like mad, fighting frantically to pull herself free.

It was only when she suddenly recognized the man who held her captive that she stopped her frenzied struggle.

What?

Another familiar face bobbed nearby like a small weather balloon.

“Moony?” Carmela said, her voice rising like a falsetto singer. “Squirrel?”

Moony put a finger to his mouth, partially releasing her. “Shhh! Keep quiet!”

“What are you
doing
here?” Carmela hissed. Clearly, they had snuck into the Art Institute. But why? What could they possibly want here?

Moony released his grip on her and gave a cagey smile. “We came here to get our payment.”

Carmela stared at him. “What?” She understood the words okay, but she wasn't tracking their meaning.

“The
necklace
,” Moony explained patiently, as if he were trying to teach remedial reading to a fifth grader.

“The one on the
cake!
” said Squirrel. “The Victorian necklace. Heck, you were the one who told us about it.”

Carmela's mind was spinning, trying to make sense of this. Her mouth felt dry as sandpaper. “You can't take that necklace,” she choked out. “It's not yours.”

Moony shook his head. “Oh no, little lady. It's rightfully ours. We earned it.”

“It was promised to us,” said Squirrel. “It's our payment.”

“Are you two totally crazy?” Carmela squawked. Then she remembered her pursuer. She reached out and pulled Moony close to her, said, “There was somebody after me.” She pointed toward the sculpture room. “In there!”

“Heck you say,” said Squirrel. He took a couple of steps into the dark sculpture room and glanced around. “Nobody in here now.” His voice echoed hollowly in the empty room.

“Thank goodness,” said Carmela. Maybe her pursuer had slipped back through the storeroom? Maybe it had been nothing at all? No, she told herself, someone had been after her for sure.

“You showed up just in the nick of time to help us,” Moony said to Carmela. He scratched his chin with the back of his hand. “And it seems to me you got the lay of the land pretty well figured out here.”

“I can't help you steal that necklace!” said Carmela.

“It's not stealing,” Moony insisted. “It's payment.”

“Fair and square,” said Squirrel.

“Oh jeez.” Carmela set her shoes down and stepped into them. “What a mess.”

“Not if you give us a helping hand,” said Squirrel. “Then it'll all be copasetic.”

“First I've got to talk to somebody,” said Carmela. She cast an appraising eye at the two men. “But . . . you're not exactly dressed for this,” she told them. They both wore saggy blue jeans and wrinkled T-shirts. Squirrel wore a plaid shirt open over his T-shirt and Moony had a trucker cap that said
Fat Boy.

“Take off that stupid cap,” she told Moony. “And follow me.”

• • •

CARMELA HAD LUCK ON HER SIDE. THE CAKE AND
jewelry auction had just kicked off and most of the guests had crowded up toward the bandstand, their backs turned toward them. Excited murmurs ran through the crowd as they clutched their bidding paddles. Three gorgeous cakes were on display up on a dais.

“Nice place you got here,” said Moony as they sauntered into the ballroom.

Carmela poked an index finger in his face. “You,” she said. “You let me do the talking!”

From the front of the room, the auctioneer's voice boomed out: “First cake up for auction was donated by Holden Industries. I understand this is a lemon chiffon cake topped by an eighteen-karat-gold charm bracelet. Do I hear one thousand?”

“Dollars?” squeaked Squirrel.

“One thousand dollars,” intoned the auctioneer. “From the lady in hot pink.”

“Holy shebang,” said Squirrel, ducking his head.

A waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes cautiously approached the three of them. “Champagne, ma'am?” he asked. He raised an eyebrow. “Gentlemen?”

“Don't mind if I do,” said Squirrel. He grabbed a champagne flute, stuck his pinky finger out, and took a sip.

“How is it?” asked Moony.

“Bracing,” said Squirrel.

“Come on,” said Carmela. She proceeded to haul them to the bar, where Shamus was lounging, as if to the manor born. He was drinking bourbon and shooting the breeze with one of the bartenders.

“Shamus!” said Carmela.

Shamus turned, a smile on his handsome face. Then it slipped off completely and was replaced by stunned surprise when she saw Moony and Squirrel. “Ah . . . what?” he said, suddenly at a loss for words. Unusual for Shamus.

“I need to ask you something,” said Carmela. “I need you to pay attention!”

But Shamus couldn't pull his eyes from Moony and Squirrel. “Who are these ring dings anyway?”

“This is Moony and Squirrel,” said Carmela.

“Don't tell me,” Shamus said in a droll tone. “You and Ava brought dates.”

“No, Shamus, they're on the
decorating
committee.”

Shamus gave a slow, reptilian blink. “Really?”

Carmela grabbed Shamus by the arm and gave him a rough shake. “Snap out of it, Shamus, I need to ask you something!”

His gaze finally focused on her. “What, babe?”

“What do you know about Spangler Enterprises?” Carmela asked.

Shamus stared at her. “You mean . . . uh . . . Spangler Energy?”

Carmela jumped on his words. “Yes! What is that? Are they the same company?”

Shamus, pleased to be the center of attention, playing the learned banker now, chose his words carefully. “Well, the energy group is a
division
of Spangler Enterprises.” A slow, sloppy smile spread across his face. “Fact is, we're working with them on an interim loan.”

“For oil drilling?” Carmela demanded.

Shamus nodded.

“Oil drilling where, Shamus?”

He took another sip of bourbon. “Parcel up in West Feliciana Parish as I recall.”

“There's oil there?” said Carmela.

“That's right,” said Shamus. “Supposed to be part of the Tuscaloosa-Marine shale play. If it all pans out, the upside is a potential for seven billion gallons.”

“But who's the head of Spangler?” Carmela asked. “Is it Conrad Falcon?” She knew it had to be him.

Shamus's face suddenly went blank. “Falcon?” He shook his head. “No, no way.”

“Then who, Shamus? Who is it?”

Shamus took another swig of his drink and gave a low chuckle. “Well, you know him, Carmela. Heck, you were just talking to him a few minutes ago.” Shamus glanced around.

“Who, Shamus? Who is it?” Carmela couldn't stand the suspense!

“There. Over there,” he said.

Carmela peered through the crowd just as Shamus lifted a hand and pointed directly at . . .

Buddy Pelletier!

At that very same instant, Pelletier saw Shamus pointing at him. His face registered sudden surprise, then darkened when he saw Carmela. A look of alarm turned his handsome features into dark saturnine anger.

He knows he's been made
, Carmela thought.
He knows that we know he's the killer!

Pelletier spun around quickly and lurched off, weaving past tables and elbowing his way through the throng of bidders, ignoring their startled glances.

“C'mon, we have to grab him!” Carmela cried.

“Who? Why?” said Ava, who had just come up to join them.

“Buddy Pelletier!” said Carmela. “He's the killer!”

“What?” said Shamus.

“Killer?” said Squirrel.

“Holy guacamole!” said a stunned Ava.

Carmela launched herself like a grenade, waving for Moony and Squirrel to follow. “You guys gotta help me grab this guy!”

“Now you're talkin'!” cried Moony.

They dodged through the crowd as the auctioneer called out for another round of bids. Long skirts rustled and feathers were ruffled as they formed a flying wedge through the crowd.

“There he is!” cried Carmela. She could just see the top of Pelletier's silver head as he dashed into the hallway.

“He's heading for the cake room!” cried Ava.

En masse, Carmela, Ava, Squirrel, Moony, and Shamus wheeled wildly in the hallway as they followed Pelletier's mad dash into the cake room.

Pelletier glanced back at them as he dipped and dodged his way past tables laden with elaborate cakes. When he realized with a start that there was an entire posse after him, his mouth pulled into a snarl and he grabbed the end of one table. Giving a hard grunt, he heaved the table upward until it flipped over completely!

A landslide of gorgeously wrought cakes slid and toppled in a monumental rush of buttercream, devil's food, vanilla cake, elaborate fondant, and glittering jewelry.

Carmela, who was at the head of the pack, didn't break stride, even when she skidded dangerously through an oil slick of frosting. Now everyone was yelling, the commotion growing by leaps and bounds!

Grimacing in anger, eyes like a trapped animal, Pelletier spotted an emergency exit and hurtled his way toward it. As his hands slammed the lever that stretched across the door, a buzzer blasted loudly and the door flew open. Then Pelletier disappeared into the darkness of the night!

“Come on!” Carmela pleaded. “We have to stop him!”

“Don't let him get away!” came Ava's cry.

They all flew out the door after Pelletier and clattered down a short flight of metal steps.

Carmela's heel caught in the lower rung. And just as she was about to stumble badly, Moony's arm shot out and grabbed her. She glanced sideways at him, a quick, appreciative look, and saw that he'd somehow managed to grab the cake with the crown pendant on it. The crazy coot was hanging on to his prize and balancing it precariously as he ran!

“Are you crazy?” said Carmela.

“It's mine!” Moony huffed, fighting to keep stride alongside her.

Pelletier hurtled down the sidewalk, his shoes sounding like firecrackers as they slapped against the pavement. Halfway down the block, Carmela spotted an Aston Martin convertible parked at the curb.

“That's his car!” she screamed. “Don't let him get away!”

“Nice ride!” Shamus huffed as he followed after them.

“Focus, please!” Carmela begged as they all tore down the dark street.

But Pelletier had already jumped into his car and was revving the engine. The headlights flashed on, the car let loose a throaty roar, and it started to lurch forward!

“He's getting away!” Ava shrieked.

Red-lining his engine now, Pelletier popped it into second gear, and cranked the steering wheel hard. Just as he was about to explode out of his parking spot like a Formula One car, a burgundy Crown Victoria sluiced in front of him and blocked him!

“What the devil!” Shamus yelped as the front fender of Babcock's car was smacked so hard it crumpled.

“It's Babcock!” Carmela cried. Relief flooded her entire being. Her fear and anxiety were suddenly evaporating.

Babcock leapt from his car, looking handsome and stunning in his tuxedo. His ginger-colored hair was slicked back, his eyes were pinpricks of intensity, and his shoes shone in the glow from the streetlamps like a modern-day Fred Astaire action figure. The only thing that seemed out of place was the startled expression on his face.

Babcock took in Pelletier, who was still gunning his engine, trying to rock his sports car back and forth so he could push the car behind him out of the way and still make a break for it! And then he threw a questioning glance at the throng of people that was rushing toward him.

“What's going on?” Babcock yelled. He threw his hands up and shook his head in disbelief.

“Buddy Pelletier!” Carmela cried. “He killed Jerry Earl Leland!”

“And probably Eric Zane!” Ava added.

But Pelletier was making progress, rocking to and fro, basically smashing the grill of the car behind him. Another two inches and he'd be able to squeak out and make his getaway!

“Stop him!” Carmela cried. “Somebody do something!”

Moony dashed past Carmela, grim determination on his face and the cake held high above his head. Then, in a moment of pure brilliance, he reared back and hurled the cake directly at Pelletier!

The cake soared through the air like a sugar-coated missile, flipping end over end, bits of frosting flying everywhere. Then, like a scene out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon, the cake smashed directly into Pelletier's head and exploded!

Chunks of cake flew everywhere and there was an ungodly screech of glass and grinding metal as Pelletier blindly lurched forward and locked bumpers with the car ahead of him. Bellowing like an enraged bull, Pelletier alternately howled, stomped on the gas pedal, and fought to wipe cake goo from his eyes and nose!

That was enough for Babcock. His gun was out of his shoulder harness in an instant and trained directly on Pelletier.

As Pelletier was rudely dragged from his car, Moony swept in and grabbed the crown jewel pendant, which had somehow magically draped itself on the Aston Martin's rearview mirror!

Carmela felt a rush of adrenaline as she watched her handsome boyfriend put handcuffs on Buddy Pelletier and stuff him into the backseat of his banged-up Crown Victoria. “You got him!” she cried.

Ava was doing her victory dance in the middle of the sidewalk. “We did it! We did it. We got him! We got him!” Squirrel threw her a goofy smile and joined in, dancing and bumping hips with her.

Babcock looked around. “Anybody else need arresting?”

Carmela watched as Moony grabbed the necklace and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. He turned and gave her a slightly guilty look, but she just shrugged. A small payment, she decided, for helping apprehend a dangerous killer.