Gossamer Ghost (28 page)

But just as they did, the Ghost Train gave a hard jerk and lurched out of the station.

“Too late to get off,” said Carmela.

“Stuck like rats on a sinking ship,” said Ava. “Or, in this case, a chugging train.”

As the Ghost Train rumbled along, picking up speed, the action among the passengers started to get a little frenzied. Lubricated from several drinks in the park, they shifted from pleasantly happy to incredibly raucous in about five seconds flat. A werewolf made a grab for Carmela's skirt, a warlock tried to steal a kiss from Ava.

“This is awful,” said Ava. “Maybe if we grabbed a tray of drinks or something. Used it as a weapon.”

“Good idea,” said Carmela. “Put some fortification between them and us.” They picked up silver trays filled with Bloody Marys and threaded their way back through the bar car and the undertaker's coach.

“Care for a drink?” said Carmela, tilting her tray slightly toward a passenger.

“Get your Bloodys here,” Ava called out.

They slipped down the crowded aisles, serving drinks, trying to studiously avoid Duval as well as the countess.

Ava brushed up against Carmela. “The last thing these folks need are more drinks,” she murmured.

Carmela nodded. “What they really need is some black coffee.”

“Oh right, then we'd have wide-awake drunks.”

“Is that what happens?” said Carmela. But just then, the train rounded a curve, and the swaying car lifted her off her feet and dumped her unceremoniously into a passenger's lap.

“Excuse me!” said Carmela, fighting to regain her footing and keep her tray stable.

“Carmela?”

Carmela stared into the startled face of Boyd Bellamy!

“U
M,
Mr. Bellamy,” Carmela blurted out. “I didn't see you there.”

Buoyed by more than a few drinks, Bellamy grabbed her arm, smiled a scuzzy smile, and said, “Sit with me, sweetie. Have a drink.”

“Uh, no thanks,” said Carmela. She managed to get back on her feet fast, avoiding his lecherous clutches.

“What's wrong?” said Bellamy. Only it came out “
Whachs shrong?
”

“Gotta refill my tray,” said Carmela, backpedalling like crazy, searching for Ava and (hopefully!) a rescue.

She found Ava three rows down, flirting with a good-looking passenger.

“Come on,” said Carmela, “we have to get out of here.”

Ava followed her back to the jazz car.

“This isn't going well,” said Carmela.

“No? I thought the evening was starting to perk up.”

“I'm seriously thinking of jumping off this train.”

“Just relax,
cher
, chill out.”

Carmela was about to launch an all-out protest when Jekyl tapped her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” said Jekyl. “Have you worked up your act yet?”

Carmela stared mutely.

“We're all set,” Ava said, without missing a beat. “No problem.”

“That's a relief,” said Jekyl. He lifted the tray out of Carmela's hands. “Since you two are all geared up, you can go on right after the Jiggling Jugglers.”

“You mean right away?” said Carmela. “Like now?” The jugglers in the next car were tossing hot pink Indian clubs back and forth like crazy, looking like they were working up to a big finish.

Ava set her tray down and grabbed Carmela. She whispered in her ear for a few moments until Carmela nodded and said, “Okay. I got it. I hope.”

Then Ava made her way to the jazz trio and whispered some more quick directions. They nodded back.

“All right,” Ava said to Carmela. “Get ready to put your game face on.”

“I'll try.”

As soon as the last club flew through the air, the upbeat strains of “Me and
My Shadow”
swelled to fill the train car.

Heads up, smiles flashing, projecting far more confidence than they really felt, Carmela and Ava shuffled down the aisle, singing along to the music:

Me and my shadow

Strolling down Napoleon Avenue.

Yeah, me and my shadow,

Lookin' for a rendezvous.

They spun around, stood back-to-back, and negotiated a quick soft-shoe dance with some energetic jazz hands thrown in for good measure. Then they continued their song:

And when it's twelve o'clock,

We climb the stair

We never knock,

'Cause the party's there

Just me and my shadow . . .

It wasn't that they were so good, it's just that the passengers were so drunk. But when they wrapped up their number, they were met with a huge round of applause as well as numerous shouts of “Bravo!”

Carmela and Ava took a bow, then a second bow. They held hands as they backed down the aisle, smiling, feeling enormously relieved.

“We did it,” Carmela quipped out of the corner of her mouth.

“We sure did,” said Ava, still smiling maniacally at the applause.

Carmela was about to take another step backward, when a hand snaked out and gripped her wrist. She flinched, instinctively trying to pull away as her eyes fell upon her unwelcome admirer.

Titus Duval glared up at her.

“Let go, you're hurting me!” Carmela cried. She was stunned to see him, and even more shocked when he wrenched her closer. Gritting her teeth, she said, “If you don't let me go I'm going to . . .”

Duval suddenly thrust a piece of ripped green fabric in Carmela's face.

She gulped, realizing immediately that it was a hunk out of her Scarlett O'Hara dress.

“Your buddy Jekyl Hardy told me you'd be on the train tonight,” Duval snarled. “But he didn't know that I had this! Recognize it?”

“Uh . . . no,” said Carmela, still trying to wrest herself away from him.

“You should. It's from the green dress you wore to the Fontaines' party.” Duval let her go and tapped an index finger against the side of his head. “You can't fool me, I have a photographic memory.”

“Is that so?” said Carmela as panic bubbled up inside her. She'd been found out!

Duval had worked himself into a first-class snit. “Want to know where I found it?”

“Not particularly,” said Carmela.

“In my house!”

Carmela backed away from him. Then her panic turned to fear as she suddenly realized what Duval was wearing. He had on some sort of scaly green suit! She didn't know if he was supposed to be an alligator or the Jolly Green Giant, but she was so stunned that she cried out, “You! You're the one who grabbed me at the Pumpkins and Bumpkins Ball last night! You're the one who broke into Ava's shop!”

Duval looked as if he'd been slapped. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

But Carmela's brain was working overtime, trying to stitch together her few paltry clues. “I can't prove it yet,” she cried, “but I'm ninety-nine percent sure that you broke into Marcus Joubert's shop and stabbed him to death!”

“You're utterly insane,” Duval shouted back at her.

“And you're a killer!” Carmela screamed. She spun away from Duval and grabbed for Ava. “We've got to get out of here!” she pleaded.

Ava turned, startled. “What's wrong?”

“I'll explain everything once we're safe and sound,” Carmela hissed from between clenched teeth. So Ava followed her, no questions asked, as they tore down the aisle, sprinting from the club car to the jazz car.

As they raced through the jazz car, guests began to clap and cheer all over again.

“They think this is still part of the act,” Ava cried. She sounded almost happy.

“Never mind that,” said Carmela. “Is he following us?”

“I don't know,” panted Ava. “I don't know who you're talking about.”

“Never mind. Just keep running!”

“I am,” said Ava. “But I don't see anybody coming after us. Carmela, tell me what's going on!”

But Carmela was in full-on flight mode and determined to find a safe spot for them to hole up in. “We've got to get help. We've got to call Babcock!”

“What's going on? Who are you so afraid of?”

“It's Duval,” Carmela told her as they dashed toward the back of the train. “He knows we were in his house that night. And I'm pretty sure he's the killer!”

“Holy rat poop!” said Ava.

They dashed into the Sherlock Holmes car only to find it empty.

“Where is everybody?” said Carmela, momentarily stunned.

“I think they're all in the club car sucking down drinks.”

“That's good then,” Carmela jabbered. “That's perfect. Come on, hurry up and shut the door. Lock it, too!”

Ava slammed the door. “I don't think there
is
a lock . . . ooh, hurry up and make the call, Carmela.” Ava had gotten a shot of nervous energy off Carmela.

Carmela fumbled with her cell phone. “I have to get help before Duval comes after us and . . .”

A sudden pounding caused the flimsy door to rattle and shake.

“Oh no,” said Carmela. She rushed for the door, her phone call momentarily forgotten. “We've got to barricade ourselves in.” Her eyes frantically searched the train car and landed on an overstuffed chair. “Help me push that chair in front of the door.”

Ava panted and shoved as the pounding continued. “It's not moving so well. It doesn't want to slide on this old carpet.”

“Try harder,” Carmela cried.

“Carmela!” Now a woman's voice sounded from the other side of the door.

Startled, Carmela put an ear to the rattling door and called out, “Who's there?”

“It's me, Mavis,” came a muffled cry.

“Mavis is here?” said Ava.

“That's right,” said Carmela, suddenly remembering. “Because of all the Sherlock Holmes stuff.”

“It's not a trick? That's really you?” Ava called through the door.

“Yes,” Mavis's voice came again. “Are you guys okay? I saw you blitz past like a couple of crazed sprinters and got worried.”

Carmela put a hand to her heart. “Thank goodness it's her!” she whispered to Ava. Then she made a hurry-up gesture with her hand. “Let her in here.”

Ava muscled the chair back out of the way and the narrow door creaked open.

Carmela grabbed Mavis's wrist and hastily pulled her into the Sherlock Holmes car, then slammed the door again.

Mavis looked puzzled. “Carmela, what's wrong? You've got the strangest look on your face. As if . . .”

Carmela dropped her voice to a hoarse, urgent whisper. “I don't want to scare you, or upset you. But I'm pretty sure I just figured out who Marcus's killer is!”

Mavis's mouth dropped open and she gasped in horror. “Oh no. Oh . . . Carmela, are you serious?”

“Yes!” Carmela cried.

Mavis looked like she was ready to cry. “Tell me how . . . well, just
tell
me.”

“Tell her!” said Ava. “Tell
me
!”

“Here's the thing,” said Carmela. “Ava and I were just . . .” She felt a tickle in her nose and sneezed abruptly.

“Bless you,” said Ava.

“Wait a minute,” Mavis said to Carmela. “From the look on your face, the way you're acting . . . are you saying the killer is on this very train?” She looked utterly terrified. As if she wanted to escape at any cost, even if it meant jumping from the train.

Carmela bobbed her head and sniffled again. “Yes, he is!” But something was beginning to bother her. Something else had seeped through her fear and worry. Some sort of odor suddenly seemed strangely familiar. She pushed it aside—revealing the killer to Mavis was far too important. “He's on this train!” she cried. “It's Titus—”

Carmela stopped abruptly, suddenly cognizant of the scent that had her nose all tickly and stuffed up. It was the scent of the spilled oils from Ava's shop!

“Duval,” finished Ava. But she was looking at Carmela, who was suddenly gazing in horror at the gun that was clutched in Mavis's hand. The gun that was pointed directly at Carmela, then at her, then back at Carmela again!

“Wait a minute,” Ava said in a small voice. “Don't tell me . . .”

Mavis clicked her teeth together and shook her head in disgust. “You two couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? You couldn't just send your cop friends after all the phony suspects I threw at you.”

Carmela's mind may have been in a whirl, but the blinders had suddenly been lifted. Mavis was pointing a gun at her. Mavis! Did that mean she'd killed Joubert herself? All the while pretending to be in love with him?

“Figure it out yet?” snarled Mavis. “Are you putting two and two together?”

“But you asked for my help,” said Carmela. “
Begged
me for help.”

“Of course I did,” Mavis snapped. “Because you're an incredibly snoopy person and amazingly astute. By pulling you into my confidence, by getting you on my side, I figured it was the only way I could keep an eye on you.” She gritted her teeth and sneered. “And now look what's happened . . . now everything's completely blown!”

“You were trying to set Duval up,” said Carmela.

“You slimy skank,” Ava threw in.

“You stole the mask,” Carmela said in a low voice that was a cross between a whisper and a snarl. “You were the one who stole the Napoleon death mask from Wallace Pitney.”

Mavis just stared at her, a nasty, knowing smile on her face.

“You've had the death mask all along,” said Carmela. “But were trying to hang the theft on poor Joubert!”

“And cast suspicion on a few other people who happened to be convenient,” put in Ava.

“Here's what we're going to do,” said Mavis. She shifted her gun so it pointed directly at Carmela's heart. “We're going to ride this stupid train to the very end of the line.” Her voice never wavered and neither did her gun. “And then we're all going to get off, all nice and orderly like. And we'll take a quiet stroll over to your little scrapbook shop.”

“I've got an even better idea,” a menacing male voice growled from behind them.

All three women swiveled their heads to see who on earth was speaking.

“We're going to have an accident,” said the green alien, stepping out of a closet. “A train accident.”

“You!” Carmela screeched.