Gossamer Ghost (3 page)

An Armani tie? Carmela wondered, as her heart did a small flip-flop. Had to be. Only the best for Babcock, always the most stylish duds. She knew that, someday,
GQ
magazine was going to do a feature on the ten best-dressed detectives in the country and Babcock was probably going to top the list. Then she wondered—how on earth could she be turned on by Babcock and completely repulsed by Joubert's murder at the same time? Those were two emotions that didn't seem to coexist, yet there they were. All intertwined and smooshed together in her slightly addled, hyperactive brain. Go figure.

“So,” said Babcock. He rocked back on his heels when he caught sight of Carmela and Ava on the front sidewalk. “We seem to have a rather large problem here.”

“I'll say,” said Ava, who loved to be in on the action. Any kind. Even police action.

Babcock gestured toward the front door of Oddities. “Is it unlocked?”

“Yes,” Carmela said in a small voice. “That's how I left it.”
Especially
since I
came flying out of there like a crazed banshee.

Carmela wished that Babcock would look at her, really
see
her, instead of holding her at arm's length, treating her like some sort of suspect or witness. On the other hand, that's probably what she was.

Babcock cocked a finger at one of the uniformed officers. “Lambert, you come inside with me. Wallace, stay by the door. Don't let anybody else in.”

“Crime-scene guys are here,” said Wallace, as a shiny black van pulled up tight to the curb.

“Send them in,” said Babcock. “As soon as they unload their gear.” He sighed as he led his little group into Oddities, and then stopped short when he saw the body. He held up a hand, indicating for them all to wait. Then he stepped forward, took a cursory look at the very dead Marcus Joubert, and said, “Carmela, you're going to have to walk us through this.”

“W
HAT
happened was . . .” Carmela began. She was ready to let it all come bubbling out. The terror, her jangled nerves, her fear that Joubert's dead body might come stumbling after her.

But Babcock held up a finger. “Let's wait a second for the crime-scene guys.” He glanced around. “Aren't there any decent lights in this place? Where are the lights, anyway?”

“It's like a tomb in here,” said Ava, which caused Carmela to flinch.

Officer Lambert scurried around, finally locating switches and flipping on several overhead lights.

“Oh man,” said Ava, as Joubert's dead body was revealed in the now harsh light. “That's just . . . rude.”

“You really shouldn't be in here,” said Babcock. He shook his head. “Why is she in here?”

Nobody offered an answer until Carmela finally said, “I need Ava for moral support.”

“Right,” said Ava, giving a slow wink. “I gotta keep watch on her morals.”

“Excuse me, excuse me,” a youthful voice called out. “Coming through.”

It was the crime-scene team, a flying wedge of three men all wearing dark blue jumpsuits and carrying black leather cases along with a clanking gurney.

“Charlie,” said Babcock, nodding at the young man at the head of the group. Charlie Preston was the crime-scene team's young wunderkind. A smart, persistent technician who considered every case he handled a personal challenge.

“Hey, Charlie,” said Ava. The two had met before and she was well aware of this young man's interest in her.

Charlie looked around, surprised, and then grinned impishly at her. “Ava. What are
you
doing here?”

“Another day, another murder,” Ava quipped.

“Can we please just get down to business?” said Babcock. He raised an eyebrow and focused on Carmela. “Carmela?”

So Carmela led them hesitantly through her little adventure. As Charlie and his team snapped photos, bagged the hands, and poked at the body, she explained how she'd heard a couple of strange noises, had entered the shop, and then tripped and inadvertently opened the cabinet where Marcus Joubert's body had been stashed.

“Yowza,” said Ava, when she'd finally finished. “That's quite a story.”

“That's exactly how it happened?” said Babcock. “You didn't leave anything out?”

“I don't think so,” said Carmela.
Just that I screamed my head off.

“Sounds about right to me, Chief,” said Charlie. “You look at how the body fell, where it landed and all. Her story pretty much tracks.”

“Okay,” said Babcock. He seemed to be chewing on something.

“There are spatter marks in the back of the shop,” said Charlie. “So that's where the victim was stabbed. Then he was obviously dragged and stashed in that cabinet.”

“Dead before they put him in there?” asked Babcock.

“Oh yeah,” said Charlie. “This guy lost a lot of blood. It was all over pretty fast.”

“But there's no sign of a weapon,” said Babcock.

“The killer must have brought his own knife,” said one of the crime-scene techs. “Then taken it with him.”

“He would have been bloody after such a violent struggle,” said Babcock. “It would be hard to stroll through the French Quarter covered in blood.”

“Maybe not,” said Ava. “Some guys party like rock stars down here.”

“Maybe his car was parked in the back alley,” said Carmela. “Or maybe the killer didn't have to walk far to duck out of sight and change.”

Everyone was silent for a minute, and then Charlie said, “All right if we load him up now, Chief?”

“Yes,” said Babcock. “But please don't call me Chief.”

Charlie snapped off a blue latex glove and grinned up at him. “Isn't that where you're headed? The chief's office?”

This was news to Carmela. “Are you?” she blurted.

“Hardly,” said Babcock. But he seemed embarrassed.

One of Charlie's team spread a black plastic body bag on the floor, then the three of them muscled Joubert's body into it and zipped it up. The bag was then rolled onto the gurney and the gurney was raised to waist height.

There was another collective moment of silence and then Officer Lambert glanced toward the front door and said, “Uh-oh.”

“What now?” said Babcock.

But Carmela knew exactly what was going on. Mavis Sweet had just arrived at the front door and was struggling to push her way in. There was an exchange of heated words and then a high keening sound, like the screech of a dying hyena. And then Mavis cried, “Let me in! Let me in!” She seemed to be locked in a physical confrontation with Officer Wallace, who was pushing and grunting and trying to block her entrance to the shop.

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” Wallace continued as he lowered a shoulder and tried an unsuccessful body block. “This is a crime scene. No one's allowed to pass.”

“But I
work
here!” cried Mavis.

Carmela peered toward the front of the store. “That's Mavis Sweet,” she told Babcock. “Marcus Joubert's assistant.”

He cocked an eye at her. “Let me take a wild guess. You called her with a heads-up?”

Carmela nodded. “I thought Mavis had a right to know. And she's not just the assistant. I'm pretty sure she and Joubert were . . . romantically involved.”

“Let her in,” Babcock called to the officer at the front door. “It's okay.”

“Although this whole scene is really
not
okay,” Carmela mumbled.

“Oh my gosh, who's gonna tell that poor girl what happened?” Ava asked in a loud whisper. “Who's gonna break the bad news to her?”

Everyone in the room fell silent as they looked toward Babcock.

“I will,” said Babcock, stepping past them to head off Mavis. “I suppose it's up to me.”

But Mavis had already caught sight of the black plastic body bag lying atop the metal gurney. She flew through the shop, her frizzy brown hair flying out behind her, her face red, and her slightly plump form jiggling like crazy.

“Oh no!” Mavis cried. “Please no! Don't tell me . . .”

“I'm very sorry,” Babcock said in a respectful tone of voice. “There appears to have been a break-in and possible robbery. In the ensuing struggle Mr. Joubert was stabbed.” He said it straight out, with no wasted words.

Mavis was utterly stunned. “Stabbed, you say? Stabbed to death?” Words failed her for a few moments, and then she said, “You're saying he's . . . dead?” Her voice rose in a plaintive squeak.

“I'm afraid so,” said Babcock.

“I need to see him,” said Mavis, elbowing and fighting to push past everyone. “Please!”

This time Carmela, Babcock, Ava, and the entire crime-scene team tried to block her path.

“I wouldn't recommend it,” said Babcock, trying to grab Mavis's arm and halt her progress. “Unfortunately Mr. Joubert sustained several rather severe injuries. Um, disfiguring injuries.”

But Mavis remained firm. “No. I have to see him.” Her eyes blazed and had grown to the size of saucers as she glanced from one person to another. Mavis seemed so freaked out that Carmela wasn't even sure if the woman recognized her.

“Maybe just a little peek?” said Ava.

Babcock looked unhappy.

Carmela, sensing a kind of standoff, put an arm around Mavis's shoulders and led her slowly toward the gurney. “Could you . . . ?” she said to Charlie. She motioned with her right hand. “Unzip it just . . . ?”

Charlie slid the zipper down six inches, allowing a partial view of Joubert's face.

Mavis's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish and tears streamed down her face. “Oh no, it's really him.”

Charlie zipped the bag back up as Mavis fumbled in her pocket for a hanky.

“We need to ask you some questions,” said Babcock.

“Really,” said Carmela, who was still trying to comfort Mavis. “Can't they wait until tomorrow?”

“I suppose,” said Babcock.

Mavis sniffled loudly and gazed at Carmela. “Carmela,” she said.

“Yes,” said Carmela.

“Who would do this?” Mavis cried. “You know that Marcus was . . .
everything
to me.”

“I know that,” said Carmela, trying to console her.

“He was kind and sweet and gentle,” Mavis went on. “Such a dear, dear man!”

Ava, who was never comfortable with tears, said, “Well, he wasn't exactly Mr. Warmth.” She thought for a minute. “Or even Mr. Personality.”

“Miss Sweet,” said Babcock. “Were you working here today?”

Mavis shook her head sadly. “No, Friday's my day off. Maybe if I had been here . . .” More tears leaked out. “This wouldn't . . .”

“We're going to need to know about next of kin,” said Babcock.

“There really isn't anyone,” Mavis sobbed. “Well, maybe a sister.”

Babcock gave a nod to the crime-scene team and they slowly rolled the gurney through the store and out the front door. Carmela saw this tragic scene drawing to a close and felt terrible for Mavis. The woman lived by herself and she sensed that her job at Oddities, her relationship with Marcus Joubert, had been the only good things she had going on in her life.

As Babcock's keen eyes searched the shop, something seemed to register with him. He cleared his throat, then said, “This somewhat strange collection of, ah, merchandise . . . these items resurrected from the past, they might possibly attract a certain unsavory type of character.”

“Strange things indeed,” agreed Ava, glancing at the same stuffed monkey that had almost frightened Carmela to death.

But Mavis was suddenly defensive. “Some of these items are priceless. One of a kind! Marcus had all sorts of customers who thought the world of him and relied on his ability to seek out unique and unusual objects of art.”

“Hence the chance that this started out as a robbery,” said Babcock, trying to placate her. “Perhaps, since you are here, you could take a look around and see if anything is missing?”

“How could you even tell if something's missing?” Ava murmured. “This shop is like a cross between my Aunt Effie's attic and an episode of
Hoarders
.”

“Still,” said Babcock, pointedly ignoring Ava's comment, “it would be a tremendous help if Miss Sweet was able to take a cursory look around right now. I wonder . . .” He focused his attention solely on Mavis. “Is there some sort of inventory list that you could consult? Maybe a stock status program on your computer?”

“Yes, we have that, but it was never completely up to date,” said Mavis, sniffling loudly and wiping at her nose again. “Marcus was forever selling a piece here or there and then forgetting to delete it from our inventory list. It was the same thing when he purchased new items for the shop. Sometimes I'd notice something brand-new sitting on a shelf and not even know where it came from.”

“What's the most valuable item in here?” Carmela asked suddenly. “If this was a robbery, and it certainly feels like it must have been, what would a thief be most likely to grab?”

Mavis suddenly looked really frightened. “Oh.” She put a hand to her mouth and drew in a deep breath. “Oh no. It
couldn't
be . . . !”

“What couldn't be?” asked Babcock.

“The . . . the mask,” Mavis stammered.

“You mean like a Mardi Gras mask?” said Ava.

Mavis gave a vigorous shake of her head. “No, it was . . .” She suddenly crossed the shop in three quick strides and placed her hands on a small tea-stained Tibetan cabinet. She paused. “You have no idea.”

“No, we really don't,” said Babcock. “Perhaps you could enlighten us?” Balanced on the balls of his feet, trying hard to follow the gist of Mavis's words, he seemed a little tense.

“Are you talking about some kind of tribal mask?” said Carmela. She knew Joubert often displayed carved African masks as well as Central and South American masks in his shop. She remembered a mask from Oaxaca in particular that had been carved from a cactus plant and threaded with honest-to-goodness horsehair.

But Mavis was suddenly in a tizzy. “It couldn't be . . .” she babbled. “Please tell me it's not . . .” She suddenly flung open the doors of the Tibetan cabinet and stared inside. Curious now, they all crowded around her and stared in, too.

The cabinet was completely empty. Just three empty shelves and a curious scent. Like a cross between cinnamon and eucalyptus.

“This can't be happening!” Mavis shrieked. She reeled backward and spun around, almost crashing into a tall, glass pyramid-shaped case filled with antique jewelry.

“Just calm down,” said Babcock.

“Take a deep breath,” Carmela urged. “Try to pull yourself together and tell us exactly what's missing.” She helped Mavis limp over to a vintage horsehair chair and sit down heavily. “Really, it can't be that bad.”