Gossamer Ghost (9 page)

Carmela took all this in and was trying to process it. “Let's be serious here,” she said. “Was Marcus Joubert really stupid enough to steal a mask from a private collector and then try to sell it for a million dollars? I mean, once rumors swirled that the mask was stolen, could he even
find
a willing buyer? I mean, have you seen the man's shop? He had
bug
collections, for gosh sakes. There are flea-bitten monkeys and weird medical devices on his shelves. I just don't see Joubert picking up the phone and talking to a primo crop of high-end customers. Most of his customers in the past have been tourists and a few fringe Goth types.”

“Watch it,” said Ava as she fingered her Goth-style necklace and skull earrings.

“Perhaps Joubert was desperate for cash,” said Jekyl. “Or he had a buyer who tasked him with
finding
a death mask.”

“There's another plausible scenario,” said Ava. “Maybe his buyer set him up.”

“How so?” asked Carmela. She was open to any theory at the moment. Anything that would hold water, that is.

“If Joubert was trying to fill an order,” said Ava, “like Jekyl suggests, then maybe once he had the mask in his possession, the
buyer
killed him and stole the mask.”

“I'm getting confused,” said Jekyl.

“So am I,” said Carmela. “I think we need to huddle with Mavis Sweet and pick her brain. See if she's remembered anything. Or else we'll have to come up with a new theory.”

“Good idea,” said Ava. “Let's call Mavis.”

“I have a proposition for you ladies,” said Jekyl, abruptly changing the subject.

“What's that?” said Ava.

“How would you two lovelies like to transform yourselves into a pair of ghosts this coming Friday night?”

“Why?” said Ava.

“You mean for Halloween night?” said Carmela. “Jekyl, what is it you're asking us?”

“The thing is,” said Jekyl, trying to look self-important, “I'm in charge of theming, decorating, and staffing the Ghost Train.”

Ava glanced at Carmela and said, “What's a Ghost Train?”

“Are you serious?” said Jekyl. “The Ghost Train is being touted as New Orleans's premier Halloween event and has been promoted up the wazoo!”

“I'm sure,” Carmela said mildly. “Now tell us more about it.”

Jekyl drew breath and gestured expansively. “Picture this if you will. A classic old passenger train consisting of six or seven plush Pullman cars, all glammed up with Halloween décor, and running on the New Orleans Public Belt Railroad between Audubon Park and the French Quarter.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ava. “You're asking us to
be
ghosts? And, like, ride on the train?”

“Yes, I am,” said Jekyl. “Because I think you'd both make magnificent ghosts.”

Carmela turned toward Ava. “Sounds like a sell job to me.”

Jekyl held his index finger and thumb together. “It would be a tiny favor for
moi
.”

“I hate to admit it,” said Ava, “but it does sound kind of fun.”

Jekyl fairly beamed. “I knew I could count on you two! Now, you're going to need costumes of course.”

“What?” squawked Carmela. It wasn't enough just to show up?

“And not just the old bedsheet over the head with two eye holes cut into it,” said Jekyl. “I'd love it if you ladies devised something really spectacular.”

“You hear that, Carmela?” said Ava. “We're going to be ghosts.”

“On the premier Ghost Train,” said Carmela, playing along.

“Which means we're gonna need costumes that are really spooktacular!” said Ava.

“That's the spirit,” said Jekyl, as he eased his way out of the shop.

“Honestly,” said Carmela, “he does have a way of twisting your arm.”

“But it might be fun. And Baby's party is Wednesday night, the Pumpkins and Bumpkins Ball is on Thursday, so we're home free on Friday, right?”

“That's what it looks like.” Carmela dug in her bag and pulled out her cell phone. “I'm going to call Mavis. See if we can drop by her place before we head off for the Zombie Crawl tonight.”

“Good idea,” said Ava. “This whole Napoleon's mask thing has got my curiosity itching.”

“You mean burning?”

“Yeah, that, too.”

Carmela punched in digits, then waited a few moments. Mavis picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?” Mavis said in a shaky, tentative voice. It was obvious she'd been receiving calls from reporters, calls from police, and probably a few crank calls.

“Mavis, it's Carmela.”

“Thank goodness,” said Mavis, sounding hugely relieved. “I thought it might be another reporter.”

“I was wondering,” said Carmela, “if I could drop by and talk to you tonight? Maybe around seven?”

“Just you?”

“My friend Ava, too.”

“This is about the investigation?” Mavis asked.

Carmela thought for a few moments. Babcock had warned her to stay out of it, but she was feeling more and more intrigued. “You might say that,” she told Mavis.

“You have some new thoughts on the murder?”

Actually, Carmela had questions about the murder. But instead of blurting that out and scaring her off, she replied, “Yes, we do.”

“W
E'LL
have a quick bite,” said Carmela, standing at her stove. “Then we'll hustle over to Mavis's place, ply her with a few questions, and head back down to the French Quarter so we can catch the Zombie Crawl.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Ava. She was lounging on the leather chaise, rubbing Boo's little triangle-shaped ears. “And may I just say, whatever you're whipping up in there, it smells absolutely divine.”

“More like heating it up,” said Carmela, as she stirred her pan. She added another pat of butter to her sizzling shrimp, then dumped in the black beans. When everything was all savory and nice, she dished up steaming portions into yellow Fiesta ware bowls. “Come and get it.” She carried the bowls to her dining table and placed them on rattan place mats.

Ava was at the table in mere moments.

“Whoa,” said Carmela, “let me get you a . . .”

“Spoon,” said Ava. She leapt for the sideboard like a crazed ninja warrior, grabbed two spoons, and was back before you could say “Dinner is served.”

Carmela sat down across from Ava and smiled. “Well, isn't this special. So elegant and formal. Too bad I let that British butler have the night off.” Ava was digging in, fanning her mouth because the shrimp were so hot, but not letting up in her eagerness to stuff herself. The dogs danced beneath their elbows, whining and begging for handouts.

Carmela had to chuckle. She hadn't even had time to light a candle or put on music. Oh well, at least she'd made an effort in the kitchen. She hadn't just squirted ketchup on top of noodles and called it
sasgetti.

When Ava finally came up for air, she said, “This is so delicious,
cher
.”

“Wait till you see the dump cake I made for dessert,” said Carmela. “With blueberry and pineapple.”

Ava giggled. “What a great name. But, seriously, I'm gonna have to bite the bullet one of these days and go on a strict diet.” She looked mournful as she patted her absolutely flat stomach. “At what point does a muffin top turn into a full-blown Bundt cake?”

“I think you look just fine.”

“Maybe I should just eat tuna and Melba toast. Or down that gunky liquid protein drink. Dran-O or Food-O, whatever it is.”

“I was planning to start my summer diet first thing tomorrow,” said Carmela.

Ava snorted. “Don't make me laugh while I'm eating,
cher
. I could choke and die. Or shoot wine out my nose.”

“Fat chance,” said Carmela, which made Ava snort again.

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later, dogs walked and dishes stacked in the sink, Carmela and Ava were out the door.

“You think I'm too dressed up for a Zombie Crawl?” Ava asked as they drove down Decatur Street, past the Café du Monde and the open-air French Market. Ava had changed into a leopard-print top, tight black leggings, and thigh-high black boots. She looked like Catwoman out on the prowl. Or a character in an old comedy sketch from the
Cher
show.

“In an outfit that prim and proper,” said Carmela, “you could easily be mistaken for an Upper East Side Bergdorf Goodman shopper.”

“You think?”

“Uh . . . no,” said Carmela. “Face it, sweetie, you're dressed like your persona: fun, hip, and looking like you want to swan around the French Quarter and hit a few clubs.” She hooked a right on North Peters Street, and added, “You for sure didn't want to dress like a zombie, did you?”

Ava shook her head and her mass of dark hair looked almost purple as they drove under a string of streetlamps that stretched down the dark street like glowing rosary beads. “Nope. Zombies are way too scuzzy for my taste.” She shuddered. “All that hanging flesh, ripped clothes, and lank hair.”

Carmela patted her own hair, which was due for a trim. “I know the feeling.”

“But I like the idea of dressing up like a ghost for Jekyl's Ghost Train.”

“I've got a couple ideas on that,” said Carmela. “Costume-wise, I mean.”

They cruised down Frenchmen Street and then into the heart of the Bywater District. It was an eclectic area, filled with longtime residents as well as a more recent influx of artists and musicians who'd been priced out of the French Quarter. Restaurants and pubs like Praline Patty's and Sugar Blue had recently popped up, but the area still retained its quaint, laid-back, tumbledown charm.

Mavis lived in a small, Caribbean-style cottage that had once been painted teal blue. Now, after wind, rain, humidity, and good old Louisiana heat had pounded away at it, the paint had been worn down to a fine patina and silvered wood shone through. In the small front yard, delineated by an ankle-high, white wire fence, a couple of scraggly palm trees and one orange tree made their brave stand.

From the looks of the run-down cottage, Carmela guessed that Mavis was probably one of the people who'd grown up here, instead of being a recent transplant with high hopes for a fixer-upper.

“Talk about dumpy,” said Ava as they walked to the front door.

“I know,” said Carmela. “But just . . . play nice, okay? She's really hurting.”

Mavis answered the door on the third ring. It creaked open and she peered out tentatively, her complexion looking sallow and splotchy, eyes red-rimmed and sunken. Carmela couldn't help but feel they'd interrupted a serious crying jag.

“Hi,” said Mavis. She opened the door almost fearfully. “Come in.”

The living room, decorated in faded browns and purples, practically mirrored the way Mavis was dressed.
Drab
was hardly the word for it and Carmela felt her heart go out to the woman. In one fell swoop, Mavis had lost her fiancé, her livelihood, and probably her self-confidence.

Carmela and Ava plopped down on a sagging floral couch, while Mavis settled herself listlessly in a chair across from them.

“How are you holding up?” asked Carmela. Her eyes searched the room. Not much in the way of décor.

One of Mavis's shoulders hitched up a notch.

“Hang in there, honey,” said Ava, trying to lend an encouraging note.

“I'm trying,” said Mavis. “But it's been difficult.” She gazed pointedly at Carmela. “The police were here again today. Asking questions, always these complicated questions that I don't have answers for.”

“I'm so sorry about that,” said Carmela. “I know this whole ordeal has been brutal.”

Mavis pulled a tissue from the pocket of her lumpy sweater and dabbed at her eyes. “You have no idea.”

“No, I'm sure I don't,” said Carmela. She wanted to ask Mavis a few tough questions, but decided the woman was in a fragile, highly emotional state. She'd have to lead up to them gradually.

“It feels like . . .” Mavis began, then sniffled into a tissue.

“What, Mavis?” Carmela asked. She tried to keep her tone low and sympathetic. She wanted to create an even greater level of trust.

“It feels like the police don't want to believe my story,” said Mavis.

“Typical,” said Ava.

“I think the detectives are just trying to collect as much information as possible,” said Carmela. “And then sort everything out.” She wanted to sit on the fence, 50 percent Mavis, 50 percent Babcock. If that was even possible.

“I told them everything I know,” said Mavis. She hunched her shoulders forward and pulled herself into a tight knot.

“I'm sure you did,” said Carmela.

Mavis cleared her throat. “I sure do feel lucky having you on my side, though.”

“That's right,” said Carmela. “I
am
on your side. Ava is, too.”

Ava nodded. “Believe it.”

“You're both so kind,” said Mavis.

“Girl power,” said Ava, doing a quick fist pump. “We gotta stick together.”

Carmela struggled to phrase her question delicately. “You're quite sure that Joubert was here in town the night the death mask was stolen in Dallas?”

“Oh yes,” said Mavis, nodding fiercely. “I know it for a fact. You can even correlate that with Mr. Duval. They had a meeting together. Over dinner, I think.”

“I'm going to check that out,” said Carmela.

Mavis bobbed her head. “I wish you would.”

Ava poked Carmela in the ribs. “Can't you talk to Babcock about this whole mess? Get him to ease off?”

“Is he your boyfriend, Carmela?” Mavis played with the ring on her finger. The silver ring with the skulls and Sanskrit inscription.

“Yes, he is,” said Carmela. She felt awful. Poor Mavis was wearing her wedding ring . . . well, the ring that
would
have been her wedding ring had her fiancé not been murdered.

“So maybe you can reason with him,” said Mavis. “Convince him that Marcus wasn't a thief.”

“That's exactly what I'm trying to do,” said Carmela. “I just need a little more . . . what would you call it? Evidence to the contrary.”

Mavis oozed a few more tears.

“It was fairly obvious the other night,” said Carmela, “that you knew all about the death mask. That you knew Marcus had the Napoleon death mask in his possession.”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Mavis. “He'd shown it to me just a few days earlier.”

“Where did you think it came from?” Carmela asked.

Mavis shook her head slowly. “I don't know. Like I said before, I just assumed that he purchased it, like everything else in his inventory. Either at an auction or from a private dealer. You realize, Marcus had a very keen eye for unique pieces. And he knew there was always a huge market for the unusual.”

“I'm sure there is,” said Carmela. “But now, after talking to the police, after seeing the article in today's
Times-Picayune
, you must realize that the mask is being viewed as stolen property.”

Mavis tensed up. “I know
a
mask was stolen. I don't know that it's the exact same mask.”

“The thing is,” said Carmela, feeling awful, “there are three other known Napoleon death masks out there and none of the museums or collectors who own them have reported those masks stolen. Or even recently sold.”

“Just that collector in Dallas?” Mavis asked in a small voice.

“That's right,” said Carmela. She remembered her conversation with the antique dealer James Stanger. He had told her that Marcus Joubert had been involved in several unsavory deals. Had this been one of them? For Mavis's sake, she hoped not.

Mavis's bottom lip began to quiver and her eyes sparkled. She began to shake and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Oh!” she wailed. “How did I get mixed up in all of this? Marcus showed me the mask and I thought it was beautiful, a real coup for him that might help turn his business around. But then everything went sour. Marcus was murdered, the mask stolen, and . . . and . . . then the landlord sent an eviction notice.”

“I'm sorry,” said Carmela. “I didn't mean to . . .”

“You know what the awful thing is?” Mavis continued. “There's barely enough money in the Oddities checking account to even rent a storage locker. And . . .” Her voice was shaking now. “We owe three months' back rent!”

Poor thing, thought Carmela. Her life really is falling apart.

“I'm so grateful, though,” said Mavis, “that the two of you are listening to
my
side of the story.”

“We'll do more than listen,” said Ava. “Won't we, Carmela? We'll
do
something about it.”

“We'll certainly try,” said Carmela.

Mavis's voice was a high-pitched squeak. “Thank you.”

“I was wondering,” said Carmela, “when the mask first appeared at Oddities, did Marcus talk about it? Did he have a customer in mind?”

“I don't think so,” said Mavis. “At least he didn't mention anyone by name.”

“Maybe that guy Duval, that he had the meeting with?” said Ava.

“I just don't know,” said Mavis.

Carmela decided to try another angle. “Mavis, do you have any idea what a genuine Napoleon's death mask might be worth?”

Mavis gazed at her and puckered her brows as if trying to dredge up a number. “No. Not really.”

“The rumor,” said Carmela, “is that it could be valued at close to a million dollars.”

Mavis's face turned dead white. “That much?” She seemed utterly stunned. “Oh dear Lord, I had no idea. I thought it was more of a curiosity, like all the other items at Oddities.”

“And you still have no idea where Joubert bought it?” said Carmela.

“If I knew, I'd tell you,” said Mavis, blinking rapidly. “I really would. You
have
to believe me.”

“We do, honey,” said Ava. Even her heart had gone out to Mavis.

“I need you to dig through every scrap of paper you can find at the shop,” said Carmela. “Go through his files, his notes, even his emails. Can you do that for me?”