“Sounds like the
Dukes of Hazzard,
” said Carmela.
“You’re not far off, sugar,” replied Ava.
“Here’s something,” said Wren, digging into another envelope.
“What?” asked Carmela.
“A bunch of black-and-white photos,” said Wren. She frowned. “I’ve never seen these before. I wonder . . .”
Carmela leaned over and took a look. They were black-and-white photos of what appeared to be an old homestead. A white wood frame house, part of a small barn in the background, what looked like swampland off in the distance.
Could this be the place where Jamie grew up?
Carmela wondered.
Is this his parents’ home?
“Where did you say Jamie was from?” Carmela asked.
“Boothville,” said Wren.
“Did he ever take you down there?” asked Carmela.
“Nope,” said Wren. “And Jamie didn’t talk much about it either. I wonder . . . are the photos dated?”
Carmela flipped one over. “Ten slash eighty-four. October, nineteen eighty-four.”
“Mmm,” said Wren, studying the photo. “This could be his parents’ place. Wonder why he never bothered showing me this stuff.”
“Hard to tell with people,” murmured Carmela. “Some folks are just more private than others. They need to keep things to themselves.”
Sitting across from them, Ava had been quiet for some time.
“Did you find something, Ava?” asked Wren.
“Uh . . . ah . . . no,” said Ava. She had a smile pasted on her face, but her eyes darted from side to side.
A warning bell sounded in Carmela’s head. Ava was rarely at a loss for words. She had obviously found something fairly sensitive.
“What is it?” asked Wren, curious that Ava wasn’t being more forthcoming.
“Just more old photos,” said Ava, trying to feign an offhand manner. “From before you guys were engaged.” She slid the stack of color photos back in the envelope.
“Can I see?” asked Wren, holding out a hand.
Ava glanced up and met Carmela’s eyes. And Carmela had a pretty good idea at that moment what Ava had stumbled upon.
“You don’t really need to . . .” began Ava, sounding apologetic.
“But I do,” insisted Wren.
Wordlessly, Ava handed Wren the envelope of photos.
Wren pulled the photos out, one by one, studying each shiny image carefully. When she got to about the sixth one, she stared at it for at least a full minute. Then the photo toppled from her hand and landed face down on the carpet. And Wren stood up and abruptly left the room.
You could have heard a pin drop as Carmela and Ava gazed at each other in shocked silence. Then Carmela reached down and plucked the photo from where it lay on the carpet.
Ava edged in closer as Carmela flipped it over. Together they stared at the shocker photo.
His arm draped possesively around a young woman, Jamie was gazing at her with what could only be called unabashed love. The woman wore a dazzling smile on her face and a large, sparkling diamond on her third finger, left hand.
“Can you believe this?” breathed Ava. “Jamie must have been engaged once before! Poor Wren. This ain’t exactly what she needs right now. A ghost from Jamie’s past.”
Carmela stared at the photo, stunned. It wasn’t the photo of the deliriously happy couple that took her breath away and made her heart pound a timpani drum solo. It was the smiling woman. Because this was no ghost from the distant past. This woman was very real and very much among the living.
Margot Butler
.
Wearing a major bling-bling ring.
Jamie Redmond had once been engaged to Margot Butler.
Carmela grimaced at the thought. Margot Butler, the chatty, pushy, in-your-face interior designer who’d popped by Memory Mine just yesterday afternoon. Who
had
to know that her former fiance had been stabbed to death the night before, but hadn’t uttered a peep, hadn’t seemed the least bit concerned.
Margot Butler, who’d have to be brain dead not to notice Wren sitting at the back table.
So just what the hell is going on?
Carmela wondered.
Because whatever Margot’s game is, it’s very strange indeed
.
Chapter 7
“
Y
OU really know her?” cried Wren. Her sad eyes searched the faces of Carmela and Ava.
“
I
never met the little hussy,” said Ava in her most righteous tone. “But Carmela knows her.”
Carmela gave a silent nod. They’d finally coaxed Wren back into the library, and this time Ava
had
mixed up a batch of dirty martinis. Now they each sipped one.
“Jamie was engaged to someone else,” said Wren, an incredulous look on her face. “Before me.” She seemed to be in a mild state of shock.
“It certainly looks that way,” said Carmela. She took a tiny sip of her martini.
Strong. Good. Wren probably needs a strong drink right about now. We all do.
“I don’t think this should change the way you feel about Jamie one bit,” said Ava. “After all, this was
before
. It’s ancient history. Everyone has previous relationships. God knows,
I’ve
had my share of previous relationships.”
Carmela had to smile. Ava’d had more than her fair share of previous relationships.
“I understand all that,” said Wren, “and the rational part of my brain tells me I should be okay with it. But my heart tells me Jamie deliberately hid something from me. That’s the part that hurts like hell. It means . . . it means he lied.” Wren practically whispered the last part of her sentence.
“Not technically a lie,” said Carmela, “more a sin of omission.”
“But a sin just the same,” insisted Wren.
“Maybe that’s why Jamie put his office in the old chapel,” offered Ava. “Maybe he was praying for forgiveness.” Ava, having been raised a Catholic, prayed often for forgiveness.
“You think so?” asked Wren, brightening some.
“Sure,” cooed Ava. “Or maybe he was trying to summon up the courage to tell you,” Ava continued. “To come clean.”
“Now I’ll never know,” murmured Wren.
Carmela put a hand on Wren’s slim shoulder. “But you
do
know. You know that Jamie loved you. Loved you so much he put the house in your name. And please remember, Jamie didn’t go through with his marriage to Margot Butler. He was planning to marry
you
. You’ve got to hold that truth sacred.”
Ava drained her glass and stood up. “Anybody want another one?” she asked.
“I do,” said Wren.
“Then I’m gonna put the sausage and cheese and stuff I brought along out on a plate, too,” said Ava. “We can have ourselves a little oinkfest.”
“I’m stunned,” said Wren, turning to Carmela. “There’s a lot about Jamie I didn’t know.”
Carmela peered at Wren. Her eyes looked clear, she was holding her head up again, and she’d stopped daubing at her eyes with a tissue. She looked like she might have possibly rejoined the living. On the other hand, maybe the dirty martinis Ava had whipped up had finally taken the edge off.
“Agreed,” said Carmela. “But you look better. More composed.”
“This is going to sound weird, but I
feel
better,” said Wren. “I mean, I’m still utterly heartbroken, this was the man I loved, after all. But it feels like I’m getting a handle on things.”
“Good,” said Carmela.
“For one thing, I’m mad,” said Wren.
Carmela threw her a quizzical look. “You’re mad?”
“Hopping mad,” declared Wren. “And I want revenge for Jamie’s death.”
“Revenge isn’t always a positive thing,” Carmela said cautiously.
Was this really Wren talking or was it the martini?
“Okay then, how about justice?” said Wren. “I want justice.”
Wren’s desire for justice seemed like a very logical and rational emotion, Carmela decided.
“And you will help me, won’t you?” asked Wren. “Gabby bragged that you can do anything once you put your mind to it. So did Ava.”
Carmela reached over and clasped one of Wren’s hands as she heard a whisper of movement out in the rotunda. “I’ll try,” she said. “I’ll give it my best shot.” She looked up, expecting to see Ava, but saw only shadows.
“Thank you, Carmela,” said Wren. “I know you’re not that much older than I am, but I feel like you’ve become my mentor. Or maybe my fairy godmother. Not the old-fashioned kind who grants silly wishes, but the smart
today
one. The one who watches over you and gives good advice.”
Ava appeared in the doorway, laden with a large silver tray. Wedges of bright yellow cheese, rounds of sliced sausage, and stacks of crackers were piled on it.
“Who’s ready for some . . .” Ava’s words suddenly died in her throat. Eyes round as saucers, blood draining rapidly from her face, she gaped at the floor. “Holy shit!” she suddenly shrieked. “Watch out! Get back!”
“What?” cried Wren, looking around wildly. “What?”
Just as the silver tray crashed to the floor, just as crackers, cheese bits, and sausage rounds exploded everywhere, Carmela caught a flash of gray-brown scales as something raced across the Oriental carpet then slithered under the sofa.
“Snake!” came Ava’s blood-curdling cry. “Snake!”
Like Lot’s wife turned to salt, Wren froze on the sofa. In full-blown panic mode herself, Carmela noted that Boo had jerked awake and let loose a series of panicked barks.
No, Boo!
thought Carmela.
Please don’t get brave on me!
Carmela wrapped a hand around Wren’s arm just below her elbow and squeezed tightly. With her other hand she got a firm grip on Boo’s collar, ready to haul the dog along with her. “On my count, we make a dash,” she told Wren harshly, her jaw clenched, her voice hoarse. “One, two, three, NOW!” She jerked Wren’s arm and Boo’s collar, pulling them both up.
A twinge of pain flickered across Wren’s face, then they were bounding gazelle-like across the room and out into the rotunda to join a terrified Ava. From there it was a mad dash to the front door, feet and paws clattering on slate, voices raised in alarm, as they scrambled down the limestone steps.
And rushed headlong into . . . the arms of Blaine Taylor!
“You!” screamed Carmela, freaked out for a second time in the space of about five seconds.
“What’s wrong?” yelled Blaine. He seemed as stunned as they were to have run smack dab into them on the sidewalk like this. “Did someone break in? Is everyone okay?”
“Snake!” screamed Wren. She wasn’t having any trouble vocalizing now. People coming out of the bar a half a block away looked over in alarm.
“Ava!” screamed Carmela, suddenly realizing her friend wasn’t with them.
Carmela spun on her heel and dashed back up the steps.
“No!” screamed Wren, trying to keep Boo from following. “Don’t go back in there!”
But Ava was pushing her way out the heavy door. “I’m here. I’m okay,” she was gibbering. “I just had to grab my purse in the hallway . . . get my cell phone!”
“Sweet mother of pearl,” exclaimed Blaine. “Are you ladies okay?”
“Hell no,” snarled Ava. “There’s a friggin’ snake in there!”
“What!” said Blaine. He took a step back, peered at the house as though the unwelcome reptile was about to come hurtling out at him. “Are you serious?”
“You heard me,” said Ava. “Some idiot tossed a cottonmouth into the house.”
“A cottonmouth?” said Blaine, still sounding incredulous and trying not to stare at Ava in her negligee.
“We don’t know somebody tossed it in,” said Carmela. “It could have just been there. It’s an old house. Who knows what the hell lives down in the cellar.” She knelt down and gently massaged Boo’s head, trying to calm the little dog down.
“She’s right,” said Blaine. “These old places can house any number of varmints. Rodents, snakes . . .”
“Please!” shrilled Ava. “Do us all a favor and kindly skip the rundown!”
“Okay, okay,” said Blaine Taylor, slipping an arm around Wren’s waist. “Everybody just calm down, okay?”
“By the way,” said Carmela, who had pulled herself together and was gazing at Blaine Taylor, noticing that the man seemed to relish his role as the great calmer-downer. “What were you doing out here on the sidewalk?”
“Just dropping by to see how Wren was doing,” he said in a sincere tone. “I was worried about her.”
“Kind of late, isn’t it?” asked Carmela.
“Is it?” asked Blaine, glancing at this watch. “Jeez. After nine. Wow. The thing of it is, I was working at my office and was headed home.” He smiled again at Carmela. “I live over on Harmony Street, so I usually take Tchoupitoulas. Just a hop away.”
“Uh huh,” said Carmela. The coincidence bothered her, but this probably wasn’t the time to make an issue of it.
“What are we going to do about the snake?” demanded Ava. “Bribe it to leave? Get it into the witness protection program?” There was a tinge of hysteria in her voice.
Blaine pulled off his jacket, removed the cell phone from the pocket, then draped his jacket around Ava’s almost-bare shoulders. “I’m gonna call somebody,” he told them. “There’s a company called Critter Gitters. Their guys come right to your house and take care of unwanted varmints. They had to come to my place once to retrieve an opossum that got stuck in the chimney.”
“Are you serious?” said Ava, seeming to finally calm down. “There’s really a company called Critter Gitters?”
“Looks like,” said Carmela, as Blaine called information, waited a couple seconds, then was connected to the critter-gitting people. They milled about on the sidewalk for a minute or two, listening as Blaine described the problem, then he clicked off his phone.
“They can be here in thirty minutes,” he told them. “You know where the thing is?”
“Hell, yes,” said Ava. “Under the sofa. Probably eating our cheese and sausage.”
“I don’t want you staying here tonight,” Blaine said to Wren.