AFTER TWO WRONG TURNS AND A MOMENT OF sheer mind-blowing panic at what she was about to do, Carmela found her way back to the Redmond crypt.
A sliver of moon had emerged, adding a ghostly glimmer to the cemetery, as Carmela pried the first key off Wren’s bibelot box. Taking a deep breath, she stuck the key into the lock. Of course it didn’t fit.
Kneeling down, Carmela eyeballed the lock, trying to decide which key might work. Prying off a second key, Carmela stuck that in the lock. Still nothing.
Well this was a bad idea,
she told herself.
So far all I’ve done is manage to ruin a perfectly good craft project.
But she wasn’t about to give up now. She’d come too far, taken too many risks.
Third one’s the charm, right?
It was indeed. The key slipped into the padlock and, as Carmela gave it a good hard crank to the right, the rusty hasp fell open.
Holy smokes. I’m in.
She paused for a moment, then swung the wrought iron door outward. It made a loud creak, and she prayed no one had heard it. Putting a hand on the heavy wooden door, she tripped the outside latch, then pushed inward.
Dust and mustiness assaulted her nose.
Whew. I still can’t believe I’m doing this.
Carmela had decided that her actions probably constituted breaking and entering, but maybe not quite to the letter of the law. She figured since she had the key in her possession, it gave her a sort of tacit permission. Sort of.
Carmela took two steps in. One. Two. She switched on the tiny Mag-lite she’d grabbed from her car’s glove box and peered anxiously about.
A pair of coffins, encrusted with a half-inch of furry dust on top, were hunkered side by side.
Oh lord. This is beyond spooky. Now we’re entering
Twilight Zone
territory.
Carmela knew she’d found Jamie’s parents. But what else was she going to find? Why had Jamie attempted to scrawl a final message? Just what was in here?
Taking a couple more tentative steps, Carmela edged in slowly until she was facing both coffins. She shone the flashlight around. Between the two coffins, she could see a small trapdoor set in the back wall. Carmela shuddered. This was one of the old trapdoors that facilitated removal of bones. As the tradition went, once your dead relatives were finished decomposing and were down to just bare bones, those bones could be disposed of down the chute that led to a pit, or
caveau,
to make room for the tomb’s next occupants. It was a strange custom, but one that had been in existence in New Orleans for almost two hundred years.
Interesting cultural and historical trivia, but it doesn’t have anything to do with what I’m looking for.
The little Mag-lite, shone up and down the walls, revealed tangles of cobwebs, more dust. Carmela probed the corners of the crypt, too, but found nothing. And was about to give up, to chalk the night up to a very strange adventure, when her light caught an object on the floor.
Stepping closer to examine this strange lump, Carmela bent down and aimed the full force of her light on the strange object.
What on earth?
A dirty piece of leather seemed to be wrapped around some sort of box.
But what’s inside? Please, don’t let it be bones or ashes or something funereal.
Tucking the flashlight into the crook of her arm, Carmela reached down and tentatively grabbed a rough edge of the dusty leather. She pulled hard, unwrapping as she tugged. There was a loud clank, and then the hunk of leather was dangling in her hand.
She grabbed for her light and shone it down. Metal engraved images stared back at her.
It took Carmela a few seconds before the realization hit her.
“Counterfeiting plates,” she whispered aloud.
Sadness swept over her. This certainly seemed to confirm that Jamie Redmond had been one of the Bogus Creek Boys. And it probably wasn’t a great leap of crime-solving logic to assume that one of his fellow gang members had come after him, looking for these very same plates, pressuring him hard for these plates. Probably, Jamie hadn’t been so eager to give them up and, in the process, had sealed his fate.
How awful. And senseless.
Maybe now, Carmela decided, the police could pull some records and pick up a trail. But for now, she was going to leave everything just as she’d found it. Maybe wrap the plates back up and . . .
Carmela sensed a presence a split-second before she heard a raspy voice command: “I’ll take those.”
Stunned, caught completely off guard, Carmela whirled about, aiming the little Mag-lite toward the dark figure that loomed in the doorway of the musty mausoleum.
You could hear a pin drop when the light hit the man’s face.
“You!” Carmela gasped. There, in the narrow doorway, holding a gun and blocking her exit, stood Jamie Redmond!
“Jamie?” Stunned beyond belief, Carmela’s words were a terse whisper.
The man reached out and roughly wrenched the Mag-lite from Carmela’s hand.
“Jamie . . . ?” she began again.
It couldn’t be, could it? Unless I’m looking at a ghost!
A low, menacing chuckle filled the dead air of the tomb. “Not quite,” he told her.
“Then who . . . ?” began Carmela.
“You mean to say you’ve never heard of the ne’r-do-well brother?” came a low, sarcastic laugh. “Oh, how that family did love to hide their dirty little secrets!”
“Jamie’s brother?” Carmela said, stunned. “I didn’t know Jamie
had
a brother.”
“And neither will anyone else,” said the man, taking a step toward her. “I doubt if even the folks down in Boothville remember Jud Redmond, seeing as how I wasn’t around all that much. Unfortunately for them, even though I was the older
frater,
I was also the proverbial bad seed. The one the dear old orphanage foisted off on the Redmonds as part of what you might call a
package
deal. Lucky me, I spent most of my formative years languishing in reform school over in Tallulah.” Jud Redmond uttered a harsh laugh.
Carmela was stunned.
Oh my God. J. Redmond of the Bogus Creek Boys hadn’t been Jamie Redmond at all. It was Jud Redmond. Poor Jamie was innocent!
Jud Redmond pressed even closer to her and Carmela could feel the hair on her arms prickle.
“You have no idea what my life has been like,” snarled Jud Redmond.
“Tell me,” said Carmela, trying to buy time, trying to think. “I really want to know.”
“Pollock Federal Prison,” Jamie hissed. “Federal. Maximum security.”
Carmela nodded. “But they let you out.”
Jud just snorted. “Think I’d ever be able to live any semblance of a normal life? Think anyone would hire me? Would ever trust me?” He shook his head with anger. “Think I’d ever win me a pretty little fiancée?”
“I can’t answer that,” said Carmela, fighting to keep her voice even. “But you’re probably going to dig yourself a deeper hole if you go back to counterfeiting.” She glanced toward the doorway, wondering if she were quick enough, agile enough to dash by him. She didn’t think so. Jud Redmond looked hulking but fast. Like a football player. Like someone who’d had plenty of time on his hands to pump iron.
Seeming to pick up her thoughts, Jud Redmond leaned in toward her. “I never imagined my brother would hide the printing plates here with the folks,” he told Carmela in a mocking tone. “Snatching the plates before the Feds discovered them was the only good thing my brother did for me. The only time Jamie gave a rat’s ass about me. His fast thinking got me a lighter sentence.”
“So Jamie did try to help you,” said Carmela, understanding Jamie’s motivation, but knowing the law would’ve looked askance at his actions.
“Yeah, right,” said Jud. “When I got out of prison two weeks ago Jamie offered to help me again. This time the boy genius wanted me to learn
computers.
” Jud spat out the word. “He wanted me to assume a place among the nine-to-five drones. I told him I wanted one thing.” Jud paused. “The plates. All he had to do was hand over the plates and I’d leave him alone. Disappear completely.”
“He had to refuse,” said Carmela. “Jamie didn’t want you breaking the law again. Getting sent back to prison.”
“He was a
stupid
man,” said Jud angrily.
“He had everything going for him,” said Carmela. “And you killed him.”
“I didn’t mean to,” snapped Jud. “He just . . .
refused
to help. He was stubborn.”
“Jamie cared for you,” cried Carmela. “How could you have murdered him?”
For a split-second Jud Redmond’s shoulders seemed to sag and his voice falter. “I was trying to scare him! Who knew the poor jerk was going to grab for the knife. We struggled . . . Jamie twisted the wrong way.” Jud paused, more angry than ever now. “It was a stupid, foolish accident!”
“You won’t get away with any of this,” said Carmela in a voice that sounded far braver than she felt.
Jud Redmond waggled a finger at her. “But I already have. Nobody knows about me, nobody remembers.”
“We could go to the police, explain to them what happened. I’ll go with you.”
“No,” said Jud. “That’s not gonna happen.” He bent forward quickly, gathering up the printing plates. “And unfortunately for you, you’ve been way too nosy for your own good.”
“What are you talking about?” snapped Carmela.
“You made certain
inquiries,
” Jud told her, lashing out. “Even when you were warned, you didn’t have the common sense to back off.”
Carmela thought about the snake, the conk on the head, the face in her window. She recalled the coffee that had been left in the loft at Biblios Booksellers. Jud Redmond had been shadowing their every move, searching for the damned printing plates. In Jamie’s house, at the old homestead, at the bookstore. And none of them had had the faintest idea.
“Putting it all together, are we?” taunted Jud. “Pity it’s too little, too late.”
Carmela rushed him then, launched herself at Jud Redmond with surprising speed and momentum. Fists flailing at his chest, Carmela brought one knee up sharply, connected hard, and was rewarded by Jud’s shocked cry of pain and outrage. As he bent forward slightly, dropping the printing plates, she curled her fingers into claws and tore at his eyes.
Suddenly, her jaw exploded in pain and she was flying backwards across the interior of the small tomb. She landed hard across one of the coffins.
“You bitch!” screamed Jud. “I’ll kill you!”
Her back spasming with pain, Carmela scrambled to her feet and dodged around the coffin, putting it between her and Jud.
If I had a stick, a piece of metal, anything to help defend myself!
But there was nothing.
“Give me the key!” Jud commanded.
Throwing herself to her knees, Carmela dug in her pocket until she felt the cold metal.
“That’s it, now hand it over.” Jud Redmond was advancing on her.
In one swift motion, Carmela pulled out the key, shoved open the trapdoor in the wall, and tossed the key down. There was a faint metallic
clink,
and then it was gone.
“Not very smart, lady,” snarled Jud. “You just sealed your fate.” He backed toward the entrance to the crypt, picking up the plates as he went. “Better take some time to get acquainted with the folks,” he taunted. “You’re going to be their new roommate!”
“Don’t you dare!” shrieked Carmela, real terror welling up inside her as she suddenly realized Jud’s dark intentions.
“Nighty-night,” came Jud’s loathsome chuckle as he grabbed the wooden door and tugged it closed. “Enjoy your new home!”
Carmela let out a blood-curdling scream as the heavy wooden door swung shut with a terrible thud.
Chapter 25
C
ARMELA was pretty sure her jaw was broken. It not only throbbed like mad, it felt like it was on fire, too. And every time she moved her head, which was every time she screamed, another sharp pain at the back of her neck made her wince.
She’d been screaming for a good twenty minutes now. Standing in the pitch dark, hoping against hope that someone (the caretaker?) would stumble along and hear her through that thick door. But nothing had worked. Not even the muggers, who were
supposed
to populate the cemeteries, had heard her cries.
Now Carmela knew what she had to do.
Try to get that key. Oh lord, but I don’t want to.
She wondered if she could do it, then decided she had to give it a shot. After all, she told herself, they’re just bones. Ancestral bones.
Ancestral bones. Oh great.
Feeling her way along the floor, Carmela came to the trapdoor. It was a square piece of metal, maybe twelve by twelve inches, hinged at the top.
She laid down, feeling the damp and cold pierce her, hating that she was groveling among dust and mildew. Taking a deep breath, Carmela pushed the trapdoor open and stuck her arm down.
She felt only cold air.
No way. I can’t reach.
Carmela pulled her arm back, shaken. But knew she had to try again.
This time, she shucked her suede jacket off, the better to rid herself of any unnecessary bulk. Then she lay completely flat, head touching the hinged door, and shoved her hand down. This time, her fingertips grazed something hard and brittle. Carmela shuddered.
Bones? Have to be.
But still she couldn’t reach.
Easing herself down on her left side, trying to ignore her aching back and jaw, Carmela thrust her right arm back through the trapdoor. Then, driving hard with her legs, she continued to push all the way through until her head and entire right shoulder were wedged inside the top of that terrible vault.
Reaching down, down, down, into the pit, she felt . . . bones. Smooth bones nestled in a pile of dust.
Stifling her revulsion, Carmela searched tentatively with her fingertips.