Postcards from the Dead (17 page)

“I guess,” said Ava. She stopped abruptly and stared into the window of a souvenir shop. “I just wish these other shops didn’t try to cut into my business.” She pointed to a display of small voodoo dolls sitting in the window. With their blank faces and rudimentary outlines, they looked like white cotton gingerbread cookies. “Look at this. Voodoo dolls from some awful factory city in China. They’re pure crap. Don’t people realize these are faux dolls, while mine are sanctified at midnight in Bayou Terrebonne by granny witch Cheniere?”

“Are they really?” said Carmela.

“No, but it’s a dandy story. Maybe if I . . .” Ava prattled on, but Carmela was standing stock still, her nose pressed against the window.

“Ava! Look at this!”

“Huh? What?”

“Look at the postcards in that little spinner rack.”

“They’re just tourist things,” said Ava. “They’re . . .” She peered at them closer. “Holy baloney! They’re a lot like those crazy postcards somebody sent to you! The Kimber cards!”

“No,” said Carmela, “they’re
exactly
like them.” She dashed past Ava, eager to push her way into the Dreamland Gift Shop.

But it was closed.

Chapter 18

“O
H,
shiznit!” said Carmela, anxious to get a closer look at the postcards. “We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Ava twirled her cape as they walked to Carmela’s car. “Kind of crazy, seeing those postcards, huh?”

“I never thought to look at where they came from,” said Carmela. “If they were printed locally or what.”

“Maybe only a couple of shops carry them,” suggested Ava. She climbed in and pulled her seat belt across. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. So maybe if you check with the clerks, they might remember who they sold them to.”

“It’s possible, because the postcards don’t seem like they’d be that popular.” Carmela turned the key in the ignition, checked the street, and pulled out. “I mean, who would want cemetery postcards?”

“Actually,” said Ava, “lots of people probably would. That’s why they come to New Orleans. To drink our booze, eat our fattening food, and get their pants scared off when they wander our cemeteries.”

“And they come for the music,” added Carmela.

“Absolutely, the music,” said Ava. “Zydeco, jazz, blues.”

“Plus Caribbean.”

“Love it,” said Ava. As they zoomed down Burgundy Street, she scrunched down in the seat and let loose a big yawn.

“It’s been a crazy week,” said Carmela. She cut across a lane of traffic, turned onto Bienville, then bumped down the narrow alley adjacent to her apartment. “With the three biggest days of Mardi Gras still to come . . .”

Ava suddenly sat bolt upright, like an alert prairie dog sniffing the air for danger. “Do you smell something?”

Carmela coasted into her garage and they both scrambled out of the car.

“Fire?” said Carmela. There was a hint of something burning in the air and the atmosphere seemed a little hazy.

Bonfire? Outdoor grill?

But deep inside her chest, Carmela’s heart did a slow flip-flop.

Fire around here? On our block?

“Criminy!” Ava whooped, as she took off running. “I hope it’s not my freakin’ shop!”

Carmela was right behind Ava, running an all-out sprint, trying to keep pace with her friend’s longer strides. But when she followed Ava through the porte cochere into their shared courtyard, she was shocked beyond belief to see clouds of gray smoke pouring from
her
apartment!

“Ava!” Carmela’s scream was shrill and piercing. “The
dogs
are in there!” She whipped her head back and forth frantically. “Oh, dear Lord, they’re trapped! You call 911, I’m going in!”

Ava caught her arm. “You can’t go in there! That place is smoking like a chimney! You’ll die of smoke inhalation!”

Carmela shook her off roughly. “I have to save them!”

Crashing through the front door, Carmela hesitated for all of two seconds and grabbed a damp towel off her kitchen counter. She pressed it to her mouth, then plunged headlong into the smoke, crying, “Boo! Poobah! Come on kids, Momma’s here!”

Poobah came running to her immediately, eyes rolling wildly, looking terrified. “Good boy!” she crooned. Then, grabbing him by the collar, she dragged him to the front door.

“I called 911!” cried Ava, who was pacing in the courtyard along with three other curious but worried neighbors. “Fire department’s on its way!”

Carmela handed Poobah off to Ava. “I’m going back for Boo!” Carmela shrilled.

“You can’t!” Ava called back. “Too dangerous!” But Carmela had already disappeared.

This time, the smoke was thicker and more acrid, and Carmela stumbled when she was barely ten feet in.

Where to go? Where would Boo go to seek refuge? Bedroom. She’s gotta be in my bedroom.

Carmela crouched low where the smoke wasn’t as thick and pushed forward.

Boo was curled up in a tight little ball in the middle of Carmela’s bed, panting hard, eyes closed tight, looking severely stressed.

Carmela didn’t hesitate for a second. She swooped down and picked up the chunky little dog in her arms. Boo resisted for a moment, then seemed to go limp.

Now to get out of here!

The smoke had gotten much worse and Carmela began to cough. Thankfully, she knew her apartment like the back of her hand. Bending low, cradling Boo, she fought her way to the door. But with her breathing compromised, every step was an exertion. She could barely see and, weighing in at forty-five pounds, her dog was deadweight.

Stumbling across her living room, Carmela banged her knee on the sharp corner of the coffee table.

At least I know where I am! Just go straight ahead and then I can breathe again. We can both breathe again.

A half-dozen steps from the door, still carrying Boo, Carmela inadvertently drew a deep breath and felt her lungs fill with noxious fumes.

Not now! Not when I’m this close!

Carmela faltered. Her eyes burned, her shoulders ached, and she suddenly felt light-headed and stupid. But as her eyes still searched for what she hoped was the doorway, Carmela dropped to her knees. Panic suddenly filled her brain like a wildfire gone rampant.

Now what? Can I crawl and drag Boo at the same time? Do I save myself and leave her?

Her dog was motionless now. Passed out? Overcome with smoke?

No, I can’t leave her behind. That’s not an option.

Carmela gritted her teeth and fought hard to pull herself to her feet. Her knees felt like lead; she barely made it. But finally she was up.

Just one step. One step at a time.

Carmela took one faltering step and knew she was a goner. Her head was spinning, she was about to pass out. She let loose a growl of anger and frustration. If she could only see . . .

Suddenly, out of the darkness, a hand appeared. Then a complete arm stretched out to her. She batted at it frantically, not knowing who it was, what it was . . .

Then a dark, shadowy figure wearing an enormous coat and respirator appeared in the swirl of darkness and smoke and wrapped a strong arm around her. Still hanging on to Boo, she was suddenly grabbed, steadied, and yanked outside.

Into blessed, breathable, fresh cool air. Bending over, coughing, fighting to clear her throat, Carmela strained to take some fresh air into her lungs.

“I thought you were dead!” Ava screamed, as she rushed up to her. “I though we’d
lost
you!” She was a crazed Medusa, her hair flying everywhere, her shrill voice piercing the night.

But Carmela, standing up straight again, was focused on only one thing now. Boo’s furry, limp body was lying on the brick patio. And it looked to her like her beloved little girl wasn’t breathing!

“Help her!” Carmela shrieked, starting to cry, clutching the arm of one of the firemen. “Do something!”

Another firefighter dashed forward with an oxygen tank. He knelt down and held a cone-shaped oxygen mask to Boo’s muzzle.

Tears streamed down Carmela’s face. “Please, oh, please,” she cried. She flung herself down and ruffled the soft fur on Boo’s shoulder. “Do you think . . . ?” she asked the fireman. “Do you think?”

“Sometimes, if they’ve inhaled a great deal of smoke it can take a little while to come around,” said the fireman. He had kind eyes and the nametag on his jacket read
Jasper
.

“Please keep trying,” Carmela pleaded as Ava stood behind her, kneading her shoulders.

Another firefighter came over to watch. Carmela saw only his boots.

“I don’t know . . .” said the owner of the boots.

He’s trying to tell me there’s no chance
, Carmela thought to herself.
That it’s hopeless. That she’s already . . .

Boo’s eyes suddenly fluttered.

“Hey, now,” said the fireman, Jasper, who was holding the oxygen mask to the dog’s muzzle.

Suddenly, Boo’s eyes flew open and she let loose a long wet snort. Then her chest began to move up and down in a rhythmic manner.

“She’s breathing!” Ava cried. “She’s okay!”

Wiping the tears from her face, Carmela bowed her head and whispered a prayer of thanks. Then she leaned over and hugged Jasper. Truly, this was a miracle.

* * *

SOME TEN MINUTES LATER BABCOCK SHOWED UP.
Turns out Ava had called him the minute Carmela had dashed back in to grab Boo.

He was wild-eyed and pacing. Angry at Carmela for being so foolhardy, unnerved that someone had done this to her apartment. Babcock conferred with the firemen, even as he kept a constant eye on Carmela, who was huddled across the courtyard with Ava and the dogs. Finally, hands jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket, trying to manage a casual demeanor but really not pulling it off, he came over to talk to Carmela.

“It wasn’t a fire,” said Babcock. “It was a smoke bomb.”

“What?” Carmela was incredulous.

“Looks like someone pried open the side window and tossed it in,” said Babcock.

“Who would do that?” asked Ava, incredulous.

Babcock focused a penetrating stare on Carmela. “I don’t know, who do you
think
would do that?”

Carmela just shook her head.

“Maybe a better question,” said Babcock, “is
why
would someone do that?”

“I have no idea,” said Carmela, although now that the dogs were safe and the situation was under control, she was starting to turn the notion over in her mind. A random act, or was this quite deliberate?

But Babcock wasn’t finished. “Perhaps someone who wants to send you a message? Someone who thinks you’re involved in something you shouldn’t be?” His words were sharp and biting.

“Don’t threaten her like that,” said Ava, suddenly assuming a defensive posture.

Babcock pulled his hands from his pockets and spread them apart. “Who’s threatening?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” said Ava. “And if you’ve got a bone to pick with Carmela, this isn’t the time or the place. Look at our girl.” Ava reached over and tried to rub a smudge from Carmela’s cheek. “She’s been through hell, so she doesn’t need you harassing and haranguing her.”

Babcock’s eyes blazed and he looked like he was about to explode. Then he wrestled control of his raw emotions and said, “Fine. We’ll talk about this later.”

“You got that right,” said Ava.

Babcock sighed and said, “She can stay with you for the time being?”

Ava was still bristling. “She’s sure not going to stay with
you
.”

Carmela held up a hand. “I’m okay,” she said to Ava. To Babcock she said, “We will talk about this, but not tonight. Okay?” Her eyes sought out his, then went to Boo.

“Okay,” said Babcock. “You ladies need help with anything?”

“Just back off,” said Ava, as one of the firemen came over to talk to them.

“If you have to,” said the firefighter, giving Carmela an encouraging smile, “you can go inside for a couple of minutes. We’ve got your place all opened up and a lot of the smoke has pretty much gone. Some of your stuff’s still gonna smell smoky, though.”

Carmela got to her feet. “I’m going in,” she said. “I want to get a few things.”

“Just for a couple of minutes,” Babcock warned.

Carmela crossed the courtyard and stepped tentatively into her apartment. Just as the fireman had said, a lot of smoke had cleared out. It was bizarre, she thought, that just twenty minutes ago she’d been fighting for her life. And now the danger had passed. Just like that. Strange how things could turn on a dime.

After surveying some of the fire and water damage, Carmela took three minutes to grab some clothes, toiletries, and her laptop computer. As an afterthought, she grabbed the DVD that Raleigh had given her.

You never know.

When she emerged, Babcock was talking to a couple of firemen again. He said, “Earl here says it’s not such a big cleanup job after all.”

The fireman who’d resuscitated Boo said to her, “My brother-in-law owns a company that specializes in water and smoke damage recovery. If you want, we could probably get him to go in tomorrow.”

Ava came up to join the group. “Go for it,
cher
.”

“What would they do?” Carmela asked.

The fireman considered this. “Just suck out whatever smoke was left and set up a bunch of ion machines. Clean the carpets and upholstery if they need it. Your place should be good as new in a couple of days.”

“I think . . .” said Carmela, “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Just leave your house key with Detective Babcock here,” said the fireman, “so he can lock up. Then my brother-in-law can pick up the key from him in the morning.”

Carmela blushed furiously as she said in a small voice, “He already has one.”

Chapter 19

A
TINY
ray of sunlight streamed through a crack in the purple velvet drapes, hitting Carmela directly in the eye. For a moment she wasn’t sure where she was. Then the chaos and craziness of last night came rushing back to her and all the pieces fell into place. She was at Ava’s place.

She rolled over in bed, aware of sore back muscles, and called, “Boo? Poobah?”

There was a wet snort and then Boo was standing next to the bed, looking alert and almost puppyish, ready to lick her face.

“Sweet girl,” said Carmela, reaching out to stroke her soft fur. Touching her dog to reassure herself that Boo was okay.

Another snort came from across the room. “You’re awake already?” called Ava.

“Yeah,” said Carmela. “Checking on the kids.”

“What time is it?” asked a groggy Ava.

Carmela blinked at her watch. “Just seven.”

“Agh, the crack of dawn.” A long pause. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” Carmela rolled over, stretched, and gave her answer a second thought. Actually, she wasn’t okay. She felt violated, a little scared, and increasingly angry. Some moron, some
idiot
, had dared to invade her precious home. No matter that it was a rented home, it was her safe place. Her little sanctuary from the rest of the world. Anger rolled over her like molten lava.

Somebody’s going to pay.

But who? Someone she’d been tentatively investigating? Like Durrell or Laforge? Or someone else? Maybe a wild card like Zoe or Finch or Joubert?

Carmela ground her teeth and vowed to renew her efforts. Because now, she wanted to make whoever had done this to her pay big-time. She was determined to exact slow and deliberate justice.

On the other side of the room, Ava stirred again. “There’s dog hair all over my red velvet bedspread. I think one of your little darlings snuggled up next to me during the night.”

Carmela gazed at Boo, who was suddenly lying on the floor, busily licking her outstretched paws and feigning innocence. “You’re sure it’s not cat hair?” said Carmela. She had to make a pro forma attempt at deflecting blame from her little sweetheart.

“Unh-uh,” said Ava, “Isis always sleeps in the closet. She’s extremely partial to this faux fur coyote jacket I have.” She yawned. “Faux-yote.”

“It was Boo,” said Carmela, fessing up. “Sorry about that. Maybe we could just look at it as a creative use of fiber?” She felt bad, since Ava had been so incredibly accommodating last night. Making up a daybed for Carmela to sack out on, putting down a leopard-print throw for the dogs to bunk on.

“Sounds a little crafty to me,” laughed Ava as she swung her legs out of bed. “Ah well, why not let Boo off the hook? After what she went through, she deserves it.”

“You’re very kind to take us in,” said Carmela. “Us neighborhood orphans.”

“No problem,” said Ava. “You would have done the same for me. But I’ve got some bad news. You guys are probably expecting a tasty eye-opening breakfast and you’re not going to get any.”

“That’s okay,” said Carmela. She was just happy her pups were safe.

“The problem is,” continued Ava, “all I have in my larder are Weight Watchers pizzas and a bottle of Veuve champagne.” She sighed. “When I get old it’ll probably be Weight Watchers pizza and Metamucil.”

“We’ll go out,” said Carmela. “My treat. It’s Sunday, so we can catch a good brunch somewhere. Maybe the Praline Factory or Brennan’s.”

“Then we better make it snappy,” said Ava, stretching. “We’ve got that photo shoot at eleven.”

“Crap,” said Carmela, wiping at her eyes and feeling crunchies. “I forgot all about that. Let’s just cancel it. I’ll call Jekyl and . . .”

“No can do, cookie,” said Ava. “You need to get that white elephant of a house on the market.”

Carmela considered this. “What if I need it? What if my apartment is more trashed than it looks?” Carmela hated to even consider that possibility. She loved her little place across the courtyard and really didn’t want to move back into Shamus’s old house, even if she did win it fair and square in her divorce settlement.

“Ya gotta stay positive,” said Ava. “Just make like a shark, show your pearly whites, and keep moving forward.”

“What am I going to wear?” wondered Carmela. “Most of my clothes are still all smoky and the stuff I grabbed last night is all wrong.”

“I’ve got gobs of clothes,” said Ava.

“But they won’t fit.”

“We’ll make them fit,” said Ava. “We’ll grease you up like a slice of prosciutto, wrap you in fishing line, and slide you into something cute. C’mon, it’ll be fun. Like playing Barbie dolls.”

* * *

BY MIDMORNING, THE WORLD WAS LOOKING A WHOLE
lot brighter to Carmela. They’d stopped by Brennan’s for brunch, downed a glass of champagne, and feasted royally on oysters Benedict and shrimp Sardou.

Now they were rolling down St. Charles Avenue, headed for Carmela’s Garden District home.

“Will you drive and stop fidgeting!” scolded Ava.

“Your jeans are so tight on me I keep popping a button.”

“And I keep telling you, that’s the
look
. Skinny jeans are
it
.”

“But skinny jeans call for skinny thighs and hips and mine are not . . . um, as toned as yours.”

“Boo-hoo,” laughed Ava. “At least you got ’em up over your hips. Hey!” She pointed. “There’s Jekyl. Pull in right behind him.”

Carmela cranked her steering wheel hard and rolled in behind Jekyl’s old Jaguar.

“Have we got a story for you!” cried Ava, jumping out and running to give Jekyl air kisses followed by an expansive bear hug.

“What?” asked Jekyl, glancing back at Carmela. Rail thin, dressed completely in black, Jekyl Hardy wore his long dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, the better to accentuate his pale, oval face. “Pray tell, what’s up with you two divas?” Then, when he saw Carmela sporting her super-tight jeans, he called out, “Car-
mel
-a! Way to rock those jeans, girl!”

“Oh, please,” said Carmela, tugging at the waistband again.

Their words tumbled out as they regaled Jekyl with the events of last night. Telling him about the smoke bomb, Carmela’s daring dash into her apartment to rescue Boo and Poobah, and Boo’s having to be resuscitated.

“Poor baby,” said Jekyl, as they went up the walk.

“Poor baby me or poor baby Boo?” asked Carmela.

“Both of you,” said Jekyl, reaching out an arm and pulling Carmela close to him. “Sounds like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“I called 911,” said Ava, not to be left out.

“And I’m sure you were wonderfully succinct and to the point,” said Jekyl. “I’m sure the emergency dispatcher awarded you top priority.”

“I’m positive they did,” said Ava, pleased.

* * *

“THIS PLACE AMAZES ME,” SAID JEKYL, AS THEY STOOD
in the living room, taking in the marble fireplace, cove ceilings, and Oriental rugs. “Are you quite positive you want to put it on the market?”

“That was always my intention,” said Carmela. “I knew I couldn’t pry any real cash money out of Shamus, so this house was the next best thing. I plan to sell it and invest any and all proceeds.” She reached out and rapped her knuckles on a small wooden side table. “That is, if the stock market cooperates.”

“Smart girl,” said Jekyl, as he picked up a small bronze statue of a water nymph and glanced at the bottom, studying the maker’s mark. “Hmm.” His brows pinched together in thought. “Would you take five hundred for this Louchet?”

“Take it,” said Carmela. “For gratis.”

Jekyl looked deliriously happy. “I couldn’t.” He glanced at Ava. “Could I?”

“Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” said Ava. “Whatever that means.”

“Consider the nymph partial payment for setting up this photo shoot today,” said Carmela. “And helping art-direct it.”

Jekyl grinned and rubbed the bronze against his jacket as if to polish it. “In that case . . .”

They got busy then, dusting tables, mantels, and lamps, turning on all the lights until the place fairly glowed. Jekyl moved chairs, pushed a floor lamp closer to a library table, and created a still life of candlesticks and leather-bound books on the mantel.

By the time the photographer and his assistant arrived, the place had been transformed from stuffy to stylish.

* * *

“WE’RE GOING TO NEED THREE PHOTOS,” SAID JEKYL
, spreading Carmela’s layout out on a green felt gaming table for the photographer to study. “Two interior and an exterior.”

“Where’s your ad running?” asked the photographer. He was a fellow by the name of Martin Dunn, a tall, gangly man with a tightly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. His specialty was home interiors. Upscale home interiors.

“
New Orleans Home
,” said Carmela. “And it’s scheduled for the upcoming issue, so ad materials are due to the printer next week.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Dunn. He glanced around, then said, “We’ll shoot in here first. Get a few shots of the fireplace with the wing chairs tucked in close. That should look all cozy and heartwarming. Then maybe we’ll shoot that built-in cabinet with the china. Kind of cheat the brocade love seat into the shot, too.”

“Good, good,” purred Jekyl. “Buyers adore built-ins.”

“What else?” asked Dunn, glancing around with a critical eye.

“Maybe the dining room?” said Carmela. “Just because the crystal chandelier gives it a rather grand air and the room can accommodate a table set for sixteen.”

“Excellent,” said Dunn.

“And then we need a killer exterior shot,” said Carmela. “Try to make this white elephant look like a highly desirable mansion.”

“No problem,” said Dunn, as his assistant set up lights and tested strobes. “We’ll futz around in here and shoot a variety of interiors. By the time we’re finished, the sun will have risen higher and we should have nice warm light bathing the exterior.”

“Love it,” said Ava, who’d been making eyes at the assistant.

Dunn and his assistant got busy, doing a little more furniture arranging, taking test shots. Because they were shooting digital, Carmela was able to view every shot on Dunn’s laptop.

“These are perfect,” she told him.

“If you want,” Dunn said, “we can ghost the edges a little. That way you could actually fit three shots across the bottom of your layout. Either way, I’ll give you lots of options.”

As Dunn worked, Jekyl pulled Carmela into the library for a quick chat. “Are you okay?” he asked her. “I mean really okay?”

Carmela nodded. “I think so. I mean, last night I felt like I was going to fall to pieces, and now I’ve morphed into being just plain mad. I want to track down whoever dropped that smoke bomb in my place and hold their head underwater or something.”

“Waterboard them with chloroform,” growled Jekyl. “So, do you have anyone in mind?”

Carmela brought him up to speed on her suspect list.

“Mmm,” said Jekyl, “be careful of Davis Durrell. With his money he’s going to have friends in high places.”

“How much do you know about him?” Carmela asked.

Jekyl did his trademark eye roll. “Please, sweetheart, Durrell is one of my clients. I sold him the most fabulous seventeenth-century Flemish painting.”

“I guess he does have money.”

“And rather good taste,” said Jekyl. He glanced sideways at her. “You realize, Carmela dear, that Durrell is practically your next-door neighbor.”

Carmela frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you know?” said Jekyl. “He bought the old Hollister mansion, just two blocks from here.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Carmela. Although she kind of did. Babcock had mentioned something about Durrell living near her old place, but she hadn’t thought much of it at the time. She’d been focused on other things.

“How
would
you know?” Jekyl chuckled. “For the past couple of years you’ve been little Miss Bohemian Chic. Turning your back on the swanky Garden District to live in the uber cool French Quarter.”

“Is that what I did?” asked Carmela. “I thought I just moved out and got a divorce.”

Jekyl snorted. “Well, you did. But it sounds better the way I tell it. Everything needs a titch of embellishment.”

But Carmela’s curiosity was suddenly amped. “What else do you know about Durrell?” Jekyl could be an untapped resource of information.

“Besides the fact that he has discriminating taste and oodles of money?” asked Jekyl. He tapped an index finger against his slightly pointed chin. “Well, I know he sits on the City Opera’s board of directors.”

“Excuse me?” said Carmela. “Durrell’s an opera fan?” The image of the opera clown suddenly capered through her memory.

“We have to
assume
he’s a fan,” said Jekyl. “Perhaps you should quiz your good friend Baby about him. She’s served on every board in town at one time or another.”

“Maybe so,” said Carmela.

“Oh, chickens!” Ava was suddenly in their face and clapping her hands like a strict schoolmarm. “We’re ready to shoot outside!”

* * *

“JUST AS I’D HOPED,” SAID DUNN. “PLENTY OF SUNSHINE
. And with most of the leaves off the trees we get a sort of pure, unfiltered light.”

Dunn and his assistant worked away, taking lots of shots, moving out into the street to capture the home in its entirety. At one point Carmela and Jekyl even blocked traffic at either end of the block, so that Dunn could shoot uninterrupted.

“Be sure to get the corner turret in the shot,” Carmela called, as she stepped back onto the lawn.

“Got it,” said Dunn, who suddenly looked around. “Is that my phone or yours?”

“Mine,” said Carmela, pulling her ringing phone from her suede bucket bag. “Hello?”

“Sweetheart,” said Babcock in her ear. “You okay?”

“Pretty good,” said Carmela. “We’re just finishing the final shot on the Garden District house.”

“I meant you. After last night.”

“I don’t feel scared anymore,” Carmela told Babcock. “Just angry.”

“Don’t let your emotions lead you into a bad situation,” Babcock warned.

“By
bad situation
you mean
don’t investigate
,” said Carmela.