“Billy said he trusted you,” said Tandy. “You see, there are a couple customers who might stop by to pick up things. Billy thought if you had the keys to the store you could help out. As if you haven’t done enough already!”
“How will I know who these customers are?” asked Carmela with a puzzled expression.
“Oh, you won’t,” said Tandy blithely. “In fact, it’s pretty much a hit-or-miss proposition. But if a customer happens to stop by here, and they’re clutching a receipt in their hot little hand, then you could let them in.” Tandy paused, slightly out of breath. “Could you do that?”
Carmela nodded. “Sure.” She figured it was the least she could do. Barty Hayward hadn’t been a particularly hospitable neighbor, but Billy was always polite and friendly. Plus he was Tandy’s nephew.
Baby reached out and grasped Tandy’s hands. “Come back tomorrow, will you? No sense sitting around and just stewing. We’ll have some fun designing labels.” Baby tried to project an upbeat attitude. “You’ve got all those wonderful jars of strawberry jelly, I always make a gazillion batches of applesauce for the holidays…”
“Carmela makes her special caramel sauce,” said Gabby jumping in, trying to keep the ball rolling.
“What do you say?” prompted Baby. “Are you game?”
“Okay,” said Tandy as she gathered her coat around her. “Why not.”
It wasn’t until after Tandy had left that Carmela remembered several of her customers had been using gilt paint on Saturday night.
They were painting highlights on the edges of party invitations and scrapbook pages, weren’t they? Uh-oh, please don’t tell me it was one of my customers who stabbed Barty Hayward. Especially not… what’s her name?… Dove Duval.
“ARE THOSE FOR THIS SATURDAY?” BABY ASKED Carmela, nodding at the array of colored squares and photo corners spread out on the table. “For the Monsters & Old Masters Ball?”
“They will be if I ever get them done,” Carmela answered.
Monsters & Old Masters was actually a spin-off of the Art Institute’s springtime Blooming Art Ball. During Blooming Art, two dozen pieces of artwork were selected for special display, and the same number of art patrons were tasked with creating floral arrangements that interpreted and complemented the artworks.
One year, Baby had been assigned a Claude Monet painting and she’d created a spectacular display of lilies and hyacinths floating in a Waterford crystal vase.
Because Blooming Art had proven to be a real money maker, and because party-hearty, costume-loving New Orleans folk were already head over heels in love with Halloween, Monsters & Old Masters, the slightly darker cousin to Blooming Art, was spawned.
Of course, the artworks that the museum selected had to remain in keeping with the Halloween theme. Which meant that many of the artworks had a spooky, slightly unsettling edge. Among the pieces selected by the current year’s committee was a painting by American artist Josephus Allan of the Hudson River School, which depicted one of the Salem witch trials. Edward Hopper’s American nostalgia style of art was also represented. And, at the last minute, the committee had added a dark and moody seventeenth-century painting of Roman ruins to the twenty chosen pieces.
The autumnal floral arrangements were equally in keeping with the Halloween theme: flowers in subdued autumn colors, baskets of dried leaves and grains, twisted twigs, grapevines, and branches of bittersweet.
“I’ve been asked to create menu cards as well as descriptive tags for the art and floral pairings,” Carmela explained to Baby. “It’s kind of a fun little project.”
“What’s on the menu?” asked Gabby. She was eagerly looking forward to attending her very first Monsters & Old Masters Ball on Saturday night. Baby and Del, always so generous, had reserved a table for eight and invited Carmela and Ava, Gabby and Stuart, and Tandy and Darwin to join them.
“Let’s see,” said Carmela, consulting the list that had been faxed to her earlier. “Crawfish bisque, citrus salad, roast duck, sweet potato praline casserole, cranberry bread pudding, and lemon bars.”
“To die for,” moaned Gabby. I can’t wait!”
“The Art Institute always could put on a decent spread,” commented Baby. She glanced at the red marbleized card stock on which Carmela had printed out the menu in twelve-point scrolling type. “That looks pretty. Now whatcha gonna do with it?”
Carmela picked up a rubber stamp and, above the headline that read MENU, stamped an image of a woman that had been taken from a seventeenth-century painting.
“First the artsy image,” said Carmela. “Then we’ll add a hint of mystery.” She picked up a second rubber stamp and stamped over the first image, giving the woman an elaborate mask.
“Cute,” said Baby.
“Now I’m going to faux finish these black photo corners using gold, red, and bronze-colored paint.”
“Wow,” said Gabby, suddenly getting interested. “Detail work.”
“Then,” continued Carmela, “I’ll use the photo corners to mount the menu card onto a second and slightly larger card of marbleized brown card stock.”
So intently was Carmela working that she barely heard the bell jingle over the door. Until the noise finally penetrated her consciousness and she looked up to find Jade Ella Hayward staring at her.
“Jade Ella!” Carmela must have jumped a foot. Here was the wife of the deceased Bartholomew Hayward studying her with the faintest of smiles on her face. Dressed in a spiffy poison green suede jacket and black leather slacks, rings sparkling from almost every finger, and her dark hair swooshing about her kohl-rimmed eyes and bright red mouth, Jade Ella had obviously not given a passing thought to looking the part of the grieving widow. She was her usual glam self.
“Carmela,” said Jade Ella, in the clipped manner of speech she was famous for. “Have you seen Billy?”
A shocked silence followed her question. Baby and Gabby stared with open mouths.
Finally Carmela spoke up. “The police are talking to him.”
“They are?” said Jade Ella, blinking, favoring them with a polite yet distant smile.
“Carmela means they’re talking to him,” said Baby, finally finding her voice. “About Barty’s death.”
Only then did Jade Ella seem to react. “You mean to say Billy’s a suspect? Billy Cobb? Barty’s assistant?” She paused, obviously digesting this. “Hmm.”
Gabby, who was still surprised to find Jade Ella acting so chipper, finally stammered out, “I’m sorry for your loss, Jade Ella.”
Jade Ella whirled toward her, eyes blazing. “Don’t be. Barty and I weren’t particularly close. In fact, we weren’t particularly on speaking terms.”
“Have you finalized funeral arrangements?” asked Baby, who was too well bred to be put off by Jade Ella’s blasé attitude.
“At first I thought about having Barty cremated,” said Jade Ella. “That way I could have the thrill of tossing his worthless ashes into a Dumpster behind the Wal-Mart store. But a small contingent of Barty’s friends thought he deserved a slightly more dignified send-off. So, in consideration of those folks, as well as the many loyal customers he’s managed to screw over the years, I’ve opted for a more traditional funeral.” Jade Ella smiled broadly, enjoying her own theatrics. “The whole nine yards, in fact. Fancy-schmancy casket, ordained minister, final interment at Lafayette Cemetery No. 1.” Jade Ella paused, her eyes flashing, silently daring anyone to make a comment. “Ain’t that a kick?”
“It’s very considerate of you,” said Baby. Her patrician eyebrows were cranked up more than a few notches.
“Not really,” said Jade Ella. “I myself, in keeping with my new Spa Diva image, will probably wear a red silk dress and dash off early for a fashionable luncheon at Galatoire’s.” She struck a dramatic pose. “I shall most likely order the trout amandine and a nice glass of Pouilly-Fuissé.”