A tough balancing act. No wonder Shamus and I can’t seem to find any middle ground.
“You were telling me earlier about the good-looking detective who dropped by your store?” prompted Ava.
“To pick up a copy of my customer list,” said Carmela.
“Probably just a formality,” said Ava.
“That’s what they always say in the movies,” said Carmela. That’s what they always say when they’re really closing in on a suspect.
“Well, life’s pretty much a movie script, isn’t it?” asked Ava. “Your life is, anyway. Mine’s a colossal snooze right now.” She stood up and stretched, arms overhead, her pink silk T-shirt lifting to reveal bare skin and an amazingly taut stomach. “Tell me,” said Ava. “What’s new on the home front with the wayward hubby?”
“Not much,” said Carmela. She paused. “I told Shamus I’d go to dinner with him tomorrow night.”
“A date,” declared Ava, rolling her eyes. “Now doesn’t that sound cozy as hell. And which five-star restaurant will be sending its minions out to bow and scrape in your glorified presence? Could it be Antoine’s or Commander’s Palace? K-Paul’s or NOLA?” Ava rattled off the names of a smattering of crème de la crème restaurants in New Orleans.
Carmela made a wry face, knowing exactly what Ava’s reaction would be. “It’s not like that at all. Shamus and I aren’t going on a date date. We’re having dinner at Glory’s house.”
“Glory Meechum’s? Eeeyew,” grimaced Ava. “Big sister Glory has always impressed me as one hard-assed woman. In fact, truth be known and all cards face up on the table, Glory Meechum scares the bejeebers outa me. She reminds me of that crazy actress who played Jessica Lange’s momma in that movie Frances. You know, the momma kept up a respectable appearance on the outside, but inside she had a very sinister soul.”
“Shamus always speaks highly of Glory,” offered Carmela.
“Isn’t Glory the senior vice president at Crescent City Bank?” asked Ava. “Doesn’t Glory control the distributions from Shamus’s trust fund?”
“Well… yes. I suppose she does,” said Carmela.
“There’s your real family dynamics, honey. Shamus is a smart boy. No way is he going to bite the hand that feeds him.” Ava picked up a camel hair brush, dipped it in shimmering green paint, and deftly applied a few judicious highlights to one of her mask components. “On the other hand,” she said, “every Southern family’s got their fair share of crazies in the attic. Lord knows, I do.”
Chapter 8
“YOU’RE late!” declared Tandy as Carmela came chugging through the front door, more than a little behind schedule on Tuesday morning.
Carmela stopped dead in her tracks, then a huge smile spread across her face. “Tandy!” she cried. Sitting at the back craft table were Tandy Bliss, looking decidedly less frazzled, and Baby Fontaine, looking lovely as ever. Gabby hovered at the front counter, pulling out various scrapbook albums and extolling their merits for a couple of interested customers. “Need any help, Gabby?” Carmela asked.
Gabby shook her head. “We’re fine.”
“More than fine,” said one of the customers with her, a small dark-haired woman with mischievous-looking eyes.
“I’m just getting into this scrapbook thing and I adore it!”
“Watch out, it’s contagious,” Carmela told her as she hurried toward the back of her store.
“Look who’s feeling considerably more chipper today,” said Baby.
“Let me guess,” said Carmela, “the police have shifted their focus off Billy Cobb.”
“Nooo,” said Tandy, “not entirely. But thanks to Baby’s high-powered lawyering husband, they’re being a tad more careful with their accusations.”
“Hoo yah,” said Carmela, sitting down at the table. “Glad to hear it. There’s nothing better than having one of the city’s movers and shakers on your side.”
“Telling the New Orleans police when to move and what to shake,” said Tandy.
Baby arched her neck, secure in the notion that one of her adopted baby chicks was happy and content for the time being. “Okay now,” she said in her best schoolmarm voice, “Carmela promised to help us design labels today.”
“I brought in a couple jars of that strawberry jam,” said Tandy. She reached into her bag, plunked two squat jars on the table. They were the size of large squared-off mustard jars and had plain gold tops.
“And I brought along some of my applesauce,” said Baby. Her jars were rounded and slightly taller, also with gold tops. “I adore giving these away during the holidays,” she added.
“Which will be upon us sooner than we think,” said Tandy.
“Amen,” declared Baby. The two women stopped their amiable chatting to stare at Carmela.
“Well?” Tandy said, her eyes twinkling.
Carmela picked up a pen and paper. “How do you want your labels to read?”
“ ‘Strawberry Jam,’ ” said Tandy without missing a beat.
“ ‘Baby’s Applesauce,’ ” said Baby, grinning. “I take great pride in ownership.”
“Okay,” said Carmela. “I’m going to spend five minutes on my computer doing the typography, then I’ll print your titles out on beige parchment paper and we’ll get to work.”
“What should we do?” asked Tandy.
“Grab a bunch of rubber stamps and colored ink pads,” said Carmela. “I know for sure we’ve got apple stamps as well as strawberry stamps, but you’ll probably want to embellish your labels with other designs as well.”
True to her word, Carmela was back in five minutes with multiple printouts. “Okay,” she said, “now we’ll fit the labels to your jars. Which means you have to decide if you want your words centered, or a little offset toward the top or bottom.”
“Centered,” said Tandy and Baby in unison.
Carmela held the printouts up to the jars, eyeballed the dimensions, then took them to the paper cutter in her office. After a bit of judicious trimming, the labels, though still undecorated, wrapped around their respective jars perfectly.
“I’ve given you both five sets of labels,” said Carmela. “That way, using different stamps, colored inks, colored pens, and oil crayons, you can experiment and play to your heart’s content.” She shrugged. “You might love every one you come up with, or maybe just one design will trip your trigger. Then that’ll be the one you’ll want to replicate. Anyway, think of this as a kind of test kitchen,” laughed Carmela. “And your number one goal is to have fun.”
As Baby and Tandy labored away happily at the craft table in back, business was brisk that morning and Carmela and Gabby were kept hopping. One customer, a woman in the throes of scrapbook anxiety, was about to abandon hope at ever putting together a genealogy scrapbook until Carmela and Gabby shared a few tricks on mounting photos onto acid-free paper and showed her a variety of oversized envelopes, acid-free storage boxes, and craft bags for organizing and transporting her papers, photos, pens, and stencils.
A young art student came in, searching for Japanese handmade paper to incorporate into a collage project he was doing for class. Carmela showed him some sheets of paper made from bamboo leaves as well as sheets of kanjiprinted tissue paper and the young man left happy as a clam, a brown bag tucked carefully under his arm with Carmela’s gold MEMORY MINE sticker adorning it.
And two gray-haired ladies, regular scrapbook customers who’d driven down from Baton Rouge for the day, kept Carmela and Gabby digging through their files with requests for sports-themed paper and stickers. They both had grandsons who were excelling in soccer and football, they explained, and had declared themselves the self-appointed keepers of memories.
“Whew,” said Gabby. “Busy day. But it sure is heart-warming to see regular customers come in.”