Chapter 22
CARMELA and Ava chatted
their way through dinner, helping themselves to extra large
servings of Carmela’s very excellent jambalaya, slices of prune
bread, and sipping the crisp white Vouvray they’d uncorked. They
talked about Baby’s party, the strange tissue paper- looking dress
that a woman by the name of Magdalen Dilworth had worn, and about
the Swedish crystal chandelier Jekyl Hardy had apparently found for
a song at an antique sale over in Destrehan. They even skirted
around the issue of the amazing disappearing Shamus but never did
attack it head-on.
Now, with the dishes piled in the sink and the
second bottle of wine uncorked, they were ready to get down to
it.
“You found something out about Shamus today,” began
Ava. She was lounging at the little dining table while Carmela made
a pretense of rattling dishes in the sink. “How did this all come
about?”
Carmela abandoned the dishes and came over and sat
down across from Ava. “I paid a little visit to Glory Meechum,
Shamus’s sister,” said Carmela.
Ava made a face. “Always a challenge dealing with
the queen of the harpies.”
“Actually, Glory wasn’t in that bad a mood,” said Carmela. “I’ve seen
worse.”
Ava shivered. “Tell the story.”
“Well, long story short,” said Carmela, “I talked
Glory Meechum into escorting me to the Crescent City Bank office
and letting me snoop around inside Shamus’s office,” said
Carmela.
Ava took another sip of wine. “And what incredible
findings were unearthed from his inner sanctum?” asked Ava. “Gold
from Carthage? Tutankhamen’s Treasure?” Ava paused dramatically.
“Wait just a minute, that stuff is already in the British Museum,
isn’t it? Silly me.”
Carmela pulled the stolen file from her handbag,
unfolded it as best she could, and handed it to Ava. “I found
that,” she said.
Ava set her glass of wine down, uncrumpled the
folder. “You didn’t find it, you pilfered it.”
“Well, yes,” admitted Carmela.
“Good girl,” said Ava as she opened the manila
folder. “And who exactly is this Theriot fellow?”
“Part owner in a real estate company,” said
Carmela. “Trident Realty.”
Ava nodded, then spent a good three or four minutes
poring through the documents. Finally, she frowned, then looked up
at Carmela. “What?” said Ava. “I don’t see any connection.”
“Neither do I,” replied Carmela.
Ava stared blandly at her. “Then why did you steal
it? Or is this just a practice exercise for some far grander cat
burglar caper?”
“The thing of it is,” said Carmela, “I know there’s some important tidbit of information in
that file. But I’m just not seeing it.”
“Okay,” said Ava. “Let’s try to be analytical and
completely emotionless about this, which is no small task when
you’re of the female persuasion and have just downed a few glasses
of wine.”
“Agreed,” said Carmela, taking another sip of
wine.
However,” continued Ava, “let’s try to recall every
single detail concerning this entire Shamus mess. Going back to the
absolute very beginning.”
“The very beginning,” agreed Carmela.
“We were at the parade . . .” Ava prompted.
“And saw Jimmy Earl Clayton collapse on his float,”
said Carmela.
“And then right after that, all sorts of strange
rumors started flying,” said Ava. “About Shamus.”
“It was like someone was feeding them,” said
Carmela. “Busily fanning the flames.” She hunched forward and
stared at Ava. “And then Bufford Maple wrote a nasty column
implicating Shamus.”
“Right,” nodded Ava. “It ran the day of Jimmy
Earl’s funeral, which I’m sorry I missed since, aside from Baby’s
party, it seems to have been one of the pivotal social events of
the season.”
“Then Hop Pennington, one of the property managers
from Trident Realty, called and tried to muscle me around,”
recalled Carmela. He said Bartholomew Hayward from next door wanted
my space.”
“Oh no,” said Ava, dismayed. “They can’t do that.
That’s the absolute perfect space for
you!”
“Don’t I know it!” responded Carmela. She was still
ticked off by Hop Pennington’s macho power play attempt. “And get
this, afterwards I called and schmoozed the receptionist at Trident
Realty. And I found out that the company is owned by Bufford Maple
and Michael Theriot.”
“Bufford Maple penned the nasty column, and now we
have Michael Theriot’s bank folder in front of us,” finished Ava.
“With a turndown from Shamus.”
“Right,” said Carmela.
“But people get turned down for these kinds of
loans all the time,” said Ava. “That’s not a reason to try to pin a
murder on somebody. Unless, of course, they’re the murderers and they need a handy pigeon
to foist the blame on.”
“I hate to think of Shamus as a pigeon,” said
Carmela.
Ava stared at her. “What do you think of him
as?”
Carmela shrugged. “I don’t know. My soon-to-be ex,
I suppose.”
“A couple weeks ago a very smart and together lady
I know referred to him as a cad, a rat, and a louse.”
Carmela squirmed uncomfortably.
“It’s happening, isn’t it?” said Ava, emitting a
huge sigh.
“What’s happening?”
“You’re starting to feel sorry for him.”
“I—” began Carmela.
“Don’t!” admonished Ava. “This changes nothing. Shamus is still the man who boogied on out
of your life with no just cause. He’s still the man who left you in
the lurch. You know,” said Ava, peering carefully at her, “Shamus
could be a murderer. He’s secretive enough.
And he’s colossally hotheaded.”
Ava’s harsh words cut Carmela to the quick.
Shamus a murderer? My Shamus? Well, the man who
used to be my Shamus? No, I still don’t believe it. Or maybe I just
don’t want to believe it.
“Up until this afternoon, I harbored a funny
feeling about Dace Wilcox. I thought that he might be a suspect in
Jimmy Earl’s demise,” said Carmela. “When I ran into him at the
Marseille Ball, he pretended he really didn’t know Shamus. Then
later on at the shop, CeCe and Tandy discovered an old photograph
that proved Dace did know Shamus. In fact,
the two of them were in the same fraternity together. And then when
we started talking about Dace, Gabby said that Dace Wilcox had been
talking to Jimmy Earl right before he climbed up on his
float.”
“Hmm,” said Ava. “Dace Wilcox. Yes, you mentioned
him before. He’s kind of a wild card in all this, isn’t he?”
“And let’s not forget about Granger Rathbone,” said
Carmela. “He’s been harassing me and trying
to locate Shamus. Plus I found out that Granger Rathbone is very
tight with Jack Dumaine. Might even be working for him on the
side.”
“This is getting
complicated,” acknowledged Ava.
“I also have a slight confession to make,” said
Carmela. “I followed Jack Dumaine last
night. That’s where I disappeared to,” admitted Carmela.
Ava’s eyebrows shot up. “Followed him as in
tailed him?” asked Ava. “PI style?”
Carmela nodded.
“Jeez, you really are a squirrel,” said Ava.
“Thanks a lot,” said Carmela.
“So where did our boy Jack run off to?” asked
Ava.
“To the Calhoun Motel over near the airport,” said
Carmela. “Where he met up with one Rhonda Lee Clayton. She’d
already reserved a trashy little motel room and was obviously
expecting him.”
“What?” Ava squawked. “Big Jack Dumaine had a
clandestine rendezvous with Rhonda Lee? Jimmy Earl’s widow?”
Carmela nodded, pleased that she’d been able to
arouse so much outrage from Ava. “What do you think it means?” she
asked excitedly. Maybe Ava could offer some insight as to this
strange alliance.
Ava’s face was a mixture of curiosity and shock.
“It means the two of them are either thick as thieves or else that
love is completely blind.”