Grabbing Carmela by the hand, Baby dragged her down the center hallway to what she called her office. Carmela found herself being pulled past a grand living room that was impeccably furnished with Louis XVI furniture and hung with original oil paintings, as well as a spectacular cypress-paneled library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with gleaming leather-bound books.
Baby’s office at the end of the hallway was really just a small salon with a cozy brick fireplace. But Baby had set it up with a white silk love seat and matching club chairs, an antique library table for scrapbooking and craft projects, and pink lighting that was highly complementary to a lady’s complexion. This was Baby’s special retreat where she planned parties, gabbed on the phone, and had a few friends in for tea and gossip. It was also where she kept Sampson, her pet snapping turtle.
“Hello, Sampson,” said Carmela, peering into a giant cut-glass bowl at the dark green, humpbacked reptile. Sampson, not known for having particularly good manners or even a decent temper, gave a warning hiss as he regarded Carmela with hooded eyes.
“Careful, honey,” said Baby, “don’t get too close. Sampson’s a little out of sorts today. We didn’t have any beefsteak handy, so I had to make do with a slice of chicken. Put the poor dear off his feed, I guess.”
Carmela knew Sampson wasn’t all that picky. He’d been known to chomp down on a human or two when guests got a little too curious and poked a finger at him.
“Did I tell you?” Baby said excitedly. “Everyone’s coming Saturday afternoon.” By “everyone” she meant her family. Kids, grandkids, brothers, sisters, cousins, second cousins. She was going to stage a late afternoon Halloween buffet at her house and then scamper off to the Art Institute for the Monsters & Old Masters Ball.
“This year Anne Rice won’t have the only big hoo-ha in the Garden District,” said Carmela, referring to the big Halloween party that the famous mystery writer traditionally threw.
“Well, it’s not like ours is going to go all night,” said Baby. “ Del and I for sure want to be there for Monsters & Old Masters. Besides, the kids will want to go out trick-or-treating and most of the kinfolk will be going on to other parties.”
“I see some nice trick-or-treat bags over there,” said Carmela, pointing to a stack of orange and black bags that Baby had gussied up with black cat and bat charms. “What else are you planning for Saturday?”
“The dining room will be draped with yards of sheer orange gossamer fabric,” said Baby with great enthusiasm. “With matching ribbon tied around the silverware.”
“And outside?” prompted Carmela. Baby was always big on outside decor, too.
“I’ll do a spectacular arrangement of orange and white pumpkins on the front porch,” said Baby. “With garlands of grape vine and bittersweet hung everywhere. And of course we’ll be doing pumpkin alley again this year.”
Pumpkin alley was something all Baby’s neighbors participated in. They got together and brought in a huge truckload of pumpkins, carved faces into them, and then, on Halloween night, lined the street with glowing jack-o’lanterns. Set every three feet along the curb, the flickering, smiling faces of pumpkin alley were quite a sight to behold.
“How’s the carving coming?” asked Carmela, knowing that was the hardest part. Knowing she had to get busy herself pretty soon and carve a couple jack-o’-lanterns of her own.
“I’ve only got two more left to do,” groaned Baby. “But I’m plumb out of ideas. Carmela, I was wondering if you might…”
“Your glassware, Miss Baby.” Charles Joseph stood at the doorway, boxes piled in his arms. Carmela found it amusing that Charles Joseph never called her Mrs. Fontaine or even Ms. Fontaine, but always Miss Baby. Then again, it was one of those Southern mannerisms that was both peculiar and endearing.
“Here, let me help,” said Baby, leaping up from the love seat and grabbing the top box of glassware. Together, she and Charles Joseph set the boxes on the table, then gently opened them.
Carmela said a hasty prayer to Saint Francis Xavier Cabrini, the patron saint of hopeless causes, knowing it would be a miracle if all two dozen martini glasses had survived their period in transit. Not because of her car, which was as smooth-riding as they come, but because the streets of New Orleans were so perilously riddled with potholes. Killer potholes. Had been, in fact, since anyone could remember. Probably since the very colorful Huey P. Long, also known as the Kingfish, had reigned as governor and then senator.
“These are fabulous!” exclaimed Baby as she grasped one of the spider-decorated glasses and held it up for inspection. “Aren’t they fabulous, Charles Joseph?”
Charles Joseph bobbed his grizzled head. “Very fanciful, indeed.” He gave a faint smile. “Lovely work, Miss Carmela.”
“Thank you, Charles Joseph,” said Carmela, suddenly feeling as though she were in a stage play where everyone was terribly well mannered and polite.
“Nothing broken?” asked Carmela.
“They’re absolutely perfect,” smiled Baby, her blue eyes gleaming. “In more ways than one.” She put an arm around Carmela. “Thanks for being such a dear friend.”
Charles Joseph helped repack the boxes and gathered them up once again. “I shall place these in the pantry, ma’am, if that is agreeable to you.”
“Wonderful,” cooed Baby, who turned to face Carmela. “Now, about those two pumpkins I have left…”
“I’ve got just the design for you,” said Carmela as she grabbed a crayon and a sheet of paper, then sat herself down at the library table and began to sketch.
“Look at that,” marveled Baby as Carmela’s fingers flew across the page. “A pumpkin face that has a moon for one eye and a star for the other. Where ever do you find your inspiration?”
CARMELA ZOOMED DOWN THE BACK ALLEY, POINTED her car into the parking space behind Menagerie Antiques, and cut the engine.
Quarter to five. Had she really been gone almost all afternoon? Yes, she had. But, she told herself, I got a whole lot done, too.
And there’s lots more to do, a little voice echoed inside her head as Carmela stuck her key in the lock and pushed her way inside the shop.
“I’m back,” she called, throwing her leather bag down atop the clutter of her desk.
Out front, two customers were sifting through a basket filled with colorful stickers while Gabby stood at the front counter, ringing up a purchase for a third customer. Carmela thought Gabby looked absolutely frazzled.
“You’ve been busy,” Carmela remarked after the last customer had finally departed.
Gabby stared at her. “Busy? Au contraire, my dear, we’ve been absolutely frantic. I do believe we did more business today than in all of last week.” Gabby blew out a puff of air that lifted her bangs off her forehead, then plunked herself down on one of the stools that had been brought around from the back of the counter. “Halloween,” she said. “Amazing. It’s been almost as crazy as Mardi Gras.”
“Gabby,” said Carmela, immediately feeling guilty, “I’m awfully sorry. I had no idea the shop would be so busy today.”
Gabby waved a hand. “Not to worry. In a weird way it was kind of fun. Challenging, you know?”
Carmela nodded as she glanced about the shop. Something was missing. Or rather, someone was missing. Boo was still there, curled up in the corner, but… “Where’s Sweetmomma Pam?” Carmela asked suddenly.
“Gone home,” said Gabby, gathering up a handful of hair and pulling it into a ponytail. “Ava stopped by about twenty minutes ago to pick her up. Ava also inquired about your-and I quote-hot date last night.” Gabby paused, curious now. “Did you have a hot date last night?”
“Not really,” said Carmela. “It was more of a business thing. I’m going to do a scrapbook for Bon Tiempe Restaurant.”