Free Gossamer Ghost by Laura Childs

smudge. She swayed slightly as she clutched a small, leather notebook to her chest.
    â€œCarmela!” Mavis sobbed. “The police . . . the police aren’t investigating Marcus’s death anymore!”
    â€œWhy would you say that?” said Carmela, although she had a prickly feeling for what might be coming.
    â€œNow they’re accusing him of
stealing
the death mask!” cried Mavis. “From some collector in Dallas.”
    Carmela nodded. “Yes, I did hear something about that.”
    â€œBut Marcus didn’t do that,” said Mavis. “He
wouldn’t
do that.” She looked slightly crazed with makeup dripping and her frizzy hair standing on end. “Because . . . look!” She thrust a notebook forward. “On the exact date the mask disappeared in Dallas, Marcus was right
here.
” She turned the book around so everyone could read the small, cramped handwriting. “See? Marcus had an appointment right here in New Orleans with Mr. Duval!”
    â€œTitus Duval?” said Carmela. She knew him. Or knew of him, anyway. Titus Duval was the head of the CBD Orleans Bank, a chain that was a business rival to the Crescent City Bank, owned by her ex-husband Shamus’s family. Titus Duval was also a bigwig in the arts community. He’d recently headed the capital fund drive for the New Orleans Art Institute. With his power and money he was not to be trifled with.
    â€œTitus Duval,” Mavis repeated. “That’s right. So you see, it’s perfectly clear that Marcus couldn’t have stolen that mask. He couldn’t have traveled to Dallas, grabbed the mask, and then made it back here in time for his meeting.”
    â€œI see what you’re saying,” said Carmela.
    Maybe the meeting with Duval does clear Joubert?
    â€œDid you show this book to Detective Babcock?” Carmela asked.
    â€œAbsolutely I did,” said Mavis. “Only I could tell he didn’t believe me. He hemmed and hawed and said he’d have to check his facts with Mr. Duval.”
    â€œI’m sure he’ll do that,” Carmela soothed.
    â€œYou poor thing,” Baby murmured. They were all watching the conversation between Carmela and Mavis and they all looked concerned.
    â€œWhat I’m wondering, though,” said Carmela, “is where the mask—the mask that was stolen last night—actually came from?”
    Mavis shook her head vigorously, her masses of hair shaking back and forth. “I don’t know.”
    â€œDo you think Joubert had a certain customer in mind for it?” Carmela prodded.
    Mavis looked pained. “I wish I knew. Oh dear Lord, I wish I knew. Maybe that would help us figure out who murdered my poor Marcus.” She grasped Carmela’s hand and held it firmly. “Carmela, you’ll still help, won’t you? You’ll help figure out who killed Marcus?”
    Carmela’s chest felt heavy, as if she couldn’t breathe. She could barely stand to see Mavis in such pain. “Of course I will, honey. Shhh.” She wrapped her arms around Mavis again. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can.”
    Mavis gazed up at her. “Can you talk to that detective?”
    â€œTo Babcock? Yes, I will.”
    â€œCan you call him now?” asked Mavis.
    â€œNow?” said Carmela. She glanced over and saw collective pleading looks on Gabby’s, Baby’s, and Tandy’s faces. That did it. “Okay, I’ll call him right now.”
    Carmela ducked into her office and dialed Babcock’s private number. He picked up immediately.
    â€œHello, hot stuff,” said Babcock. He’d obviously glanced at his caller ID. And his baritone voice, ringing in Carmela’s ears, sent a delicious tingle through her. “Are you calling to remind me about tonight?” he asked.
    â€œThere’s that,” she said. “And one other thing.”
    Babcock