Bound For Murder Read Free Page B

“A drop-dead gorgeous guy who could sweep you off your feet, maybe even start a rip-roaring scandal or two. Stop you from pining away over silly old Shamus Meechum.”
    “I’m not pining,” said Carmela. “I’m getting on beautifully with my life. It’s exceedingly busy. Hectic, in fact.”
    “You seem to be confusing your thriving business at Memory Mine with your rather dreary personal life,” said Ava. “Tell me, what did you do last Friday evening?”
    “Nothing,” said Carmela, wincing. She had cleaned her refrigerator, a sputtering, vintage Norge that only an unscrupulous landlord would dare stick in a rental unit.
    “Aha,” said Ava, sounding victorious. “And Saturday evening?”
    “Stayed home,” muttered Carmela, not liking the gist of this conversation one bit. Truth be known, Saturday night had been a total black hole. Sinking into the abyss of boredom, she’d alphabetized her spice rack.
    Ava planted hands on slim hips and stared pointedly at Carmela. “You stayed home, ” she said in an accusing tone. “With Boo.” Boo was Carmela’s little dog. A Chinese Shar-Pei.
    “Boo is extremely good company,” argued Carmela, trying to score a few points. Boo had proved useful at disposing of some stinky, slightly moldy cheese, but had been completely indifferent when presented with the spice rack project.
    “Boo doggy is sweet and utterly adorable,” agreed Ava. “Unfortunately, she is somewhat lacking in the conversation department. Carmela, you need a man who’ll take you out and show you a good time. Jump-start your heart again.”
    “Jump-start my heart,” repeated Carmela. This she wasn’t so sure of. Although Ava’s enthusiastic pitch did carry a certain appeal.
    “That’s right, girl,” continued Ava in an upbeat, manic manner that seemed to veer between spirited cheerleader and hectoring, lecturing evangelist. “Your poor emotions have been lying dormant for months. Ever since—”
    “I know, I know,” countered Carmela. “You don’t have to say it.” Ever since Shamus slipped into his boogie shoes and disappeared out the back door, thought Carmela. Ever since he tromped all over my poor heart, the rat .
    “Take a look around,” urged Ava. “What do you see?”
    “Ava . . .” pleaded Carmela. This was getting entirely too personal. Even for best friends.
    “No, I mean it,” insisted Ava.
    Carmela surveyed the crowd of friends and well-wishers. Many were people she recognized from around town. Some were folks from the Garden District, the upscale part of town where she’d lived with Shamus before the demise of their so-called marriage. Before Shamus’s big sister, Glory Meechum, had so rudely tossed her out of the family home. Other guests she recognized from the French Quarter. Shop owners, long-time denizens of charming courtyard apartments, a couple restaurant owners. And what they all seemed to have in common, what Ava had most certainly been driving at, was that certain sparkle in their eye, a light-hearted joie de vive in their attitude.
    “They’re people having fun,” Carmela grudgingly admitted.
    “Not just fun, Carmela. They’re having a damn laugh riot! ” exclaimed Ava. “Honey, this is New Orleans . . . the Big Easy. We’re the city that care forgot. The poster child for bad behavior! Our war cry is Laissez les bon temps rouler . Let the good times roll!”
    “Point well taken,” said Carmela. “I hereby resolve to have way more fun.”
    Ava let loose an unlady-like snort. “I don’t believe you.”
    “No, really,” persisted Carmela. “I’m going to march over to the bar right now and order a drink.”
    “Well, hallelujah,” said Ava, brightening considerably. “That’s a start. Whatcha gonna have, cher? ”
    “Maybe a hurricane,” said Carmela. The hurricane was a marvelous concoction of fruit juice and rum that had been invented in New Orleans back in the thirties. Necessity being the mother of invention, the hurricane had