Skeleton Letters Read Free

had.
    Carmela let loose a deep and shaky sigh. She knew she had to get a grip and pull it together. After all, she’d been a sort of witness. So maybe she could be of some assistance in the investigation? On the other hand . . .
    Making a half-spin so she faced Bobby Gallant, Carmela said, “We need Babcock on this.” Her words came out a little more hoarse and a little more demanding than she’d actually intended.
    Gallant barely acknowledged her statement concerning his boss. “I’m the one who got the call out,” he murmured.
    â€œThe thing is,” Carmela said, gesturing toward Byrle’s lifeless body, “we know her. She’s a friend.”
    â€œFrom Memory Mine,” Ava added. “Carmela’s scrapbook shop.”
    â€œI’m very sorry to hear that,” said Gallant. And this time he did sound sorry.
    â€œSo we need to do everything in our power,” Carmela gulped, “to find whoever did this.”
    â€œWhich is exactly what I intend to do,” said Gallant. He glanced around and noticed a uniformed officer standing off to the side, staring at Byrle’s dead body. “Slovey!” he barked. “Get something to cover her up!”
    Slovey seemed suddenly unhappy. “What do you want me to use?” he asked.
    Color bloomed on Gallant’s face. “I don’t care,” he snapped. “Use your jacket if you have to!”
    Â 
    â€œThis isn’t happening,” Carmela murmured to Ava. Holding on to each other, they staggered over to the row of church pews that faced the small altar and collapsed together on the hard seat. There, they huddled like lost souls, trying to make sense of it all. At the same time, like some bizarre soap opera, the beginnings of the police investigation played out right before their eyes.
    The crime-scene techs arrived, set up enough lights to make it look like a movie set, and began to photograph Byrle’s body as well as the damaged saint statue and everything else within a twenty-foot radius.
    Uniformed officers were given assignments and hastily dispatched to interview possible witnesses and take statements.
    And finally, two EMTs arrived with a clanking gurney to carry Byrle away. Probably, Carmela decided, they were going to transport her to the city morgue. And wasn’t that a grim thought!
    â€œBabcock should be here,” Ava said in a low voice. “Working this case.”
    Edgar Babcock, homicide detective first class of the New Orleans Police Department was, to put it rather indelicately, Carmela’s main squeeze. As Carmela had wrangled through her divorce from her former husband, Shamus, the two had gazed longingly at each other. When Carmela finally separated from her philandering rat-fink husband, she and Babcock finally started seeing each other. And now that Carmela’s divorce was signed, sealed, and delivered, they were most definitely an item.
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Carmela, “I’m going to call Babcock.” She hesitated. “But Gallant does seem to be doing a credible job.”
    â€œCredible is only good when it comes to talking heads on TV,” said Ava. “For this investigation we need a grade-A detective.”
    â€œSshhh,” said Carmela. Gallant was suddenly headed straight toward them.
    Stepping lightly, Gallant slid into the pew directly ahead of them, settled onto the creaky seat, and swiveled to face them. Only then did Carmela notice the tiredness and deep concern that was etched in his face.
    â€œSomething tells me this isn’t the only case you’re handling,” Carmela said.
    Gallant shook his head. “Two drive-bys last night and a floater in the river.”
    â€œTough job,” said Ava.
    â€œTough city,” said Gallant.
    â€œWhat . . . what’s happening now?” asked Carmela.
    â€œWell,” said Gallant, “we’ve got the church and outside area pretty much