Laura Childs - Photo Finished

“You gonna show us the real forensic evidence, honey?” asked Baby, clearly fascinated by all of this.

“You really want to see it?” asked Carmela. She had initially thought the ladies might be a little put off by her amateur sleuthing. Quite the contrary. They seemed mesmerized by the idea of trying to track down Barty’s killer.

Carmela placed the actual medallion in the center of the table while Gabby slipped into the back office and retrieved a magnifying glass.

“Let me take a peek,” said Baby, reaching out a hand to Gabby.

Gabby handed her the glass.

Baby peered forward, studying the medallion with the heelprint. “This is the medallion you crafted from clay,” she said. “And you think you dropped it when you got out of your car.”

Carmela nodded. “I’m pretty sure I did.”

“You’re right,” said Baby finally. “This definitely looks like it’s been stepped on and kind of ground in by-what… maybe a lady’s heel?”

“What are those, entwined G’s?” asked Byrle. “Maybe a Gucci logo?”

Baby picked up a pencil, tapped at the page Carmela had printed out. “Not Gucci,” said Baby. “The initials read GC. And see here, there’s a little crosshatch pattern in the background.”

Gabby took the magnifying glass back from Baby, stared at the now-squished medallion, then at Carmela’s printout. Finally, she straightened up and looked around the table.

“Anybody ever hear of a designer with the initials GC?”

“No designer I know of,” said Baby, her hands unconsciously patting the gold and rust Versace scarf draped about her patrician neck.

“What about a local store?” asked Carmela. “It could be a private label thing.”

But nobody could think of a store or clothing shop that had the initials GC.

“Y’all are completely forgetting about Jade Ella,” said Byrle. “From what I hear, she and Barty were locked in the throes of a very nasty divorce.”

“That’s what Shamus said, too,” said Carmela.

Gabby flashed Carmela an approving glance. “You’re seeing Shamus again?” she asked hopefully.

“No,” said Carmela. “Shamus just sort of… dropped in on me last night.”

“Sounds romantic,” said Gabby, ever hopeful that the couple’s marriage would rebound.

“It wasn’t particularly,” Carmela told her. She looked around into the hopeful faces of her friends. “Don’t hold your breath concerning Shamus and me.”

“Well, this information about Jade Ella and Dove is certainly intriguing,” declared Baby, getting back to the main thread of their conversation. “It seems that both women had a serious ax to grind with Bartholomew Hayward.”

Dawn nodded excitedly. “They really did, didn’t they!” “And both ladies generally wear high heels,” said Baby, ever the fashion maven.

Gabby looked around the room, wide eyed. “I swear, it did kind of sound like someone in high heels taking off down the alley.”

“So either Dove Duval or Jade Ella Hayward could be considered a suspect,” said Baby.

“Or Chef Ricardo,” said Carmela. “But only if he wears Cuban heels.”

This new entry, tossed so casually into the pot, brought a stunned silence to the table.

Finally, Byrle spoke up. “Who on earth is Chef Ricardo?” Carmela quickly related her brunch experience from the day before and explained about the withdrawal of financing from Chef Ricardo’s ill-fated Scaloppina Restaurant.

Baby nodded. “That’s right. I heard about that. In fact, I think Del ’s firm might have represented one of the parties in a lawsuit. Turned out to be a real mess.”

“Buddy and I dined at Scaloppina once,” volunteered Dawn. “They served the best crab risotto I ever tasted.” She looked thoughtful. “Sad that the place had to close.”

“And under unfortunate circumstances, it would appear,” said Byrle.

“Sounds like Bartholomew Hayward might have had a few enemies,” said Gabby.

There were nods all around.

“Since this appears to be a crime of passion,” said Carmela, “what we need to do is try and figure out who hated Barty the most.” She gazed about the table, studying the troubled faces of her friends. “Anybody got any bright ideas?”

No lightbulbs clicked on.

TANDY came steamrolling in just as Carmela, Gabby, and Baby were eating salads that had been delivered a few minutes earlier by the French Quarter Deli. Dawn and Byrle had packed up their craft bags and left an hour earlier.

“You poor thing,” said Carmela, jumping up from the craft table to greet Tandy. “Come on back here and tell us what’s going on. You want part of my salad?” she asked as she led Tandy toward the back. “Baby field greens with smoked turkey?”

Gabby and Baby focused looks of concern on Tandy. She seemed tired and distracted. Her usual tight mop of curls was frowsled. Already skinny to begin with, Tandy looked wan bordering on frail.

“Nothing to eat, no, thanks,” said Tandy as she collapsed into the wooden chair Carmela pulled out for her.

Carmela stared pointedly at Tandy. “Things aren’t going well,” she said as she sat down next to her. It was a statement rather than a question.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” said Tandy. “This has turned into the worst possible nightmare.” She leaned across the table and grasped Baby’s hand. “Thank goodness Del agreed to represent Billy. He’s the only bright spot in all of this.”

“He’s happy to help,” Baby told her. “We all are.”

“If there’s anything I can do…” began Gabby.

Tandy flashed Gabby a sad smile. “You’re a sweetheart, but… well, we’re all just in a hold pattern for now. As you might expect, Donny and Lenore are absolutely hysterical.” Donny and Lenore were Billy’s parents, Donny being Tandy’s younger brother.

“What news is there, if any?” Carmela asked, trying to steer Tandy away from the emotionalism of the issue and more toward actual facts.

Tandy leaned back and sighed. “Billy hasn’t been formally charged with anything yet, but the police are completely hung up on those latex gloves.”

“I can’t see where the gloves are all that relevant,” said Carmela. “Especially since Billy and Bartholomew Hayward and whoever else helped out in the back room wore them whenever they were doing furniture stripping or refinishing.”

Tandy grimaced. “There’s another little wrinkle.”

“What’s that?” asked Carmela, her ears perking up.

Tandy shifted uneasily in her chair. “The scissors that were found in Barty Hayward’s neck?”

“Yes?” said Carmela. Come on, Tandy, spit it out.

“The police found a couple flecks of gold paint on them. Similar to the gilding used to touch up frames in Barty’s workshop.”

“Ouch,” said Gabby.

“That’s not so good,” said Baby, commiserating.

“Still,” said Tandy. “The gold paint can be explained. And the scissors could still have come from Bartholomew Hayward’s workshop.”

“Did Billy have any flecks of this gilt paint on his hands?” asked Carmela.

“No,” said Tandy. “Which is why, I suppose, the police are looking at the latex gloves so hard.”

“What possible motive do the police think Billy had?” asked Carmela.

“Oh, honey,” said Tandy, “they’d sooner grill someone to death and figure all that out later. I tell you, it’s a travesty of justice.”

Baby nudged a sharp elbow into Carmela’s side. “Tell Tandy about the heelprint,” she said in a low voice.

“What heelprint?” asked Tandy.

Pulling out her medallion and her printout, Carmela quickly related her story of finding the wayward little medallion in the back alley, noticing the heelprint, then enhancing the heelprint via embossing powder and her computer.