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plunked herself down on her brocade fainting couch.
    There, she thought. Better. Better than a champagne luge. More comforting than a room full of crazy people, and infinitely cozier than a mansion in the Garden District. Home was where you could relax, let down your hair, and let down your guard. And feel safe, too.
    Ava took a sip of tea. “Mmn, this is tasty. What kind?”
    â€œChamomile,” said Carmela. “I ordered it from the Indigo Tea Shop in Charleston. It’s not really caffeinated, so it’s supposed to be highly conducive to relaxation and pleasant dreams.”
    â€œI always have pleasant dreams,” said Ava.
    You wouldn’t
if you saw what I did tonight
, Carmela thought to herself.
You’d be tossing and turning and having bad dreams.
    Ava aimed the remote control at the screen and switched over to KBEZ-TV. Instantly, bright blue lights swirled around the station’s logo and a graphic that said
NEWS BULLETIN
lit up the screen.
    â€œUh-oh,” said Carmela.
    â€œAnd you said it was too soon,” said Ava. “But look!” A photo of Jerry Earl Leland suddenly appeared in a framed box that was superimposed behind the TV anchorman’s head.
    â€œTurn it up,” said Carmela. “Let’s see how bad it is.”
    It was bad. Real bad.
    â€œMurder in the Garden District!” proclaimed the anchorman. He had perfectly blow-combed hair, what appeared to be a spray tan, and impossibly white Chiclet teeth.
    â€œWhat are they sayin’?” asked Ava, leaning forward.
    â€œDetails are sketchy so far,” intoned the anchorman in a voice that promised to deliver vivid details as soon as they were available. “But what we know for sure is that prominent New Orleans business tycoon Jerry Earl Leland was brutally murdered at his Garden District home earlier this evening. In a strange chain of events, Leland had just been released from Dixon Correctional Institute, where he’d been serving a three-to-five-year prison sentence for fraud. Though police officials were reluctant to comment on the exact details of tonight’s violent crime, it has been learned through an unnamed source that a welcome home party had been in progress at the time.”
    â€œI wonder who the unnamed source was,” said Carmela.
    â€œNot me,” said Ava.
    The anchorman continued: “Standing by to comment, we have our own Zoe Carmichael talking to Conrad Falcon, the businessman and whistle blower who helped put Leland in prison.”
    There was a quick shot of a distinguished-looking man with dark eyes and gray hair gazing directly into the camera’s lens. “Jerry Earl Leland made a lot of enemies,” said Falcon. “It was probably only a matter of time.”
    â€œOuch,” said Ava.
    The camera pulled back to reveal a two-shot. “So you think it was a kind of justice?” Zoe asked. She was petite and pretty with reddish-blond hair and a cherubic smile.
    Falcon drew breath and shook his head. “A very sad justice.”
    â€œI understand,” said Zoe, “that you had been vehemently opposed to Mr. Leland’s early release?”
    â€œYes, I was,” continued Falcon. “I was on the phone with several legislators, cautioning them against his release. In fact, had the justice system not been so severely tampered with and Mr. Leland remained incarcerated, this murder might have easily been averted.”
    Zoe dimpled prettily and said, “And now back to you, Guy.”
    â€œLook at that,” said Ava, still studying the screen. “That guy Conrad Falcon was pretending to be all serious and concerned, all on-the-fence politically correct. But you can tell he’s really jumping with joy.”
    Carmela was skeptical. “You think so?”
    â€œOh yeah. I read this article about body language in
Star Watch
magazine. It said that if somebody looks up to the left when they’re talking, it