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means they’re lying. And if they look right, it means they’re telling the truth.”
    â€œNo kidding.”
    â€œIt was all very scientific,” said Ava. “A lot like astrology or tarot cards.”
    â€œShhh,” said Carmela, “I want to hear what else they have to say.”
    The camera moved in tight on the news anchor and he said, “As our viewers may recall, Leland’s construction company, Leland Enterprises, was found guilty of overbilling the federal government for twelve million dollars’ worth of highway and bridge work in and around the New Orleans area.”
    â€œI guess that explains why Margo’s got such fancy jewelry,” said Ava. “And why Conrad Falcon wasn’t a guest at tonight’s party.”
    â€œIf Falcon had been there,” said Carmela, still studying the screen, “he’d probably be the number one suspect.”
    â€œBut he wasn’t there,” said Ava. “So it had to be somebody at the party, don’t you think?”
    â€œMaybe,” said Carmela. She nibbled at one of the cookies.
    â€œThe weird thing is, we were all having such a great time! At least it sure felt that way.”
    â€œI guess we’ll just have to wait and see who pops up on Detective Gallant’s radar screen,” said Carmela. “Although he’s got a ton of interviews to get through.”
    â€œSome of those people aren’t gonna want to talk to him,” said Ava. “You know, the wealthy ones, the people who jealously guard their privacy.”
    â€œThere’s a lot of that going around,” agreed Carmela. The wealthy of New Orleans, especially those who resided in the Garden District, were especially careful of their privacy. Many of the homes had security systems worthy of Fort Knox, and many families even employed private security forces.
    Ava took a final sip of tea and stood up. “Well, time to shove off, I guess. Big day tomorrow. I’ve got a busload of tourists coming in for tarot readings and voodoo doll demonstrations.”
    â€œTake a cookie for the road,” said Carmela.
    Ava grabbed two cookies. “Don’t mind if I do,
cher
.”
    Carmela walked Ava to the door, then watched as her friend hurried across the courtyard and let herself into her shop. From there it was a crooked flight upstairs to an apartment that had been painted a rather amazing Pepto pink.
    Because Carmela’s head was still in a whirl, because she was a little too keyed up for bed, she fussed about her own apartment for a few minutes. Packing up the leftover cookies, rinsing out teacups, thinking about poor old Jerry Earl.
    Why had he been murdered? What was the motive? Did it have something to do with all the glittering gold and antiquities that were strewn so casually about his office? Was it related to his construction business? To the people he’d bilked out of money? Or was it something else entirely?
    Carmela frowned and let loose a deep sigh. Had it been an inside job? Someone who’d been at the party?
    Had to be.
    She spun around, her back to the sink now, and gazed about her apartment. At the cozy brick walls, leather furniture, and plush Oriental carpet that gave it such a warm, lived-in feeling. Happy to be here, she thought to herself. Happy to be safe and comfortable. And yet Margo Leland had probably felt that exact same way, too. But someone had come to her party, invaded her inner sanctum, and murdered her husband.
    Like Plague in the
Masque of the Red Death
, Carmela thought. Stealing quietly among the unsuspecting revelers with ice-cold death in his heart.
    A sudden noise outside startled Carmela from her reverie.
    Someone crossing the patio?
    That didn’t happen very often, since the only street access was a narrow porte cochere
.
But no, there was Boo, the perennial watchdog, her ears laid flat against her head, nose pointed toward the door, a low growl rising in her