Tragic Magic Read Online Free PDF Page B

wooden floor with her stiletto heels. “Carmela!” she cried. “Are you okay?” Baby was Garden District society, a blond fifty-something beauty who was a big-bucks donor to the arts and a consummate party giver.

    In fact, Baby was notorious for her over-the-top Halloween and Mardi Gras parties. Her husband, Del, was a prominent New Orleans attorney.
    The dynamic duo of Tandy and Baby were regulars at Memory Mine. Both were dedicated scrapbookers and crafters who loved nothing more than spending an entire day huddled over a project. If Carmela gave a rubber-stamping class, they were there. When a make-and-take project was on the docket, they were first to arrive. And whenever new paper or ribbon or decals arrived at the shop, Tandy and Baby were offered first dibs.
    “Carmela doesn’t know all that much about the murder,” said Gabby, heading them off.
    Tandy and Baby slid to a stop and peered inquisitively at Carmela.
    “Sure she does,” said Tandy. “She’s just not at liberty to talk.”
    Gabby shifted her gaze to Carmela. “Is that true? Is it because Detective Babcock swore you to secrecy?”
    “Your new boyfriend’s working the case?” asked Baby. Elegant brows arched over inquiring blue eyes.
    “That means Carmela’s really involved,” said Tandy. She put on her half-glasses, let them slide down her nose, and peered expectantly. “Right?”
    “Not necessarily,” said Baby, answering the question for Carmela. “Carmela’s a very smart lady. She doesn’t need any conflict in her relationship. She’s happy leaving things with Detective Babcock just the way they are, right? Status quo.”
    Carmela nodded at Baby, not quite answering the question. “Babcock would probably kill me if I got involved.”
    “Of course he would,” grinned Tandy. “But that’s not gonna stop you, is it?”
    Carmela bent over the table to straighten a stack of vellum. She wasn’t saying a word. As far as she was concerned, everything was still very much up in the air.

    Twenty minutes later the atmosphere within Memory Mine was considerably more calm. Tandy and Baby were seated at the big table in back working on scrapbook pages. Gabby was up front helping two customers pick through small bags filled with grommets and charms. And Carmela was restocking and straightening shelves.
    This was the part of the business Carmela loved, of course. Straightening the colored pens and glue sticks, arranging small packages of embellishments, adding new rubber stamps to their huge wall display, and displaying all the new albums, spools of ribbon, special scissors, and card stock. Because Memory Mine was located in the French Quarter on Governor Nicholls Street, the shop itself boasted tons of charm. Longer than it was wide, the shop featured high ceilings, wide-planked wooden floors, lovely arched front windows, and brick walls.
    It was along the longest wall that Carmela had placed the wire paper racks that held thousands of sheets of paper that brought her so much joy. Because Carmela, no secret here, was a bit of a paper addict. She love, love, loved mulberry paper with its infusion of fibers. Then there was Egyptian papyrus, which was always so lineny and gorgeous, and got her creative juices flowing about creating dimensional bags and boxes. Of course, the botanical vellums embedded with real flower petals and the fibery Nepal lokta paper were fabulous, too.
    Recently, Carmela had received a small shipment of Indian batik paper. With its rich, dark colors and slightly puckered, accordion affect, she could hardly wait to use it in one of her many projects.
    “Carmela,” called Tandy. “Do you have any die cuts of military insignia?”
    “Army, Navy, Marine, Air Force, or Coast Guard?” asked Carmela.
    “Army,” said Tandy. “I’m making a scrapbook page to honor my nephew, Dennis, who’s over in Iraq right now.”

    Carmela grabbed a metal dog tag that was stamped ARMY and an Army heritage emblem and showed them to