Tragic Magic by Laura Childs Page A

marquise-cut diamond ring for her last anniversary.
    After their coffee maker finally oozed forth a single cup, Carmela carried a red ceramic mug to the table and slid it toward Garth. “Okay,” she said. “What’s up? Why have the police suddenly turned their beady little eyes on you?”
    Garth took a quick sip of coffee and shook his head angrily. Color flared in his cheeks and his sparse hair stuck up slightly, as though even his scalp were outraged. “A couple of things,” he told them. “One, because Melody and I had taken out fairly substantial insurance policies on each other.”
    “A lot of couples do that,” said Gabby. She turned wide, questioning eyes on Carmela. “Don’t they?”
    Garth cleared his throat nervously. “Yes, they do. But I can see where it might appear suspicious.”
    Carmela took a deep breath. “What else?” she asked Garth.
    Garth pursed his lips and assumed an unhappy face. “That story Kimber Breeze did last night on funeral jewelry made me look like some kind of death cult creep. Nasty calls started pouring in and, this morning, when I arrived at Fire and Ice, two detectives were waiting for me.” He sighed. “They asked lots more questions. Nothing new about that, except for the fact that their attitude has suddenly gone from deep concern to all-out interrogation.”
    “Any other reason you think you’ve been added to the suspect list?” asked Carmela.
    Garth rubbed his hands across his face and gave them a baleful look. “Probably because they don’t seem to have anyone else!”
    “That’s absolutely unfair!” declared Gabby.
    “Shameful,” sniffed Garth.
    Carmela thought for a few moments. “You were alone at Fire and Ice on Monday evening.” It was a statement, not a question.

    “Yes,” said Garth. “So, of course, in the minds of the police the timing works perfectly.”
    “Timing?” said Gabby.
    Carmela filled in the blanks. “The police think Garth might have had adequate time to drive to Medusa Manor, kill Melody, then run back to the shop.”
    “But he wouldn’t do that!” exclaimed Gabby. She was gung-ho for Garth’s innocence. So was Carmela. Sort of.
    The three of them sat staring at each other for a minute, and then Garth swallowed hard a couple of times. “Listen,” he said, gazing directly at Carmela. “I understand you’re kind of an amateur investigator.”
    Carmela raised her eyebrows.
    Garth continued. “In fact, I hear you’re remarkably adept at solving mysteries.”
    “Who told you that?” asked Carmela.
    Garth gave a tentative smile. “Jekyl Hardy.”
    “Aiii,” said Carmela. Jekyl Hardy was a dear friend who spent one crazed month each year designing and building spectacular Mardi Gras floats. The other eleven months he focused on art consulting and antiques appraisals.
    Buoyed by Jekyl’s words regarding Carmela, Gabby added, “Carmela’s not just good at solving mysteries, she’s almost a pro.”
    “I wouldn’t say that,” protested Carmela.
    “No,” said Gabby, “you have a very good head for tracking down clues and figuring stuff out. Remember when Shamus’s Uncle Henry was murdered? When Shamus was kidnapped? You were the one with the smarts to follow the trail.”
    “Carmela,” said Garth. He swallowed, grimaced, then stared at her plaintively. “Would you help?”
    Would she help? There it was. Carmela supposed she’d been on a collision course with this request ever since she’d witnessed poor Melody tumbling from that tower window. However, if the police were now looking hard at Garth,
should she be doing the same? Was he . . . could he be . . . a suspect? A killer?
    “Carmela,” said Gabby. “Will you help him?”
    Carmela shook her head, realizing she’d drifted off for a few moments.
    “Will you?” Garth asked again. “Please?”
    Carmela stared at him, still thinking.
    “The thing of it is,” said Garth, “you’ve agreed to continue decorating Medusa Manor. So you’re already in