Crepe Factor by Laura Childs Page B

sufficiently calmed down.
    â€œMy entrée is perfection,” Ava said. “Angels must have descended from heaven and whipped up this sauce.”
    â€œThen they must have gotten a hall pass good for the entire day, because my eggs Benedict is marvelous, too. But,” Carmela admitted, “I’m already thinking ahead to dessert.”
    Ava aimed a fork at her. “Bananas Foster for two.”
    â€œYou got that right,” Carmela said. “There’s nothing better than caramelized banana flambéed in rum.”
    â€œExcept maybe Brennan’s chocolate rum drink. That’s my idea of perfection. Pigging out on chocolate while youget a nice buzz on.” Ava smiled. “See how much better you’re feeling now?”
    â€œThat’s because I’m drinking. And overeating.”
    They settled down then, enjoying their brunch as the day stretched into late afternoon. When Carmela finally glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost four o’clock, she said, “Would you believe that Martin Lash’s viewing starts in a couple of minutes?”
    Ava was surprised. “They’ve got him fixed up already? They patched up that awful old grisly hole in his throat?”
    â€œApparently so,” Carmela said. “The notice for his visitation appeared in the
Times-Picayune
this morning. Visitation today, memorial service on Tuesday.”
    â€œThose funeral directors sure work fast, huh?”
    â€œI think they pretty much have to,” Carmela said.
    â€œAnd there’s a valid reason why you’re thinking about attending Lash’s visitation? And I’m guessing you want to drag me along with you?”
    â€œChalk it up to curiosity.”
    Ava laughed. “Now that’s something I can relate to.”
    *   *   *
    Twenty minutes later they were standing outside a wrought-iron fence, gazing in at a three-story white clapboard mansion. The windows were framed with black shutters while four Ionic columns fronted the building. A discreet brass sign with the words
CASTLE FUNERAL HOME
was affixed to the fence at eye level.
    â€œThis place looks kind of spooky,” Ava said. “Do you think it’s haunted?”
    â€œProbably not,” Carmela said.
    â€œI read somewhere that New Orleans is the most haunted city in the United States.”
    â€œNice try,” Carmela said as they started up the steps to the front porch. “You’re still coming in with me.”
    Just as they reached the double oak doors with stained glass inlays, the right door popped open and a liveried doorman leaned out. His graying temples and stiff bearing made him look just like Carson, the butler on
Downton Abbey
.
    â€œCome in, ladies,” the doorman said in cultured tones. “How may I direct you?”
    â€œWe’re here for the Martin Lash visitation,” Carmela said.
    â€œStraight ahead,” Carson said. “Kindly sign the guest book as you pass by.”
    â€œWill do,” Ava said as they stepped into a large marble-tiled entry. The walls were painted a deep rose color, the woodwork was gilded, and a large crystal chandelier dangled overhead. A flurry of white doves and levitating cherubs were painted on the ceiling.
    â€œSo tasteful,” Carmela said. “Yet so understated.”
    â€œI wonder who their decorator was?” Ava said. “The last archduke of the Austro-Hungarian Empire?”
    â€œLet’s just play nice and sign the guest book.”
    They stepped up to a polished wooden lectern that held an oversized leather book. The pages were a creamy ivory paper edged in gold. A faux quill pen was stuck in a faux inkwell.
    â€œAre you going to sign your real name?” Ava whispered.
    Carmela hesitated. “Maybe . . . not.” She wasn’t sure why not, except for the fact that coming here today fell into the murky realm of investigating. And she really