Gossamer Ghost by Laura Childs

neighborhood.”
    â€œThat’s a good way of looking at it,” agreed Gabby.
    Just as Carmela was studying a piece of unprimed canvas, figuring out how to make a batik-type painting, the door flew open again. This time it was James Stanger, their neighbor down the block and the proprietor of Gilded Pheasant Antiques. He had always struck Carmela as being a trifle brittle—James rather than Jim—with a clipped, rather reserved demeanor. Today, however, he was red-faced and in a tizzy, his blond hair ruffled and his tie completely askew.
    â€œWas that crazy lady just in here?” Stanger demanded.
    Gabby raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean the countess?”
    â€œIs she telling you that she intends to lease the Oddities space?” Stanger asked.
    â€œDo you know what happened at Oddities?” asked Carmela, stepping in.
    â€œYes, of course I do,” Stanger snapped. “Joubert was killed last night. Probably during a robbery. Now, please, answer my question.”
    â€œAbout Oddities?” said Carmela.
    â€œAnd the countess?” said Gabby.
    â€œYes!” said Stanger. “Is she going to lease it?”
    â€œI think maybe she is,” said Carmela.
    â€œMaybe?” said Stanger.
    â€œIt seems like she has,” said Carmela.
Boy, news sure travels fast around here.
    Stanger exhaled loudly and flapped a hand.
    â€œThe countess was pretty insistent,” said Gabby. “I mean, she wants us to design announcement cards for her. Apparently she’s planning a grand-opening party.”
    â€œThat lying sack of crap!” exploded Stanger.
    â€œWait a minute,” said Carmela, clearly confused. “Who are you referring to?”
    â€œTo Boyd Bellamy,” said Stanger. “Our slum landlord. Correction, scum-of-the-earth slum landlord. I don’t know if you realize this or not, but he promised that space to me.” Stanger’s antique shop was located a few doors down from Oddities.
    â€œWere you planning to expand your shop?” said Gabby.
    â€œOf course, I was,” said Stanger. “No question about it. I’ve been waiting for Oddities to go out of business—I never thought they’d last as long as they did.”
    â€œJoubert did stick it out for almost two years,” Gabby said.
    Stanger waved a hand again, as if flicking away an annoying mosquito. “That’s nothing in the scheme of things. The Gilded Pheasant has been a landmark on Governor Nicholls Street for more than twelve years. In fact, I’m one of the premier antiquities dealers in New Orleans. Really, ask anyone. They’ll tell you I’m
the
top dealer between Miami and Los Angeles.”
    Carmela put her elbows on the front counter and leaned toward Stanger. “What exactly is the distinction between an antique dealer and an antiquities dealer?”
    Stanger’s face took on a bored expression, as if he’d answered this question a million times. “Antiques are mostly furniture, paintings, and household goods of at least eighty to a hundred years old. In my shop they’re usually French or English, although for clean lines and minimal ornamentation, Biedermeier can’t be beat.” He held up a finger. “However, antiquities are from any period before the Middle Ages, usually coming from the ancient civilizations of Rome, Greece, Egypt, and China.” Stanger continued in his somewhat lecturing tone. “To paraphrase Sir Francis Bacon, ‘Antiquities are remnants of history which have escaped the shipwreck of time.’”
    â€œDo you know anything about Napoleon’s death mask?” asked Carmela. “That would count as an antiquity, right?”
    Stanger stroked his chin. “Ah, you’re referring to the death mask that was stolen from Joubert’s shop last night.”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Carmela. Gossip in the French Quarter really did spread like