Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 02 - Dark Carnival by Nancy K. Duplechain Page A

the sound of a man’s voice behind the front counter.  “Can I help you
ladies?” he said, smiling.
    Nadia dabbed the corners
of her eyes and gave one last small sniffle before she walked toward the
counter.  I followed with the music box cradled in my arm.
    “Yes, sir,” said Nadia.  “We
were looking for a very old antique mask from France, circa 1779.  We
understand you just got a shipment in recently.”
    “1779?” said the man
behind the counter.  He was plump, balding and had a bushy mustache that had
traces of powdered sugar on it.  I suspected he had beignets with his coffee.  He
smiled again.  “That is pretty old,” he laughed.  Nadia and I politely
returned the smile.  “I did get a shipment a couple of days ago, and there was
a mask in it, but none of those items are for sale just yet.  I let the museums
have first crack at ‘em.”
    “Well, do you mind if we
look at the mask?” asked Nadia.
    He thought about it for a
second.  “Don’t see any harm in that.  I’ll be right back.”
    I placed the music box on
the counter while we waited for the shop owner to return.  “What do we do if it
is the mask?” I asked.  “You heard him.  Not for sale.”
    “He’ll sell for the right
price.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “Everyone has a price.”
    “How much money do you
guys have exactly?”
    “Me?  I’m pretty broke.  The
convent takes care of my needs, so I don’t really require much money.  We’re
paying for this with Miles’ money.”  That didn’t surprise me in the least.  One
look at Miles’ house and the fully-loaded Mercedes he drove and anyone could
tell he was loaded.
    The shop keeper came back
a couple of minutes later, carefully carrying a small display case containing a
mask that looked similar to the one in the picture.  He gently set it down.  “Sorry
it’s a little dirty.  Haven’t had a chance to get the pros in here to clean it
yet.”
    “That’s okay,” said
Nadia.  “May I hold it for a second?”
    The shop keeper looked
worried.  “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.  The acid in your hands—”
    “I promise I’ll be very
gentle with it and it’ll only take a second,” she said, smiling sweetly.
    The man wrestled with the
decision.  “Well … okay.  But let me get you some gloves first.”
    He went into the back
room, and Nadia quickly lifted the display case and touched the mask.  “Shoot!”
she whispered and hurried to put the glass back.  The man came back with a pair
of latex gloves and handed them to Nadia.  “Oh, you know, I was thinking.  You’re
right.  It’s best not to handle the mask at all.  I’m such a klutz and I
wouldn’t want to damage it.  Might hurt the re-sale value,” she said, with all
the grace of a seasoned liar.
    The shop keeper frowned.  “Okay.
Well, uh … can I help you with anything else?”
    “Yes,” I said with a
smile, pushing the music box toward him.
    He perked up.  “Okie
doke,” he said, ringing up the sale.
    He thanked us for the
business, and we left.  As soon as we walked outside, Nadia said, “I thought
for sure that would have been the mask.  It looked enough like it.”
    “Maybe that was the style
back then,” I mused.
    She sighed.  “Guess so.  Let’s
go.”
    From there, we continued
down Magazine Street and checked with three more stores.  None of them had the
mask we were looking for.  Nadia was a little discouraged.
    We walked out of the last
store and into the parking lot.  Before we got in her car, I noticed the same
good-looking guy from the bar—the one with the scar on his arm—across the
street looking our way.  He was at a café, sitting at one of the outdoor
tables, sipping coffee.  As soon as he saw me looking at him, he looked down at
his cell phone and started texting, or pretending to text.
    Nadia unlocked the doors,
and we got in.
    “Hey, you see that guy
across the street at the café?” I said.
    “What guy?”
    I peered