Crepe Factor Read Online Free

of coiled energy. Even though it was late in the day, Carmela could imagine the scent of Dial soap, Paco Rabanne, and a nicely starched shirt as he hurried along. Babcock’s ginger-colored hair was cropped short and his blue eyes were pinpricks of intensity. Interestingly enough, he was also a serious clotheshorse, always dressing extremely well. Tonight he wore a wool tweed jacket, dark slacks, and leather slip-on loafers that Carmela guessed were from Prada. It was no surprise that he was up for deputy chief.
    Carmela touched two fingers to her heart. “Thank goodness,” she said. “If anybody can figure this out, Babcock can.”
    â€œAbsolutely,” Ava said. “Because he’s not only got the smarts, he’s tenacious.”
    â€œA pit bull,” Carmela agreed.
    But right now Babcock had a scowl on his face and was waving his arms.
    â€œPush them back,” he yelled at Officer Bailey. “Get everyone out of here. I want at least a twenty-five-foot perimeter.”
    â€œWill do,” Bailey shouted back.
    But the onlookers were slow to move.
    Babcock shook his head and repeated his order. He was losing patience.
    Finally, Bailey and four other uniformed officers gained some control over the crowd, and the circle around the body began to widen. Then Bailey leaned in and said something to Babcock. Babcock nodded, glanced around, and started scanning the crowd. When his eyes landed on Carmela they widened in surprise.
    Uh-oh
, Carmela thought. But she lifted a hand and gave him a brief finger-flutter wave anyway.
    Babcock looked toward the heavens, shook his head, and turned back to Officer Bailey.
    â€œWe might have a problem,” Carmela said.
    â€œWhat? Us?” Ava said. “Nah. I doubt it.”
    Carmela watched Babcock carefully as the crowd slowly dispersed and, one by one, he began questioning a number of vendors. From the blank looks on their faces, it was pretty clear that most of them hadn’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. The frizzy-haired leather lady was no help at all.
    â€œAll I know is that he knocked down my booth.” She jabbed a finger angrily toward the very dead Martin Lash. “Never seen him before, never hope to again.”
    Babcock questioned a few more vendors, but it wasn’t until he talked to the music box vendor that he hit pay dirt.
    â€œYeah, he was yelling his head off and arguing,” the music box vendor said. He was short and stocky with a hawk nose and a shock of dark hair. He looked like an extra in a wiseguys movie.
    â€œThere was an argument?” Babcock asked. This was the first he’d heard.
    The music box vendor nodded. “Between the guy that got stabbed and the gumbo guy, yeah.”
    Babcock gave a slow, reptilian blink. “Gumbo guy?”
    Uh-oh
, Carmela thought.
    â€œQuigg something,” said the music box vendor.
    â€œQuigg Brevard?” Babcock’s eyes flickered over toward Quigg’s booth, where a major cleanup was under way.
    The vendor nodded. “Yeah, that’s the guy.”
    That was also when Carmela stepped forward.
    â€œExcuse me,” Carmela said. “I also witnessed that particular exchange. And it wasn’t . . . such a big deal.”
    The music box vendor rocked back on his heels. “That ain’t what I saw, lady.”
    â€œWhat exactly did you see?” Babcock asked him.
    â€œI . . .” Carmela started.
    But Babcock held up a hand. “Please. Let the man finish. I’ll get to you in a minute.”
    â€œFrom what I saw they had a pretty serious argument,” the vendor said. “Lots of yelling, a few nasty cuss words.”
    â€œSo you wouldn’t exactly categorize it as friendly?” Babcock asked. “A friendly disagreement?”
    â€œOn a scale of one to ten,” the vendor said, “it was about a fifteen. Ten being a meltdown at Chernobyl.”
    Carmela threw up her