Page 11 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception (A Midnight House Mystery #1)

"What happened in 1984?" Maggie asked.

Celeste flipped the first card. The Tower . The same card I'd found on my stairs, the same one Delia had drawn the night she died.

"Death," Celeste said simply. "Not physical death, but the death of innocence. The death of trust. Your auntie's circle was broken that winter, and it never healed."

She flipped the second card. The Five of Swords. A figure walking away from a battlefield, leaving behind defeat and sorrow.

"Betrayal. Someone in the circle wasn't who they seemed to be. Someone was working for the other side."

"What other side?" I asked.

Celeste flipped the third card. The Devil. A horned figure chaining two people, but if you looked closely, you could see that the chains were loose enough to slip off.

"The kind of evil that looks like respectability.

The kind that wears a badge or a collar or a business suit.

" She gathered the cards. "Francine saw something she shouldn't have.

Mary tried to help her, but she was too young, too frightened.

Odette made choices she regretted for the rest of her life. "

That surprised me. I had never gotten the sense that my aunt regretted anything. But people put on a brave face for loved ones. Maybe she thought if she showed any vulnerability to me I wouldn’t listen to her.

"Do you know what happened to Francine?"

"The dead girls call me sometimes, especially during storms. She's still here, Harper.

Still looking for justice." Celeste reached across the table and gripped my hand.

"But be careful. The same people who silenced this girl are still alive, still powerful.

They've got too much to lose to let you uncover the truth. "

After shaking off the thought of how truly horrible it would be to have dead girls calling to me on the regular, I said, “In other words, follow the money.”

Celeste nodded. “Big men with big ambitions. Smart girls, but naive. Fall in love with men who make promises. It won’t be the first time, it won’t be the last.”

That was appropriately voodoo-practitioner-vague, but I understood her meaning.

“You think Francine was having an affair with an older man? Or Mary Vallon aka Delia?”

“Maybe. Maybe.”

That wasn’t much of an answer.

After a few more minutes of visiting, we left and I stood on the sidewalk, fishing in my pocket for my sunglasses. Something was bothering me.

“So…if Francine was a student at Tulane, why was she staying at Maison du Minoit?”

“Maybe she didn’t feel safe in her own apartment.”

“Do you think if Delia was having an affair she would have told Francine since they were friends? Or my aunt?”

Maggie shrugged. “It’s possible. Some women like to give their friends every last detail. Other women like having a dirty little secret. Who knows what Delia was like when she was young? Or really, what she was like now. We barely met her.”

“It just seems more likely to me it was Delia because Francine was looking into corruption, not falling in love with a powerful older man.” I shrugged. “But I guess that’s just speculation. We started strolling toward where we parked the car. “Where was Delia living back then?”

Before I could even respond, Maggie pulled her phone out and started tapping and swiping. She had spent so much time researching for the podcast that she knew how to cut through the noise of the internet and get to useful information.

“Last known address for Mary Vallow was on Esplanade.” She rattles off the number. “Wait. That’s really close to your house number.”

I pulled out my own phone and plugged it in on Google Earth’s map. “That is Hollis’s house. You have got to be kidding me.”

“How old is Hollis? Was he a kid then?” Maggie asked. “I’m surprised he didn’t remember Delia. Then again, she had a different name.”

“I don’t think he’s old enough to have even been alive. I think he’s in his mid-thirties but I can’t say I’ve ever asked.”

Maggie kept typing and swiping. Then she paused. Lowered her voice.

“His family owned the house back then. Claude Broussard held the deed.”

“Which Claude? There’s two of them.” I really needed to ask Hollis what the hell that was all about.

“That I don’t know.”

“Hollis’s father wasn’t even a detective yet. Could a relatively young cop buy a big house like that?”

“Real estate hit the skids in the city in the seventies and eighties. It was probably five dollars.”

That made me laugh. “Good thing we held onto our family house. Or, I hate to say this, but maybe his dad was…shady. Taking kickbacks.”

“How do you feel about calling Hollis and asking him a few questions?”

“I hate that idea. He’ll want to know why.”

“Be casual.”

I’m mildly distracted by the fact that a man is doing what I think is the macarena in front of a trash can. “I’m about as casual as that guy,” I told her.

It was Maggie’s turn to laugh. “Maybe you can just work it into a conversation with Hollis. I’m sure he’ll be in touch with you about Delia.”

“Or maybe I need to talk to someone who knew the Broussards back then. Someone outside the department.”

“What about Beau?” Maggie offered. “His father was on that list. Those kinds of families all ran in the same cocktail circuit.”

I hesitated. “Beau seems harmless, but I don’t know if I trust him either. Besides, he’s only a year older than us. What would he know about the eighties?”

“You don’t have to trust him. Just…be casual.” Maggie shot me a grin.

“Right. I’ll wear my most casual cardigan.” We got to my car.

“Can you drop me at my place? I have a ton of editing to do on our last episode.”

“Of course. And I have a lot of cleaning to do.” I grimaced at the thought of going through Delia’s room.

“Harper?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. The last woman who asked these questions disappeared.”