Page 12 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception (A Midnight House Mystery #1)

SEVEN

The house had been acting up all day. That’s what my aunt had always referred to it as— ”this old girl is acting up again.”

It began with the air conditioning deciding it wanted to make up for lost time and run nonstop until the parlor could have doubled as a meat locker. The smell of gardenias was so heavy that even Arthur, who claimed to have “a piss-poor sense of smell” noticed it.

Then the lights in the dining room had flickered during dinner.

Nothing dramatic, just a brief stutter that made everyone pause mid-conversation.

Pete from Houston made a joke about the ghost of his credit card statement haunting him after his shopping spree.

Jan managed a weak laugh, though she was still looking pale and jumpy after yesterday's unfortunate encounter with Delia's body bag and my antique rug.

Or maybe I should say her unfortunate encounter with Pat O’Brien’s hurricanes.

By Friday afternoon, the flickering had spread to the kitchen, the parlor, and the upstairs hallway. I called Sam the electrician. He was approximately a thousand years old and had been fiddling with the electrical in the house at Odette’s behest since the seventies.

"Could be the old wiring," he said, scratching his head as he examined the fuse box in the basement.

I was pretty sure that was totally one hundred percent obvious. But I bit my lip and stayed quiet.

"This house has been rewired at least three times over the decades. Sometimes the systems don't play nice together."

"So it's not ghosts?" I asked, only half-joking.

Sam gave me the look he usually reserved for Teddy. He wasn’t a fan of my skunk. "Harper, honey, you know I don’t believe in that mumbo jumbo."

After he left, with a promise to return Monday with some new electrical components, I found myself completely alone in the house for the first time since Delia's death.

The Houston family had finally relocated to a hotel downtown ("nothing personal," Pete had said, "but Jan's nerves can't take any more excitement"), and Arthur was at the convention.

I actually found myself missing Pete. His jovial classic dad jokes and demeanor were the normal I could use.

I had new guests arriving for Rooms Three and Four on Saturday and that felt odd. I wasn’t sure what my responsibility was in terms of telling them someone just died in the house. Maybe I could talk Arthur into switching from Room Five to Three since he didn’t seem bothered by death.

The silence of being alone should have been peaceful. Instead, it felt expectant.

"Just you and me, Teddy," I said to my skunk, who was conducting his afternoon inspection of the kitchen baseboards. "Maybe we can finally get some answers about Aunt Odette's famous jambalaya recipe."

Teddy looked up and chittered softly, which I chose to interpret as "excellent plan, let's solve some mysteries."

I'd been thinking about Delia's note all morning.

Look for the room that doesn't exist on any blueprint.

Yesterday, Maggie and I had found the brass key hidden behind the pantry baseboard, but we hadn't had time to search for whatever it might open.

Today, with no guests to worry about and Sam's assurance that the house wasn't about to burn down, I was ready to do some serious exploring.

I started in the kitchen, studying Aunt Odette's hand-drawn floor plan from the recipe card. The room marked "F.D." was definitely positioned where the pantry wall stood now. But if there had once been a passage to the old summer kitchen, there had to be more evidence of it somewhere.

Teddy had resumed his baseboard patrol, but now he was focusing on a section of wall near the stove. He scratched at it persistently, then sat back on his haunches and looked at me expectantly.

"What is it, boy?"

I knelt down beside him and ran my hands along the wall. When I pressed on the wood paneling, it gave slightly, like there was hollow space behind it.

"Bingo," I murmured.

But before I could investigate further, the lights flickered again three times, then went out completely. The skies had darkened on cue with an incoming storm. That's when I heard it.

Whispering.

Not the old-house-settling sounds I was used to, but actual voices. Soft, urgent, coming from somewhere inside the walls.

" She knows. "

" Should have stayed away. "

My skin erupted in goosebumps. Teddy had gone completely still, his fur standing on end. It was like the voice on the recording.

"Hello?" I called out, feeling ridiculous. "Is someone there?"

I mentally kicked myself. That’s what every woman about to die in a horror movie does. Sure, let’s just call out to the potential killer.

The whispering stopped immediately.

The lights flickered back on.

And standing in my kitchen doorway was Ginger St. James, her crystal necklaces catching the restored light like tiny prisms.

I jumped. “Geez! You scared the pants off of me.”

Was Ginger randomly whispering? Was that what I had heard?

"Harper," she said, as if materializing in someone's kitchen uninvited was perfectly normal. "I hope you don't mind me just walking in. The front door was unlocked, and I was so worried about you being all alone in this big house."

My heart was still pounding from the whispering voices, but I tried to keep my tone casual. "Ginger, hi. Sorry. I just wasn't expecting anyone."

"Of course not, poor thing. You've been through such a trauma." She glided into the kitchen, her flowing black robes making her look like she was en route to a funeral. "I brought you some protective herbs. Sage, rosemary, a little vervain to ward off negative energies."

She pulled a small cloth bundle from her oversized purse and set it on my counter. The bag gave off a strong, medicinal scent that made my nose wrinkle.

"That's very thoughtful," I said, "but really not necessary. I'm doing fine." Though I realized that I needed to ask Hollis about Delia’s family and any sort of funeral plans. Attending a service was the least I could do.

"Are you, though?" Ginger's green eyes were sharp, studying my face intently. "Because I have to tell you, the spiritual atmosphere in this house has become quite turbulent since poor Delia's passing. I can feel it the moment I walk through the door."

As if to prove her point, the lights flickered again.

Ginger smiled knowingly. "You see? The veil is particularly thin right now. Spirits are drawn to places of recent death, especially when there are unresolved questions."

I really needed to research this whole veil thing because it kept coming up. "What kind of unresolved questions?"

"Oh, the usual. Why did she really come back to New Orleans?

What was she hoping to accomplish with that séance?

Who did she think she could trust?" Ginger moved closer to me, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"I've been thinking about something she said that night.

About knowing who killed Francine Darrow. "

I tried to keep my expression neutral. "She told you about that?”

Ginger nodded. “When I arrived for the séance.”

“Do you think she was telling the truth about that? That she actually knew something?"

"Delia was many things. She was dramatic, attention-seeking, and a shameless self-promoter, but she wasn't a liar. Not about the work. If she said she knew something, she knew something." Ginger paused, studying my reaction. "The question is, who else knew that she knew?"

Before I could respond, Teddy suddenly darted between us and ran toward the back door, chittering urgently.

"What's wrong with him?" Ginger asked. She looked like she wanted to stomp on Teddy like he was a bug.

Her expression made me cool toward Ginger. I was suspicious of anyone who didn’t like Teddy.

I followed Teddy to the door and peered out into the courtyard. At first, I didn't see anything unusual. Then I noticed that the small pile of gardenias I'd found under the crepe myrtle tree had doubled in size. Fresh white blooms scattered across the brick pathway like fallen stars.

"More gardenias," I said softly.

Ginger appeared at my shoulder. "Francine's flowers. She's trying to communicate."

"Or someone's trying to make me think she is."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Ginger's eyebrows rose.

"You don't believe in spirits, do you, Harper?"

"I believe in a lot of things. I'm just not sure all of them are supernatural."

"Hmm." Ginger stepped back, and something in her expression had changed.

Less concerned friend, more calculating adversary.

"You know, Delia mentioned that your great-aunt used to keep detailed records of all the spiritual activity in this house.

Journals, correspondences, séance transcripts. Have you found any of those yet?"

The question was casual, but there was an edge to it that made my internal warning bells start chiming.

"Why would you be interested in Aunt Odette's old papers?"

"Historical curiosity. This house has quite a reputation in our community. Odette was a legend among New Orleans mediums." Ginger's smile was bright and sharp. "I'd love to see how she documented her work. For research purposes, of course."

"Of course," I echoed, not believing a word of it.

If they were just great comrades-in-spiritual-arms why had I never seen her hanging out with my aunt? Or at her funeral?

Ginger's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and her expression tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Well, I should run. But Harper—" She gripped my arm with surprising strength. "Do be careful. If someone killed Delia to keep her quiet about Francine, they won't hesitate to do the same to you."

“That seems to be the general consensus,” I said.

Ginger squeezed my arm harder, her face a mask of disgust. When I tried to tug my arm back, she suddenly released me and I stumbled slightly. She swept out of the kitchen, leaving behind the uncomfortable feeling that I'd just been threatened.