Page 13 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception (A Midnight House Mystery #1)

After I heard the front door close, I double-checked the locks and turned to find Teddy sitting in the exact spot where Ginger had been standing, his tail twitched with agitation.

For a woman who claimed to have come over to check on me, she’d left me feeling more uncomfortable than when she’d arrived.

"Yeah, I didn't like her attitude either," I told him. "But right now, we have bigger problems. Like finding out what's behind this wall."

The brass key from behind the baseboard was in a kitchen drawer.

I pulled it out and examined it more closely.

It was definitely old. Probably nineteenth century.

It had an ornate bow that featured a small fleur-de-lis design.

The kind of key that might open a door, or a drawer, or maybe a hidden compartment.

I went back to the section of wall where Teddy had been scratching. It was a full four feet over from the section Maggie and I had thought looked like a patched doorframe. The wood had been painted over multiple times, but the seams were still there if you knew where to look.

"There's definitely something back there," I murmured.

I pressed on different sections of the paneling until I found a spot that gave more than the rest. When I pushed on it, there was a soft click, and a section of the wall swung inward about an inch.

"A hidden door," I breathed. "Aunt Odette, you should have told me."

I pushed it open further, revealing a narrow space that had clearly once been a passageway. It was dusty and cobwebbed, with rough brick walls and a low ceiling that would require me to duck to enter. But it was definitely passable.

Teddy immediately waddled forward, clearly not intimidated, his squawks echoing off the brick walls.

If I had hesitated on my own, I certainly couldn’t now. I had to make sure Teddy didn’t get into trouble. I followed him, using my phone's flashlight to navigate the cramped space. The passage extended about ten feet before opening into a small room that was maybe eight by eight feet.

Either this room was used for bootlegged liquor during Prohibition or it was a former owner’s escape room.

Against one wall was a wooden cabinet, its doors hanging open to reveal empty shelves. Against another wall was a small desk with a ladder-back chair tucked beneath it.

And scattered across the desk were papers.

My heart pounded as I approached. The papers were yellowed with age and covered in Aunt Odette's distinctive handwriting.

My aunt’s escape room, then. But why was she coming into this room to hide? Was she hiding herself or something else?

At the top of the first page, in faded blue ink, were the words: Bergeron Circle - Private Records - 1983-1984 .

I sank into the chair and began to read.

October 15, 1983 The Circle welcomed a new member tonight - Mary Vallon, barely nineteen but with remarkable sensitivity to spiritual emanations.

Francine sponsored her membership, as they've become close friends since Mary's arrival in the city.

Lena expressed some reservations about Mary's age and emotional stability, but I overruled her. The girl has genuine talent.

October 30, 1983 Disturbing session tonight.

Mary made contact with a spirit who claimed to be a young woman named Catherine Tran, missing since last spring.

The spirit was agitated, insisting she'd been murdered by "a man with a badge.

" When pressed for details, the connection was broken.

None of us had heard of Catherine Tran, but Francine volunteered to research missing persons reports.

November 12, 1983 Francine's research is troubling. Catherine Tran was indeed reported missing in April, but the case was closed after only two weeks of investigation. Listed as a probable runaway, despite having no history of such behavior. F's begun keeping her own files.

December 3, 1983 The Circle has uncovered evidence of a pattern.

At least six young women have disappeared from the Quarter, Bywater, and Marigny over the past two years.

All cases closed quickly, all dismissed as runaways or voluntary disappearances.

Francine believes there's a systematic cover-up.

She's documented connections between some of the missing women and properties owned by Pelican Development Group.

January 18, 1984 Mary reported being followed yesterday. A man in a dark car trailing behind her as she walked for several blocks. Francine says she's noticed the same car near campus. We agreed that all Circle members should vary their routines and travel in pairs when possible.

February 18, 1984 Crisis. Francine attended a city council meeting about the urban renewal project in the Marigny.

During the public comment period, she asked pointed questions about Pelican Development's acquisition methods.

After the meeting, she was approached by a man who warned her to "mind her own business. "

February 20, 1984 Emergency session tonight.

Francine is terrified but determined to expose what she's discovered.

She believes the missing women are all connected, and that high-ranking city officials are involved.

She's compiled evidence but doesn't trust the police.

We agreed to conduct a protection ritual tomorrow night.

February 21, 1984 The protection ritual failed catastrophically.

During the séance, Francine made contact with what she believed was Catherine Tran's spirit.

But something went wrong. The spirit became violent, throwing objects around the room.

In the chaos, we heard footsteps in the house.

Men's voices. We managed to get Francine to the hidden room, but they knew she was here.

February 22, 1984 They took her. They took her, and I could do nothing to stop it.

The men came to the front door with a warrant as if she were a common criminal.

They said she was wanted for questioning about "subversive activities.” Claude Broussard was with them.

He looked me in the eye and said if I interfered, they'd shut down the house permanently. And Mary, God, Mary…she has fooled us all. I saw that man put his hand on her back, lean in, whisper. She’s living in his uncle’s boarding house and I fear now I see why.

February 23, 1984 Mary left the city this morning.

I helped her pack and drove her to the bus station myself.

She was hysterical, certain they would come for her next.

I gave her what money I could spare and made her promise to change her name, start over somewhere safe.

The Circle is broken. Lena is too frightened to leave her house.

I've hidden Francine's research files in the only place I'm certain they won't look - with my recipes.

February 25, 1984 Official report in today's paper: Francine Darrow reported missing by her roommate.

No mention of her arrest, no mention of the questions she was asking.

Claude Broussard stopped by this afternoon to inform me that Francine was released after a few hours of questioning and then went to that party with her friends.

That young man was acting all concerned.

He wanted to know if I had a forwarding address for Mary.

I denied I had any knowledge of her whereabouts.

March 15, 1984 Final entry. I'm sealing these records in the hidden room where no one will think to look. Francine Darrow deserves justice. All those girls deserved justice. But sometimes the price of truth is higher than one woman can pay.

The truth is buried with the past. But the past has a way of rising again, especially in New Orleans. Especially in this house.

I sat back in the chair, my hands shaking. The papers felt heavy in my lap, weighted with forty years of buried secrets and unspoken guilt.

Aunt Odette hadn't just known about Francine's disappearance. She'd been there when it happened. She'd watched the police take her away, and she'd been threatened into silence.

Hollis’s father Claude Broussard had possibly been part of the cover-up and had most likely been involved with Mary.

The lights in the hidden room suddenly flickered again.

Then I heard something that made my blood freeze.

Footsteps. In the main part of the house.

Heavy, deliberate, coming from the direction of the front door.

I held my breath and listened. The footsteps paused, as if someone was standing in the foyer, listening for sounds of occupancy.

Then they started moving again. Toward the kitchen.

Toward me.

I grabbed Aunt Odette's journal pages and stuffed them into the pocket of my hoodie. Teddy was shuffling nervously. I gripped my phone, debating if I should call 911 or not. I didn’t dare exit the secret passage.

The footsteps were in the hallway outside the kitchen now.

"Harper?" a voice called. Male, familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

I stayed perfectly still, barely breathing.

"Harper, are you home? Your car's in the driveway."

The voice was closer now. In the kitchen. Right outside the hidden door.

I pressed my back against the brick wall and prayed that whoever it was wouldn't think to look for a secret room behind the pantry.

The footsteps moved away from the door, toward the back of the kitchen.

"Weird," the voice muttered. "Lights were on when I got here, but no one's around."

I heard the back door open and close. Whoever it was had gone out into the courtyard.

This was my chance.

I scooped up Teddy, eased the hidden door open just enough to slip through, and crept back through the passage to the kitchen. The main lights were indeed on, and I could see a figure through the back door window. It was a man in a dark jacket, examining the scattered gardenias.

I made it to the kitchen door that led to the dining room just as the back door opened again.

"Someone's been busy with the landscaping. Harper, you home?"

I recognized the voice now. Father Claude Broussard.

But what was he doing in my house? How had he gotten in?

I slipped through the dining room and into the front hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to get out of the house, needed to call Hollis, needed to?—

The front door was standing wide open.

I hadn't left it open. I never left it open.

And there, silhouetted in the doorway, was another figure. This one I recognized immediately.

Detective Hollis Broussard.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. In the dim light of the foyer, his expression was unreadable.

"Harper," he said quietly. "We need to talk."

Behind me, I could hear Father Claude moving around in the kitchen. I was trapped between them, clutching Aunt Odette's journal pages and a very confused skunk.

The grandfather clock chose that moment to chime. Just once, like it had the night Delia died.

Time, I realized, had just run out.