Page 19 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception (A Midnight House Mystery #1)

ELEVEN

“What about Mary’s relationship with Father Claude?” I asked Lucien.

That made the older woman snort. “Claude was a promiscuous opportunist. Probably still is.”

“He said he was in love with her.” Though now that I thought about it, I seem to remember he’d actually said he’d thought he was in love with her. Not exactly the same thing. Though his remorse did seem genuine.

“Claude is in love with himself.”

So Lucien was not a member of the Claude fan club. “What about his brother? The other Claude?”

She shrugged. “He was trying to do the right thing. I don’t think he was a bad guy. Just in over his head.”

That made me feel better for Hollis. He wasn’t delusional about his father.

“So Delia came back because she had new evidence?”

"Delia came back because she'd been contacted by someone claiming to have information about Francine's final days. Someone who said they knew where she was buried." Lucien returned to her seat, her expression grim. "Someone who arranged to meet her at your house."

"Who?"

"I don't know. I’m surprised she even told me as much as she did, or that she even reached out to me. Delia was being very secretive about it. She'd learned to be cautious over the years, but I think knowing there are so few of us left made her willing to partially confide in me.”

A thought came to me. “Who was supposed to be at the séance that night? Delia had another seat ready for someone but they must have canceled because she asked me to invite Beau at the very last minute.”

“Interesting. I have no idea. But whoever it was, they convinced her that they had proof of what happened to Francine."

"And instead of getting proof, she got killed."

"Exactly." Lucien leaned forward. "Which means we're dealing with someone who's been covering this up for forty years. Someone with the resources and connections to make people disappear. Someone who's willing to kill to protect their secrets."

"How do I know you're not the one I shouldn't trust?"

Though I realized immediately that was a silly question. She could be lying to me. But then she would also lie to me about lying to me.

Lucien gave me a genuine smile. "Because, my dear, I'm the one person in this entire mess who has nothing left to lose. I'm seventy-three years old, Harper. I don't care about my reputation or my safety anymore. I only care about justice."

She reached into her purse and pulled out a manila envelope.

"This contains copies of everything that’s been collected over the years.

Financial records, witness statements, copies of police reports that were supposed to be destroyed.

It's not enough to prosecute anyone. Too much time has passed, too many witnesses are dead. But it's enough to expose the truth."

I took the envelope with trembling hands. "Why me? Why not take this to the media, or to Detective Broussard, or?—"

"Because you're Odette's heir. Because you live in the house where it all started.

Because you have resources and connections that we don't with that podcast of yours.

" Lucien stood up again, this time moving toward the door.

"And because Francine's spirit has been trying to communicate with you since the day you moved into that house. "

"I don't know if that’s true or not."

"You don't have to believe in spirits for them to believe in you." She paused with her hand on the doorknob.

It was obviously time for me to leave. I stood up as well.

"Francine is buried somewhere on your property, Harper. Odette knew it, Delia suspected it, and now Ginger is fighting for her life because she was getting too close to finding the exact location."

"The hospital said she was stable." I knew that didn’t really mean anything though. It could turn for the worse at any time.

Lucien's expression darkened. "Someone tried to get into her room last night."

My blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"

"A man in scrubs, claiming to be a respiratory therapist. The nurses didn't recognize him, and when they tried to verify his credentials, he disappeared." She opened the door. "Ginger's been moved to a secure wing under police protection, but that won't stop someone who's already killed twice."

"Twice?"

"Delia and Francine. And now they're trying for a third."

Voices rose down the hallway, heading toward the back of the bar. They were low, male.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “You should go. Some ghosts don’t want to be found. And the men who made them? They’re still very much alive.”

I shoved the manila envelope into my cross body bag and left. The bartender didn’t glance up when I moved past the bar. Two men had sat down and she was smiling and flipping her hair in their direction.

As I left the Dungeon, blinking against the bright afternoon sun, I tried to process everything I'd learned.

Ginger wasn't just a rival psychic with professional jealousy. She was Francine's younger sister, a woman who'd spent forty years seeking justice for her family.

The Bergeron Circle hadn't just been a group of women playing with séances.

And allegedly hanging around on my property, Francine Darrow was waiting for someone to finally tell her story.

Gardenias.

They had just started appearing in my yard. A clue from the living or from the dead?

It had almost sounded like Lucien thought Francine was still on my property.

I really didn’t love the idea of a murder victim being buried in my yard.

I shuddered as I walked quickly.

Plunking myself down on the steps of the courthouse a few minutes later, I opened the envelope and began to read.

The documents painted a picture of corruption that went far beyond what I'd imagined.

Financial records showing payments from Pelican Development Group to various city officials.

Witness statements describing threats and intimidation.

Police reports that had been buried or destroyed.

And at the bottom of the stack, there was a map.

It was hand-drawn, showing the layout of Maison de Minuit and the surrounding properties. But this map included details I'd never seen before—underground passages and the hidden room. The courtyard and a drawing of a tree where the crepe myrtle tree still was.

The same spot where I'd been finding fresh gardenias. Putting a tree on a map seemed odd unless it was of significance.

I folded the map and put it in my pocket, then made my way back toward my car where I’d managed to find a spot on St. Anne.

I was so lost in thought that I almost didn't notice the footsteps behind me.

Almost.

But Teddy had trained me well in the art of paying attention to my surroundings since he was already underfoot, and something about the rhythm of the footsteps made me glance over my shoulder.

A man in a dark coat was following me, staying about twenty feet back but matching my pace exactly.

Okay, so I couldn’t claim he was following me. There were lots of people in the Quarter at any given moment, potentially walking in the same direction as me. I was clearly paranoid.

Yet my heart started racing when I quickened my steps, and so did he.

I was only a block away from my car with plenty of people around. Surely nothing could happen to me here. But the footsteps got closer.

Instinct and adrenaline kicked in and I started to run.

Maybe it was nothing. But why chance it?

I felt in my back pocket for my phone, thinking I could call Hollis or Maggie or anyone who could help, but that would mean I would have to slow down to do that. It seemed safer just to get to my car. I was fumbling in my purse, digging out my keys as I spotted my car.

Hitting the fob to unlock it, a hand suddenly grabbed my shoulder.

I let out a startled squawk just as the man tugged the strap of my purse down. I tried to grab to hold onto it, but then realized it was safer to just let him take it.

In the split second it took my brain to reason that out he was already off, cutting around the corner of the alley between two buildings.

I stood there, grateful I still had my phone and my car keys, watching his retreat, something familiar about the tall figure.

I hadn’t seen his face. He’d had on a hoodie underneath a dark coat and was wearing sunglasses.

I’d only had the briefest glimpses of him anyway.

Yet, there was something about him…

I got into my car, quickly locking it behind me.

Then I groaned out loud. “The envelope. Dang it, Harper! The envelope of evidence.”

It was in my purse. That I no longer had possession of. Was the purse theft a coincidence or something more sinister?

Everything Lucien had told me came flooding back.

Don't trust anyone .

I sat in my car for twenty minutes, then got back out and hesitantly ventured down the alley where the thief had disappeared. I knew enough about petty crimes to understand if money was all he was after, he’d dump the bulky bag as fast as possible after lifting my wallet.

I was right. It was barely ten feet down the alley, at the foot of the dumpster. I picked it up, wishing I had hand sanitizer. The ground didn’t exactly look clean, various wrappers and an empty long plastic drink tube used for serving alcohol in some bars strewn about.

Quickly making my way back to the car and getting it, I again locked the doors and riffled through my purse.

No wallet. No envelope. The man had left my hairbrush, my lip gloss, a pack of mints, and the loose change rattling around the bottom.

I was pretty sure there had been a granola bar in there that now wasn’t, which led me to believe it was a regular thief as opposed to a he’s-on-to-me conspiracy thief.

I didn’t bother to go to the police. They had bigger fish to fry.

Lucien better have copies of all that material.

Surely a businesswoman had everything backed up in the cloud.

I was more embarrassed than anything else.

Some sleuth I was.