Page 23 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception (A Midnight House Mystery #1)

THIRTEEN

Monday morning continued the kind of crisp October weather that normally made me absolutely love this version of New Orleans in the fall. Too bad I was too exhausted to appreciate it.

I'd spent most of the night tossing and turning, replaying the break-in, wondering if I'd made the right choice to stay in the house. Every creak and settling sound had me bolt upright, clutching Teddy, who seemed equally on edge.

I decided to go take a look at the crepe myrtle tree while I waited for my coffee to brew.

Arthur was sitting in the garden behind the house, notebook in hand. The crepe myrtle above him swayed lightly, leaves curling under from the heat.

I made a video and took a few still shots of the garden to post on my socials. I quickly typed up a caption and uploaded them.

Teddy strolled over to sniff at his shoelaces. Unlike Abigail, Arthur seemed to like Teddy. He reached down and went to pet him, but Teddy scooted away, probably because he’d spotted a bug of some kind to chomp on.

“You’re up early,” I said.

Arthur was leaving Midnight House today but check-out wasn’t until noon.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied, closing the notebook. “Too many stories in this place. They don’t like to be quiet.”

“You sound like Delia.”

“She wasn’t wrong,” he said. “She just didn’t know what kind of ghosts she was listening to.”

I sat in the wicker chair across from him. “Can I ask you if you did any paranormal investigating while you were in the house?”

Arthur shook his head. “That wasn’t the purpose of my stay here this time.”

Huh. “So you’ve stayed here before?” I guess I had known that. He’d probably mentioned it when he’d made the booking or I’d seen him here before with Odette. Or maybe I hadn’t. It was easy to doubt myself these days.

“Of course.”

“Did you investigate at any time in the past?” I didn’t even know why I was asking. It was hardly relevant to a murder case.

But we had all heard a voice the night of the séance and I couldn’t ask Delia if it was “theatrics” as Ginger had seemed to suspect, or genuine paranormal activity.

“Once or twice.”

“Was it once or was it twice?”

He eyed me like he thought I was being pushy, which I was.

“Twice. It was just an expression to indicate it wasn’t a lot.”

Giving a nod, I waited for him to tell me the results, but he didn’t. Dang it. Now I was going to have to ask. I wasn’t even sure why I was grilling Arthur. There wasn’t really anything he could tell me.

“What did you think? Haunted?”

“Definitely haunted. Got a lot of muffled audio, just like we heard the night Delia died.”

I nodded. “That seems to be the general consensus. Haunted. Glad I can’t be accused of false advertising. Especially now that I’ve had a death in the house.” And something of an abduction, but I didn’t want to share that if Arthur didn’t know about it.

He would either find out or he wouldn’t but I wasn’t going to tell him.

Was that considered an abduction? Technically, they didn’t take Abigail anywhere. Just tied her up. That was probably false imprisonment or something. I’d have to ask Hollis the semantics.

As I was debating the legal definition of abduction something about what Arthur had said struck me as odd, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I couldn’t even remember exactly what he’d said.

“Definitely not false advertising,” he said, nodding.

“Well, I hope you’ll come back and stay with us again,” I said, somewhat weakly. “Is your flight home this afternoon?”

“5:04, to be precise.”

“Have a safe flight. Can I get you anything before you head to the airport?”

“No, no, doing well, thanks.”

“I’ll leave you to the garden then,” I said, trying not to glance over at the crepe myrtle tree.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Francine to pop up from behind it as a sixty-year-old and proclaim, “Just kidding! I’m alive!”

That would be nice though.

Teddy was done with the fresh air. He was waddling over to the back door. I followed him. As I did I stole a glance at the tree. And noticed a fresh footprint in the soil. Deep. Recent.

Size 11, maybe. Boot tread. Not mine. Clearly not Abigail’s.

Now I was just being paranoid. That could be anyone’s footprint.

It was probably Arthur’s, from strolling around the garden.

I really needed to get a grip.

When I went into the kitchen, Hollis was sitting at my table, drinking my now fully brewed coffee.

“I really need to figure out what’s going on with my front door,” I told him, going straight for a mug out of the cupboard. “It doesn’t seem to keep anyone out.”

“Abigail let me in. She’s here to get her stuff.”

That makes me pause. “Is she doing okay? God, what do I even say to the poor girl?”

“She’s remarkably plucky.”

Plucky? If it wasn’t for the fact that Abigail had been locked in my attic storage room I would be annoyed by that word. As it was, I couldn’t even call him out because Abigail was indeed, plucky.

“Can you tell me anything about the investigation?”

“No. But I can tell you that you need to get better security cameras installed on the property. Inside and out.”

“With what money? I’m fresh out of guests because they keep getting murdered and abducted.” That sounded way more mean-spirited than I intended. I sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just stressed. But I also worry people won’t like having cameras pointed on them all the time. It seems rude.”

I took a huge gulp of coffee and burned the roof of my mouth.

“I just want to follow up on a few details with you.”

I also suspected he was checking to make sure I hadn't done anything else monumentally stupid overnight.

“Of course.” I glanced toward the hallway. “Should I go talk to Abigail?” I bit my fingernail nervously. “I really don’t know what to say to her.”

“I already talked to her. I told her to pop in here before she heads to the airport.”

I wondered if I should offer to pay for her flight being changed from yesterday to today. I really should. I felt responsible for what had happened to her in my house, even if I couldn’t have anticipated her…incident.

"Whoever did this wore gloves. Professional job."

"Professional?" That made my stomach clench. "You mean like a hired burglar?"

"Or someone who's done this before." Hollis set down his coffee. "Harper, I need you to be completely honest with me. Is there anything else you haven't told me? Any other secrets your aunt might have left behind?"

I thought about Aunt Odette's journal entries, currently hidden in my bedroom closet. About the map and all the files on the Pelican Group. About my conversation with Lucien/Lena at the Dungeon.

“I found a key in the wall the other day. But nothing that would help catch whoever did this," I said, which was technically true. “I don’t even know what it opens.”

Hollis gave me a look that suggested he didn't believe me. "What about Delia's phone? It was recording that night. Did you listen to the whole thing?"

Actually, I had sent the recording to myself before turning the phone over to the crime scene tech. But I was pretty sure admitting that would get me in more trouble than I was already in.

"There wasn't much to hear. Just static and that voice memo where she said someone was there." I tried to keep my voice casual. "Why? Was there something else on it?"

"I can’t share that. That's part of an ongoing investigation."

It was honestly a mystery to me what the police deemed shareable and what they chose to keep under lock and key. It felt ridiculously random to me. Considering all the research Maggie and I had done for our podcast, police could be very random in general. Arguing with him had its risks, though.

"Someone broke into my house. I have a right to know if it's connected to Delia's murder."

He was quiet for a moment, studying my face. "There were other recordings. Calls she made before she died."

My pulse quickened. "To who?"

"We're still trying to figure that out. The number was a burner phone, probably ditched right after she died." Hollis leaned back in his chair. “Do you know who the inside man is?”

My mind went blank. Then it flooded with several juvenile thoughts I chose not to share. “Inside man to what? The Pelican Group?”

“The Pelican Group? What? No.” Hollis frowned. “Never mind.”

“What? Tell me what you mean. I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

"If Delia really was talking to someone who was a murderer in the past, and that someone killed her, then you need to understand how dangerous this is. They’re desperate and willing to do anything."

The implication hung in the air between us. If the killer thought I knew what Delia knew…

"I should probably get some more security cameras," I said weakly, going for a little humor.

Hollis didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile.

"You should probably consider staying somewhere else until we catch this guy."

Before I could respond, my phone rang. Maggie's name flashed on the screen.

“You can answer that.”

“I’ll call her back.”

“It’s fine. We’re done here. I’ll make sure Abigail gets to the airport okay.”

He was driving Abigail to the airport? That seemed beyond the call of duty. “I should drive Abigail to the airport. It’s the least I can do.”

My phone stopped ringing.

Hollis stood up and eyed me. “I’ve got it.” Then he dumped his coffee in the sink and washed the mug using a sponge I stored in a steel basket.

I appreciated the wash up but not his continued interest in Abigail. I could tell myself it was because I wanted to make sure that Midnight House was painted in a positive life, but that wasn’t really the whole of it.

“But I’m the hostess here.”

“It’s not a good idea. I’ll drive her.”

We stared at each other. Were we really having some kind of stand off over Abigail Hart?

I decided to back down when Maggie texted me.

Call me.

I picked up my phone and walked into the parlor to call her back.

"Hey," I said by way of greeting. "Please tell me you have some good news."