Page 22 of Hoodoo House
Declan nodded. “So you make millions of dollars. Why buy a property on the edge of the Badlands in Alberta?”
Charlie continued, “There’s a bit of mystique surrounding the author. When her novel came out, it was released with a female silhouette instead of a photo, and no bio. Apparently Marjorie Ellis is a recluse and insisted that the only identity attached to the book would be her name. From what I could find out, she purchased Hoodoo House in 1981 as a place out of the public eye. And nobody really knew who she was. The purchase agreement was done through Mount Temple Press so her name wouldn’t be exposed to the real-estate company.”
“So why isn’t she living there now?” Declan asked.
Charlie reached down and took a sip of his coffee, then continued. “According to my research, after the huge success of her first novel, her second novel was a flop. It came out in 1983 and was calledThe Offal House—that’s offal as in o-f-f-a-l, not a-w-f-u-l. They made a film of the second book, but it was a bust. It lost a ton of money and the novel itself never took off. Rumour has it that this didn’t sit well with the mysterious author and she had some sort of breakdown and moved to Portugal.”
Declan frowned. “But why not just sell the house?”
“Maybe she thought she’d come back some day. All I know is that the house itself became famous after she left when people found out she’d lived there. And Portugal must agree with her because that’s where she beganThe Heart’s Shadowseries, which is up to thirty-one books now. My mom’s read every single one of them. That series has turned a good profit, and with that money she established the Heart’s Shadow Foundation to support authors of interest to her publisher. And as you know, at this point there have only been two of them—Thomas Pritchard and Malcolm Tull.”
Declan glanced over at Charlie. “Anything else?”
Charlie shuffled the remainder of his papers, then handed Declan his lukewarm coffee. “Not really. Maybe we’ll find out more when we get there.”
Declan swigged back the drink, went to toss it on the floor then thought better of it and returned the empty cup back to Charlie.
They continued on in silence.
Declan drove the car around a corner and turned from Township Road 271A onto a small Concession Road, taking in the waving fields of golden crops, dappled by the shadows of the clouds that sailed through the blue prairie sky which stretched from horizon to horizon.
“What are they growing there?” Charlie asked.
Declan was happy Charlie had broken the silence.
“I think it’s durum wheat,” Declan said. “The stuff pasta’s made out of. If you look over there, you can see the swaths cut in the fields where they’ve started harvesting.”
“Huh.”
“We’ll make a country boy out of you yet,” Declan joked.
“Says the guy who rarely leaves the city unless he’s forced to,” Charlie said, as he checked his phone for directions. “According to Sinclair’s instructions, we should almost be there.”
The road curved to the west around a hill.
“There,” Declan said.
At the top of a hill to the east, on a flat, elevated plane between the road and what must have been a drop-off, sat the large, two-storey clapboard structure.
They pulled into the gravel drive which curved up to the house. Declan stared at a tall, thin spire of stone, capped with a flat rock which rose in front of the house.
Hoodoo House.More like theHouse on Haunted Hill.
Chapter Nine
Charlie and Declan mounted the old wooden stairs. Along the side of the porch was a two-person swing. Charlie noticed a few comic books on it weighted down with a rock, presumably so they wouldn’t blow away. Declan pressed the old brass doorbell button, but Charlie didn’t hear anything. Declan looked at him, shrugged then reached up for the brass knocker, but before he could knock, the door opened. A woman who looked not quite as old as Charlie’s Gran stood there, looking slightly put out.
“You must be the detective,” she said. “Well—come in.” She stepped aside and closed the door as soon as they had crossed the threshold.
“I’m Mrs Cameron, the housekeeper here at Hoodoo House.”
“Thank you for allowing us to visit, Mrs Cameron,” Declan replied. “I’m Declan Hunt and this is my assistant Charlie Watts.”
Charlie reached out and said, “Pleased to meet you.”
Mrs Cameron quickly gripped his hand in hers, then released it just as fast. Charlie could feel the callouses of hands that were used to hard work.
“We just wanted to ask some questions about Mr Tull and see if you can help shed some light on his missing computer,” Declan continued.
