Page 23 of Hoodoo House
“I’m not sure what I can offer you,” she replied. “The police have already questioned me, but I’ll help if I can.”
Charlie turned his attention to his surroundings. With the door closed, it took a moment to grow accustomed to the dark interior. The floors, doors and walls were all in dark-stained wood, as was the staircase leading upstairs. The interior main hallway of Hoodoo House was not only isolated from the light of the prairie sky, but it was also shut off from the sounds of the outdoors—the whisper of the wind, the birds and the insects all seemed to cease to exist once they had crossed the threshold. It was a house overflowing with a powerful silence.
They walked down the long dim hallway. Charlie felt the house was somehow closing in around him, like it was trying to swallow him. It made him uneasy. He glanced back over his right shoulder.
“Feel like you’re being watched?” Mrs Cameron asked him.
“Yes.” Charlie said.
“This place has that effect on most visitors until they get used to it. Must be something in the architecture that does it, or the way the air moves through the house.”
The mood was broken by the galumphing sound of someone coming rapidly down the stairs.
“Are you the detective?” a young boy asked.
Mrs Cameron replied, “Slow down, young man. This is Mr Hunt and his assistant Charlie Watts.” She turned back towards the two men, “And this is Henry, my ward. He lives in the house with me and I take care of him.”
Declan reached out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Henry. You can call me Declan if you want.”
“There was an Irish saint named Declan, or probably more likely Deaglán. He founded a monastery in Ireland in the fifth century. It’s a good name,” Henry replied.
Charlie smiled. It was clear the boy was bright.
“I read a lot,” he continued.
“Now Henry, don’t be a bother,” Mrs Cameron said. “These men have come to ask some questions about Mr Tull. Gentlemen, if you would follow me.”
Henry interjected, “What do you think of Hoodoo House? They say there’s a ghost here from a lady who died when it was a hotel. She was a prostitute.”
“Henry, that’s enough,” Mrs Cameron scolded as they reached the brightly lit room at the end of the hallway—the kitchen.
Charlie noted it had a different energy, more like it was the heart of the house.
“You might as well sit,” Mrs Cameron said. “I just made a pot of tea. Would you like some?”
Declan smiled. “That would be wonderful, Mrs Cameron. Thank you.”
“I’d love one too,” Charlie added. “Thanks.”
She plunked a teapot, four mugs and a plate of cookies down on the large kitchen table, followed by a sugar bowl with a spoon in it and a small pitcher of milk.
“I don’t have any teacups. Mugs’ll have to do,” she warned. “And Henry—don’t eat all of the cookies. Leave some for our guests.”
Charlie looked over. The boy already had one cookie in his mouth and another in his hand. With half a cookie still in his mouth, Henry tugged on Declan’s sleeve and said, “Do you want me to take you on a tour of the house? There’s some things I want to show you. Did you know that the premier of Alberta came here once—”
“Henry,” Mrs Cameron interrupted, “leave the man alone.”
Henry’s face fell.
“Maybe Henry could showmearound the house,” Charlie offered. “Having a good look around might help with the case and it would give you two a chance to talk.”
“Can I?” Henry asked Mrs Cameron, regaining some of his enthusiasm.
“All right,” she said. “But try not to talk his ear off.”
“Come on,” Henry said, jumping up from his chair and exiting the kitchen.
Charlie glanced at Declan and Mrs Cameron, shrugged his shoulders then quickly followed Henry back down the main hallway.
