Page 30 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
I did not want to think Hollis was cute.
“Don’t be a jerk,” I told him flatly, now annoyed with both him and my own weird thoughts.
The smile fell off of his face. "It means we can't definitively say whether it was an accident, suicide, or homicide. But given what we found in the bathroom, I'm leaning toward homicide."
My mouth went dry. "What did you find?"
"That powder I mentioned? Lab results came back this afternoon.” He read from his phone screen. “Angel's trumpet. Also known as Brugmansia. It's a plant that contains scopolamine and other tropane alkaloids." He paused and looked up, watching my reaction. "In small doses, it causes disorientation and memory loss. In larger doses, it can cause seizures, coma, and death."
I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. "Someone poisoned her? Or she took it herself? That sounds…horrible."
"If they did drug her, it would be enough to make her compliant, disoriented. Easy to guide into a bathtub full of scalding water."
The image made my stomach churn. "That's very gruesome.”
"This is serious stuff, Harper. I need you to stay out of this."
"Why was Delia living in your house in 1984?" I asked, completely and thoroughly ignoring his demand for me to butt out.
Hollis was completely taken aback. “What? What are you talking about? My house?”
Claude's expression had gone carefully neutral. He did not look as surprised by this new information as Hollis.
"Hollis," Claude said. “We should?—"
"No, Uncle Claude." Hollis looked at me with a mixture of frustration and something that might have been concern. "How do you know that?” he asked me.
“It was her address at the time. We found it by doing a records search. Who lived there then?”
“My family has had the house since the fifties. I think my father was living in the house at the time, with roommates. He was a young beat cop then, but he's been dead for ten years so I can’t ask him. Maybe Delia was his friend, or hell, his girlfriend, I don’t know. She could have just been a renter."
"Maybe someone else knows," I said quietly. I turned to Claude. “What do you know?”
Father Claude shifted uncomfortably. "Harper, you need to understand?—"
"What I need to understand," I interrupted, "is why you're both so interested in what I know. Why you're both here, in my house, asking me questions instead of going out there looking for Delia's killer."
Teddy, who had been unusually quiet during this exchange, suddenly began chittering urgently. He jumped down from my arms and waddled toward the staircase, then stopped and looked back at us.
"What's wrong with him?" Hollis asked.
Claude just looked grateful for the interruption.
Before I could answer, we heard it. The sound of a door closing somewhere upstairs.
All three of us froze.
"I thought you said the house was empty," Claude whispered.
"It is," I whispered back. "I only have one guest until tomorrow and he’s at the convention. I saw him leave."
Hollis immediately went into cop mode. He pulled out his gun—his gun—and motioned for us to stay back. "How many ways are there to get upstairs?"
"Main staircase and the servants' stairs in the back," I said, my voice barely audible.
"Both of you stay here. Don't move."
I wasn’t going anywhere. I was still annoyed with myself for calling out, “Hello?” earlier. I wasn’t about to make Dumb Girl Move Number Two.
