Page 50 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
He seemed physically fine, but clearly traumatized. And he kept looking toward the stairs, making urgent little sounds.
"What is it? What are you trying to tell me?"
Maggie had her phone out. "I'm calling 911."
"To tell them what? My skunk got locked in the linen closet?" I’d already damaged my credibility enough for the day.
“You’re right.” Maggie shoved her phone back in her pocket. She put her palm to her chest. “That scared me. I thought Teddy was toast.”
I set Teddy down and watched as he immediately waddled toward the attic stairs. "I think he's trying to show us something."
We followed him up to the third floor, where my bedroom was located along with storage space and access to the roof. Teddy went straight to a door I rarely opened. It led to the unused servant's quarters.
When I pushed it open with a loud creak, I found Abigail Hart tied to a chair with duct tape over her mouth, very much alive but clearly terrified.
“What the actual hell?” Maggie shouted.
My sentiments exactly.
We heard police sirens blaring outside the house.
As I worked to free Abigail, I realized two very freaking obvious things. First, someone had definitely been in my house searching for something.
And second, I owed Father Claude Broussard one hell of an apology.
An hour later, I was sitting in my kitchen with Detective Hollis Broussard, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Abigail had been taken to the hospital as a precaution. She was physically unharmed but understandably shaken. It turned out that Abigail had accidentally left the front door open when she’d returned to the house with an old boyfriend from college. They’d heard noises downstairs and discovered a man going through the drawers in the parlor.
When he’d pulled a knife on the ex-boyfriend, the ex had just taken off out the front door, leaving Abigail to fend herself.
It was obvious to me why he was her ex.
But, to his only credit, he had called 911, which was why police were already arriving as Maggie and I found Abigail, who had been tied up by the would-be burglar.
"So let me get this straight," Hollis said, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "You accused my uncle of mugging you yesterday, then came home to find your house ransacked and your guest tied up in the attic. And you’re worried about bad publicity?"
I might have mentioned something along the lines of I didn’t want this to get out, if at all possible. It had come out much colder than I had intended.
"When you put it like that, it sounds really bad." I exchanged glances with Maggie, who looked like she didn’t know what to think or say.
"It is really bad, Harper. You're lucky Uncle Claude isn't pressing charges for harassment. And some random criminal assaulted your guest. So yeah, that’s really bad."
I winced. "Are you sure she's okay? Abigail?"
“It sounds like it. She called a friend to be with her. I’m sure she’ll be back soon to collect her things.”
From haunted B&B to the Hell Hotel. That’s what this was becoming.
Hollis leaned back in his chair. "What were you thinking going over to Claude’s?"
"I was thinking someone followed me from the Dungeon and stole that envelope, and your uncle was the most logical suspect."
"Based on what evidence?"
"Based on..." I trailed off, realizing how flimsy my reasoning sounded. "Based on a feeling."
"A feeling." His voice was flat. "Harper, I've been doing this job for fifteen years. Feelings don't solve cases. Evidence does. Facts do. Not wild accusations based on paranoia."
Maggie stayed silent. I knew she agreed with Hollis.
