Page 67 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
“The engagement on Teddy’s pics are up as well.”
Teddy preened at the mention of his name, his tail twitching with what I chose to interpret as modest pride.
"Don't let it go to your head," I warned him.
The first few trick-or-treaters were starting to straggle up and down the street. We never got a ton of kids in our neighborhood, which was why I had indulged in the full size candy bars.
My phone buzzed. “Abigail must have heard us talking about her. She just texted me.”
Can you chat?
We’re passing out candy. Tomorrow?
Oh, right! Time change. I just wanted to talk to you about my bestie Lottie’s bachelorette weekend. We want to have it at Midnight House! I’ll shoot you over some dates and you tell me which weekends are free.
That sounds great…we can really plan a fun weekend!
“Abigail wants to have a bachelorette weekend for her friend here,” I told Maggie.
“Wow. That’s an…idea.”
A couple of kids ran up my walkway dressed as cowboys. One was silent, the other gave an incredibly rambunctious, “Trick-or-treat!”
“Here you go, cowboy.” I passed over a candy bar to each, loving the way their eyes lit up when they saw how big they were.
They gave thank yous in a tone of reverence.
“You’re setting a precedent, you know,” Maggie told me. “You’ll have to do full size again next year or they’ll be mad. Kids keep score.”
“Fine with me. I’d rather be known as ‘big candy lady’ than the Murder House.”
“Murder House is a great name for a podcast.”
I sipped my hot apple cider. “Midnight House works for me.”
"You could always market the B&B as the most authentic haunted house experience in New Orleans. 'Stay at Midnight House, where the ghosts are real and the murders are recent.'"
"That's terrible, even for you."
"But think about the podcast episodes we could do. We’d have a spin off show where we dig into residential murders around New Orleans. Featuring Midnight House as the first episode. You’d be booked solid. It’s a win-win."
"I’ll think about it. It’s important that we do episodes that bring an injustice to light with a cold case, or focus on marginalized populations, or expose corruption. I don’t want to just be salacious.”
“That is true. That has always been our mission. And if we get too busy, we won’t have time for a social life.”
“Do we have one of those? Maybe you do, but I sure don’t.”
“Oh, really?” Maggie murmured. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
She was grinning, looking past me to the side of my house.
I turned and there was Detective Hollis Broussard, looking relaxed in jeans and a Saints T-shirt.
“Where’s your costume?” Maggie demanded.
He held his arms out. “I’m a retired Drew Brees. Living my best life.” He climbed the porch steps and took the chair next to me. “What are you?” he asked, eyeing my black and white fluff.
“A skunk Beanie Baby.”
