Page 9 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
“Change after we do all our set-ups and sound checks.”
The day was a flurry of activity from feeding my guests to setting up the parlor for the seance to helping Maggie film a few shorts for our channel. Beau had left immediately after realizing he might be expected to haul chairs or be in a video but he said he would be back for the séance.
I was too busy to take another peek at the papers he’d brought me.
By the time Delia came down the stairs to the parlor in head to toe purple velvet, Wednesday evening seemed to match her mood. Both arrived with all the drama of a Gothic novel. We were on the tail end of hurricane season and Mother Nature liked to frequently remind us we were all living on the edge in a geographic bowl under sea level. Storm clouds rolled in from the Gulf, the air grew thick with the promise of rain, and every light in the house flickered at least once before seven o'clock. By the time Delia's guests began arriving, Midnight House was practically vibrating with atmospheric tension.
After the early morning outfit shaming from Maggie, I'd dressed for the occasion in a vintage black dress that had belonged to Aunt Odette. Partly because it seemed appropriate and partly because all my other clothes were in the laundry. Teddy wore his formal collar—the one with the tiny bow tie—and had positioned himself near the parlor door like he was setting up for a photo shoot as a bouncer.
The first to arrive was Father Claude Broussard, a tall, silver-haired priest who'd been performing cleansing rituals at allegedly haunted locations around the city for the past twenty years. He wore his regular collar instead of his exorcism gear, which I took as a good sign. He had started out his career forty years ago as a church sanctioned priest, but somewhere along the way had been asked to leave due to his nontraditional views on certain topics. Meaning, he was way too inclined to declare there were demons here, there, and everywhere. I wasn’t sure if he was technically excommunicated or if they still even did that anymore, but I was pretty sure his current title as “Father” was self-imposed and his suit and collar were from a costume shop.
But, in spite of his paranormal paranoia, he’d always been super nice to me and he was one of Odette’s inner circle of friends. I hadn’t realized he had known Delia, but they must have known in the same crowd back in the day.
"Harper, child," he said in his gravelly voice, kissing both my cheeks. "You look just like Odette in that dress."
"Thank you, Claude. Delia's set up in the parlor whenever you're ready." I knew he wanted me to call him ‘father’ but the ick factor on that was too high. I had a father, thank you very much, and he was retired and living in Lake Charles.
He nodded, then lowered his voice. "I must ask if there has been any unusual activity since our psychic friend arrived?"
I thought about the gardenias, the whispers in the walls, the way Teddy had been acting overly suspicious. "Define unusual."
Before he could answer, the front door chimed again. This time it was Ginger St. James, another local psychic who looked like she'd raided the same Halloween costume shop Father Claude frequented. She wore flowing black robes and approximately seventeen hundred necklaces and rings. Her entrance was preceded by the scent of patchouli and followed by the soft jingling of her many bracelets.
It looked like we’d all gotten the memo to wear black.
"Hello Harper," she said, air-kissing in my general direction. "I do hope Delia isn't planning anything too theatrical this evening. Some of us prefer a more authentic approach to spirit communication."
Translation: she was still bitter about Delia getting the headline spot at this weekend’s paranormal convention.
"I'm sure it'll be authentically theatrical," I said.
Ginger laughed. “You’re adorable, as always.”
Adorable wasn’t really what I was going for. Maybe World’s Greatest Hostess. "Can I get you anything? Wine? Water? Sage for smudging?"
"Wine would be divine."
As I was pouring Ginger a glass, Beau came through the front door. It was honestly a shame I’d never caught feelings for him. He was attractive in that academic way—all short wavy hair and wire-rimmed glasses and he was a genuinely nice guy. Tonight, though, something about his usual easy smile seemed forced.
Sort of like my feelings for him would be if I ever tried to date him.
"Harper. Long time no see." He shoved a bottle of wine in my hands in a way that was so aggressive I wasn’t sure if it was a gift, or if he wanted me to uncork it and serve him.
“Uh, thanks, Beau.”
"And thank you for letting me observe tonight. Should be interesting."
“Thank Delia. She’s the one who said her final guest bowed out and she wanted you as a replacement. And remember, no flash on your phone. Delia says it interferes with the spiritual vibrations."
"Noted." He glanced toward the parlor, where I could hear Delia rearranging the chairs I’d already arranged. "Has she mentioned why she wanted me here specifically?"
"No, but she seems to know everyone's business better than they do themselves. Maybe it has to do with your research on the house."
Beau's laugh sounded strained. "I’m not sure what I could really tell her."
I set his wine down on the sideboard and just ignored him, not really sure what else I was supposed to say to that. The doorbell rang again and I went to open it.
The final guest arrived together—Detective Hollis Broussard (Father Claude's nephew, though they looked nothing alike). Hollis was here in an unofficial capacity. Partly because his uncle had asked him to keep an eye on things, and partly because he'd developed what Maggie called "a Harper situation" over the past few months.
