Page 13 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
Father Claude crossed himself. Ginger took a step backward, her face pale. Beau just stared at the stain like it might start speaking and explain itself to him.
"We need to search the house," Hollis said, standing up and pulling out his phone. "I'm calling for backup."
"Wait," I said, something nagging at the back of my mind. "The bathroom. Beau, could you see the whole room?"
He shook his head. “I just glanced in there.” He actually took a step or two backwards like he was concerned a knife-wielding killer might be on the other side of the shower curtain.
I pushed past the others and pushed the bathroom door open further. The small space was pristine—white tiles, vintage fixtures, fluffy towels I'd put out that morning. But behind the shower curtain, the clawfoot tub was full of water.
Water that was tinged pink.
And floating in that pink water, face down and perfectly still, was Delia DuMont.
For a moment, nobody moved. The only sound was the drip-drip-drip of the faucet and Father Claude's whispered prayer.
Then Hollis pushed past me, pulling on a pair of latex gloves that he'd produced from somewhere. Did he just carry those around in his pocket? Either he was always anticipating a crime or the sudden need to clean a toilet, both of which were weird.
"Everyone out. Now. Don't touch anything."
"Is she dead?" Maggie asked.
Hollis gently turned Delia's head, checking for a pulse at her neck. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he looked up at us with grim eyes.
"She's dead. Back up now."
I snagged Teddy off of the carpet and shooed everyone out of the room. My stomach was churning. I’d only seen a couple of dead bodies in my life and they were all perfectly preserved in their Sunday finest, laid out in a coffin. This was my first dead body in the wild, so to speak, and I was a little stunned.
Working on the podcast with Maggie, I’d seen plenty of images of death, but this was far too up close and personal.
The next hour passed in a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and questions I didn't know how to answer. The house filled with police officers, crime scene techs, and a coroner who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else on a Wednesday night.
We were all herded into the dining room while they processed the scene, sitting around the same table where I'd served dinner to my guests just hours earlier. The mood was decidedly different now.
"Heart attack, maybe?" Father Claude suggested hopefully. "The stress of the séance, combined with her age..."
"She was fifty-three," Ginger said flatly. "And in perfect health, as far as I know. Delia was always very particular about taking care of herself."
"Could have been an accident," Beau offered. "She felt faint, drew a bath to relax, and...slipped?"
“That doesn’t explain why she bolted out of the room when the candle blew out,” Maggie said. “Was this a planned suicide? Because wow, that’s just…not cool. Way to traumatize random people.”
Detective Broussard appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "I need to speak with Harper privately."
My stomach dropped. "Is that necessary? Can Maggie come with me?”
"This isn’t the restroom at a bar," Hollis said impatiently. “No traveling in pairs.”
On-duty Detective Broussard wasn’t even as tolerable as off-duty Hollis, and that wasn’t saying all that much. “I was just asking,” I said defensively. I realized I needed to fully cooperate, but excuse me for being intimidated by a full investigative team and an unexpected death appearing in my house.
“We need to speak to everyone individually.”
He led me into the kitchen, where Teddy was stress-eating from his food bowl with single-minded determination. This was Teddy’s first dead body, too, as far as I knew.
"Tell me about Delia DuMont," Hollis said, settling into one of the chairs at my small breakfast table. "How long have you known her?"
"I met her for the first time yesterday morning. She checked in early for the paranormal convention."
"And you had no prior relationship with her?"
