Page 15 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
I started pointing to things and asking him, “This? This? More food?”
Finally, when I pointed to the hinged door above the counter that had once upon a time served as a milk delivery chute, Teddy squawked loudly.
“Okay, okay.” I opened it and Inside was a small white envelope with my name written on it in elegant script.
With shaking hands, I opened it.
Harper,
If you're reading this, then I was right about tonight. I'm sorry to involve you, but you're the only one I can trust. The truth about Francine Darrow is hidden in your house. Odette made sure of that. Look for the room that doesn't exist on any blueprint. The key is in the recipe for her famous jambalaya.
Be careful. He's closer than you think.
—Delia
I stared at the letter, my mind racing. Delia had expected to die tonight. She'd left me this note as insurance, knowing I'd find it after…
A noise from upstairs made me look up. Footsteps in the hallway, slow and deliberate.
But according to Detective Broussard, all my guests were supposed to be in the dining room.
I grabbed Teddy and crept toward the staircase, the letter clutched in my free hand. The footsteps had stopped, but I could hear something else now.
Whispering.
"Francine," a voice said softly.
Or maybe that part was my imagination. But I was definitely hearing a voice.
The voice was coming from upstairs.
I ignored the voice in my own head that said Hollis would throttle me if I trampled over any evidence, and crept upstairs.
The voice seemed to move around me, swirling, the words indistinct.
It was coming from Room Three.
Delia's room.
Where she had just died under mysterious circumstances and where half a dozen people were currently processing the scene. Maybe that was just them talking?
But it didn’t sound like regular alive people discussing a death scene. It sounded…otherworldly.
I looked down at Teddy, who was staring up the stairs with his ears pricked forward and his tail beginning to puff.
"What are we doing?” I asked him. “This is nuts.”
An unexpected electronic chime made me jump on the landing. I glanced around to see where it was coming from.
A phone was on the console table that divided rooms four and five. “Is this your phone?” I asked an evidence tech who came out of room three with a brown paper bag in her hand.
“No.”
“It must be a guest’s.” I picked it up. The screen was glowing.
A voice memo app was open.
Recording.
