Page 38 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
"What do you think, Teddy?" I asked my skunk, who was conducting his nightly inspection of the baseboards with full dedication. "Are we missing something obvious?"
Teddy chittered softly and continued his patrol.
That's when I remembered the tarot card.
The Tower card I'd found on the stairs the night Delia died. I'd been so caught up in everything else that I'd barely examined it. I'd shoved it in the kitchen junk drawer and forgotten about it completely.
I opened the drawer and rummaged through pens, rubber bands, and loose batteries until I found it. The card was slightly bent at one corner, and the illustration of the lightning-struck tower seemed more ominous in the dim kitchen light than it had before.
But as I turned it over, I noticed something I'd missed entirely. There was writing on the back, in sharp, slanted handwriting.
#25. Back room. Ask for Lucien.
My heart started beating faster. This wasn't just a random tarot card that had fallen from Delia's deck. This was a message. A clue.
But a clue to what? And who was Lucien?
I pulled out my phone and googled "#25 New Orleans," but got a million hits and nothing useful. Then I tried "Lucien New Orleans" and got results, but none of them seemed relevant to psychic mediums or missing persons cases.
Maybe it had nothing to do with anything. Maybe that had been on Delia’s tarot card for years. I turned the card over again, tracing the number.
Frustrated, I was about to give up when Teddy made an urgent chittering sound. He'd stopped his baseboard inspection and was sitting at attention, staring at the back door.
This was the part where I had to fight with myself. Open the door and potentially be abducted or open the door and find a clue of some sort.
Then I realized the only thing I was going to find on the other side of the door at two in the morning was a pile of gardenias (which would freak me out completely), the wind, or a killer.
None of those seemed like anything I wanted to tackle in the middle of the night in my pajamas.
“Um, hi?”
I jumped and turned toward the doorway to the hall.
Abigail was standing there, also in pajamas. But unlike my sloppy shorts and massive sweatshirt she was in cute satin lounge pants and a matching satin button up top emblazoned with pumpkins.
“Hi, Abigail. Sorry, you startled me.”
“I’m a night owl and I thought I heard you talking so I was just looking for some company. I can only look at pimple popping videos for so long before I question my existence.”
If I even watched one of those I would question my existence so I fully understood. “I couldn’t sleep either. That was me talking to my pet skunk.”
I realized that might have just officially put me in the eccentric category.
“Come on in and join me,” I added. “Do you want some chamomile tea?”
I was actually grateful for Abigail’s cheerful presence. The vibe tonight had been spooky and it was getting under my skin. Making me jumpy.
“I’d love some, thanks.”
As I got up and pulled down a tea mug, Abigail asked, “Do you read tarot?”
I glanced back over my shoulder. Abigail was looking at the tower card sitting on the table.
“No. I’m just trying to solve a riddle.” Maybe if I talked it through out loud with someone who wasn’t invested in the situation it would give me some clarity. “Do you know anything about tarot?”
“No. But this card looks like a castle. You just know there’s a moat surrounding it and a dungeon underneath it.”
“It’s definitely a foreboding card.” I poured hot water into the mug and dunked the tea bag in it to steep.
