Page 46 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
"Every jazz club, dance hall, and private home in New Orleans was playing music that night. The sound of jazz filled the entire city from sunset to sunrise." Maggie paused. "And you know what? No one was attacked that night."
"Which tells us what about the killer?"
"That he was absolutely paying attention to the media coverage. He got exactly what he wanted. An entire city dancing to his tune, literally."
I leaned back in my chair. "It's a perfect example of how serial killers feed off public fear and attention. The more coverage they get, the more powerful they feel."
"And the more they escalate," Maggie added. "Though in the Axeman's case, the attacks actually stopped after 1919. He either died, moved away, was imprisoned for something else, or simply found another way to satisfy his needs."
"Which is the really terrifying thought, isn't it? That he might have just gotten better at hiding his crimes."
We eventually wrapped up the episode with our usual sign-off, but as Maggie began the technical process of editing and uploading, I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd been talking about more than just historical crimes.
"Maggie," I said, pulling off my headphones, "do you think we're in over our heads with this Delia situation?"
She looked up from her computer screen. "Probably. But that's never stopped us from digging before."
"This feels different though. It’s obviously more personal. Definitely more dangerous."
"Everything's more dangerous when it hits close to home." She saved her work and turned to face me fully. "But Harper, if someone killed Delia to keep her quiet about what happened to Francine, then doing nothing is dangerous too. These secrets have been festering for forty years. Maybe it's time to drag them into the light."
I nodded, but my stomach was churning with anxiety. Because as much as I wanted justice for Delia and Francine, I was starting to realize that some truths were buried so deep that digging them up might bring down everything around them.
Including me.
TWELVE
I was in Maggie's kitchen the next morning, pacing while she made coffee with the methodical precision of someone who hadn't had enough sleep.
“I don’t even know how to use this,” she complained. “You know I just walk across the street and buy my coffee every day.”
“I don’t want to talk in public where anyone can hear us. But we can go over there and grab coffee if this is too much.”
“I’ll get it. It’s me against the coffeemaker now.”
“I would just give up if I were you.” The stolen envelope incident had left me feeling paranoid and foolish in equal measure. I'd spent last night replaying every detail, trying to make sense of what felt like pieces from different puzzles.
"Got it!" Maggie said, pressing a button. The coffeemaker whirred. "Now walk me through it again. No giving up. That’s not your vibe. The guy who stole your purse. You said something about him seeming familiar to you."
I shrugged. "It was just a feeling. The way he moved, maybe. Or his build. But I only saw him for a few seconds, and he was wearing a hood and sunglasses."
"So it could have been someone you know."
"That's what I keep thinking about." I reached into her cupboard and got out two coffee mugs. "What if it wasn't random? What if someone knew I had that envelope?"
"How would they know though? That’s what I keep coming back to. You said Lucien gave it to you in private."
"But what if someone was watching? What if they followed me from the Dungeon?" I started pacing again. "Think about it. Father Claude knew I was asking questions. He was at the house when I found Delia's journal pages. He could have followed me to the Quarter."
Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Father Claude? The sort-of priest whose nephew is a cop and your neighbor? You think he mugged you?"
Sure, it was ridiculous. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. "He admitted he was involved with Delia back in 1984. He was feeding information to his brother at the police department. Maybe he's been covering for someone all these years."
"Harper—"
"No, listen. He's the right build. And he would have known that envelope contained evidence that could implicate him or his family." I was getting excited now, the pieces clicking together in my mind. "Plus, he showed up at my house uninvited. How did he even get in? I'm sure I locked the door that day. What if he had a master key?"
Maggie eyed the coffeemaker impatiently. "Okay, say you're right. Say Father Claude has been covering something up for forty years. What are you going to do about it?"
