Page 49 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
Maggie was already standing, tugging at my elbow. "Harper, we should go."
As we walked back to the car in uncomfortable silence, I could feel Maggie's disapproval radiating off her like heat from asphalt.
"Well?" I said finally. "What did you think?"
"I think," she said carefully, "that you just accused a man of robbery and murder based on a whole lot of nothing."
"Not nothing. His reaction?—"
"His reaction was exactly what anyone's would be if you showed up at their house and accused them of being a criminal." She got into the passenger seat and slammed the door harder than necessary.
I started the car and sat there for a moment, my hands gripping the steering wheel. Had I just made a complete idiot of myself? The confident certainty I'd felt this morning was already starting to crumble.
"Maybe I was wrong about the purse-snatching," I admitted. "But that doesn't mean he's not involved somehow."
"Harper, listen to yourself. You're grasping at straws."
"I'm trying to find the truth!"
"No, you're trying to find someone to blame. There's a difference."
We drove the rest of the way back to my house in silence. Maggie was irritated with me and I was irritated with the whole situation. I needed to find a way to either resolve this or let it go. Neither seemed easy to achieve.
It wasn't until I pulled into my driveway that I realized something was wrong.
The front door was standing wide open.
"Did you leave that open?" Maggie asked.
"No. Definitely not." I turned off the engine, my heart starting to race. "I don’t think Abigail or Arthur would just leave it like that. Well, maybe they would. I honestly have no idea. I just don’t love the idea that anyone could wander in off of the street."
We approached the house cautiously. I called out as we climbed the front steps. "Abigail? Are you here?" Arthur should have been attending the final day of the paranormal convention so I didn’t expect him to be in the house.
No answer.
Inside, the house felt…off. Furniture had been moved slightly, drawers left partially open. It looked like someone had been searching for something.
"Abigail?" I called again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
“Maggie, where is Teddy?” The laundry room door where I had corralled him was wide open. I started to panic. “Oh my God.”
Maggie and I frantically checked every room on the first floor, then raced upstairs. Room Three was empty, but Abigail's suitcases were still there, clothes scattered across the bed like she'd been interrupted while packing after the big homecoming weekend.
She had probably just run out for something she needed for her flight home.
“Teddy has to be here somewhere,” Maggie said reassuringly. “He wouldn’t just go out the front door. He knows better.”
Actually, he didn’t. He loved to escape to Hollis’s garden whenever he could, which was why I never left the front or back door open, even for a minute.
Then I heard a sound that gave me instant relief. A weak chittering coming from somewhere in the walls.
"Teddy! Where are you, boy?" I followed the sound to the linen closet at the end of the hall. The door was closed, but I could hear him scratching at it from the inside.
When I opened it, Teddy practically fell into my arms, chittering frantically and shaking. The only way for him to be in there was if someone had locked him in the closet deliberately.
"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry," I said, holding him close. "Are you hurt?"
