Page 52 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
After he left, Maggie pulled out a chair and sat down across from me.
“What now?” she asked.
I sat with Teddy in my lap, emotionally wrung out from the day's events. The house felt different now. Not just violated, but somehow vulnerable.
“I don’t know. I keep asking myself what my aunt would do in this situation.”
“She’d probably sage the hell out of this house. Do a tarot spread. Call in reinforcements.”
As I sat there, I realized something. Despite everything that had happened—the break-in, the accusations, the feeling that I was grasping at shadows—I wasn't ready to give up. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was guilt, or maybe it was just the knowledge that some secrets were too important to stay buried.
Delia DuMont had died trying to uncover the truth about Francine Darrow. Ginger St. James was in the hospital for the same reason. And now someone had violated my home, threatened my guest, and terrorized my pet.
Whatever was hidden in the past was dangerous enough to kill for. Which meant it was important enough to risk everything to expose.
I just had to be smarter about it next time.
And I had to figure out who I could actually trust.
Because if today had taught me anything, it was that my instincts weren't nearly as reliable as I'd thought they were.
“You’re my reinforcements,” I told Maggie. “You and Teddy.”
“Then talk to the skunk. Because I have to tell you, this is all a little too bizarre to be coincidence, but I don’t really understand what any of it means. I’m worried, Harper. Like maybe you should close up the house for a few days and come and stay with me.”
I wanted to say that I wouldn’t be chased out of my own home, but part of me wondered if she was right. This was dangerous.
The lights flickered.
I took it to mean I was on the right track. That I should stick it out.
This time, I was going to find out what Midnight House was trying to tell me.
THIRTEEN
Monday morning continued the kind of crisp October weather that normally made me absolutely love this version of New Orleans in the fall. Too bad I was too exhausted to appreciate it.
I'd spent most of the night tossing and turning, replaying the break-in, wondering if I'd made the right choice to stay in the house. Every creak and settling sound had me bolt upright, clutching Teddy, who seemed equally on edge.
I decided to go take a look at the crepe myrtle tree while I waited for my coffee to brew.
Arthur was sitting in the garden behind the house, notebook in hand. The crepe myrtle above him swayed lightly, leaves curling under from the heat.
I made a video and took a few still shots of the garden to post on my socials. I quickly typed up a caption and uploaded them.
Teddy strolled over to sniff at his shoelaces. Unlike Abigail, Arthur seemed to like Teddy. He reached down and went to pet him, but Teddy scooted away, probably because he’d spotted a bug of some kind to chomp on.
“You’re up early,” I said.
Arthur was leaving Midnight House today but check-out wasn’t until noon.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied, closing the notebook. “Too many stories in this place. They don’t like to be quiet.”
“You sound like Delia.”
“She wasn’t wrong,” he said. “She just didn’t know what kind of ghosts she was listening to.”
I sat in the wicker chair across from him. “Can I ask you if you did any paranormal investigating while you were in the house?”
