Page 57 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
"It sounds like a politician or something."
"That's what I was thinking too. The cadence, the way he talks. Like a guy used to giving speeches."
We stared at each other across the table.
“But he’s also the one who says he isn’t going to do this. He sounds like he draws the line at murder, which I give him props for,” Maggie said.
“Well, who could have been in the house that night? I realize there were a lot of people in and out and someone definitely could have slipped upstairs at some point, but two men? I feel like they were supposed to be here, you know or we would have noticed them.”
Nothing could convince me that it was Pete from Houston by way of Pittsburgh originally.
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to think someone got up the back stairs without us noticing. But who were your other male guests?”
“Just the dad from Houston and Arthur.” Then it hit me. “Is that Arthur’s voice? The first one?”
Maggie sat straight up. “It could be. Maybe that isn’t Claude at all. But Arthur.”
Goosebumps raced up my arms. “Arthur was in the garden this morning. Staring at the tree. He runs in paranormal circles. He had the means and opportunity.”
“He could have been the one who tied up Abigail.”
“And mugged me in the French Quarter.”
“We need to call Hollis.”
FOURTEEN
Suddenly, I understood exactly who had been trying to silence everyone who got too close to the truth about Francine Darrow.
It wasn't Father Claude, protecting his guilty secret.
It wasn't Hollis, defending his father's reputation.
It wasn't even Ginger, driven by forty years of grief and rage.
It was Arthur—mild, harmless Arthur—who had been staying in my house all along, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Hollis didn’t answer when I called him.
Maggie was pacing back and forth in the studio.
“Try Hollis again. Text him it’s urgent.”
“He’s driving Abigail to the airport. He’s probably not looking at his phone. He seems like the safe driver type.” Had he told me what time Abigail’s flight was? Things were getting muddled in my head.
“What do we do?”
“I don’t know. Something feels…off.” I closed my eyes and tried to remember the minute I had realized someone was tugging my purse off of my shoulder. I tried to visualize the man running away from me. It seems like he was slighter, a little taller than Arthur. “I don’t think Arthur was the one who stole my purse. The build doesn’t seem right.”
My phone buzzed on the desk. I snatched it up quickly. I had a text from an unknown number.
Found something you need to see. Meet me at St. Louis Cemetery #1. Come alone. —Beau
"Beau," I said, showing Maggie the message. “Why is he using a new number? And why the cemetery?”
"We’re not going there. Absolutely not. Have you learned nothing from every horror movie ever made? 'Come alone' is code for 'bring a shovel to dig your own grave.'"
"It's Beau. Not to mention it’s broad daylight in a public cemetery. What could go wrong?"
