Page 7 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
Nothing there.
But something fluttered down the stairs—soft, white, catching the edge of the light.
I picked it up.
A playing card.
The Tower.
Behind me, the grandfather clock ticked once.
Just once.
For the first time in six months.
THREE
The next morning, the house was damp and stuffy from the leftover humidity of last night’s storm. Not that humidity is ever really a leftover in New Orleans. It’s always on the menu as the main course.
Still no A/C, which meant the call to Ralph I meant to make yesterday was now top of the priority list for today. Sure, it was October, but fall was a mere suggestion in Louisiana. Waiting for cool weather in New Orleans was like a woman on the lookout for an engagement ring from a foot-dragger of a boyfriend. It might show up tomorrow or possibly never.
As I stood in the kitchen, barefoot on the cool tile, watching the coffeemaker sputter and steam, I thought about the card I’d found the night before.
I hadn’t told anyone about it.
What would I even say?
“Good morning, I found a tarot card predicting death on my stairs last night. Cream and sugar?”
Well, not death on my stairs. I didn’t think. Or maybe it was literal? The railing was a little wobbly.
I’d just tucked the card into a kitchen drawer to decide later if I should mention it to Delia or not.
Teddy was perched on the windowsill, nose twitching toward a crack in the glass where the rain had left a muddy trail. He hadn't moved much since sunrise. That was always a sign. When Teddy got quiet, something was coming.
“Don’t suppose you’d like to solve this one for me,” I muttered, pouring coffee into my mug.
I heard the front door creak open, followed by a man’s voice. “Harper?”
I poked my head out of the kitchen and found Beau Williams in the foyer, rain-damp curls falling into his eyes, a manila folder tucked under one arm like it might contain either historic blueprints or a treasure map. We had known each other since preschool and other than one night our freshman year at Loyola, when Beau had tried to kiss me, and I had nervously laughed, crushing his tender teen heart, we’d gotten along well.
“I brought the property records you asked for,” he said with a sheepish smile, shrugging off his jacket. “And a fresh croissant.”
“You’re amazing, thank you. Coffee?”
The first few months running the B&B had just been baptism by fire, but now that things had settled down a bit, I wanted to do my own research on the house. My aunt—hell, my entire family—was known to embellish the truth. I wanted to separate fact from fiction.
“You know I can’t say no to you.”
Sometimes Beau still sounded a little flirty with me, but I always chose to soundly ignore it. Before I could answer, measured and slow footsteps sounded on the stairs. Delia DuMont appeared at the landing.
She looked a little different.
Not in a “skipped the hair and makeup” kind of way. In a “I haven’t slept and possibly spoke to the dead for hours” kind of way.
She wore a silk emerald green robe with embroidered flowers along the sleeves. I wasn’t sure it was a day outfit or a wrap for her pajamas. It certainly looked comfy and sophisticated all at once. She carried her tarot deck pressed tightly to her chest. When she saw Beau, she paused.
“Oh,” she said, her voice brittle. “Hello. A new guest?”
