She was the reason champagne etiquette was seared into my brain.
Allison's expression became a little guarded. "Everyone in this particular world knows Evelyn Carrington," she said.
I took that to mean she had strong opinions about Evelyn but was choosing not to share them.
“She’s a Magnolia Heritage Society legend,” I said, just to try to provoke Allison into more of a response. I was curious to see who was aligned with who in the group. If I was going to make Aunt Odette proud I had to find the right friends.
Allison didn’t take the bait. "Which room am I in?"
Room Two was on the quieter side of the house. I left Allison arranging her notebooks on the writing desk with the focused intensity of someone establishing territory. I wondered what books she had published but she looked more interested in unwrapping than chatting.
I wasn’t curious enough to look her up though, at least not right now.
When I went back downstairs a sleek black car rolled up out front.
“No rest for the wicked,” I told Teddy, who was resting in his pet bed in the laundry room. He chittered in acknowledgment, but made no move to follow me.
It was moments like this that I wished I had the budget to hire staff. I was getting dizzy from all the back and forth of checking in my new guests.
The man who climbed out of the black car was somewhere in his early forties, dark-haired, and handsome.
Not as handsome as my neighbor Hollis, but he sported a symmetrical face and a stately nose that most humans would deem attractive.
He paused on the sidewalk to look at Midnight House. Reginald's gaze had been analytical, but this man's was something warmer. Nostalgic, almost.
He caught me watching from the porch and smiled. "Taylor McIntosh," he called up. "Small-batch distiller. Afterlife Spirits, out of Kentucky."
"The bourbon, of course." I had seen the label at the bar around the corner, which my friend Demarcus, the bartender, stocked specifically because it sold well. The name was a good fit for a NOLA crowd. "Popular pour around the corner."
"Glad to know it's found a warm reception." He grabbed his bag and came up the steps. His handshake was friendlier than Reginald’s. Less business-like. "My bourbon is being featured at the gala tomorrow. Evelyn Carrington arranged it."
He said Evelyn Carrington's name with the relaxed confidence of someone who was not even a little bit worried about her. Which made it hard to believe he’d actually met her.
Or maybe they were old chums, who was to say? I filed his response away and showed him to Room Four.
By the time I came back downstairs for what felt like the fortieth time—you’d think my backside would be much perkier than it was after constantly using the stairs—there was already a fourth car in the driveway. A young woman was standing on the porch filming the exterior of the house on what appeared to be a very expensive camera.
"You must be Vivienne,” I said.
She was the only arriving guest whose occupation I already knew because if anyone wanted to film at Midnight House, I required permission. She’d asked, I had agreed.
"Yes. Vivienne Okafor." She didn't lower the camera. "Documentary filmmaker. As we discussed, I may want to film some B-roll here. The house has a wonderful atmosphere."
"As long as you let me know when you’re filming," I said. "And my skunk has approval rights on all footage he appears in."
Vivienne glanced down at Teddy, who had followed me to the door and was sitting on the welcome mat looking positively cinematic. She raised her camera and took a single shot.
"He'll do," she said, glancing at her camera screen.
That made me frown. That was a decidedly lukewarm reception to my very extraordinary skunk.
Vivienne was a few years older than me with close-cropped natural hair and a confident stride as she fully entered the foyer and swept her gaze over the parlor and the grand staircase.
The chandelier flickered at the top of the stairs.
Almost instinctively, she raised her camera and took a few rapid shots.
“That’s just bad electrical. Or ghosts. Depending on what makes you feel better,” I joked.
