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rather unfortunate incident," she said, fiddling with her brooch. "You see, three days ago, a twenty-eight-year-old woman named Ivanna Jones was murdered there. I found the body when I opened the plantation at eight o'clock the next morning."
    "I heard something about that on the radio last night," Veronica said.
    "Unfortunately, it's all over the news," Delta replied. "As you can imagine, the cancelations have already begun—weddings, craft fairs, even a TV show. And the problem is that Oleander Place isn't just my livelihood—it's my heritage. I'm a descendent of the original owner, General Knox Patterson. So, I'll do whatever it takes to protect my income and my family name."
    I had no doubt she was telling the truth. She was no sweet Southern belle. She was a surly Southern beast. "Do you know how the victim got to the plantation?"
    "She drove. Her car was in the parking lot, unlocked, with her purse on the front seat." Delta reached into her black Louis Vuitton and pulled out a manila envelope. "This is a copy of the police report and photos from the scene."
    I looked at her in surprise. "How did you get those?"
    "Thanks to my Jackson, I still have important connections on the police force."
    Veronica took the envelope and began to examine its contents. "This will be a tremendous help to us."
    I turned to Delta. "Did you know the victim?"
    "No, but she took one of our plantation tours a few weeks ago. I'm sure it was her, but I can't prove it because she didn't pay with a credit card or sign the guest registry."
    "Was anyone with her?" I asked.
    "I don't know. Our tour groups are often fairly large, and I wasn't really paying attention."
I looked at Veronica. "Anything interesting in the report?"
    She scanned the information on the first page and then looked at Delta. "The cause of death is listed as 'undetermined.'"
    "Which is why I need your help," Delta said. "The police are dilly-dallying around with this investigation because they think the woman committed suicide. And as a business owner, I don't have time to waste. Every day this crime goes unsolved is a day I lose money."
    By now it was clear where Delta's priorities lay. This woman was a real steel magnolia. "What makes you think it wasn't suicide?"
    "It has to do with the placement of the body and the plantation's history," she replied.
    "Take a look," Veronica said, handing me a photo.
    It was a shot of a beautiful young woman with long, golden-blonde hair and rose-red lips. If I didn't know better, I would have said she was asleep. "Wow," I breathed, "she looks just like Sleeping Beauty."
    Delta shook her head. "No, she's the spitting image of Evangeline Lacour."
    "Who's that?" I asked.
    "She was Knox's second wife. He spent a fortune building Oleander Place for her, and then the tramp went and cheated on him. You know how those French women are," she said with a knowing look.
    I couldn't resist asking, "Are you related to her, as well?"
    "Certainly not!" Delta replied, her eyes wide with alarm. "I'm descended from Knox and his first wife, Caroline Landry. He and Evangeline had no children, thank heaven."
    Veronica cleared her throat. "Why do you say the victim looks like Evangeline?"
    "Well, for one thing, she's the spitting image of the oil painting Knox commissioned of Evangeline when they were married. And for another, she was found lying in Evangeline's bed in the exact same position Evangeline was in when she died in 1837, and she was wearing her pink crinoline dress."
    I immediately thought of the woman I'd seen on the balcony of Oleander Place. But I knew that it couldn't have been Ivanna Jones, because she was killed the day before.
    "You mean, the dress Evangeline was wearing when she died?" Veronica asked.
    Delta nodded. "We have it in storage at Oleander Place. It's the one we always see Evangeline wearing when she appears."
    Now my eyes opened wide in alarm. "Come again?"
    "Evangeline's spirit still resides in the house," she replied.
    I