Page 28 of Cursed (Decorah Security 2.0, #14)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Morgan went back to her room and put on a clean shirt, thinking that she could go into town and make it clear that she was supporting Andre—even if that wouldn’t do her much good until Dan Cassidy arrived.

She had just reached the front hall, when the sound of cars roaring up the driveway made her whole body go rigid. The sheriff and the angry men had left ten minutes ago. Now what was happening?

Quickly she threw open the front door.

She goggled when she saw the police car was back, then allowed herself to feel a spurt of hope. Maybe Sheriff Jarvis was finally admitting that he’d made mistake, and he was bringing Andre home.

When she saw the pickup truck with the Brevards trailing along behind him, she was more confused than ever. Her heart was pounding as she ran down the steps and looked into the back seat of the cruiser. It was empty.

As she came down the curving staircase and stared at the place where Andre had been sitting, a feeling of sick panic rose in her throat.

“What happened?” she gasped out. “Where’s Andre?”

“The bastard escaped.” Jarvis answered.

“Oh, God. How?”

“Assaulting a police officer,” Jarvis snapped.

She stared at him. “You mean—you?”

“Who the hell else?” he snapped.

She shook her head in denial. Andre was too logical, too disciplined for that. “He couldn’t have.”

The Brevards joined the sheriff in the driveway. “Maybe you don’t think so, but we saw it. He kicked Sheriff Jarvis in the stomach. Then went tear-assing into the swamp. It that don’t prove he’s guilty, nothin’ does.”

“He’s not,” she whispered, trying to figure out what had happened.

All she knew was that Andre must have been desperate.

Or getting arrested had driven him over the edge.

Had the sheriff threatened him? She stared at the man.

His face was red, his trooper pants were streaked with mud, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes, but she couldn’t be sure what any of that proved.

As she stood there wondering what to do, the man brushed past her and climbed one of the curving staircases, then yanked open the front door without bothering to knock. Janet dashed into the front hall.

“What are you doing back here?” she gasped out.

“Looking for a fugitive.”

“Who?”

“Gascon. Your employer has escaped.”

Janet’s eyes shot to Morgan for confirmation. She nodded even as Jarvis clumped across the front hall and started up the stairs.

The Brevards charged up the exterior steps and toward the door. Janet blocked their way. “You trash, hold it right there. You have no call to come in here,” she shouted and slammed the door in their faces.

Morgan could hear them cursing on the front landing as she and Janet trailed the sheriff to the second floor of the house. He began striding down the hall, opening doors as though he was the master of the plantation.

“You can’t do that! You don’t have a search warrant,” Morgan called after him.

His pace didn’t slacken. “I don’t need a search warrant. Like I said, I’m in hot pursuit of a fugitive from justice.”

That might be technically true. But the police cruiser had driven out of sight. Did Jarvis really think Andre had mucked his way through the swamp and back here faster than a car and truck could drive?

That wasn’t logical. But apparently the sheriff was using the opportunity to do some snooping around.

When he got to her room, he threw open the door, then stood staring at the tangled sheets before looking back at her.

She wanted to tell him that what had happened in the bedroom was none of his business.

Instead she kept her hands at her sides.

“Touch any of my personal things, and you’ll hear from my lawyer,” she growled.

He stopped in the act of reaching for the lid of the suitcase that sat on a low table, then brushed past her and continued down the hall, opening more doors—into bedrooms that Morgan hadn’t seen.

All of the rooms were beautifully furnished, as though someone had enjoyed decorating each in an old-world style. But most were impersonal, as though they were waiting for someone to inhabit them.

Two rooms were different. One appeared to belong to a woman. An antique mirror and brush set sat on the dresser. Several paperback romance novels were piled beside the bed. And in the bathroom were face cream, lipstick, and other cosmetics, and a toothbrush.

The closet door was open, and Morgan could see dresses that Janet had worn on previous occasions.

Jarvis turned to her. “Your room?”

“Yes,” she answered in a strained voice.

“And she’d appreciate it if you removed yourself from it,” Morgan said.

“The fugitive could be in here.”

“You think he somehow got back to the house before you did?” Morgan couldn’t stop herself from snapping.

“I’m not making any assumptions,” Jarvis said mildly.

“And if I ask you to wait for Mr. Gascon’s lawyer?” she asked.

“I’d say you’d be hindering my investigation.”

Morgan had conducted enough illegal searches in her time to know why the sheriff was taking this opportunity. Since she couldn’t physically bar him from the house, she followed him down the hall to the last bedroom on the right.

It was much different from any of the others they’d entered. Obviously, a man’s private sanctuary, it contained a large dark dresser and chest, the fronts accentuated by bold carving details. Across from the dresser was a wide bed.

Floor to ceiling shelves occupied the short wall next to the bathroom.

Although Morgan hated the sheriff’s being in here, she couldn’t hold back her own curiosity as she scanned book titles and looked at the old black and white photographs.

The books were a selection of what she’d seen in the library.

The photographs must be of his family. She recognized people who looked like they were related to Andre. And in one, a small boy of around two or three stood between an attractive woman and a man who stood stiffly as he stared at the camera.

She and Jarvis both looked more closely. The boy could be Andre. He stood close to his mother. The woman had her arm around him, but there was an uncertain expression on her face, as though she wasn’t sure she belonged in the photo.

Jarvis yanked open the closet. Men’s clothing hung neatly inside, shirts and slacks arranged by color, and the aroma that clung to them was the aroma that she associated with Andre.

The bathroom smelled like him too. On the sink sat a razor, along with aftershave, a toothbrush in a glass and other evidence that the room was used by a man—specifically Andre Gascon. And that he was compulsively neat and orderly about his personal belongings.

But over on a side counter was something that made her eyes widen. She saw a hot plate with a small pot on the burner.

Jarvis saw it at the same time and charged across the room. When he lifted the lid, the pungent aroma wafted into the room—the same aroma that she’d caught on Andre’s skin.

“What’s this?” Jarvis growled.

“I don’t know. An herb extract?” she improvised.

“Or drugs. I’m taking this with me.”

Containing her own consternation, she said, “Wait a minute. You can’t do that. He’s not hiding in that pot. So, if you’re looking for evidence of a crime, you’d better come back with a warrant.”

The sheriff went rigid, then slammed the top back on the pot. “Right,” he growled. “But he may come back here to get this stuff.”

He strode toward the bed, looking at the neatly made surface. “He didn’t sleep here.”

She kept her head tipped up. “I told you—he was with me. All night.”

When Janet looked like she was going to say something, Morgan gave a small shake of her head, and the housekeeper’s features closed up.

Jarvis addressed both of them. “You’d better let me know if he shows up.”

Neither of them made a sound.

“No. Scratch that. I don’t trust you to do the right thing! I’m sending a couple of deputies out here. If he comes back, we’ll get him.”

Morgan knew she should keep her mouth shut.

But she couldn’t hold back the words that sprang to her lips.

“What’s going on with you, sheriff. Did the guys in town feed you a bunch of wild stories about Andre Gascon?

Is that it? You think if you arrest him—or shoot him—that will solve all the problems in St. Germaine? ”

“I don’t have to discuss this case with you!”

“You’ll have to discuss it with Mr. Gascon’s lawyer.”

“Yeah, maybe his lawyer will explain why he ran away.” His gaze drilled into her. “And if you go one beat farther—I’ll arrest you for verbal assault.”

Knowing he could do it, Morgan clamped her jaw shut.

There was a lot more she wanted to say. She wanted to ask what the sheriff really thought about the murders in the bayou.

If a jaguar was killing people—what did that have to do with Andre’s jacket?

Jarvis couldn’t make a case out that. But what if the town was so out of control that Andre never reached trial?

Since she hadn’t completely lost her sanity, she didn’t ask any of those questions.

Jarvis strode out of the room and down the hall.

They heard him descending the steps. Long moments ticked by before the front door slammed shut.

Still, Morgan went to the landing and looked over.

In their absence, the pickup truck had departed.

Jarvis was already in his cruiser. As they watched, he revved the engine and pulled away.

Morgan looked back at Janet. “What was in that pot?” she asked, hearing the strained tone of her voice.

“Like you said, herbs.”

“For what?”

“For his allergies.”

She wanted to demand a better answer. She wanted to know if Andre was brewing up drugs. Instead she hit Janet with another question. “You said last night you had the second sight.”

Janet nodded.

“What does that mean?”

“That sometimes I … know things.”

“Do you know where Andre went?”

“No.”

“Does he have some place in the swamp where he sleeps?”

The housekeeper’s face contorted. “How do you know he sleeps there?”