Page 31 of Cursed (Decorah Security 2.0, #14)

“You’ve got some guys downstairs chomping at the bit to quiz you,” he said mildly.

“You were taking a chance on my being dressed,” she answered.

“Nah. Not with Jarvis in the house.”

She charged across the room. When he stood, they embraced. “It’s good to see a friendly face,” she breathed. “Thank you for getting here so quickly.”

“It sounded like you needed help,” he answered in a matter-of-fact voice. Yet she could hear his friendship and concern beneath the surface. ‘You all right?”

“Yes.”

“Hang in there. It’s almost over.”

“I hope so. But … but …”

“What?”

“Andre still isn’t back.”

“Yeah. That’s a problem,” Dan acknowledged. “Do you think he’s aware of developments?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, then asked a question of her own. “Did they recover the body in the bayou?”

“While you were in the shower. The gator took off his leg.” Dan cleared his throat. “From what I understand an alligator may eat part of a body, then stow the rest for later meals. Rivers was under a submerged log.

“Charming. What happened to the alligator?”

“He’s going to augment the shoe and purse industry.”

She snorted, then asked. “Speaking of hides, what about those big leather gloves with the claws—that Rivers had on his hands?”

“They found them.”

“Well, score one for me.”

Dan took his seat again. “Fill me in on the details, starting with this morning when Jarvis came to arrest Gascon.”

She dropped into the other chair and started talking.

Dan let her go at her own pace, making only a few comments and asking questions to clarify points.

She was still trying to decide what to tell him about getting away from Rivers when a commotion downstairs had both her and Dan jumping up.

Loud voices led them back to the kitchen.

When they charged into the kitchen, Andre stood by the door—muddy and matted. His gaze shot to her.

“Thank God,” she said, then stopped. She had been about to rush to him and hug him. But something checked her stride. It might have been the audience. Or something more—something she couldn’t deal with yet. And the doubtful look in his eyes didn’t help.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a strained voice.

“Yes,” she answered.

“You’re under arrest,” Jarvis interrupted, then looked at Andre’s wrists. “How the hell did you get out of those handcuffs?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Someone knocked me out, and when I came to, they were gone.”

Jarvis’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe that?”

Andre shrugged. “Believe what you want.” In an almost inaudible voice, he added, “You have all along.”

Jarvis’s eyes flashed.

Dan stepped between the two men. “Now that we know that someone else was responsible for the murders in the bayou, what’s he under arrest for?”

“Assaulting an officer,” Jarvis snapped.

“You mean you arrested him because you believed Rivers’ cock and bull story about an animal in the swamp attacking people?”

“Gascon’s jacket was found at the latest murder scene.”

“And how does that jibe with an animal attack—unless you can prove that he’s keeping a trained cat in the bayou?”

Somebody in the crowed snickered, and Jarvis whirled to glare at the man. A few hours ago, they’d been willing to believe a lot of wild stories about Andre. Now it looked like some sanity was returning.

“If you take Gascon in now, I’m going to sue you up the wazoo for false arrest,” Dan said.

The sheriff considered his words, then shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“You made a serious mistake by arresting a man on trumped-up charges,” Dan added.

“Now wait a minute …”

Dan plowed on. “If this whole story gets out, you’ll be the laughingstock of the law enforcement bulletin boards.”

“Are you threatening me?” Jarvis demanded.

Dan spread his hands in a gesture of innocence.

“Of course not, I’m just pointing out that it’s to your advantage to switch your focus.

You’ve solved a series of murders going back several months.

You proved that Dwight Rivers was clawing people to death in the backcountry.

That’s something to be proud of. And the community will be grateful. ”

The sheriff thought that over. “And what would you say was Mr. Rivers’ motive for the murders?” he asked in a tight voice.

There was utter silence in the room—until Morgan took a step forward and spoke. “He had a geological survey done of the area and found oil on Belle Vista land. He wanted to drive Mr. Gascon away. Or get him lynched,” she added in a low voice.

Andre was staring at her. “How do you know that?”

“I found the geological survey maps you hid in a library book because you didn’t want to deal with the consequences. I have to assume Rivers had the survey commissioned.”

“He did,” Dan snapped. “We’ve been a little busy, so I hadn’t gotten around to giving you that information yet.”

Jarvis looked from her to Andre. “You know there’s oil on your property?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t going to screw up the natural environment for my own profit.”

“Rivers talked to you about it?” Dan asked.

“No. He stayed out of it. But a consultant from Houston came down here and gave me the information. It was handled so that I had no idea anyone in town even knew about it.”

Dan turned to Jarvis. “You’ve got your motive.”

The other man nodded.

“And Andre Gascon is off the hook,” Dan clarified.

When the sheriff nodded again, Morgan felt some of the tightness in her chest ease.

In the next moment, the lawman focused on her. “You still haven’t given me a statement.”

“I can do that,” she said in a weary voice.

“With her lawyer present,” Dan added. “And I’d like you to do it here rather than in town. Mrs. Kirkland has been through a frightening experience, and I don’t want her stressed any more than she has to be.”

Jarvis made a sound of annoyance, but he agreed to let her stay at the plantation.

“You can use the den,” Janet suggested.

Before Dan led her away, Morgan’s eyes shot to Andre. They needed to talk. But it seemed she wasn’t going to be allowed to do that yet.

She, Dan and the sheriff repaired to the den.

When they had closed the door and sat down, Jarvis got out a notebook and started with some easy questions—like her name, birthday, and driver’s license number.

Then he hit her with something more controversial.

“For the record, you’re not a librarian, are you? ”

She glanced at Dan. When he nodded, she said, “I’m a private investigator hired by Mr. Gascon to find out who was murdering people in the swamp and trying to pin it on him.”

“So, you admit you were operating under false pretenses,” Jarvis snapped.

She kept her gaze steady. “That’s what undercover work is about.”

To her relief, Jarvis didn’t object to the explanation. But he didn’t let her walk away, either. With more skill than she might have expected, he took her through the recent events in the bayou, with particular attention to how she had gotten away from Rivers.

Even when the lawman came at her from different angles, she stuck to her story about escaping on her own.

“Are we done?” Dan finally asked.

Morgan wanted to turn the tables and ask the sheriff some questions. She was thinking that Rivers had probably paid the man off. But she figured she’d better keep her mouth shut. She could investigate the sheriff later.

She was relieved when Jarvis said, “We’re finished for now.”

When he had left, Dan turned to her. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Do you think I need you?”

“I think Jarvis is satisfied with your answers.”

They walked back to the kitchen, where Janet was busy washing dishes.

“Frank advised me to get a room in town,” Dan said.

“Oh, he did?” Morgan asked.

“Yes. He said you and Gascon … had some issues. And you probably wouldn’t want me hanging around.”

Morgan didn’t know whether to be grateful or upset that Frank had reported their private conversation to a third party. “How much did he say?” she asked.

“Not much.” He cupped his hand over her shoulder and squeezed warmly. “I can see you don’t need me here now. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

She might have insisted that he stay at the plantation. But in truth, she wanted to talk to Andre—in private.

As soon as Dan and the sheriff had cleared out of the kitchen, she turned to Janet. “Where’s Andre?”

“He washed up, then went out,” the housekeeper answered.

“Out where?”

The woman hesitated. “To his garden patch.”

“Which is where?”

Janet sighed. “I guess you’re not going to allow him any more time.”

“For what?”

The woman gave her a stony look,

“Right, you’re not about to tell me. I have to figure it out for myself.”

Janet gave her a small smile. “You’re learning. Come on, I’ll show you where to find him.”

They stepped outside, and, to her surprise, Morgan saw that the sun was already sinking low in the western sky.

Janet paused and looked at the sunset, then quickened her pace as she led the way across the back lawn.

When they reached the swamp area, Morgan felt her throat close.

She’d gotten into serious trouble out there.

Coming back so soon hadn’t been in her plans.

When Janet glanced back at her, she firmed her jaw and followed.

The housekeeper gestured toward a patch of wild roses. “Back there.” Then she stepped around Morgan and started back to the house.

Morgan watched her leave before walking slowly toward the brambles. As she approached the screen of thorny greenery, she caught a familiar scent—the scent that she had associated with Andre.

Through the rose canes, she saw him dressed in jeans and a dark tee shirt, down on his knees, weeding a patch of low plants that had curly leaves tinged with red.

He was totally focused on his work. The sight of him going about his normal routine made her heart squeeze painfully.

As she stepped closer, he stopped moving, obviously aware that he was being watched.

“It’s a little difficult to talk with a bramble patch between us. How do I get in there?” she asked.

Silently he stood and carefully pulled some rose canes aside, so she could step into the enclosure.

She wanted to reach out toward him, but his posture warned her not to come any closer.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same question.” She breathed in a draft of the humid air, feeling enveloped by the brambles and the scent of the plants—the scent of Andre himself.

Kneeling down, she rubbed her fingers over a curly leaf, then brought it to her nose. “What is this?” she asked sharply, wondering if he would finally tell her the truth.

“What do you think it is?”

“A drug,” she shot back. “But not anything I recognize. Is that how you’re making your money, growing some new illegal substance?”

He laughed. “Is that what you really think?”

“I don’t know! Since you won’t tell me anything. But I saw your pot of leaves on the burner in your bathroom when Jarvis searched the house.”

“Hardly enough to sell on the open market,” he answered, then changed the subject abruptly. “I didn’t thank you for getting Dan Cassidy down here. He’s an excellent lawyer. Without him, I’d be back in custody—at least for the short term.”

“Yes, Dan is good. But we’re not going to talk about him now. We were talking about this plant—and the tea from it that you’re making in your bathroom.”

He signed. “It’s not illegal—as far as I know. And it’s not a drug in the usual sense.”

“Andre, stop playing games with me,” she cried out in frustration. “I’m tired of all the secrets you’re keeping. Just let me in on the punch line.”

He stood up and brushed his hands on his jeans. “Maybe it’s more than you want to know.”

“Try me!” Morgan shouted.

Resignation gripped Andre’s features. He gestured toward the plants. “I told you about the voodoo curse.”

“Yes.”

“This is part of it. I have to stay here at Belle Vista. I have to cultivate these plants, so I’ll have a continual supply of the leaves, because I have to make a tea from them and drink it every day.”

“Or what?” Morgan asked.

“Or I’ll die,” he said in a flat voice. “If you want to call that being addicted, you can. But I’m the only person I know who needs this stuff. Well, my father and my grandfather did.”

She felt her throat clog, but she managed to say, “You’ve tried to do without it?”

“Yes. For a day and a half. I got very sick. You don’t want to hear the details.”

“Maybe I do.”

He looked up, apparently realizing that it was almost dark. Alarm streaked across his face. “I have to go.”

Anger surged inside her. “You always have to go! Just when the conversation is getting interesting. Or maybe I should say—dangerous.”

“You can think about it any way you want,” he muttered, then turned and walked away. “It’s getting dark. And I have to leave. Like I told you before, that’s not exactly my choice.”

“Wait a minute. You can’t just say something like that and disappear.”

“Watch me.”

“Come back here!” she shouted, anger and frustration and fear warring inside hr. “You can’t just walk away from me now.”

He ignored her, shouldering his way through the wild rose canes.

As she watched him stride into the bayou, her anger and frustration bubbled up. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried after him—deeper into the swamp where she’d told herself she didn’t want to go.

When he started running, she shouted after him. “You damn coward.”

He didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he ducked through a tangle of underbrush.

Some part of her knew she should just give up.

Why the hell was she pursuing this man who obviously didn’t want anything to do with her.

Or maybe she should put it differently—a man who was perfectly comfortable getting into a big e-mail correspondence with a woman who attracted him but who couldn’t deal with her in person.

Still, she kept floundering after him, mud splattering up as she crossed a marshy area.

“Go back!” he shouted, running faster, as he sped through the swamp. She was about to give up when her foot sank through the ground into a hole that hadn’t been there moments before, and she made a strangled sound as she went down.