Page 38 of One Last Regret

"Of course, I don't feel all right," I snap. "I've been here for a week, and already I've seen a man die in front of me, watched all four members of this family have a nervous breakdown, watched the maidservant have a breakdown and then quit, and nearly lost the children during Mardi Gras."

I realize what I’ve said, and my eyes widen. Damn it! He tricked me!

“Yes, I heard about that. Amelia tells me that when Gabriel wandered off, she tried to get your attention, but you just stood still and watched a street performance like you were hypnotized by it. Her words.”

The blood drains from my face. She never tells me this. I swallow and say, “It was a serious oversight to bring them to Mardi Gras.”

“I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, Mary. As I said, I believe you are the most stable influence in the children’s lives right now. But these are two very young, very vulnerable minds we’re talking about. There’s no shame in admitting it if you don’t feel you can protect them.”

“I am quite capable of performing my job duties, thank you,” I reply.

“Do you have lapses in your memory, Mary?” he asks. “Any periods of lost time or sleepwalking?”

I stand abruptly. “Thank you, Doctor. This conversation is over.”

“Do you feel it? Can you hear it, Mary?”

I flinch and take a step back. “Excuse me? What the hell—”

My phone rings. I blink and find Dr. Yarrow looking at me with wide, concerned eyes. His hands grip the edge of the table as though he’s preparing to push himself away should I attack him. It disturbs me how much the thought of attacking him pleases me.

I take a deep breath and say, “I have to take this call. Thank you for your time, Doctor. Unless it directly concerns the children, I don’t think there’s a need for us to speak again.”

I step into the foyer and pull my phone out. The grandfather clock picks that moment to chime because why not? I cry out and drop my phone, and the only reason I don’t shout a curse is because I don’t need to give Dr. Busybody yet another reason to call for a padded van and a straitjacket for me.

I pick the phone up and answer. “Yes, who is it?”

“Just me, Mary. Jeez. Is everything all right?”

I sigh. “No, Sean, not really.”

His voice instantly shifts to concern. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. I just… Just tell me why you called.”

“I have some information about that pianist, Jacques Poitier.”

My eyes widen. “Oh?”

“Yes. I looked him up. It turns out that his mother, Genevive, was a well-known spiritualist in New Orleans during the sixties.”

“I see. And by spiritualist, you mean?”

“I mean voodoo priestess. Crystal ball and everything.”

“I believe that is considered Gypsy magic.”

“Whatever. Don’t be pedantic. My point is that there appears to be some truth to the rumor that Jacques Poitier cursed Marcel. Not the composition. There’s no record of that. But he cursed Marcel. Well,hedidn’t, but he spoke about a curse. Not that I believe in that, but—”

“Get to thepoint, Sean.”

“Jacques Poitier died thirty years ago. On his deathbed, he said he’d spoken to his mother, and his mother said that soon, Marcel would meet a beautiful woman, tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes.”

My jaw goes slack. “What?”

“Yes. And this woman would carry a curse that would be the downfall of his family.”

Dr. Yarrow enters the room. I blink and say, “Thank you, darling, I’ll talk to you later.”

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