Page 14 of Cursed
In fact, she and Andre had talked about food in their correspondence. She knew he loved the spicy Cajun dishes his housekeeper made. And she’d been looking forward to trying them.
She let the woman lead her down the hall. As soon as they stepped through a swinging door into the kitchen, a delicious aroma filled the air.
“It smells wonderful,” she murmured.
“I know you must be worn out. Please sit down.” The woman gestured toward a square wooden table that looked like a restored antique—unless it was an expensive reproduction.
Morgan dropped into one of the pressed back chairs and looked around. The table might be antique, but everything else was brand new. The large room was lined with cherry cabinets. The countertops were a beautifully polished granite. And the restaurant-grade range was stainless steel, matching the refrigerator and the dishwasher.
Janet ladled thick red stew over fluffy white rice, then brought the bowl to the table.
“Thank, you,” Morgan said, spooning up some of the dinner and blowing to cool it down before taking a bite.
Janet was standing watching her, pleating the edge of her apron with her hand. “How is it?”
“Delicious.” Morgan smiled, trying to put them both at ease and thinking that praising the woman’s cooking was a good way to ingratiate herself. She was hoping Janet would be a good source of information. Or was she too loyal to Andre Gascon to be entirely honest?
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Tea. If that’s not too much trouble.”
“Oh no. Regular black tea? Or herbal?”
“Regular is fine.”
The woman bustled to the sink, drew water, and set a kettle on the stove. Then she got out a box of tea bags—English imports, Morgan noted.
“So how long have you worked for Mr. Gascon?” Morgan asked.
“Since he was a little boy.”
Morgan nodded. After eating another spoonful of soup, she asked, “So I guess you’re worried about what’s been going on in the swamp—and the way the town is blaming the incidents on Mr. Gascon.”
“The town is making a mistake,” she snapped. “But the problem in the bayou will sort itself out.” To punctuate the statement, the kettle began to whistle, and Janet snatched it off the burner, then poured hot water over a tea bag.
“Sugar? Lemon? Cream?” she asked.
“Maybe just sugar,” Morgan decided, hoping sweetened tea might soothe her.
She had taken a couple of sips when a bloodcurdling roar from outside made her go rigid. Her hand shook, and tea slopped into her saucer. Her gaze shot to Janet. Both of them had gone absolutely still, staring at each other across eight feet of suddenly charged space.
Morgan spoke first. “What was that?” she managed, thinking that her nerves of steel were being tested again.
“An animal in the swamp,” Janet answered, her voice only the smallest bit shaky.
The answer wasn’t good enough, not when goose bumps peppered Morgan’s arms. “What animal?” she pressed.
“I don’t know. I mean, Mr. Gascon and his father before him warned me to stay inside at night.”
Morgan sat at the table, her breath shallow, as she waited to hear the roar again. When the silence lengthened, she gave Janet a direct look. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened on my way from the airport. Before I arrived here, I stopped in St. Germaine to get gas. After I left town, some men from the gas station ran me off the road. That was how I happened to get caught in that flash flood.”
“Oh, my word!”
“Before the flood, an animal came padding out of the swamp and chased the men away. Well, not chased them, to be perfectly accurate. They saw him and ran.”
“What animal?”
“A jaguar.”
