Page 37 of Cursed
Morgan pushed her chair away from the table and started to follow him. Janet jumped up and grabbed her arm. “Let him go.”
“Where?”
The woman gave her a fierce look, then made an effort to relax her features. “Out,” she said, making it clear that she wasn’t going to answer any more questions about Andre’s strange behavior.
Snatching his plate from the table, she carried it to the counter, covered it with plastic wrap and stuck it in the refrigerator.
Morgan wavered for a minute. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll go up. Thank you for a delicious dinner.”
“You don’t have to leave—just because he did.”
She debated staying in the kitchen and trying some other question on the housekeeper. She had the feeling she’d be wasting her time—since both of them were now on edge. So, she repeated her thanks, left the room, and headed for the stairs. Before she got there, she changed her mind and went back to the library. Switching on the lights, she scanned the shelves, amazed all over again by the wide variety of subjects—especiallynow that she knew that Andre’s higher education came from this library.
He ran an estate. Managed his investments. Did his own gardening, landscaping and home remodeling.
Unconsciously, she found herself comparing him to her husband. Trevor had been wound up with his job. Most of their conversation had been about their assignments.
Andre seemed to be the complete opposite. He was wound up with what DIY shows might call “nesting.” A lot of women would consider him an excellent catch. Except that there was something strange about him. He had secrets. And he kept disappearing at inopportune times.
Why? Was he a drunk or a drug addict? Was that where he went at night—to drink himself into a stupor or drown his pain in chemical remedies? Or was he mentally ill?
Suddenly she remembered a conversation she’d once had with the mother of a friend who worked in a nursing home. There were some old people she’d called—what was it?” Morgan thought for a minute. “Sundowners.” That was the term for the residents who seemed okay during the day. But as soon as the sun went down, they wigged out. She didn’t know why that was true. Could it apply to someone Andre’s age?
She clenched and unclenched her fists, hating the way her thoughts were branching off into strange speculation. If Andre had only been honest with her, she could stop making up answers to the questions spinning around in her head. He’d gotten her to trust him enough to come down here. Now she was wondering if she should have been more cautious.
She was angry by the time she reached the top of the stairs. The thought crossed her mind that maybe she should stroll down the hall and start opening doors. She could find his room and wait for him to come back. But that would be a clear invasion of his privacy. And she wasn’t going to do that—untilshe had exhausted other means of getting the information she needed to make sensible value judgments about him.
Instead, she walked slowly to her own room, stepped inside, and closed the door. Without turning on the light, she crossed the floor and looked out the window, her gaze searching the area under the trees where the voodoo priestess had put on her show the night before.
As far as Morgan could see, no one was there, and she breathed out a little sigh. Then a flash of movement caught her eye. Something stirred the shadows—fifty yards from where the woman had been standing the night before. She couldn’t tell what, but it didn’t look like a man. Or if it was a man, he was on his hands and knees.
She leaned toward the window, trying to get a better look, but the darkness under the trees frustrated her efforts to figure out what she was seeing. The thing moved closer. She saw a large elongated head, pointed ears, a low, lithe body covered with orange fur and black spots.
As the animal moved along the edge of the open area, its image solidified into a shape she had seen before, and a strangled sound rose in her throat.
It was a jaguar. The same one she had seen on the road—or his cousin.
There it had been out in the wild. Now it was right here—at Belle Vista.
The closed window and fifty yards separated her from the animal. But its hearing must have been excellent. It raised its head, the yellow eyes instantly finding and pinning her. Her breath caught in her throat as the animal stared at her, and she stared back.
The mottled tail lashed back and forth, the way a house cat would signal its anger. But this was no little tabby. This was awild animal with claws and teeth that could rip a man’s skin to shreds.
As the cat stared directly at her, goose bumps rose on her skin. For heartbeats, she and the animal stood facing each other as though there were some kind of supernatural connection between them. The jaguar took a step back and another.
She had been frightened. Now she had to stifle the need to open the window and tell him to wait.
It was a strange impulse. A dangerous impulse. Yet she felt a deep sense of loss as the cat disappeared into the shadows, leaving her alone at the window.
She stood at the window for several minutes. In the darkness, the jaguar howled—a long lonely sound that pierced her like a sharp blade.
Quickly she reached up and pulled the curtains closed. He couldn’t see her now. And neither could the voodoo priestess.
With deliberate steps, she crossed to the night table and turned on the light. The warm glow was comforting.
Now that she was alone, she couldn’t help wondering if the jaguar had been real—or if she had made him up.
She didn’t know, but suddenly she felt cold all over. In the bathroom, she turned on the shower, waited until the water heated, then stepped under the hot spray, letting it pound against her back and shoulder, soothing her jangled nerves.
