Page 67 of Cursed
“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.”
