Page 70 of Cursed
Janet gave her a long look. “I guess I have to assume you haven’t gone off the deep end of the dock.”
“I hope not.”
The housekeeper nodded. “I was planning to have a roast for dinner. I’m certainly not going to serve it to those deputies—if they’re hanging around.”
“I believe I can put it to better use.” Morgan took the meat from the refrigerator, relieved that the housekeeper wasn’t asking more pointed questions. Sliding the roast into a plastic grocery bag, she stuffed the whole thing into her knapsack, then stepped into the humid afternoon. Her first stop was the potting shed, where she snatched up the long pruning pole designed for snipping off tree branches that were too high to reach from the ground.
Then she lifted a heavy bolt cutter off its hook. If the deputies were on the property when she got back, she might have to leave the cutters in the swamp. And that would probably make Andre angry when he came back.
When he came back. A sob snuck up on her, and she struggled to keep it locked behind her lips as she hurried out of the shed and closed the door behind her.
With her equipment in tow, she made for the swampy area beyond the lawn, heading toward the small river that had stopped her progress into the swamp the first day she’d explored the estate.
She stepped into the shadows under the trees, feeling the temperature of the humid air dropping several degrees as she walked into the shade. She’d intended to go directly to the island, instead she hesitated for a moment, then detoured in the direction of the road. When she was well into the tangle of underbrush, she called out softly, “Andre? Are you there? Andre?”
She held her breath, listening for an answer—or for the sound of leaves crackling. But the swamp was silent except for the sound of insects buzzing.
“Why did you run?” she asked.
Again, only the insects answered.
“It must have been for a good reason—otherwise you wouldn’t have taken the chance,” she said, hoping she could convince him that she was on his side.
Nobody replied. She might have been talking to herself, and she wanted to scream in frustration. Frank was right; she had become emotionally involved in a very short period of time. After two years of feeling dead—she was finally alive again.
“Don’t you trust me?” she demanded, her temper rising. Then she told herself that getting mad at him wasn’t going to do either one of them any good. And really, he could be miles from here and totally unable to hear her.
But she gave the conversation one more try. “I brought a bolt cutter. At least let me cut your handcuffs apart,” she offered.
When the silence lengthened, she sighed and walked back toward the river.
The sun had gone behind a cloud. Below the thick canopy of trees, the bayou was dark and forbidding. A shiver traveled over her skin as she looked down at the dark water.
Her friend the alligator was waiting near the makeshift bridge, looking log-like and innocent. But she wasn’t fooled. She had seen him in action before.
Opening her knapsack, she took out the roast Janet had given her, then pulled off the plastic covering. When she held it over the water, the alligator stirred.
“Come and get your dinner,” she called, waving the meat, then tossing it into the water. It landed with a splash, and immediately the alligator went after it, diving below the surface in search of her offering.
From the creature’s behavior, she knew that whoever had been coming to the island had been feeding the gator—keeping it here to do guard duty.
Well, now the guard dog was otherwise engaged.
A satisfied smile flickered around her lips as she stepped up onto the log. The pole she’d used the first time had been too short. But this one was long enough to work. She set it carefully into the water, then took a step forward, before moving the pole to the next spot. She knew what to expect—on the log and below the surface of the water. And since she didn’t have to worry about the alligator, she could focus on what she was doing.
Using the longer pole and relying on the traction of her hiking boots, she worked her way slowly but surely across the log. It was still slippery. But her preparations had paid off. After five nerve- racking minutes, she reached the island and breathed out a sigh of relief.
She had made it.
Carefully she set down her balance pole—then straightened. Standing on the island gave her a strangely creepy feeling.
Was she alone here?
Looking down, she saw definite boot prints in the mud. Someone had been to this place recently. Not just once, but several times, since there were overlapping prints in the muck.
She looked back toward the far shore. The distance from the opposite bank wasn’t really all that great. But over on the island, she felt isolated from the rest of the world. Which was why whoever had been over here had used the place, she told herself.
She took in a breath of soggy air. She’d been outside only a few minutes, but the leather jacket and bulletproof vest were making perspiration pour down her body.
