Page 77 of Cursed
“It’s a little difficult to talk with a bramble patch between us. How do I get in there?” she asked.
Silently he stood and carefully pulled some rose canes aside, so she could step into the enclosure.
She wanted to reach out toward him, but his posture warned her not to come any closer.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same question.” She breathed in a draft of the humid air, feeling enveloped by the brambles and the scent of the plants—the scent of Andre himself.
Kneeling down, she rubbed her fingers over a curly leaf, then brought it to her nose. “What is this?” she asked sharply, wondering if he would finally tell her the truth.
“What do you think it is?”
“A drug,” she shot back. “But not anything I recognize. Is that how you’re making your money, growing some new illegal substance?”
He laughed. “Is that what you really think?”
“I don’t know! Since you won’t tell me anything. But I saw your pot of leaves on the burner in your bathroom when Jarvis searched the house.”
“Hardly enough to sell on the open market,” he answered, then changed the subject abruptly. “I didn’t thank you for gettingDan Cassidy down here. He’s an excellent lawyer. Without him, I’d be back in custody—at least for the short term.”
“Yes, Dan is good. But we’re not going to talk about him now. We were talking about this plant—and the tea from it that you’re making in your bathroom.”
He signed. “It’s not illegal—as far as I know. And it’s not a drug in the usual sense.”
“Andre, stop playing games with me,” she cried out in frustration. “I’m tired of all the secrets you’re keeping. Just let me in on the punch line.”
He stood up and brushed his hands on his jeans. “Maybe it’s more than you want to know.”
“Try me!” Morgan shouted.
Resignation gripped Andre’s features. He gestured toward the plants. “I told you about the voodoo curse.”
“Yes.”
“This is part of it. I have to stay here at Belle Vista. I have to cultivate these plants, so I’ll have a continual supply of the leaves, because I have to make a tea from them and drink it every day.”
“Or what?” Morgan asked.
“Or I’ll die,” he said in a flat voice. “If you want to call that being addicted, you can. But I’m the only person I know who needs this stuff. Well, my father and my grandfather did.”
She felt her throat clog, but she managed to say, “You’ve tried to do without it?”
“Yes. For a day and a half. I got very sick. You don’t want to hear the details.”
“Maybe I do.”
He looked up, apparently realizing that it was almost dark. Alarm streaked across his face. “I have to go.”
Anger surged inside her. “You always have to go! Just when the conversation is getting interesting. Or maybe I should say—dangerous.”
“You can think about it any way you want,” he muttered, then turned and walked away. “It’s getting dark. And I have to leave. Like I told you before, that’s not exactly my choice.”
“Wait a minute. You can’t just say something like that and disappear.”
“Watch me.”
“Come back here!” she shouted, anger and frustration and fear warring inside hr. “You can’t just walk away from me now.”
