Page 26 of Cursed
“Just thinking about the case,” she managed, then scrambled for another subject. “So, you love books and gardening. How do you make a living?” It was a pretty personal question, but not out of bounds—considering that she was working as an investigator for him.
It seemed he didn’t mind answering. “I inherited a substantial investment portfolio. I studied the market carefully, made some good buys, diversified. I have a pretty good feel for what’s going to do well and what will tank. Sometimes I make a mistake. But my picks are above average. And before the market went down a couple of years ago, I had pulled some of my money out of stocks and shifted them to bonds.”
She nodded, impressed. Her own family was middle class. Her father had been a mail carrier with his government retirement his only investment. Her mom had been a grocery clerk. If she hadn’t won a scholarship, she probably wouldn’t have gone to college. What she knew about finances would fit into a teacup, but she did have some guesses about the upkeep on a large estate.
She looked around. “Doesn’t it take a considerable amount of capital to keep Belle Vista in such beautiful shape?”
“Yes, even when I do most of the work myself. I’ve been tempted to sell off some of my land, but I’ve always been able to keep going without turning to that alternative.”
“The land is important to you?”
“It’s my heritage,” he said simply. He was shifting the books on the table, but his eyes were focused on the scene outside. When he drew in a strangled breath, she followed his gaze. “What?”
Without answering, he strode to the door, unlocked it and leaped outside—then hurried to a spot about halfway across the patio.
She followed him, stopping short when he squatted down to examine something.
Resting on the bricks was an object that made her breath catch. The thing looked like evil personified—a sticky mass of tar, with stuff studding the surface. She saw orange animal hairs, seeds, strands of grass, and a glass ball that looked like a marble. The whole mass was elongated, and if she squinted when she looked at it, she could see the shape of an animal. A cat?
“Did you leave this here?” she asked.
His gaze shot to her face. “You think this is mine? Why would I put something disgusting on my own patio?”
“I don’t know … to scare me,” she heard herself saying.
“Scaring you was never my intention,” he said in a strained voice. “I’m sorry you think so.”
She struggled to rein in emotions that were rapidly getting out of control. “Okay, maybe somebody left it to make me wonder about your motives.”
“That’s a theory,” he muttered. “Why would they leave it out here? This is my daily view—not yours.”
“But I’m supposed to be working in the library,” she pointed out as she gestured toward the wicked looking thing. “What is it?”
“Gris-gris,” he answered evenly, obviously making an effort to get control of himself as he took out a pocket handkerchief, picked up the blob and laid it on the table.
She stood up, too. “What exactly is gris-gris?”
“A voodoo charm.”
She peered at the blob in the handkerchief. “Not a love charm, I take it,” she whispered.
“Hardly.”
When she reached out to touch the thing, his hand whipped out to pull hers back. “Leave it alone.”
“Why?”
“For all I know, she could have dipped it in the toilet—or worse— before putting it here.”
She snatched her hand away. “Her? You think the voodoo priestess left this here?”
“Who else?”
“Somebody who wants you to think it was her. Someone else in town. A relative of the murder victims. Or one of the merchants who thinks the murders have affected business.
He sighed. “I suppose that could be an explanation.”
“But you don’t think so.”
