Page 31 of Cursed
That image of Ms. Kirkland flailing around in the water, getting dragged down to the muddy bottom was comforting. Little Miss Librarian—if that’s what she really was—didn’t know what she’d gotten into when she’d taken a job with Andre Gascon. She couldn’t imagine the dangers lurking in the wilderness surrounding his nice green lawn and that house he was so proud of.
Was she dumb enough to come out of the house at night? Maybe there was some way to lure her out here. And then the sheriff could find her in the morning—clawed to death.
That would serve her right for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
Once again, Morgan tried to shake off the creepy feeling that she wasn’t alone out here. Turning in all directions, she searched the underbrush but saw nothing. She should go back, but maybe she could make a quick trip to the island first.
As she stepped up on the makeshift bridge, she looked down at the brown water and froze. A smaller fallen log floated near the bank. Only, it didn’t look quite right. The observation was confirmed when it raised an elongated head, gave her what looked like a hopeful glance, and then opened a mouth full of sharp teeth.
Instinctively, she jumped back onto the muddy ground. That was no log. It was an alligator, waiting for someone to fall—or get pushed—into the water.
Nervously, she looked back over her shoulder, suddenly aware that she’d come pretty far into the swamp, far enough to lose sight of the place where the wilderness ended and the garden began.
Damn! She wanted a replacement for her gun. And maybe a compass. She didn’t know this part of the country, and the green and brown landscape gave no clue to her location.
“Stupid,” she muttered. But she did know one thing. She had come along the bayou, and when she looked down at the ground, she could see her footprints in the mud.
Feeling like she’d made a very fortunate escape, she followed her own trail back along the bank, then found the spot where her footprints veered off—toward the house.
Quickly she hurried toward the gardens—then stopped short when she spotted Andre standing near the edge of the trees, with his hands wedged on his hips. His face was grim, but she forced herself to walk directly toward him, then stopped several feet away.
What was he angry about, exactly? Had he spotted her near the island and been worried that she’d find something he wanted to keep hidden?
He bolstered her suspicion with his clipped question. “I don’t want you tramping around outside the garden area by yourself.”
“Why not?”
“It’s dangerous!”
For you or me?she wanted to ask, but she kept her own counsel.
“What were you doing out there?”
“Looking for evidence,” she answered immediately.
“Of what?”
She raised her chin. “I found the spot where the voodoo priestess was standing last night.”
“I know where she was!” he snapped.
“And do you know who else has been out there in the underbrush?”
He stiffened. “Nobody!”
“You’re wrong. Unless she smokes cigarettes.” Holding up the plastic bag, she displayed what she’d found earlier.
As he stared at the contents, his eyes widened. “Where did those come from?”
“Not too far from where the priestess had been standing.”
“That explains it,” he muttered.
“Explains what.”
“Why I didn’t find them.”
She regarded him steadily. “What does she have to do with it?”
