Page 34 of Cursed
“Well, I appreciate your filling me in on town politics,” she said.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it politics.”
“How would you phrase it?”
“Like I said—bad blood.”
“The Hatfields and the McCoys? Do the Sonniers and the Gascons shoot each other?”
“It hasn’t come to that,” Jarvis muttered. Taking out a business card, he handed it to her. “If you have any problems, give me a call.”
“I certainly will.”
When he climbed in his car and drove away, she and Andre both sighed with relief.
“Nice guy. Has his family been here for generations, too?”
“As a matter of fact—no. He came to St. Germaine when the town was looking to upgrade their police force. He’s well trained, but I guess he bought into the stories he heard about me.”
She nodded, because she had to agree.
“You were good at handling him,” Andre said.
“I’ve had experience with men like him.”
“Which is?”
“Suspicious. Anxious to pin something on you. Guys who get off on being an authority figure so they can throw their weight around.” She sighed. “And men who think they’re better than any woman.”
“A good description.” He looked up and apparently saw that the sun was low in the western sky. “We generally have an early dinner, around six, at this time of year.”
“And then you’re going to disappear and be unavailable, the way you did last night?” she asked, hearing the edge in her voice.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Yes,” Andre clipped out. “That’s a given.”
Morgan kept her gaze on his face. “And another one of the factors that you forgot to mention when you hired me for this job.”
His features closed up. “Sorry. Maybe you should take the sheriff’s advice and leave.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she shot back.
While they’d been talking to Jarvis, she’d felt herself and Andre drawing closer, forming a solid front in the face of the lawman’s hostility. The feeling of connection had snapped again—replaced with mistrust.
She wasn’t sure what to say. Apparently, neither was he. After several seconds of silence, he turned and started back across the lawn.
She thought he was going into the house, but he veered off toward a clump of azalea bushes.
He hadn’t invited her to follow, but she did anyway, curious about where he was headed.
When she got closer, she saw that the large azaleas hid a garden shed, painted green and brown to blend in with the landscape.
He took out a key and unlocked a padlock holding the door closed. She stopped just outside, marveling at the interior. The walls were covered with pegboard on which garden tools were hung with military precision.
There was a place for everything, with everything neatly put away. She shook her head as she compared his system to the jumble inside her own garage. And she shuddered when she thought about what he’d say about the junk piled in her spare room.
“What?” he demanded.
