lamp on a marble- topped chest. She was craning her neck, looking up at the floating staircase when the sound of footsteps made her jerk around. She saw Andre striding rapidly toward the back of the house, disappearing into the darkness at the rear of the hall.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
He left her standing where she was. Alone and a bit confused.
She waited for him to come back. But as the seconds ticked by, she figured that wasn’t going to happen.
What was wrong with him? Had he undergone a personality transplant since their e-mails? Or had he carefully hidden the real Andre Gascon from her? Or did he deal with people better long distance? Was that it?
Because she couldn’t simply stand where she was, she finally started toward the back of the house. Daylight was fading quickly. And there were no windows in the hall. The farther she got from the side lights framing the front door, the more difficult it became to see where she was going.
Then a door in front of her suddenly opened, and the blast of light made her gasp.
Someone else made a startled sound, then stopped short.
“Is that you, Ms. Kirkland?”
“Yes.”
A light snapped on, and she found herself facing a short, gray-haired woman wearing a flowered housedress over her thin body. She looked to be in her early sixties. “Are you Janet Laveren, Mr. Gascon’s housekeeper?” she asked.
“Yes.” The woman spoke slowly, clearly looking Morgan up and down in surprise. “Well, bless your heart. You look a sight. Why are you wearing that robe?”
“I know I look a bit—odd,” Morgan answered, running her hand through her hair. It was stiff from the water, and she hated to think about the picture she made. “I . . . I was caught in a flash flood. Mr. Gascon rescued me.”
“Thank the Lord!”
“Yes.” Her hand fluttered. “Most of my clothes were swept away by the current. So . . . Mr. Gascon dug this out of a bag of donations he was taking to a church sale.”
Feeling like she was babbling, but unable to stop herself, Morgan went on quickly, “I wanted to get my suitcase out of the car. But the water blocked the road, and my car was on the other side. Then Mr. Gascon said we had to get back here before dark.”
“He would,” Janet agreed.
“Where did he go?”
The housekeeper hesitated for a moment. “He’s never available at night,” she finally said.
“Why?”
“This is his private time.”
“Oh,” was all Morgan could dredge up. She wanted to tell Janet Laveren that Mr. Gascon was turning out to be a pretty strange man. But that hardly seemed like the way to start the relationship with the only other person who lived in the plantation house.
The woman’s voice softened. “It sounds like you had a close call.”
“Yes.”
The housekeeper was inspecting her closely. “Your hair is shorter than hers,” she murmured, “But your eyes are the right color.”
“Who?”
“Sorry,” she said quickly, “I’m old, and my mind starts to wander. I’m glad you’re all right. I was told to expect you today. Then, when it got late and you didn’t show up, I didn’t know if you were still coming.”
“Well, I’m here now,” Morgan answered automatically, touching her hair, wanting to go back to the previous few moments of conversation. But she suspected she wasn’t going to get Janet to tell her what she was talking about. The woman might be old, but her gaze was piercing.
Raising her chin, Morgan went on with her own explanation. “I was hired to catalogue the books in the library for Mr. Gascon,” she added, giving the cover story she’d used in town.
The woman’s gaze remained steady. “You don’t have to give me that story, child. I know why you’re really here. Andre and I discussed it.”
“Oh,” Morgan managed. Gascon hadn’t told her anyone else knew about their real arrangement. But apparently, he’d taken Janet into his confidence.
“I have some seafood stew waiting on the back of the stove. You told Andre you liked it.”
“Yes,” she murmured.
In fact, she and Andre had talked about food in their correspondence. She knew he loved the spicy Cajun dishes his housekeeper made. And she’d been looking forward to trying them.
She let the woman lead her down the hall. As soon as they stepped through a swinging door into the kitchen, a delicious aroma filled the air.
“It smells wonderful,” she murmured.
“I know you must be worn out. Please sit down.” The woman gestured toward a square wooden table that