Cursed (Decorah Security #21) - Rebecca York Page 0,31

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?”

For a moment he looked like a boy who has been caught telling lies. Then his mouth firmed. “I told you, she’s given herself a protective charm. So, I stay away from the area where she’s been. Which is why I didn’t see that stuff.”

“And what exactly does the charm do—to you?”

He glared at her. “If I get close to her—or where she’s been—my throat closes up. Like someone with anaphylactic shock.”

She made a strangled sound. “Really?”

“Yeah, really!”

He walked closer and inspected the plastic bags in her hand. “Too bad whoever left these didn’t drop a set of keys or a wallet.”

The sound of a car in the driveway made them both turn. From the side of the house where they stood, she could see a black and white patrol car rolling to a stop.

As a tall, solidly built man climbed out, Andre cursed under his breath. “Sheriff Marlon Jarvis has thought of an excuse to pay us a call.”

“Old Razorback,” she said, recalling the name Andre had given the lawman.

He laughed. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

She watched Andre deliberately relax his shoulders, then stiffen again as he looked toward the plastic bag she held. “Merde.”

“What now?”

“If he sees that and figures it’s significant, he’ll confiscate it.”

“Not to worry.” Morgan took a step to the side, then lowered her arm along her leg, letting the bags slip to the ground behind a gnarled trunk.

“Thank you,” Andre murmured.

“No problem.”

Silently, they started in the direction of the drive.

The sheriff stood on the blacktop, staring toward them. He looked like a classic example of a small-town lawman, with a blue uniform, high trooper boots and a broad-brimmed hat. As they drew closer, she saw that his face was broad and ruddy, his features a bit coarse. Probably he was in his late forties or early fifties. The extra flesh on his frame and the tense way he stood told her where Andre had gotten the nickname.

“Afternoon,” he said in an even voice. Then, addressing Morgan, he said, “I’m Sheriff Jarvis.”

“Morgan Kirkland,” she supplied without offering her hand.

“Afternoon,” Andre said, using the same noncommittal tone as Jarvis. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” he asked, although they all knew that the encounter wasn’t likely to be enjoyable.

“Just making sure everything is okay.”

“Everything is fine,” Andre clipped out.

Jarvis turned to Morgan. “You stopped in town yesterday afternoon and asked directions to Belle Vista, Miss Kirkland.”

“Mrs.,” she corrected immediately.

He looked surprised.

“My husband was killed in Afghanistan.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It was several years ago.” she answered, knowing her loss was a good way to make most people uncomfortable.

She could tell she had succeeded with Old Razorback. But she also knew he wasn’t going away until he was good and ready. He waited a beat before saying, “Your car was towed back to town this morning. The driver said there was evidence of a flash flood on the road.”

“Yes, there was. It was lucky that Mr. Gascon was worried when I didn’t show up on time and came looking for me,” she said, unconsciously drawing closer to him.

“Yes, lucky,” the sheriff repeated as though he was taking her assessment under advisement.

She thought about mentioning the two men who had followed her. But they would just bring up the issue of the jaguar that had scared them off. And she sensed that getting into a discussion about the cat would be a bad idea. Probably, at this point, the less she said to this man, the better. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Did you get a report on my car?”

“No.”

“Something was wrong with the brakes. I was having trouble controlling the vehicle. I thought it strange that it happened not long after I stopped at the service station in town.”

“Are you implying something?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said evenly.

“Funny thing,” he said. “About that flash flood. Your car was found on the side nearest town. How did you get across?”

She might have asked if he thought she’d flown over the water on a broomstick. Instead, she said, “I was looking for ferns or something to put under my wheels—to get me out of the ditch. So, I was out of the car when