Cursed (Decorah Security #21) - Rebecca York Page 0,33

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.

“You’re neat and organized.”

“That’s bad?”

“It’s admirable.”

“It makes life easier.”

As she watched, he got down several sizes of clippers and a pair of gardening gloves, which he set in the bed of a wheelbarrow.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m going to trim some of the bushes.

“Why?”

“Because I try to do some work in the garden every day. That way, nothing gets out of hand.”

Methodical again. Stepping aside, she watched him steer the wheelbarrow toward the edge of the lawn and debated whether to follow.

She doubted she was going to get any more information out of him at the moment—unless it was about plants and flowers. So, she said, “I’ll see you at dinner,” and headed back to the house.

###

Andre watched Morgan depart, then waited to make certain she wasn’t going to change her mind and come back.

When he was sure he was alone, he wheeled the equipment across the lawn—and under the trees. He’d made a hedge of wild roses to keep animals and people out of his private garden. But he knew how to weave his way past the thorns. Inside were beds where he cultivated plants he’d found in the bayou and brought to a spot near the house.

He always felt a little anxious when he approached this place. The low-growing plants with their curly red-edged leaves had assumed a frightening importance in his life. Once when the temperature had dropped below freezing, his entire supply had been wiped out. He’d had to comb the bayou for more—and he’d been in a panic until he’d found them.

Now Morgan’s bag of cigarette butts had him worried that someone might stumble in here. With a grimace, he squatted down, inspecting his stock. They were doing well, including the new transplants.

He snipped some yellowing foliage off one of the mature specimens, then cut several new green leaves. Lifting them to his face, he drank in the familiar, earthy aroma. An aroma he knew had invaded the pores of his body.

Later he would take them back to the small lab area in his bathroom and cook them up—making sure his supply of the tea he made from them didn’t run out.

For now, he tucked the clippings into a small carry bag. Then he headed back to the manicured area near the house, where his father had planted a bank of forsythia. They grew like weeds, and the only way he could keep them in check was to cut them back every few months.

He worked steadily, selecting canes that could be thinned and clipping off runners that had crept out from the mature plants. Most of those were rooted, and he hated to throw them away. But he’d learned that an orderly garden meant a ruthless gardener.

He kept his focus on the work. And he managed not to think about Sheriff Jarvis. But Morgan kept creeping back into his mind.

He had thought he knew what to expect when he contacted Decorah Security and asked specifically for Morgan Kirkland. He hadn’t known that she wasn’t great at following directions. She made her own decisions, sometimes too impulsively—like tramping off into the bayou.

His heart had stopped when he’d seen her come out from under the trees—and known that she could have gotten into big trouble.

He wasn’t used to dealing with someone like her. In truth, he wasn’t used to dealing with anyone besides Janet on a daily basis.

Probably he was too set in his ways. And unrealistic.

In the face of conflict, his natural tendency had always been to withdraw. Like when the kids at school had teased hm about his weird old man.

At the moment, he was thinking about telling Janet that he wouldn’t be coming down to dinner. Then he reminded himself that avoiding Morgan would be a mistake—even when she made him uncomfortable. He needed to get to know her better. And hiding in his room wasn’t the way to do that. So, he dumped the forsythia canes into the compost pile before methodically putting his tools away and going in to start brewing his special tea before taking a shower and changing his clothing.

###

Because Morgan had never felt comfortable being waited on, she arrived in the kitchen a little early and asked what she could