she asked, “Did you put that robe in with the items for the church sale?”
Janet shook her head. “I may have. I . . . don’t honestly know.”
“Maybe we have to chalk it up to magic—good magic,” Morgan answered.
“Yes,” the housekeeper agreed.
“One more question—did you rake away the jaguar prints from a few nights ago?”
This time, the housekeeper looked contrite, then gave a small nod.
“Why?”
“I didn’t want you to see them.”
“I understand,” Morgan murmured.
“Come inside. I made some more of those cinnamon buns,” Janet said, changing the subject abruptly, and Morgan decided not to make an issue of anything that had happened over the past few days.
When they walked into the kitchen, they found Dan Cassidy sitting at the table polishing off one of the buns.
Morgan stared at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking up on you,” he said easily, looking her up and down. “And it seems that I can give Frank a positive report.”
“Yes.” Because she was feeling a little unsteady on her feet, she dropped into a chair. Andre remained standing.
“So—are you coming back to Beltsville or staying here?” Dan asked.
Her gaze shot to Andre. “We haven’t talked about that yet.”
“Well, you’ve worked two solid years without a vacation. I think you’ve got at least six weeks to decide what you want to do.”
Dan looked at Andre. “I think you’re good for her. Just stay out of trouble with the law, okay.”
“I’ll try my best,” he answered.
###
Dan left after breakfast.
Morgan could see Andre was restless. And she knew that he wouldn’t feel entirely free of the curse until after dark. To give him some space, she said she was worn out, which was true, and went off to take a nap.
When she woke, she found she’d slept away most of the day. Looking out the window, she saw Andre working in the garden. His refuge.
After taking a shower, she put on a sundress and sandals and a little makeup before going down to consult Janet. Then she made a phone call.
Andre stopped working as she approached him, eyeing the sun, which was now low in the western sky.
“I made us dinner reservations in town,” she said.
His features immediately clouded. “I never eat in town.”
“Well, I’d like to try it tonight. Why don’t you go shower and change?”
He hesitated for a moment, still looking uncomfortable. Finally, his expression became resigned. “All right,” he said in a low voice.
“We should leave in about forty minutes,” she told him.
But as she waited on the sun porch, she felt her own tension mounting.
Andre stepped onto the porch at the appointed time, looking wonderful in white button-down shirt and dark slacks. But she saw that he wasn’t exactly relaxed.
“Let’s go. If you like, I can drive,” she said.
He nodded, but he looked like he wanted to back out.
She had timed their departure carefully. The sun was a red ball of flame just above the trees as they headed toward St. Germaine. Andre sat with his hands clasped tightly in his lap, the knuckles white. And he kept glancing at the door as though he was ready to leap out of the car if he had to.
She wanted to reach out and cover his hands with hers. She wanted to tell him that everything had changed. Because she suspected he wouldn’t believe her yet, she simply kept driving.
As the sun disappeared, he shuddered, his face rigid, his eyes focused on the windshield.
As twilight descended over the bayou, she heard him make a muffled sound. When she turned to him, she saw tears trickling down his cheeks.
She pulled to the shoulder, slammed the car into park and reached for him. He came into her arms, and she held him, feeling his shoulders shake.
“I couldn’t . . . I . . . didn’t. . .”
“I know. I know,” she murmured as she held him, stroking his back, combing her fingers through his dark hair. “You couldn’t believe it until dark. But it’s all over now. It’s really all over.”
He fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief and blew his nose. “I’m acting like a child.”
“No. You’re just being emotional. I’m glad that you can be. You were so rigid, so controlled.”
“I had to be.”
“I know.”
He clasped her tightly, kissed her.
She drove the rest of the way into town, slowing as she passed Yvonne’s house. The lights were off, and the curtains were closed.
“She’s in there,” Andre muttered.
“Or she’s not. But it doesn’t matter to us,” she said, knowing that was another truth he’d have to