Mist on the Meadow (2 page)

The café quickly filled with customers.
Marissa looked at the clock when Noah arrived to start his shift at
eight and returned to the kitchen to concentrate on the day’s
orders. By nine-thirty, the crowd had thinned out, and Uncle Balt
was still seated in the corner booth, his head against the back of
the seat and his eyes closed.

Marissa’s mother walked out of the kitchen, a
rag in her hands. “Do you want me to wipe tables for you?”

“I’m going to have to put you on the
payroll,” Marissa replied. Her mother had already made the rounds
in the dining room at least once.

“Well, with Becky not being here and all,”
she looked across to Uncle Balt, “and he wouldn’t leave until he’d
had a chance to talk to you.”

“He couldn’t wait until later? Maybe over
dinner?”

“I expect he had some sort of ‘feeling’ about
your accident and wanted to make sure you were okay.” Her mother
shrugged. “You know how he gets.”

“Should I wake him?”

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Do you really
think you need to?”

Marissa cast another glance at Uncle Balt,
who crooked a finger at her to join him.

“Silly question,” she said. She squeezed her
mother’s hand and walked over to Uncle Balt’s booth. As she sat
down, he leaned across and took hold of her forearm.

“Tell me about the quiet moment,” he said
with a grin.

He’d been the one to point out the quiet
moments when she was young. “I saw a five-point buck, standing in
the meadow, his breath making clouds in the cold morning air.”

Uncle Balt closed his eyes and smiled. “As if
he wanted to speak with you. Beautiful.”

She knew she couldn’t hurry an
eighty-two-year-old man. She waited patiently for him to continue,
the creases in his face deeper than they’d been the last time she’d
seen him. She’d always considered Uncle Balt immortal, but the
years continued to leave their mark.

“You inspire an interesting clientele,” he
said at length.

Marissa smiled. How she’d failed to inherit
even one iota of her great-uncle’s outgoing nature she’d never
understand. The man could talk to anyone.

She loved Uncle Balt, but like Herr
Drosselmeyer in the Nutcracker, he had the ability to unnerve her
with fascinating, yet frightening, gifts.

“Don’t you want to know what I have for you?”
he asked. His gray chevron moustache raised with a smile that
revealed square, yellow teeth.

And like Clara in the Nutcracker, she was at
once excited and hesitant. “I’m a bit old for gifts, don’t you
think?”

“Tsk tsk tsk. Twenty-five this year. Isn’t
that right?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So little time,” he said softly.

“What do you mean?”

He patted her hand. “Old men don’t live
forever, and it’s time I passed along the family secrets.”

Marissa’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you
ill?”

Uncle Balt took stock of himself. “I don’t
think so.”

“Then why are you talking as if you might
die?”

He winked at her. “
Meine Liebling
.
It’s so good of you to worry about me. You could not be more dear
to me if you were my own child.”

“Then answer my question,” she said.

“We must all die sometime.” He pushed himself
to unsteady feet. “Bonnie! I’m ready to go.” Uncle Balt took
Marissa’s hands. “After work, you come to your parents’ house, and
we can go pick up your present.”

“Which you can give me tomorrow, on my
birthday,” she said, worried he was, indeed, hiding an illness.

“I’m afraid this one won’t wait.” He gave
Marissa a quick hug. “Don’t fret your pretty little head. And as
for tomorrow, well, I have something
really
special planned
for that, and for
that
you’ll have to wait.”

* * *

Wolf unlocked the front door of his
grandmother’s house and stepped aside so the lawyer could pass
through. They were greeted by loud purring, and Wolf grimaced as
the cat wound its way around his legs.

“Looks like he’s pretty fond of you. You sure
you want to give him up to that old man?”

“Don’t have the time, or the patience,” Wolf
replied. He pulled the card from his pocket to remember what the
lawyer’s name was. Ethan. Ethan Wilder, III Esq. “Look, Ethan, I’d
like to settle this as quickly as possible. How do I get around the
trusts my grandmother set up for me? I don’t want to be in the
middle of a family battle. My uncle and my cousin are likely to be
pretty riled up that she made me the executor.”

Ethan stared at the crystal chandelier
suspended above the foyer and Wolf swore dollar signs reflected in
the guy’s eyes. How had his grandmother trusted this man?

“Mrs. Harper was quite explicit in her
instructions.” Ethan stroked the walnut wainscoting. “You’ll have
to wait at least three months, after you’ve engaged a
Kundigerin,
before you can list the house for sale.”

“And what the hell is a
Kundigerin
?”

The cat did a combination purr and meow,
which sounded more like a chirp, and Wolf reached down to pick him
up.

Ethan shrugged. “She said it meant expert,
but she insisted I use the German nomenclature. She said you’d bump
into one.”

Like he’d bumped into the woman from the café
this morning. If only it was that easy. Wolf rolled his eyes. “How
will I recognize one if I don’t know what a
Kundigerin
is?
And how long do I have to wait, do you suppose?” He stroked the
cat’s ears and the cat nuzzled against Wolf’s chest.

“She seemed pretty certain that you’d find
one. In any event, there’s a sealed codicil to be opened in three
months that should shed more light on the subject. As I told you in
the café, we could start appraisals right away. Your grandmother
said this
Kundigerin
would provide you with additional
information—something she didn’t want anyone else to know about or
to have.” Ethan wandered into the parlor, where his eyes raked over
the paintings on the wall and the Persian rugs on the floor. He
cast a glance at Wolf. “Of course, if you need a wealth manager to
help when you come into your money, I’d be happy to be of
assistance.”

I’m sure you would
, Wolf thought.
“Right.”

“I’d recommend that someone stay here until
you sell, make sure everything is working the way it should and to
make the house look lived in.” Ethan stroked the silver candelabra
on the mantel.

Wolf cleared his throat. Ethan didn’t strike
him as the most professional of lawyers. “How much are these
appraisers going to set me back?”

Ethan reached into his suit coat and produced
another business card. “This is a company we work with. I’m sure
they could work something out with you.”

Wolf took the card. His instincts told him to
stay as far away from this guy’s cronies as possible. “Thanks. And
don’t worry, I’m planning to stay in the Manor myself.”

“Of course,” Ethan replied. “And there’s
still the butler. Your grandmother made provisions for him, as
well.”

Butler? Ralph was a live-in hospice nurse,
and Wolf was pretty sure the agency would place him again quickly.
In spite of Uncle Pete’s objections, which were more likely founded
in his share of the inheritance, Ralph had become part of the
family while Wolf’s grandmother lingered.

Ethan checked his cell phone. “Gotta get back
to the office. Call me if you have any more questions?”

“You bet,” Wolf replied. If his grandmother
hadn’t already paid for the services of Ethan’s firm, Wolf wouldn’t
waste his time on the leech. He set the cat down on the floor and
the cat immediately hopped onto the faded red velvet couch, where
he curled into a ball on one of the throw pillows.

Ethan extended his hand. “A pleasure to meet
you, and again, you have my sincere condolences.”

“Thank you.” He shook Ethan’s hand and showed
him the door.

“Seems a bit slimy.” Ralph rounded the bend
in the open staircase, one hand on the railing.

Wolf smirked. “No kidding.”

The sun shone through the window on the
landing behind Ralph making his hair glow white. Ralph smiled and
his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Unfortunately, your grandmother
specifically requested his firm. Whattya gonna do?” He came to a
stop beside Wolf.

“Any idea what a
Kundigerin
is?” Wolf
asked.

Ralph shook his head. “No idea. Maybe some
sort of club?” He shrugged. “She kinda rambled on toward the end,
you know? A lot of what she said didn’t make sense. Some of it was
German, so I may have passed it off as nonsense.”

Like Ralph, Wolf doubted he’d paid close
enough attention to her ramblings. She would have the last laugh
after all because, as she often scolded him, he hadn’t paid
attention. “Thank you again, for all that you did for her. She was
a stubborn old woman.”

“She was a good woman,” Ralph said.

“It must be hard to watch them die,
especially when you’re with them for such a long time.”

Ralph nodded. “You do get attached, but that
goes with the job. You were special to her, you know.”

Wolf nodded. “Yeah, she was pretty special to
me, too. I wish she would have had an easier life.”

“Was your grandfather such a horrible man?
You know, widows, when they are dying, often talk about seeing
their husbands in the afterlife. ‘So-and-so’ is calling them home.
Not your grandmother. I asked her about that once and she snarled
at me. Said she wasn’t interested in going home to that . . . I
can’t tell you the word she used, but the connotation wasn’t
nice.”

Wolf laughed. “My grandfather was a mean old
cuss. He was already in the nursing home by the time I came around.
We’d go to visit, my father and I, but my mother refused to go. He
was the definition of a misogynist.”

“I can’t picture your grandmother with a man
like that.”

“She used to say she was the only one who
would take him.” Wolf pictured the set of his grandmother’s face,
the glint in her eyes. Yeah, his grandmother was a strong woman.
Had to be if his grandfather had always been the way Wolf knew him,
the way he was after he’d lost his marbles.

“
Wussy boy. He needs to learn to shoot a
gun,” his grandfather would say.

“
This is the city, not the backwoods,” his
father would argue.

Wolf still felt his grandfather’s anger, the
way his face grew red hot. “You’re a wussy boy, too. Couldn’t
provide for your family if you didn’t have the market down the
street. And what’re you gonna do when the witch comes for you?”

Hunters told stories about the pursuit of a
deer or how they’d locked a pheasant in their sights. Not Wolf’s
grandfather. He would lean forward in his chair, eyes wide open,
and tell Wolf about “that one time” when he’d gotten “that witch”
in the crosshairs.
“And then it disappeared. I nearly killed a
man that day. Damn witch has been chasing me ever since.”
No
telling what had unhinged his grandfather’s mind, what had made him
feel he was the hunted rather than the hunter.

“Did I hear you say you found a home for the
cat?” Ralph asked.

“Yeah. Some old man I met at a café this
morning. Said his great-niece wanted one. Unless, of course, you
wanted him?” Wolf asked.

“Hexeri? No. Pets aren’t very practical in my
profession. You sure she’ll take good care of him? This
great-niece?”

“I guess we’ll see when she comes to get him.
Hex is a pretty good judge of character.”

The ball of gray fur lay in the corner of the
sofa, purring contentedly.

At least Hex looked more like a cat than his
grandmother’s previous cat, his ears unfolded the way a cat’s
should. Wolf never did understand why his grandmother had chosen
Hex’s mother, let alone bred her. Who’d want a cat with floppy
ears?

“I better get back to the office,” Wolf said.
“I’ll be back in time to see Hexeri off.”

Marissa turned the lock on the café door
shortly after three-thirty-five and checked the display case. She
had made only two dozen black forest tarts. They normally didn’t
sell well and she’d hoped to take the leftovers home for Uncle Balt
and her parents. Three tarts were left in the case. If her brother,
Max, was home, there wouldn’t be enough.

Angela leaned against the kitchen doorframe
and pulled off her hairnet to release long blonde hair. “I know
you’re anxious to see Uncle Balt. Go ahead and get out of here.
Noah and I will be fine to clean up without you.”

“Are you sure?” Marissa asked while she boxed
up the remaining tarts. A couple of frosted sugar cookies were left
in the case. Max would like those better. She added them to the
box.

“You’ve already done a lot of the pre-close.
Go on.”

Marissa smiled at her friend. “You’re the
best. Thanks.” She slipped into her coat, grabbed her purse and the
box of goodies, and ducked out the back door.

Before she got into her car, she took another
walk around to look at the bumper. In the waning daylight, she
found the scratch—the first scratch on her beautiful new car—and
shrugged. The insurance company didn’t need to be involved. She’d
seen rubbing compound advertised on television that might buff the
scratch out. It didn’t look
so
bad.

She slid behind the wheel and started for
Blue Lake while her thoughts wandered to Uncle Balt. He’d
practically made a bee line for Mr. Black Ice. What had they talked
about? The guy left without a second glance, so Uncle Balt must
have been satisfied. Why did Marissa feel so disappointed? If she’d
have asked Mr. Black Ice for his insurance information, she’d at
least know his name.

As if that would make any difference.

She steered into the driveway of the home
where she’d grown up and gathered her box of treats. When she
walked into the house, Uncle Balt was already putting on his
coat.