Mist on the Meadow (3 page)

“We’ll be late for our appointment,” he told
her.

Marissa looked at her mother for an
explanation, but her mother shrugged. “We’ll hold dinner for you.
He said your errand shouldn’t take long.”

Uncle Balt rubbed his hands together.
“Wonderful. Let’s go, shall we
Liebling
?”

Marissa handed the box to her mother and
followed Uncle Balt back to her car. “Where am I going?” she
asked.

“Here, I’ve written the directions down for
you.” He handed her a piece of paper with barely legible words
scrawled on it. Two of them stood out.

“Harper Manor?” she asked.

“Yes! You know the place?”

“Great old house.” She didn’t need
directions. “When we were little, we used to think it was
haunted.”

“You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?” he
asked.

Marissa smiled as she navigated the streets
to the edge of town. “I don’t think so.” She cast a glance at Uncle
Balt. “But you never know.”

“A
Kundigerin
would know.”

He’d mentioned the word before, but she’d
always assumed it was another endearment. Endearments didn’t fit
the context of haunted houses. “What’s a
Kundigerin
?”

“
Eine Kennerin
.”

Marissa sighed. “That doesn’t help.”

“Someone who knows things,” he
translated.

Marissa furrowed her brow. “What kinds of
things?”

Uncle Balt chuckled. “The kinds of things
you’ll know shortly.”

He obviously didn’t plan to educate her
today, and again Marissa wondered if Uncle Balt’s mind was fading
with his advanced age.

As they approached Harper Manor, the hairs on
Marissa’s arms prickled. Years of superstition left her nervous to
approach, let alone enter, the house. According to the story, Mr.
Harper had gone mad. Because of the ghosts that haunted the house?
Everyone knew Mrs. Harper—she seemed normal enough.

Surrounded by a wrought iron fence, the house
was set at the back of the lot, sheltered from the road by a forest
of trees—trees denuded by the chilly winter winds.

Marissa passed through the gate and followed
the winding driveway to the front of the house. The barren trees
stood still. A squirrel paused in the yard, ready to dash off. The
traffic noise was swallowed up in the distance between the road and
the house. The short drive might as well have taken them to another
world. She cast a glance at Uncle Balt, who grinned from ear to
ear.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to explain the
aura around this place?” she asked. Uncle Balt always insisted she
tell him about the quiet moments, to make sure she’d noticed them.
From the way he smiled, she had to assume he felt the bubble around
Harper Manor, too.

“Why explain? Enough to feel, isn’t it?” he
replied.

Marissa shivered. Times like this reinforced
that “Drosselmeyer” impression.

Uncle Balt opened his car door. “Let’s go
inside. Mr. Harper is waiting for us.”

Crazy Mr. Harper
? No, he had died
years ago. Marissa flashed on creepy-looking butlers from the black
and white horror movies she used to watch. Gaunt, old, passively
threatening. She shook herself to throw off the mantle of fear and
got out of the car.

The Italianate house spread from either side
of the pair of front doors. The once-mauve siding had faded to
gray. Spindles lined the wraparound porch and tall, arched windows
hid imaginary ghouls that waited to seize them once they walked
inside.

Uncle Balt reached for the brass knocker on
the left door.

Mrs. Harper had been a philanthropist. When
Marissa had met her years ago, she seemed like a nice enough old
woman. News of her death had rippled through the community a week
ago, but Marissa didn’t know anything about a Mr. Harper. Was he
the sinister ghost of Harper Manor? She laughed at her flights of
imagination and curled her hand around Uncle Balt’s arm. Uncle Balt
could hold his own against whatever supernatural intruders awaited
them.

A large man opened the door, a
non-threatening, middle-aged man with white hair who looked to be
in excellent physical shape. His arms bulged out of a short-sleeved
polo shirt. He was old enough to be Mrs. Harper’s son, but Marissa
didn’t know any of the surviving family.

“We have an appointment with Mr. Harper,”
Uncle Balt said.

“Yep, he told me you’d be coming. Come on
in.”

The foyer walls were lined with wainscoting
and the man who invited them in waved them on to a room marked by
columns, to their left. No cobwebs. No ghostly sheets covered the
furniture. Mrs. Harper had lived in Harper Manor until her death a
week ago. The woodwork gleamed. The well-worn red velvet sofa faced
the fireplace.

And the sofa was purring. Loudly. A small
gray cat uncurled and arched its back in a stretch. It leapt onto
the back of the sofa and locked eyes with Marissa. The cat kneaded
the top of the sofa and leaned toward Marissa, as if to invite her
to pet its silky fur.

“What a beautiful cat!” Marissa stretched her
hand to scratch its head and the cat leapt into her arms. “Oh!” she
said as it settled into her arms. The cat nuzzled against her neck
and kneaded her arms with its paws, then it settled into the crook
of her elbow.

“I knew it would be just the thing,” Uncle
Balt said.

“The cat?” she asked. “But I can’t have a cat
at my apartment.” And yet it continued to press against her and
purr. The cat licked her neck with its rough tongue and touched a
paw to Marissa’s cheek.

“You’ll find a way,” Uncle Balt said. “It
seems to have taken to you, and I can see that you want him,
too.”

“Hex is a very affectionate cat,” the man
who’d let them in said. “Wolf should be with you in a moment.”

Marissa widened her eyes toward Uncle Balt.
“Wolf?”

“Not any worse than Baltazar.” Uncle Balt’s
eyes sparkled.

She continued to pet the cat. “Wolfgang,
maybe?”

The answer came from behind her. “No. Just
Wolf.”

Marissa recognized the voice immediately. She
winced. The cat in her arms meowed through its purr and nuzzled her
again as if to ease her embarrassment. Marissa forced a smile and
turned to face Mr. Black Ice.

“Wolf Harper,” he introduced himself. “I
thought your great-uncle might have told you.”

Marissa narrowed her eyes at Uncle Balt. “No,
he didn’t.”

“And you’re Marissa Maitland? Maybe you’d
take the cat as my way of apologizing for running into you this
morning.”

As much as she wanted to set the cat down on
the sofa, her arms seemed paralyzed by the adorable ball of fur
that snuggled against her. “I couldn’t.”

“He needs a good home. Your uncle assured
me—”

“He would,” she muttered.

“It’s just what you need,
Liebling
,”
Uncle Balt said. “And it has taken to you. How can you walk away
from such a perfect little kitten?”

“His name is Hexeri,” Wolf said. “My
grandmother started with this little guy’s grandmother, who had
kittens, one of which was Hex’s mother.”

“So she has three generations of cats? Where
are the others?” Marissa scratched the gray’s chin and it narrowed
its bright blue eyes.

“The original cat died, and Hex’s mother
belongs to one of grandma’s friends. I’m not sure why my
grandmother wanted a kitten when she knew she was going to die, but
she insisted. How do you deny the request of a terminally ill
woman?”

“Don’t you have other family that might want
him?”

Wolf took a deep breath. “I’m a little
deficient when it comes to family. He’s yours if you want him.”

“How old is he?” Marissa asked, scratching
the cuddly cat’s chin.

“Year and a half, I guess. The litter was
born right before grandma told us she was ill.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Wolf nodded. “Me too.”

* * *

After he’d packed up all of
the cat paraphernalia and seen them off, Wolf poured himself a
scotch rocks and sat in the parlor with Ralph.
“Kinda quiet
without the little fur ball around.” Wolf said.

“Yeah, Hex’ll be happy with her.”

He took another swig. “Stupid cat.”

“Not so stupid. He recognizes a good woman
when he finds her.”

Wolf raised his glass toward Ralph. “Don’t
you start with me. Grandma was bad enough.”

Ralph shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

“I’m not so sure rear-ending someone’s brand
new car is a good first impression, even if I was interested.”
Although she was pretty. He’d never seen eyes quite that shade of
blue before.

“You said there wasn’t any damage, though,
and you’ve given her something cute and cuddly to make up for
it.”

“You’re a good man, Ralph.” Wolf drained his
glass. “Any news on your next assignment?”

“I should be gone in another week.”

“Stay as long as you need to. Beats rattling
around this empty house by myself.” He centered his glass on a
coaster on the coffee table and cast a glance at the cat’s favorite
throw pillow. “You’ll keep in touch after you’ve gone?”

Ralph nodded. “The patient dies, but
friendships last forever.” He smiled. “I’ll keep in touch,
Wolf.”

The front door swung open and Uncle Pete
appeared in the foyer. He scowled at Ralph and then turned his
attention on Wolf. “I heard you met with a lawyer?”

Here it comes
, Wolf thought. No escape
for the inevitable.
“He
called
me
.”

“You’re the grandson. You’d do well to
remember the pecking order around here.”

“I have no control over her wishes,” Wolf
replied.

“Meaning what?”

“Just what I said.”

Uncle Pete scanned the room. “Where’s the
cat?”

Wolf considered another scotch, but exhaled a
sigh instead. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?”

Wolf looked up at his uncle. “Did you want
him?”

Uncle Pete took a step closer. “What do you
mean he’s gone?”

Wolf rose from his chair to use his height
advantage. “He has a new home with someone who will take care of
him.”

“You gave him away?” Uncle Pete shot a glare
at Ralph. “You’re excused. This is a private conversation, unless,
of course, you advised him to give away my grandmother’s show
cat.”

Ralph raised one eyebrow before he excused
himself.

“He was pet quality,” Wolf said.

“The breeders didn’t know that.”

“The cat had six toes on both its front paws.
Not to mention he was fixed. The breeders would know.”

“He was still worth some money, even as pet
quality. Am I to understand you gave him away? Free to a good
home?”

Wolf clenched his jaw. “If you want the money
for him, I’ll pay it. What’s he worth? A hundred dollars?”

“That’s not the point,” Uncle Pete shouted.
“What else are you going to give away? I’m not sure I trust you to
stay in the house until we can have an estate sale. How do I know
you won’t rob me of my inheritance? Next thing you’ll be telling me
you’ve given that nurse all the silver.” He leaned toward Wolf. “I
think you should run along home now, Wolfie. Leave my mother’s
house to my care.”

Wolf cringed. “I promised her I’d take care
of things.”

“Like you took care of her cat?”

Wolf raised an eyebrow. “Did you want Hex?”
he repeated.

“I would have sold him back to one of her
breeder friends. The cat was worth money. You can’t hand money away
like that.”

“Speaking of which, have you scheduled the
inventories at the warehouse?”

Uncle Pete took two steps closer, his hands
tightened into fists before he stopped. His face turned an
unhealthy shade of red and the set of his jaw told Wolf he held
something back. What could he say?

“If you want to worry about the family
fortune, I’d suggest you start with the family business,” Wolf
said.

“As her only living child, I’m sure I will be
the executor of this estate, and as such, I’m asking you to leave
my mother’s house now.”

“One big, happy family, eh?” Wolf relaxed
into a lazy smile. “The lawyer who called me? Yeah. Grandma made me
the executor. That means I’m not going anywhere.”

Uncle Pete’s eyes grew large. “You’re
lying.”

“Why would I do that?”

“There must be a mistake.”

And you made it
, Wolf thought. He
produced the card the slimy lawyer had handed him. “Call him. Ethan
Wilder, III, Esquire.”

His uncle grabbed the card from Wolf’s hand.
The pulse in Uncle Pete’s temple throbbed and Wolf pictured his
uncle clutching his chest and keeling over. Uncle Pete was at least
fifty pounds overweight, all of it around his middle. He narrowed
his eyes at Wolf once more. “Don’t give anything else away without
asking me first, do you understand?”

Wolf raised his hands. “I’m not interested in
the money, Uncle Pete.”

“She wouldn’t do this. Not to her only living
son,” Uncle Pete muttered. “I’ll contest the will.”

“We can settle the estate long before you get
to court.” Wolf grabbed one of Uncle Pete’s shoulders and commanded
his attention. “I’m not interested in her money.”

“Bullshit.”

On the off-chance his uncle could expedite
things, Wolf asked, “Do you know where I can find a
Kundigerin
?”

Uncle Pete backed away as the blood drained
from his face.

“A cat?” Marissa’s mother said quietly to
Uncle Balt. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

“Look at the two of them together,” he
replied.

Her mother chuckled. “There’s no denying the
cat has certainly taken to her. She can’t even seem to put it down
without it climbing back up to her shoulders. Has he been fixed?
You might have it declawed.”

“That would be inhuman,” Marissa said. “How
would you like someone to cut your fingers off at the knuckles?”
She scratched behind Hex’s ears. “And yes, he’s been fixed.”