3

The first sight of the house caught her by surprise, though it shouldn’t have. After all, if the man were rich enough to hire a caretaker then it would follow that he could afford a rather nice residence.

Built of squared stone blocks and nestled halfway into the hillside, the house resembled nothing less than a small castle, complete with octagon towers and a slate roof. Diamond paned glass of an iridescent hue graced the spacious windows. The front doors were constructed of thick planks of wood banded with elaborate ironwork. Still dormant birches lined the gravel paved drive and the grass had yet to turn green on the well-clipped grounds.

“Nice place,” the cabbie said as she handed him some money. “What’s it like inside?”

“Don’t know,” she admitted as she climbed out. “First visit.”

He glanced at her black duffle bag and smaller carryall in speculation. “You need help with that?”

“No, but I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until I’m inside before taking off. I tried to call from the airport, but nobody answered.” When he nodded she shut the door on the lavender cab and hefted her bag, her shoes crunching on the gravel as she approached the front steps. Hard to believe it was almost 10:30 PM and just beginning to get dark. This midnight sun business could really mess up a person’s time sense.

Andrea’s breath frosted in the chill May air as she set down the carryall and grasped the wolf’s head knocker. As the sound echoed through the door and into the house beyond she suppressed a shiver. This place was just a teensy bit creepy.

Only a few moments passed before one thick door opened wide, revealing her beaming grandmother.

It took a moment for Andrea to recognize her, as the lady had shrunk since last she’d seen her. Of course, she’d been just a child at the time. She remembered Matilda’s hair as being gray-shot red, but now it was a faded shade of tangerine. Since their only communication had been a few phone calls over the years, Andrea was taken aback by how much the woman had aged. And didn’t she look a little pale? Hard to tell with the clouds moving in to obscure the light.

A dog bayed in the distance.

The older woman ushered her into the foyer, barely allowing Andrea time to set down her bags before she drew her into a big hug. The scent of roses smothered her and she fought not to sneeze. Andrea gingerly returned the embrace. “Hi, grandma.”

Her grandmother didn’t seem to notice any awkwardness. “Oh, darling, it’s so good to see you!” she gushed, holding Andrea’s arms out to the side. “And look how you’ve grown.”

“Yeah, just look.” If her voice lacked enthusiasm for the observation, well, that was to be expected. She hadn’t liked that gushing tone as a child and as an adult it set her teeth on edge.

This is going to be a long visit, she thought with a mental sigh.

“You look just like your great-aunt Virginia,” her grandmother enthused as she led her out of the foyer and into the sitting room on the right. She cocked her head. “Or was that Winifred? I never could keep them straight—they were twins, you know.”

“Identical, huh?” Andrea looked around. And winced.

What she could see of the parquet flooring under her feet was beautiful. Unfortunately someone had covered it in a series of violently clashing hooked rugs; the shaggy kind made with bits of yarn. Even worse, these rugs were balding. Rough-hewn beams spanned the white ceiling and the walls were wainscoted with birch tongue and grove. The effect reminded her pleasantly of a lodge, as did the iron, lantern-style light fixtures. Everywhere she looked the underlying decor spoke of elegance and taste. It was difficult to believe that whoever had designed this place would allow her grandmother to run amuck with her crazy color scheme. Unless the owner rarely saw it?

“Oh, no, dear,” Matilda corrected her, continuing on to the next room. “They looked nothing alike.”

Tension built in Andrea’s brow as she tried to understand her grandmother’s logic. Her first sight of the sitting room didn’t ease the frown.

Slipcovers in loud floral patterns covered all the furniture. Couches and chairs were draped with crocheted Afghans of multicolored yarn. Checkered curtains with roughly the same colors as the slipcovers smothered the windows, obscuring the lovely diamond paned glass. So many knickknacks cluttered the sideboard, mantel and end tables it was impossible to see any of the surfaces.

“Do have a seat, dear,” her grandmother told her, gesturing to a couch.

Andrea sat down, discreetly elbowing aside a purple and red granny square pillow. “Been busy decorating?”

“Oh, yes. The winters are very long here, and one must have something to do. Would you like a cookie?” She gestured to a plate on the coffee table.

The cookies looked all right, but remembered dismay kept Andrea from temptation. Grandma’s desserts were never what they appeared to be. She still remembered the sensation of biting into a carob and prune bar at the tender age of seven.

It had been years before she’d dared try another brownie.

“Um, no thanks. I’m on a diet,” she hedged.

Disappointed, her grandmother sat back, tucking her sweater more securely around her thin frame and propping her fuchsia-clad legs up on a hassock.

Andrea blinked and politely averted her gaze. Her grandmother’s feet were clad in mismatched argyle socks, and her heels showed through the holes in the bottom.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted you to come here on such short notice,” her grandmother began, surprising Andrea with her directness. At Andrea’s nod, she went on, “the doctors say that I have cancer.” She swallowed. “I don’t have much time.”

Stunned, at first Andrea could just sit there. This was nothing like what she’d expected. Grandma couldn’t have cancer. She was too...she just couldn’t!