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.and I can see the gleam in your eye.”Anxious to leave the cemetery and avoid the possibility of a reappearance by the strange man named Darius, I willingly agreed.And I did so want to see the inside of the house.“I’ve never been inside a Victorian-era home.That sounds wonderful.”“Great,” murmured Laura.“Let me back this big car out, because I can see I’ve been blocking you.No wonder you were crying.”“Oh, no, I wasn’t crying about that,” I demurred as I climbed back into my car.I watched the older women totter over to the car, Cynthia on her walker with her huge handbag draped over her arm.While I waited, I pulled down the rearview mirror and stared at my pale and strained face.My eyes were swollen.What was I doing? Going to look at an old house with two ladies who were obviously bent on talking me into buying it? Near a cemetery that held, at best, a deranged man? At worst.a ghost? At the very worst.a figment of my imagination, a lover from a dream? I slid my gaze in the direction of the swaying oak tree.Or maybe I was the one who was deranged.It seemed as if half an hour passed before Laura managed to get the big black town car out of the cemetery, and I worked on my patience while I waited for them.I pulled out behind them with a last glance toward the bench beneath the tree.Nothing.He was gone.Less than half a mile down the road, Laura slowed—if that were possible—and turned into the driveway of the house.I followed and pulled in behind them.I edged my smaller car next to Laura’s vehicle, which had stopped just short of the front porch.I climbed out of the car and walked around to the right side of the town car to help Cynthia out while Laura hoisted the walker out of the back seat.“Hell, orange kitty,” Cynthia called as the marmalade cat I’d seen earlier jumped on top of the railing of the front porch to greet them.“He’s not our cat.I’m allergic, but he just appeared recently and hangs out around the house all the time.Seems happy enough.”I held out my arm while Cynthia leaned on it heavily.As we moved, I eyed the cat whose tail jutted skyward as he began an enthusiastic prance up and down the railing.“He looks healthy.Someone must be feeding him,” I murmured.“Oh, we do.Laura and I put some food out for him once a week when we go to the cemetery.I think he gets his water from the pond at the side of the house.We’ll have to get someone to take over for us when we finally do sell the place and move down to Florida.”Walker in tow, Laura joined them at the foot of the wooden stairs leading to the front porch.She helped me pull Cynthia up the three wide wooden steps.On closer inspection, the porch was much bigger than I had originally thought.The paint, once white, was indeed cracked and peeling.Laura opened up Cynthia’s walker, and we followed the shuffling Cynthia down the length of the porch to the front door.She braced her hip against the walker while she rummaged about in her handbag for the key.“Now, where is that thing? It’s an older key, not hard to find,” Cynthia grumbled.“Here, let me,” said Laura.“I don’t know how you find anything in that suitcase of yours.” Laura chuckled as she took the purse from Cynthia and fished out the skeleton key, which appeared to be of brass.I eyed the antique key with admiration bordering on reverence.Laura inserted the key in the keyhole of the old varnished oak door.She rattled and shook it until it finally turned.“It’s old,” she murmured unnecessarily with a rueful glance in my direction.“I know.That’s what is so great about it,” I breathed.“Our parents actually never locked the door when we were young,” Laura said.“There really wasn’t much call to lock things up in those days.”“Not like today,” muttered Cynthia as she put her walker in gear and pushed in through the front door.Laura gave way and let her enter, urging me to follow Cynthia in.We paused just inside.Sunlight from the open door behind us spilled onto the old oak floors, highlighting the shine where the remnants of a high varnish still remained in a large square pattern in the middle.It seemed obvious a small carpet had covered much of the floor just inside the door, protecting it from wear and tear.We stood just to the right of a steep wooden staircase, which bore remnants of the same highly polished varnish as the floor.“That’s the living room off to the right there.The dining room is through there,” Cynthia pointed past the staircase to an open doorway to the far end of short hallway.“And the kitchen is to the right of that [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]