She was early. Slowing down in front of the house, Zara Leighton read the numbers on the mailbox just before fog engulfed it, the house, and her battered Volkswagen Beetle. Had she arrived ten minutes later, she would have never seen the mailbox, much less been able to read the house numbers. Confident she was at the correct location, Zara pulled over to the curb she could no longer see and parked her car.
When turning onto the unfamiliar street a few minutes earlier, it had reminded her of a scene from one of the horror movies she had watched as a kid on Mrs. Crocket’s old black-and-white television set. Gray washed the neighborhood of stately old houses, its landscape and skyline devoid of color as a massive fog cloud rolled in, concealing all in its path.
Turning off her ignition, she glanced at her watch. He wasn’t expecting her for another fifteen minutes. Being too early was often as bad as being late, she thought. Looking toward the house, all she could see was a dense gray mist. If he happened to look out his window, he would never see her sitting in her car in front of his house. Instead of going up now, she decided to wait a few minutes and show up on time instead of early.
Zara leaned back in the seat for a moment and smiled. If she could convince him to give her the information she needed, she would be one step closer to crossing off what she considered the most important goal on her bucket list.
After unbuckling her seatbelt, she reached over to the passenger seat, picked up her purse, set it on her lap, and opened it. She pulled out a small notepad and began flipping through its pages, reviewing her notes. It would have been easier on her if he had simply verified the information she had requested when she had met him at his office several days earlier, instead of insisting she meet him at his house this afternoon. Although, she understood his desire for discretion—after all, Chris Glandon was his nephew, and considering their turbulent relationship, he wouldn’t want to be caught handing out personal information on the man, not if he wanted to get back in his nephew’s good graces.
Still holding the notepad, she glanced toward the house. All she could see was a misty gray wall. A chill went up her spine. She shivered in response. It must be the fog, she thought, knowing she would have to drive through it in order to return home. It couldn’t be trepidation over meeting with a virtual stranger at his house. After all, Loyd Glandon was hardly a threatening character, more a benign senior citizen.
“Do you think she’s going to make it in this weather?” Wearing gray slacks and a tweed jacket over a white dress shirt, Simon stood akimbo, gazing out the front window, his back to Loyd.
“Would you get away from there!” Loyd leaned forward in his chair, attempting to swat his brother with his cane. His manner of dress was similar to Simon’s, yet instead of a tweed jacket, he wore a red cardigan sweater. “She’ll see you. I told her I’d be alone!”
“Have you even looked outside?” Simon asked. “There’s no way she’s going to find the house.”
“I’m sure she has one of those GPS gizmos on her phone. Now move away from that blasted window!”
Aside from stature, the two brothers could have passed as twins in their younger days. Just two years apart, with Loyd being the oldest, they resembled their father, with the same blue-gray eyes and strawberry blond hair. Most of that hair had since fallen out, with the remaining wisps now snowy white. Loyd was slighter and a good six inches shorter than his brother Simon. Both brothers were widowers, and neither had had children. Simon’s wife had died first, and then Loyd lost his wife two years later. That had been twenty years earlier. Since then, the two brothers had lived together.
There had been a much younger third brother. He had looked like their mother’s side of the family, with jet black hair and deep brown eyes. But he was dead now. While he might not have looked like his two older brothers, he had been no more prolific than they had been. He and his wife only had one child, and they had adopted him.
The doorbell rang.
“That’s her!” Using his cane more for show than function, Loyd stood.
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Simon said while his brother ambled to the entrance hall.
When Loyd opened the door several minutes later, he found Zara Leighton standing on his front porch, behind her a backdrop of dense fog, giving her a surreal—almost ethereal quality.
He had never cared for tall women—he saw them as some sort of perverse measuring stick, reminding him of his own height deficit. His late wife had been a little over five feet tall, which had been the first thing that had attracted him to her. Leighton was a few inches shy of six feet, an Amazon of a woman in his mind. But she was thin—thin enough to be a model. She didn’t seem to have many curves, but she had a pretty face and enormous blue eyes. However, her hair was far too short in his estimation.
Loyd greeted Zara and ushered her inside. He led her to his living room and to two matching wingback chairs. They faced a leather sofa. Sitting between the two chairs was a small mahogany table, and on it sat two glasses of iced tea, each sitting on a coaster.
“I thought you might be thirsty after your long drive.” Loyd motioned to the beverages sitting on the table as he took one of the wingback chairs.
“That was very thoughtful, thank you.” Zara set her purse by her feet as she sat down.
“I hope you understand why I didn’t want to discuss this at my office.” Loyd picked up the glass closest to him and took a sip.
“Certainly. Does this mean you can give me the information?” she asked hopefully.
“I have many regrets in regards to my nephew, Chris,” Loyd began. “At the time, we were sincerely trying to do what we felt was best for him. He was young. For most of his life he was sheltered. Probably too sheltered. He has no idea how many people out there are ready to take advantage of someone like him. But I know now, we went about it the wrong way, and it is something I deeply regret. I won’t do anything that will hurt him.”
“I don’t intend to hurt him,” she promised.
“How do you know it’s really him?” he asked.
“It has to be him. I told you what I found,” she reminded him.
“Who have you discussed this with?” Loyd asked.
“I don’t really feel this is anyone’s business. I haven’t talked to anyone about it. Anyone but you.”
“You have to understand, if people discover this connection between you and my nephew, you’ll find yourself as vulnerable as he has been. Why do you think he takes such measures to avoid publicity? It’s not just Chris I’m concerned with, it’s you.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I have to do this.”
Loyd took another sip of his tea and then said, “I do understand your desire to contact him. But I don’t want to see Chris exploited.”
She shook her head emphatically. “I don’t want anything from Chris. And I haven’t told anyone about him, I promise.”
He started to take another sip of tea but then paused and nodded to the untouched glass on the table. “You really should try the tea. I brew it myself—sweetened with berries I grow in my garden. It’s my late wife’s recipe.”
Zara smiled at Loyd and reluctantly picked up the tea and took a drink. She paused a moment and then took another sip. “Oh my, this is really very good. I’m not much of a tea drinker, but this has a most unusual flavor. Fruity.”
Loyd smiled at Zara and leaned back in his chair, his half-full glass of tea in his right hand. “Take another drink and tell me if you can guess what kind of berries I use. There are two different kinds. No one has ever been able to guess.”
Zara took another sip and then said, “One has to be strawberry.”
Loyd shook his head. “No. Everyone guesses strawberry. But I didn’t use a single one.”
Zara smiled weakly and said, “That surprises me. It tastes like strawberries. The tea is very delicious, but…are you going to help me?”
“I’ve given it a great deal of thought, and yes, I would like to help you.”
Zara smiled broadly. “Oh, thank you!”
Loyd held up his right palm for a moment. “But you have to understand, it’s not just my call.”
She frowned.
“I’ve discussed this with my brother,” Loyd explained. “He’s willing to hear you out—as I have—and if he agrees, then yes, we will help you.”
“Is he here?” Zara looked around anxiously.
Loyd glanced at his watch. “He’s supposed to be here any minute. While we wait, why don’t you just sit back, relax, enjoy your tea. I’m sure by the time you finish your drink, he should be here.”
Zara flashed Loyd a smile and then took another sip of tea. He asked her again to guess what berries he had used, encouraging her to drink more. Before she knew it, she had consumed the entire glass. Just as she was setting the empty glass back on its coaster, she began to sway. “I feel funny,” she muttered, closing her eyes.
Silently, Loyd reached over and took the glass from her hand before she dropped it to the floor.
“What’s wrong with me?” Zara moaned, her eyes still closed. “Everything is spinning…what was in that tea?”
Before Loyd had a chance to tell her, Zara lurched forward and fell to the floor face-first.
He hadn’t expected her to fall out of the chair. Staring down at the lifeless body, he considered taking her pulse, but there was no way he could get down on the floor with his bad knees. He picked up the cane leaning against his chair and used it to jab Zara’s unconscious body several times. When she didn’t move, he called for his brother.
“Is she dead?” Simon asked several minutes later as he stood over the body.
“I told you, she would have to drink five glasses of that stuff to actually kill her.”
“What did you find out?” Simon asked.
Loyd snatched Zara’s purse from the floor and started rummaging through it. “She claims she didn’t tell anyone. But we need to figure out what we’re going to do in case someone else shows up.” He fished a set of keys from the purse and tossed them to his brother.
“What’s this for?” Simon asked, looking at the key ring now in his right hand.
“You need to move her car into the garage before the fog lifts and someone sees it.”