I was so lost in thought that I was halfway up my driveway before I noticed a long, black vehicle parked in front of the wrought iron gate. Another visitor? Jackie drove a double cab gray truck and Pat’s car was a small, blue compact. I pulled alongside the shiny SUV, admiring its sleek lines. Obviously, this was a top of the line Cadillac, an Escalade. Perhaps because Uncle Javin’s funeral was fresh in my mind, the SUV reminded me of a hearse.
Even though the sun should have been at its zenith, swirling snow and low clouds darkened the day with a premature twilight. Unlatching the gate, I looked up at my front porch just as a figure arose from the top step where it had been sitting.
I stood with one hand on the gate, my mouth open and my heart caught in my throat. A tall, bare headed man wearing a beige coat with turned up fur collar strode down the walk toward me.
This stranger seemed to be an extenuation of his car. He too appeared dark, expensive, and, in the half light, ominous. Snowflakes melted on his short, black hair. His face was lean and tan and his eyes looked nearly black. Perfect white teeth flashed as he smiled. He was altogether one of the most attractive men ever to cross my field of vision.
“Mrs. McNeil?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Numb, I nodded, putting my gloved hand into his.
“I’m Sherman Lloyd,” the apparition said. “I believe you are living in my house.”
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Wait. Was the Cadillac an apparition as well? You had me going, Blanche.
No, no apparition.