Dragon's Touch (Book 1 Linty Dragon Series) (2 page)

There was little doubt that Gran had let the grounds fall into decay. Overgrown vines and bushes crowded the path. Weeds choked the flower beds and covered the lovely stone benches that no longer tempted one to sit amidst beauty and peace. The unkempt lawns and general decline of the landscape left me wondering why this situation had been allowed to go on.

Appalled by the sight, I was still unprepared for the house where I’d spent so much of my youth and college vacations. It occurred to me how rundown and decrepit the place seemed. The foggy mist that clung to the eaves and dormer roof corners like dusty cobwebs, made everything look dreary. A cottage sat twenty yards or so from the garage at the rear of the house. It, too, held a look of neglect as the fog drifted around it.

A sudden onset of jitters struck me as I parked the car, shut off the engine, and stepped onto the gravel walkway. I glanced to my left and right. The drifting fog made it difficult to see into the distance and muffled whatever sounds might be heard.

I rushed forward, up the wet stone steps, and nearly lost my balance as I slipped on their slick surface. I tried to shrug off the cloak of dread that huddled over me as I lifted the brass knocker and thumped it several times on the great oak wood door. Hopefully, someone was inside with Gran. If she was as ill as she’d sounded on the phone, surely she wouldn’t be alone.

Nervously, I turned the ornate doorknob, peered in through the front door windows, and realized the door was locked. With a sigh, I checked for a house key that might have been hidden in a flower pot, or under a doormat. Since there were neither, I hurried around the side of the house, into the rear yard and onto the stone patio. I looked through windows as I went and found no signs of movement, which worried me to no end.

I backtracked to the front door and headed around the other side of the house and repeated my actions while my concern grew into deep-seated fear. When this search produced the same results, I decided the stone patio might reveal a key. Formerly, this entrance had been the servants’ entry, but it had been some thirty-plus years since the small staff of servants had kept house for the family. As far as I knew, the only help left were Mrs. Douglas, a woman who cooked and cleaned twice a week, and someone from the village who kept the grounds up. From what I’d seen, the grounds had gone to hell in a handcart, so I’d have guessed no one currently held that particular job.

Was my Grandmother destitute? Had she lost the family fortune? Why wasn’t I aware of this? Why didn’t Dad know? I stopped in my tracks, took a deep breath, and a moment to gather my wits. My imagination had come up with the worst scenarios ever. “Get a grip on yourself,” I mumbled and bounded onto the patio.

This door, too, was locked as I rattled the handle and twisted the knob. Annoyed, I stepped over to the slew of plant pots filled with dead flowers and vegetation that had been discarded and lay haphazardly strewn about. Cracked and broken, several pots were scattered among others that were intact, but all held an abandoned air. The largest of them stood triumphant and steadfast. It should have, because its weight would have tested even the strongest storm.

I squatted next to the enormous pot, dug into soft, wet, dirt until I felt cold metal and wrested the house key from the soggy soil. I rubbed the key with a tissue from my coat pocket, removed dirt from the ridges, and slid it into the lock. The key turned easily, the lock clicked, and I quickly gained entrance to the house.

Inside, a lamp glowed softly. I stood still and listened. Nothing, no sound at all. Was anyone here? If not, I’d been rushed from Boston for Gran’s sake only to find nobody awaited me? My stomach flip-flopped a couple of times as panic rose toward a dangerous level.

I tossed my handbag aside, tucked the house key into my pocket and scurried into the house proper, calling
hello
as I went. No answer met my greeting. The center staircase loomed ahead of me after I’d finished a walkthrough of the first floor reception rooms and kitchen. With one foot on the bottom step, I listened again, still no sound of activity, which was scary at best.

There was nothing left to do but check the second level of the house and find Gran. With my heart beating hard against my ribcage, I prayed she was resting in bed, or maybe even taking a nap. Slowly, I climbed the stairs, the rubber soles of my shoes making no noise at all on the thread-bare carpet strips covering each step, though the fifth step creaked and groaned when I put my full weight on the tread. The step had been like this as long as I could remember. Was anyone ever going to fix it? It was the only step that made a sound.

Trembling, I started down the hallway, passing the other six bedrooms on my way to Gran’s bedroom at the end of the corridor. A few feet away, I noticed her door stood ajar. At the threshold, I gawked at the unmade bed in the empty room. Gran was gone, but where? Had she taken a turn for the worse and been rushed to the hospital?

In a flash, I ran for the stairs as though hell was on my heels and reached for the house phone. I’d dialed the local hospital when a car pulled to a stop in the drive. I hung up, hurried to the door, and swung it wide just as a man lifted a key to insert it in the lock.

“Where’s my Grandmother?” I blurted to the dark haired man resembling a middle-aged Clark Gable. His lack of the Gable mustache did nothing to detract from his good looks.

“Ms. Dragon, I assume?” he asked in a soft toned, Scottish burr. He took a step forward, and when I didn’t move, he asked, “Would you mind if I come in? I’m Samuel Smythe, Essie Dragon’s attorney.”

I stepped back, wishing with all my might that he would tell me Gran was in the hospital and doing well. That she’d be home within a day or two, but I knew in my heart it wasn’t so.

I followed Smythe into the living room on the left, where he stood with his back to the fireplace. He waved me to sit and when I did, he said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you that Essie passed away about an hour ago. She hung on as long as she could, but unfortunately, not long enough for you to get here.” His dark eyes held sadness, and something else I couldn’t fathom, as I continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly. It was as though he’d spoken to me in Greek. His words tumbled around in my brain, but didn’t make any sense. I didn’t want them to, because it meant I was now on my own. At twenty-six years old, I was the only young Dragon. Other than my father and his brother, there were no other Dragon’s that I knew of.

Numbly, I glanced away to look anywhere but at this man whose sympathy was unwanted and unneeded. Finally, I looked up and said, “Gran was worried about something, but wouldn’t say what. I pressed her, but she refused to say what was on her mind.” I ran a hand through my hair, brushed it off my face and swiped at the tears that had begun to pour down my cheeks.  “For some reason, Gran didn’t want me to go to the States to visit my father.”

He merely nodded and then said, “I fear her illness was more serious than the doctor had thought. When she became incoherent, I called the rescue and had her transported to Mevie Memorial Hospital. The doctor treating her said there wasn’t much they could do for her, except to make her comfortable. I stayed until she took her last breath. I’m sorry, Ms. Dragon. Your grandmother was a person who I had the honor of working with for some time.”

“Do you think she was insistent about my return because she knew she didn’t have much time left?”

“Probably. When people are about to pass away, they become intensely focused on things they need to address. This was so with Essie. She was determined that you’d be looked after and that you’d care for the dragons.” He waved his hand toward the regal statues that stood, crouched, and sat inside a huge glass cabinet. The statues were watched over by the most magnificent dragon of the group, from his lofty perch, atop an ornate pedestal. The collection was incredible and astonishingly beautiful.

Gran had always called them the Linty Dragons, after me. My formal name is Lynn Tegan Dragon, but I’d been nicknamed Linty from the beginning. I loved the entire collection of dragons as much as I’d loved Gran. I choked back the threat of more tears, asked to be excused for a moment, and ran for the bathroom.

Brokenhearted, I sobbed in silence a while and then I washed my face. Taking several deep breaths, I returned to the living room. Smythe perched on the sofa’s edge and poured steaming tea into dainty teacups as I entered the room. He offered me one and then said, “Essie’s final arrangements are made. You won’t need to deal with that stress, but she did something that I must explain to you.”

Heaving a sigh, I sipped the hot brew and leaned back. “What would that be?”

“Before she died, Essie changed her last will and testament. She made the changes several hours before she took a turn for the worse. The will is final, she made it with a clear conscience, and no one can claim she wasn’t of sound mind. It was properly witnessed and has been recorded.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

His eyes grew dark and earnest. “She left everything to you, Ms. Dragon. The entire estate goes to you. No bequeaths to anyone other than the cook and the groundskeeper. Your father and his brother get nothing, not a penny.”

“W-what? You must be joking,” I blustered.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked with a narrow-eyed look.

“I guess not,” I said with a slight shake of my head. “Tell me this, why are the house and grounds in such sad shape? It’s not like Gran to allow things to end up in such disarray.”

His smile was genuine as he said, “She didn’t have enough energy in the last months to go out and keep track of what was happening on the estate. Before she became seriously ill, she would walk the grounds, in fact, we’d walk them together. She’d instruct the yard worker to care for this or that. Eventually, she stopped doing that and she sent him on his way without caring if any of the planting or weeding was done. I asked if she wanted me to handle the care of the property for her, but she always insisted that I shouldn’t bother with it. Something was very wrong, she became listless. By the time I found out she’d fallen into the same shape as the grounds had, it was too late to do anything about it.”

“But, why leave it all to me? I have a job, and I can’t live here,” I said.

His brows hiked a notch as he insisted, “I’m afraid you must. The will stipulates that you must take residence, care for the estate, and watch over the dragons. Her words, not mine, I’m afraid. You’ll receive a private letter from her at the reading. I can’t say more than that, I’m sorry.”

My teacup and saucer landed on the table with a clink and rattle. I stood up and paced the floor. When I reached the glass cabinet that housed forty or so dragons in various poses, I studied them and then turned to Drake. His amber eyes glowed softly until I reached out and touched him as he stood stately on his pedestal.

The dragon was two feet high, carved from solid jade with amber stones for eyes that flashed when I touched his perfect scales. No one else that I knew of, other than me, had this effect on Drake. For a second I was lost in his beauty, his eyes, and the curve of his long neck. Talon-like claws protruded from his paws, each one as perfectly defined as the rest of him. Adoration for and certainty of his response in my imagination, Drake the Dragon had been part of my psyche for as long as I’d been alive.
You’ve finally come home. It’s your time now.
The words were soft, a mere whisper in my mind. Had he really said them?

I turned to Smythe and found him studying me with an inscrutable expression.

I asked, “Did you say something?”

“No, I didn’t. Do you have any questions?”

I glanced back at Drake. His eyes no longer aglow, he seemed to have a triumphant expression on his face. That couldn’t be possible, and then I shook my head. All the dragons were inanimate, except maybe this one. A long, lost memory niggled at the back of my mind, but refused to come forth. I stared at Drake once more and then turned away.

Leaving the dragon behind, I walked the length of the long room, crossed the foyer and returned to the sofa. “What are Gran’s final arrangements? Will she be buried in the Dragon family cemetery in the valley?” I asked and pointed toward the rear of the house.

He nodded and withdrew papers from an inner pocket of his suit jacket. He handed them to me and said, “This explains what Essie wanted for her funeral and what has been set to take place. Her will is scheduled to be read after her burial.”

Chapter 2

As Smythe drove away, I noticed the wind had picked up, and it was raining again, giving the house a damp chill. My luggage was still in the car. In a mad dash down the steps and across the drive, I pulled my belongings from the trunk and ran full tilt to the house before I was soaked to the bone. The suitcase landed on the rug at the door, I tossed my jacket onto an ornate coat stand and wiped raindrops from my face using the sleeve of my soggy sweatshirt.

With a towel I’d taken from the first floor bathroom, I dried my hair while roaming the house inspecting closets and spaces I hadn’t seen in some time. Mine, it was all mine. What the hell was I going to do with a place as huge, old, and as far from work, as this? No sooner had the thought entered my mind when heavy winds moaned through the eaves, reinforcing my unease with the place.

Damp clothes didn’t help dispel the foreboding that had settled upon me since my arrival. I hauled my suitcase and carryall to the second floor. The fifth step creaked again as I climbed the stairs, another reminder that the tread needed to be replaced. I flung my bag on the bed in the room I’d used as a child, and changed into a jersey and sweatpants.

Once more, my curiosity took hold. After I’d hung my discarded ensemble on a hanger and left it on a hook behind the bedroom door, I scooted through the bedrooms on the second floor. I avoided Gran’s room, and nothing in the other rooms caught my interest so I hiked the staircase to the third floor. This level had slanted ceilings in rooms that had been used as servants’ quarters. Each space was small and drab. Just by viewing each one, I understood how back in the day, those who served wealthy families were considered unimportant, unless, of course, they couldn’t perform their duties. I shook my head and returned to the hallway and the second floor.