“It’s barely noticeable,” he lied politely as he offered me a few napkins.
“Right. If you’re Mr. Magoo.” I laughed as I rubbed at it. “I’m dying to ask you…where did you find those pictures? I’ve seen hundreds of photographs of Joanna during my research but none of Paden. I’m extremely curious about it, and I hope you have more.”
“There might be more. Possibly. I came across those in a dusty box in the newspaper’s storage area. It’s a good thing we put those old newspapers in plastic tubs before the pipes burst. There’s a good dozen more boxes that I haven’t been through yet. I had no idea who it was, but there was writing on the back. Hey, maybe you wouldn’t mind helping me sort through them? I’m as interested as you are about finding out what happened to Joanna Storm. Loretta tells me you’re writing a book about her life. Is that true?”
Finally satisfied with my temporary stain fix, I turned my attention to my lunch companion. “That is true. I guess she also told you that I purchased Morgan’s Rock?”
“I didn’t need her to tell me that. I saw the moving truck pull in. I am curious to know why you would want to move out here. Permanently, I mean. Rockville isn’t much of anything, just a tiny speck on a very large map. This part of the Florida panhandle isn’t exactly Palm Beach or New York.”
“I’ve never lived in either of those places, Micah. I like it here.” I hit the ignore button as my phone began to play Beethoven’s Fifth. Come to think of it, that was a bad choice for a ring tone. Maybe I would change it later. Something more jovial. Maybe the Charleston? I tucked my phone back into my purse, then pulled out the copy of the picture and put it on the table in front of him. “This is most definitely Paden Kincaid.”
“How can you be sure? It says P. Kincaid on the back, but that’s not a hundred percent proof.”
I couldn’t tell him that I knew because I’d kissed him. That I’d been his wife, in another life. One that I wanted to return to more than anything else. “You’re right. We can’t be totally sure without further proof. I’d like to come check out your storage. See if I can find anymore pictures like this.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the image. Could that really be Vivian Kemal kissing Paden? I mean, cameras back then weren’t so great. Any kind of movement, even the slightest shake of the camera, could blur the image, just as in this photo.
But that hat. Something about that hat. That was Vivian’s hat; I recognize it from…
“You okay? You zoned out on me. Do all deep-thinking authors tune people out?”
“No, no zoning out going on here. It’s just this picture.” Before I could say more, the friendly waitress came over and refilled our drinks.
“I hope you don’t get your hopes up too high, Megan. It’s not likely that we’re going to find Joanna Storm after all these years.”
To hear him make such a confession was kind of heartbreaking. “Really? You don’t think we should even try?”
“I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t try. But there has been a lot of legwork put forth on Miss Storm’s behalf already.”
I snapped, “Mrs. Kincaid. She and Paden were legally married.”
He lifted an eyebrow at my angry response but continued, “I’m sorry if what I said sounded insensitive; that wasn’t my intention. And I wasn’t suggesting that the sheriff’s department didn’t care. In fact, quite a few good men and women—even someone claiming to be with a federal agency—have tried to locate Miss Storm over these many decades, but that hasn’t made any difference. Every lead has been a dead end. Whatever happened to Joanna Storm remains a mystery, and it will continue to be a mystery until some new information surfaces. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up about it. Joanna Storm may end up like Amelia Earhart. Lost for eternity.”
That stung to hear such a comparison, but I had to ask the bigger question. “Federal agency? Which one? Why would they be interested in finding Joanna?”
“According to the paperwork, she was considered a national treasure. People genuinely loved her. She had a nickname, ‘Glamour Girl,’ something like that. She was the ‘it’ girl of her time.”
“Golden Gamma,” I corrected him before sipping my water and poking the ketchup with a french fry. “Not Glamour Girl. It was something Danny told her about gamma rays being the hottest things on the planet. She thought it was silly, but she didn’t fight him on it. She never fought him on much.”
“Danny?” he asked as he tugged out another napkin from the dispenser. “You’re talking about Dan Petit? How do you know this?”
I tried to change the subject. “Wow, this looks fantastic.”
Unfortunately, Micah wasn’t having it. “It’s the best burger in Rockville. But Dan Petit coming up with this Golden Gamma nickname…I’ve never heard that before.”
I bit the fry and nodded. “Yeah, I picked it up somewhere. You should come see the place, Micah. It’s amazing. I can imagine it being filled with potted palms and gilded mirrors, plush rugs and lots of crystal. It’s nothing like that now, but maybe one day.”
“I would love to see it. I’ve never been inside; can you believe that? So, you do plan on making Rockville your home? That’s interesting.”
“Are you interrogating me or interviewing me?”
“What? Neither, just making conversation. I find you interesting. An interesting person. That’s all.”
I couldn’t figure why, but I suddenly lost my appetite. I tossed the fry down and took a few more sips of water. Micah shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with my change in attitude. How could I explain it to him? I barely understood myself lately.
“Have I crossed some sort of line? If I have, I apologize. My sister tells me I’m too direct sometimes.”
I leaned back against the fake leather booth and eyed him cautiously. What was I doing here having lunch with a stranger? Oh yeah, the picture. I had to know what Paden was doing with Vivian.
If that’s even her. It can’t be her. Paden would never do that to me. Never.
“Megan?”
“No. You’re fine. I’m just…I am curious. The picture.” I picked it up and put it back in my purse. “I need to see what else you have. You think we can do that soon?”
“Sure, I don’t think it would be a problem.”
“Thanks, Micah.”
We finished our meal and chitchatted between bites. I was surprised to learn that he had a degree in literature. I got the feeling that he was a true Renaissance man. “Don’t you find rambling around in that big old place kind of lonely? I mean, I’m guessing you’re alone.”
“I don’t feel lonely at all, but I do need a housekeeper. It’s hard to dive into a book when you have to keep stopping to make trips to the grocery store.”
“You seem to have really fallen in love with this place. I wonder why that is…is it a writer’s paradise in there?”
“You have to see it, Micah. It’s like stepping back in time. I know that sounds crazy, and maybe I am. My agent sure thinks so sometimes.”
He shook his head and pushed his plate to the side. Over folded hands, he leaned forward. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s seen a lot. Much of the original furniture is there. That I love. And strangely enough, I love the clock tower. So much happened in that clock tower. I should really be creeped out by it, but it’s an interesting room.”
Before he could ask me anything else, his phone rang and he immediately raised his hand for the ticket. By the tone of his phone conversation, I could tell that our lunch was over. Oddly enough, I was kind of disappointed now. I liked Micah. He was interesting and thoughtful. And there was something about him. Familiarity. That’s the word I was looking for.
“I’m on the way.” He hung up and stood. “Got to go, Megan. May I call you? We can talk more later if you like. About Joanna Storm. We’ll arrange a time to get you into the storage area.”
“Great. I look forward to it.” I followed him out so we could keep the conversation going. We really didn’
t have time to talk about much, but yes, I was intrigued. I liked him, and I hadn’t expected that. He handed me his business card and thanked me for meeting him.
I hated to see him go.
How weird was that? I waved briefly as he drove away in his shiny black car.
I got in my car and headed to the grocery store. He was going to call me later. I knew he would. I just knew it. I wasn’t a great cook, but surely I could whip up something. Maybe some pasta. Glenn always liked my stuffed shells. I hadn’t made them in a long time, but I was pretty sure I could still pull it off.
I hummed as I drove down the road. It was a peppy tune. No words, just humming. It wasn’t until I left the car that I realized it was an old number. A song from the Victrola record collection.
Mississippi Melody, I think. Yes, that’s what it was.
It had always been one of my favorites.
Chapter Nine
I held the book in my hands tentatively and whispered the title aloud. “Blood Magic: A Spiritualist’s Guide.” Did I really want to open this Pandora’s box? That’s what this book was. Granted, I’d opened it in the library, but never by myself. Never here at Morgan’s Rock. It seemed wrong, but how could I not? How could I not see what Vivian left behind?
Knowing isn’t always a good thing, Punchanella. Knowing brings responsibility.
Despite the memory of Joanna’s father’s warning, I did open it. I sat at the counter in the kitchen and spread the book open carefully on the light blue fabric place mat. It occurred to me that Aimee had purchased this set of place mats. Would I ever know what happened to her or who she truly was? I shook my head at the memory. The coffeepot gurgled as the machine brewed my coffee.
Okay, be objective. This book could be someone’s idea of a joke. Lots of people know you’re writing about Joanna now. Can you really trust Loretta Bradley?
No, that was stupid. What a complicated ruse that would be. I examined the worn leather binding and the soft vellum paper. It was beautifully printed with lots of handwritten notes in the margins, as if someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to add their own thoughts. Perhaps this was Vivian’s own handwriting? Maybe these were her notes? Nope, this couldn’t be a fake. Who would go to such trouble and why? Vivian was hardly a household name, then or now. But regardless of whether she actually wrote the book, I had to read it.
It wasn’t a big book and I had long excelled at speed-reading books, but this wasn’t just any book. As I turned the first page with careful fingers, I studied the symbols drawn along the edges of each page. With the magnifying glass, I examined each one and could tell they were drawn by the same careful hand. I wasn’t proficient with symbology, but a few of these did appear familiar. A strange-looking bird standing on one foot. An owl with one eye. Here were three squiggly lines together. What did that represent? Water?
That’s when it struck me. These weren’t merely symbols. Not simply decorations or doodles. These were some form of hieroglyphs or something like that. I gasped at the connotation. I grabbed my notebook and flipped it open to the first page. With a pen, I carefully began drawing the symbols as they appeared on the pages. I remembered reading somewhere, or maybe I saw it in a movie, that hieroglyphs had to be read from right to left. I began recording the symbols starting on the right page working from top to bottom and then to the second page. After I wrote out the symbols, I read each page carefully.
Vivian Kemal had taken a great deal of care to tell nothing at all about her “magic” in these first few pages. Instead, she talked about her lineage, about the Kemal family, her time in Ankara and the patronage of Zea and Yancey Storm. I have to confess I was riveted by her writing. She wove a good story, that was for sure. Only I knew the truth about her. That she’d been rescued from an orphanage in Ankara, that her grandfather, a notable scholar and friend of Yancey’s, had not arranged for Vivian’s care before his untimely death. She’d been brought to Morgan’s Rock not for patronage but to be a companion to Joanna. One would think that being close in age and sharing similar features, they would have become fast friends, but this had not been the case at all. Joanna resented Vivian from the day she met her. If anyone had enjoyed “companionship” with Miss Kemal, it had been Zea Storm.
Yes, I knew that because I remembered. I tried to recall more, but it did no good. There was an invisible wall between the past and me, one that I could not penetrate at will. I sighed and read the passage aloud.
In the end, Magic makes fools of us all. I have no illusions on the subject, and neither should any of us. Magic comes at a price, but it is a price I am willing to pay because what is life without power? What is life without magic? Know this, once you step into the Hall of Shadows, you can never turn back. You will not be able to look away from the mirror, and you may not like what you see. But then again, you may.
I shivered at what I’d read. What foolishness was this? She was making no sense at all, yet I could hear her sing-songy voice in my ears. She had such a strange accent, so otherworldly. I flipped to the next page and immediately began sketching the symbols in my notebook. I don’t know why. I couldn’t even be sure that this was going to mean anything. Perhaps much like her writing, this book wasn’t anything at all, just the ramblings of a troubled young woman who died too soon. Here was a weird triangle, that was easy to draw, and then the stick figure, and something else that looked like a heart. I read the next passage, hoping to uncover something useful. But it’s not likely that she’d write down her confession in this book, Megan.
I continued to scribble down what I felt was important, but I was disappointed in the content. Granted I wasn’t too far into the book when the kitchen phone rang, but I was beginning to think there wasn’t much to it. Except the symbols. That had significance. Those symbols had meaning, but what exactly? I was no Egyptologist.
“Hello?”
“Megan? It’s me, Alex. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, just having some coffee. Doing some light reading. What’s up?”
“Does something have to be up? I’m in town and would like to see you. Are you free this evening?”
I paused as I paced the kitchen and stopped to stare out the window. The sun was going down. Where had the time gone?
“I’m kind of tired, thinking of calling it an early night tonight. What about tomorrow morning? Will you be available then?” Okay, so that hadn’t been my plan. Not originally. When I left the supermarket, I had been convinced that I would have company tonight. I wanted to get to know Micah better and had been prepared to cook a meal and possibly talk about the house and the Storm family, but no dice. He was working the late shift at the station tonight, but he did ask for a rain check. Embarrassed at having asked him and gotten rejected in a way, I agreed but didn’t make any further suggestions. If he wanted me, he’d have to do the asking.
“I guess, if I need to wait. I’m not flying out until Wednesday, so I have a few days to kill. How is the search going for a new housekeeper? Did you talk with Lori yet?” I ignored the disappointment I heard in his voice.
“To be honest, I haven’t even thought about it. I’m managing okay without anyone.”
Alex laughed. “You’ll have to hire some staff, Miss Pressfield. I’ll ask her to come visit you in a few days. A representative from the publishing company is coming to town next week. They’re talking about an option for the book. A film option, Megan. Think about what that means.”
“What? I haven’t even finished the thing yet,” I whispered. Why did I have the feeling I was being watched? I peeked out the window but saw no one there. I thought I saw a shadow pass in the hallway out of the corner of my eye, but it was probably just my imagination. I was exceptionally tired all of a sudden. I hadn’t been lying to Alex. I really did plan to turn in early, now that I wasn’t having company. Of course, I hoped that by doing so I might step back into that Otherworld. The world where Paden and Joanna existed, where they loved one another madly.
I will ne
ver forget you, Paden. I will never stop loving you.
“This is a good thing. Don’t let this be a discouragement but an encouragement. Circuit Publishing believes in your work so much that they are willing to go out on a limb here. But I think we can help this project along, Megan. I’ve got a great idea for the party, one I was hoping to talk to you in person about.” Again with the disappointed voice. Poor Alex. He was a great guy, really dedicated to my work, and to me. But the truth was, I didn’t love him. Not like I loved Paden. But you’ll never see him again. He’s dead and gone, Megan. Let the past go.
“Oh, right, the party…I’ve been thinking about that. Do you really think that’s a good idea? This place’s history of disastrous parties seems proportionally more dangerous than even the haunted Queen Mary.”
“We want to remind them that Joanna Storm was so important, and we should show them what this place would have been like during her time. I’m sure we could get the film people here too. Hey, here’s a question for you. Would you object to filming at Morgan’s Rock? Just think what that would mean.”
Ah, yes. This was what I liked least about Alex. His ambition knew no end. In a strange way, he reminded me of Vivian Kemal. Always working behind the scenes. Always plotting.
“I’ll have to think about it. As I said, I’m really feeling tired today.”
He didn’t speak right away, and when he did it surprised the heck out of me. “Not too tired to go have lunch earlier. Is that why you wanted me gone?”
“Alex, have you been spying on me?” I demanded angrily. “You have no right to check up on me.”
“I wasn’t spying. I was driving to Rockville’s one and only hotel from the airport when I saw your car in the restaurant parking lot. It’s not like I hired a detective to follow you around.”
It was my turn to clam up. This conversation was going nowhere, and I was ready to end it as quickly as possible.
“Now what? What’s going on with us, Megan?”
The Haunting at Morgan's Rock Page 16