McCann's Manor

by Charlotte Holley

  "There had been talk about my father and Betty having an affair and that being the reason Leonard killed himself. When Missy insisted Leonard hadn't killed himself, they even pulled Dad in on suspicion of homicide. I guess even I began to consider the possibility, because Missy had been so insistent that Leonard hadn't killed himself. I loved Missy, Liz. I loved her like a sister, and I loved her like a man loves a woman. I would have done anything she asked of me. I loved her enough to believe her over my father."

  "But she never said your dad killed Leonard, did she?"

  "No, it was always this Ptarmigan person, a mysterious man/monster who was about my age, about my build and looked somewhat like me. I thought she somehow was trying to blame me for the whole thing. There was no such person anywhere that anyone could come up with, except me. And I was in Boston the whole time. It might have helped had she known a name, a real name, but she didn't. It was something no one, not even Missy, could prove.

  "Anyway, when I asked Dad if he had killed Leonard, I think it took away the last of his will to live. My mother died when I was seven and he had never remarried, but he was in love with Betty. Everyone was. He would have given anything to be the man she chose to be with. But Betty was devoted to Leonard and that was all there was to it.

  "With Leonard gone, she would have been free to be with him, but he was too sick and she was too grieved. When he passed away, she told me she could have loved him a great deal if she hadn't spent so much time missing Leonard and Missy. Then she started grieving over losing Dad, too. Said he was her best friend and that she had a deep and abiding love for him.” He ended the line with a sad shrug, looking over at her.

  "Strange, isn't it? Life is full of those little quirks of timing,” Liz remarked. “I often wonder how things might have been different in my life had the timing been better."

  "Yes, I know what you mean. If I had been here, would Missy still be alive? I married after she died ... twice, but I was such a chump, I compared every woman to her. None of them could be Missy, so I lost two wonderful women and a lot of myself in the process.” John shook his head. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, after Betty finished her grieving, she asked me to help her set up all the legal aspects that would allow whoever could heal the house to be given free and clear title to the place and everything in it. And so began the seemingly endless saga of parapsychologists and charlatans who came and saw and left screaming, or in straight jackets."

  Liz shook her head, “I have yet to see anything that scary here."

  "You have been here such a short while. Are you telling me seeing McCann and Spencer go at it and then having the feeling of suffocating didn't scare you?"

  Liz smiled, “Well, it scared me, but not that much."

  "Maybe you're just made out of sterner stuff than the rest?” John smiled in return.

  "I wouldn't say that, but I'm not a charlatan and I have done my fair share of ghost busting. Maybe I've had more experience than some of the others?"

  John looked into her eyes and asked, “When did you first know you had the gift?"

  Liz shook her head, “I don't remember there ever being a time when I didn't know. I was always a weird kid, I guess. Of course, back then, I thought I was just like everyone else. I didn't know they didn't all talk to ghosts and see things. In fact, I think Kim is the only other person I ever met who'd always had and recognized the gift, as you put it."

  John took the hand she had placed on his arm and patted it. “Is that why you and she are so thick?"

  She grinned at him, then chuckled, “Yeah, that's exactly it. We both know, no matter how strange the going gets, we can come to each other and spill it all without fear of being told we're crazy. You have no idea what a comfort that is."

  "Well, I do have an idea. I'm glad you two have that bond.” He stopped, seemed to be considering what to say. “Mind if I ask you a question?"

  Liz knew what was coming and beat him to the punch, “What? Are we lesbians?"

  "Uh, that is pretty indelicate, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but I've heard the question so many times that I'm used to it. It's what you wanted to know, isn't it?” Liz was more amused than upset.

  He looked away, shrugged. “Lots of the people I know are of the other persuasion, you know."

  Liz chuckled, “Is it what you want to know?"

  He continued, “It isn't like I'm prejudiced or anything. I just don't like to make a fool of myself. Yes, that is what I was going to ask."

  "No, we're not.” She touched his lips and whispered, “Don't be embarrassed. We have always wound up together over the years. I think it is because, like I said, we listen to each other without either of us thinking the other is weird or losing touch."

  He smiled, “I'm glad to hear you say that. I'm attracted to you Liz. I just wanted to know what kind of chance I had with you."

  "I like you, too, John, but why are you trying to change the subject?” she pried.

  John hung his head, grinned like a young boy, “You saw right through me, didn't you?"

  She nodded, “What is it you're so reluctant to tell me?"

  He sat in silence a moment, staring at her in disbelief. “I have never known anyone who could just see through me like that before. It's amazing."

  "Um-hum,” she agreed. “You're among friends here, John; just tell me. We will still be friends I promise."

  He took a deep breath, blew it out again, then took another. “All this time, I thought McCann was evil. Now you tell me it was Spencer, and I'm blown away. I'm afraid of this thing. When I stayed here, I had periods when I blacked out, times I couldn't remember where I had been or what I had been doing. I thought there was a spirit trying to control me. I imagine you have heard my acting career was nearly preempted by my drinking but the rumor was just a smoke screen. The problem was, I had a complete mental breakdown and I tried to kill myself twice."

  Liz's eyes grew large as she scrutinized him. Yes, she could see the truth of what he had said now. How should she reply? “John, that must have been terrifying for you. I'm so sorry. I can understand how you must feel about Spencer. You think he's still looking for the gold?"

  "Wasn't it you who said ghosts seldom stick around for such temporal things?"

  "Ouch! You were paying closer attention than I thought! I did say that, but Spencer, from the impressions I got of him, had one driving aim in life and that was to possess more and more wealth. He was obsessed with the gold. And I'm reasonably certain he never found any of it. I'm not convinced there ever was any gold hidden here, but I don't believe he never found it anywhere else either."

  John nodded, “So you do think there's a possibility he's trying to keep anyone else from finding it?"

  "That is warped, and yes, that may be his reason for being here, although McCann seems to have had some last wishes for revenge, and McCann's last wishes might have something to do with Spencer's presence."

  "You mean McCann's sheer will could keep Spencer here?"

  "Yes, I think it might, at least until the truth is known about what happened between them. If that's the case, once McCann is uncovered and his story is told, Spencer would be free as well."

  John thought over what she said a moment. “Well, if that's the case, we should get his remains out of here as soon as possible. So, how does the fireplace open?"

  Liz grimaced, “I couldn't get the lever to work. Spencer must have broken it or something. No, wait. I was seeing the past. I wasn't there. At least I don't think I was. Maybe it does still work and I just couldn't get it to because I had no substance in the past."

  John frowned, “What did you just say?"

  She grinned, “Skip it. It is all so much nonsense. Let's try it and see what happens.” She rose from the sofa and walked to the fireplace, put her hand on the rock and pushed. The rock moved inward and the floor of the fireplace began to slide open. She was holding her breath again. There was indeed a hole under the floor, but it was too dark to see down inside.<
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  "Well, do you see anything?” John asked from behind her.

  "It's too dark down there. There's a flashlight sitting on the kitchen counter. Would you bring it?"

  "Of course. You all right?"

  "Sure, I'm fine.” Was she? She felt her heart pounding, but she stood firm. John would be right back and she would be all right until then. Everything would be just fine. She didn't want to blink her eyes for fear she would get caught in another time warp and she would be pulled again into the past. She waited, tried to stay calm. She had never found a body before, let alone in the house she was calling home.

  John returned with the flashlight, handed it to her. She took it almost gingerly, turned to face the hole in the floor of the fireplace, switched it on and moved closer to shine it down into the hole.

  "Liz!” John grabbed her arm.

  She jumped, “What?"

  He smiled at her. “Well, you have to open your eyes; you know it isn't enough to shine the light down there with your eyes closed."

  "Oh, yeah?” she replied with a sheepish grin on her face.

  "That's the way it usually works,” he said.

  She sighed, put her hands on her hips. “Well, if you are so smart and smug, here,” she held the flashlight out to him, “you do it."

  He smirked, “I thought you had done lots of ghost busting."

  "I have dealt with ghosts, yes. Bodies, no!"

  They looked at each other, then burst into peals of laughter. After a few moments, John spoke, “Okay, this is hardly in keeping with the spirit of things.” Liz groaned. “Here, let's look together."

  She nodded and they stepped forward, hand-in-hand, to peer down inside the vault.

  "My God, it is just like you said. He is here with his poor cat."

  Liz was overcome with emotion. She wished she hadn't been right about McCann, but she knew all along what to expect. “Well,” she said at last, “we had better call the police and get this whole thing started, I guess."

  "Right,” John agreed, “I'll call."

  Chapter 10

  Sheriff Peter Humphrey had taken the report himself when John called. Now he motioned to his cohorts for a chuckle. “Hey, guys, listen up! We got a new la-ti-da psychic living at the Guild. So naturally, we got a new body to go collect."

  "Hey, Pete, who is it this time?” Jack Lance asked.

  Humphrey rolled his eyes, scratched his balding head, rubbed his ample belly, and stared out the window. “This time it is McCann himself, who else? This lady is out to make a name for herself, ain't she?"

  Laughter.

  "All right, men, remember who you are. Let's give her the priority one treatment. We will show this Madame Blavatsky wanna-be who she is dealing with. Call everyone out and we will make so much noise and bother for her she'll think twice about calling us again. Get the county coroner to meet us there.” Half a dozen men scrambled at his barked order.

  Jack Lance stayed behind when the others went to prepare for their false alarm. He eyed the aging sheriff, “Suppose this one is on the level, sir?"

  "Are you kiddin’ me? You don't believe in all this psychic bull-shit, do you?"

  "Well, I don't know, sir. Lots of police departments are using psychics to help solve crimes’ now. They can't all be fakes, can they?"

  Humphrey fixed Lance with an angry stare, “Now you hear this boy, we ain't gonna have none of that paranormal hocus-pocus crap goin’ on around here. You got me? I don't care where you went to school or what they taught you. It ain't-a-gonna happen here."

  Jack straightened his back, “Oh, I know that, sir. It is just, maybe this one has something. It could happen."

  Humphrey chewed furiously on the end of his cheap cigar and growled, “Naw, she ain't got nothin'. You can believe that. Probably paid some poor dumb fool to go dig up a body somewhere from some old graveyard, brought it back and put it in her house. There ain't no place in that damned old house we ain't already searched at one time or another. If McCann's body had been there, we'd have found him. I'll trip her up!"

  Jack lowered his chin and smiled. “I guess you don't believe the stories about the hidden passages, huh?"

  "Hell, boy, wipe that grin off your face. There ain't no secret passages in that house. It's all just a bunch of hog wash folks invented. You come with me, boy. I'll show you how a real lawman handles these people!"

  "Yes, sir,” Lance said. “I was hoping you would take me along on this one."

  Humphrey blew his cigar right out of his mouth in disgust, then scrambled to pick up the butt before it could burn a hole in his pants. “You're goin’ all right. I'll show you there ain't no ghosts. There ain't no goblins, and this psychic lady is just as full of it as you are."

  * * * *

  Liz had taken Spooky and Ghost upstairs and closed them into one of the rooms so they wouldn't be disturbed by all the comings and goings that were sure to ensue. As she came back down the stairs from her bedroom, she thought about the crescent room and the bloody hand print. She wanted to talk to John about what she had learned about Missy, but this wasn't the time for it. She had a feeling the police were going to be frequenting this house more than they cared to in the coming months.

  John was opening the door when she emerged behind him in the hall. A short portly man pushed something into John's face, shoved past him and into the entry hall. John turned to Liz. “Liz, this is Sheriff Peter Humphrey."

  One look at the sheriff's disgruntled expression told her Humphrey was anything but glad to be there. “How do you do? I'm Elizabeth Carr. Thank you for coming so quickly."

  Humphrey glared at her, then addressed John. “You put her up to this, didn't you, Carter?"

  John shot an amused glance at Liz before answering Humphrey. “No Pete, it was the other way around. She wanted to see how our fine law enforcement officers of Bastrop conduct themselves during an investigation. I couldn't resist. The woman is quite a charmer."

  "Humph!” Humphrey puffed. “Does that mean there is no body?"

  John looked in amusement at the other officers who had crowded in the door, “Oh, there is a body, all right. There are two of them, in fact. I think you will be impressed, Pete."

  Humphrey gave John a dour look, before addressing his deputy, “Did you get the coroner?"

  "I'm here,” said a bony little man as he squeezed past the officers in the entry. “What have you got for me?"

  Humphrey was silent. “If you'll come this way, I'll show you,” Liz intervened as she walked to the other hall and started toward the parlor.

  "Yes, Ma'am,” the little man said. “I'm Willard Pierce, the county coroner."

  "I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Pierce. I'm Elizabeth Carr. I'm glad you can talk to me. It seems everyone else has lost their ability to speak in my presence."

  Humphrey and his men seemed to be in shock for a moment until John cleared his throat and made to follow Liz then turned and gestured to them, “Come on, guys. Any of you ever see a two-hundred-year-old corpse before? It is quite fascinating. Surely you don't want to miss out."

  Humphrey slumped, but stepped into line behind John, followed by the other men. When they arrived in the parlor, Liz and Pierce were peering down into the hole under the fireplace floor.

  "What the hell is this?” Humphrey demanded.

  "This is what is known as a secret vault, Pete,” John responded. “It seems McCann had included it in his original floor plan."

  "Now wait a minute. Just who in the hell told you that?"

  "I guess I did,” Liz answered.

  "And just how do you know that?” Humphrey asked, an irritated edge to his voice.

  Liz looked at John and shrugged.

  John smiled at her, “Probably best just to tell him the whole story, Liz."

  Liz studied Humphrey's face. She had seen the look before; the belligerent, indifferent, I-don't-believe-anything-you-say look that almost always meant she had to resort to cheap parlor tricks just to get his attention. She
hated the game, but she would have to play it, she supposed. “I am sorry, Mr. Humphrey. I know you don't believe in all this paranormal hocus-pocus crap, but I'm not a Madame Blavatsky wanna-be. She was discredited as a fake. I, on the other hand, have been given a gift that is real. I didn't ask for it, but it came to me all the same. I often think of it as more of a curse than a gift, but I try to make the most of it, just as you sometimes try to make the most of your uncanny ability to hold more beer than anyone else in town."

  Humphrey's face lit in scarlet. He sputtered at her, “Who told you that?"

  "You mean about the beer, or what you said when John's call came in?” she asked.

  The sheriff walked in front of her as if he expected her to retract what she had just said. He glared at her and grimaced; his eyes winked and his mouth twitched. She looked at him, held her ground. He made fists and she wondered for a minute if he was going to hit her.

  At last he spoke, just above a whisper, “How could you know—either of those things?"

  She leaned toward him, still maintaining her eye contact with him, “I know other things, too. Do you want me to continue, or do you think maybe you could listen to what I have to say?” Was that a threat? Why had she said that? She thought for a moment he might hit her, but he backed off.

  "Lance!"

  "Yes, sir?” Lance stepped forward.

  "Write down what she says. She will have to sign her statement.” Having emphasized the part about her signing her statement, he sent Liz across the room with Lance and went to lean against the mantle. “So, what do you think, Willard?” he asked, his voice low.

  "My assistant should be here any minute,” Willard whispered. “He'll have the lights and the equipment I need to verify it, but it looks to me like whoever he was, he died of asphyxiation and he died as he lies, right here—quite a long while ago."

  "Asphyxiation? How can you tell?"

  "Look at the face it is unusually well-preserved, but see the look? This man was struggling to breathe."

  "What makes you think it was a long time ago?"

  "Aren't you supposed to the investigator here? My place is to corroborate evidence and establish time and cause of death—maybe help identify him, if that is even possible."