McCann's Manor (14 page)

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."

Humphrey scowled, “Don't get smart with me, Will. Answer the goddamn question."

"Well, look at the clothes, for one thing. Have you ever seen anything like this garb?"

"No. Yes. Maybe, in books or movies."

"Yeah, books or movies about things that happened a couple hundred years ago."

"Okay, you made your point. What else?"

Willard rubbed his chin, stared at the corpse. “Of course, only tests would be conclusive, but looking at the state of mummification we have here and given the atmosphere of this room, the fact it was airtight enough for a man to suffocate, I'd have to say he's been down here for a couple of hundred years, give or take a decade."

Humphrey rubbed the back of his neck, looked over his shoulder at Liz who was giving her statement to a rapt young Jack Lance, “You think she's on the level?"

Willard shrugged. It would have made him uncomfortable to have stood up to Humphrey the way she had. “I
think
there is a strong chance of it, Pete."

Humphrey sighed shaking his head. “Times are changin', Willard. I want you to give this your closest attention. I don't want her makin’ us look like a bunch of hillbilly fools. What's your impression? Could this actually be old Ben McCann?"

Willard nodded, “From what I know of McCann from my dealings with the historical society, it could well be, Pete. McCann was a big man, and he had a cat. The story is when McCann disappeared, so did his cat."

Humphrey eyed Liz again, sighed. “You think there are other secret passages in this old house?"

"Well, speculation has it there are a number of them, but I don't know. Looks like there might be others, since there is at least one, you think?"

Humphrey scowled, “Yeah, looks like..."

"Hey Willard, sorry I couldn't get here any faster, but I made it as quick as I could,” a young man said as he entered lugging a large case.

"It's okay, Mike. Let's get busy,” Willard said.

"Okay, sure thing. Oh, Sheriff, the press is just pulling in,” Mike said.

"The press? My God, who called
them
?” Humphrey roared.

One of the deputies grinned, “Hey, Pete, you said priority one, remember?"

He was crestfallen, “Yeah, I remember, dammit!” This wasn't one of his better days. Now he had to think of something to tell the press, but what? Was this Carr woman the real McCoy? He needed a beer.

Kim arrived as a corpse was being hauled outside in a body bag. Two men were maneuvering an ambulance gurney down the beautiful stone walkway. Pulling her car around to the parking area, she saw more police cars. What on earth? She was stricken. Had something happened to Liz? She watched as people dressed in uniforms and street clothes went about their various jobs, none of whom paid any attention to her at all.

What was going on? The weight of what she was seeing replaced her initial shock and she hurried to the entrance, but was denied access by one of the deputies, who stepped in front of her and spoke.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you can't go in there just now. We're here on official business."

"The hell I can't go in!” She spat at the deputy as she leaned forward, trying to see who was inside. “I live here. Where is Liz?"

"Over here, Kim!” came a familiar voice from the hallway, right inside the door. “It's okay. She
does
live here."

Kim walked to her friend's side, took one look at her and added more questions to the barrage that were battling to be first from her mouth. “What happened to your head? Who did they take out in that horrible body bag?” Her best friend looked dazed and had a growing bruise on her forehead.

Liz reached up and touched her head, found the knot was quite large. “I'm fine. I fell and hit my head. The body bag is Ben McCann ... and Timothy.” She turned to go down the hall and into the library. “Come sit and talk to me."

To Kim's hearing, Liz sounded much too calm for the information she was conveying. “You are kidding!” she exclaimed. “I'm gone for the afternoon and when I come back you have found McCann's body? Where?” Kim was still shell-shocked. She sat in one of the high-backed chairs by the windows close to Liz and spoke in exasperation, “You scared the you-know-what out of me—I thought it was
you
in that body bag."

Liz felt her friend's dismay, but answered with a smart-ass barb, “How do you think I would have gotten into that kind of shape all by myself?” She squeezed her friend's hand and sat back again.

Kim was speechless. She shook her head. “Why didn't you call and warn me at least? It is pretty alarming to drive up and see—all this!"

"I tried to call, but I guess you turned off the phone or something because I couldn't get through.” Liz pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her skirt. “You almost always have to go out in the yard to use the cell phone. There must be a lot of metal or some other kind of interference in this house.” She sounded puzzled. “Anyway, I used the phone in the living room."

Kim leaned down and picked up her purse, put it in her lap and fished out her phone. She shook back her curls as she took it out of a little silk bag in her purse. “It
is
switched off. I didn't turn it off, but that has happened several times lately.” It was mysterious, but odd things happened around her on a regular basis. “I never had that problem before; I wonder what the deal is?"

Liz shrugged, then grinned, “Beats me. Maybe
someone
doesn't like to hear it ring."

Kim shook her head, “Let's not talk about my personal ghostly escorts right now. You were going to tell me about finding McCann's body, right?"

Liz took a deep breath, started to tell the same story for the fourth,
or maybe the fifth
time. Kim listened to Liz's matter-of-fact recitation of the data. Even with all that had happened to them before, it was startling to hear another story of her friend's talent at responding to ghosts and spirits. At the end of the tale, she stood and bent over to hug her friend. “You really are something, Liz."

Liz stood and smiled at her. “Let's go into the parlor. I'll show you the vault.” As they entered the room, they saw John standing beside one of the beige-tone linen upholstered couches, talking to a big man in shirt sleeves. The left sleeve was trimmed with the Bastrop County Sheriff's Department emblem. Kim waved a greeting to John and let herself be led to the fireplace. She peered down at a spacious, metal-lined room, its floor some eight to ten feet below where she stood. There was a slight incline, but no steps into the room.

John and the other man moved closer to the vault as the women peered down into it.

From below them, there was the sound of a young male voice as one of the officers spoke to the man John had been addressing. “These walls are several inches thick, sir. The place seems to be impregnable, like a bomb shelter. There is a lever mechanism,” he moved his flashlight to indicate a slot in the wall and picked up a strip of metal from the floor. “It's broken, but it provided a way out for anyone inside. There was also an air vent, but it was blocked with mortar, so there was no air and no escape,” the officer told Humphrey.

Humphrey moved to peer down into the vault as another officer came across the room.

Liz spoke to Kim, “That is Sheriff Humphrey and the younger man is Officer Jack Lance.” She looked around, “I can't tell you anyone else's name except John's, but you already know him."

Jack Lance shot a glance at Liz and acknowledged her with a bob of his head. She nodded back as she stood beside Kim. This old place was creepy; the makeshift crypt made him nervous and he was not keen on remaining here much longer. He sidled up to Humphrey. He wanted to share the preliminary results of his investigation without embarrassing his chief, but could not keep himself from a slight smile as he spoke, “Sir, Ms. Carr said it was McCann's partner who destroyed the vent and the lever. She says it was premeditated murder and our own findings so far confirm everything she said."

Humphrey looked at Lance, said nothing, but nodded wearily. He took the report from Lance, read over it in silence. Did she expect anyone to believe she had
seen
the murder in some kind of wacky vision of the past? Still, the things she said did seem to fit, but he couldn't believe it—not yet. He needed more proof. He walked over to Liz, nodded at Kim. “I don't know how you know these things you said here in this report, but believe me, I intend to find out."

Liz took a deep breath, smiled at him, “I understand how you feel. I have been
knowing
things that
couldn't
be known all my life and I still have trouble believing it most of the time myself. It would be more pleasant for us both if we could be friends, though. This is my house mate, Kimberly Henson. Kim, meet Sheriff Peter Humphrey."

Kim smiled, “Hello."

"Sheriff Humphrey is a skeptic, Kim,” Liz told her friend.

Humphrey mumbled a cursory greeting. Kim held his gaze. “I see. Well, it is hard to fathom sometimes, I know."

"You psychic, too?” he asked.

"Yes, I am,” Kim responded.

Humphrey mumbled again, something that sounded like, “...a whole nest of ‘em,” before he turned and walked away.

Kim shrugged, “Friendly, isn't he?"

John spoke up. “You have to understand, Kim, Humphrey has been out here investigating things off and on for more than twenty years—his entire career, and he is tired of this place. He thinks no one who claims to be psychic can be trusted at all. He hates the idea there could be anything he doesn't know about or understand."

Kim laughed, “I know the type; like my second husband!"

John joined her laughter. “Yeah, I've met a few more of those, too. Was your trip to Austin productive?"

Kim sighed, “Well, I do have news—about the APG. Someone—
somehow
—found out where we are living,” she looked at Liz, continued. “Now they want to come out here and have a séance or meditation and discussion group—you know, get all the psychic impressions about all the stories and see if we can all unravel the mysteries associated with the place."

"Someone found out? How do you suppose that happened?” Liz asked.

"Well, don't look at me—I didn't tell anyone. I figure we don't need any more psychics out here,” Kim protested. She looked into her friend's eyes, and her own eyes held a twinkling light, “But think: Grace."

Liz shrugged, “You're probably right, but it will all be a moot point after the news tonight."

"What does that mean?” Kim looked from John to Liz.

"Our friend Humphrey called the media when I called to report a body, so McCann's Manor and its wacky psychics will be in all the papers and on all the news shows for miles around, no doubt. I think he was trying to embarrass me, perhaps make such a big deal out of it that it would discourage me from calling him in the future. It backfired on him.” Liz looked at her friends, “Who knows? With our luck, we'll be swamped—what if some national or international show picks up on it?"

"Oh, that would be grand, now wouldn't it?” Kim complained.

Liz rolled her eyes, smiled at her friends. “Well, it won't be the last of the news about this place. Come on, you two, I think these guys are about to wrap up here and they will be leaving in a few minutes—I hope. I have some things to tell you and we all need to put our heads together on this, okay?"

John looked puzzled, “What things?"

"Probably better save it until all the
visitors
clear out. I don't know, Kim; I'm not too sure about the APG coming out here."

"Well, what can I say—no, you guys aren't welcome here?” Kim asked.

"Hey,” John interrupted. “It might not be such a bad thing. I think it might even be a good idea."

"What?” Kim asked.

"Why?” Liz chimed in.

"Well, when did you say your Haunted House is?” John asked.

"Saturday before Halloween,” Kim said.

"Okay. Now, I'm assuming the whole organization wouldn't be coming, right?"

"No, just the psychics,” responded Kim.

"Okay, then here's what you can do: invite all the APG psychics on Halloween night and probably a third to a half can make it—we can also invite the Guild to come and make it a real party.” John gestured. “No one will be allowed to go off exploring on their own. We can give everyone the grand tour. Those who want to participate can go to each room, you know, do psychometry on various articles in the house, throw out speculations on who, what, when, where, why and how—that sort of thing."