McCann's Manor (7 page)

"You make it sound like Amityville or something, John. Why were you so anxious for us to see it, when now you're trying to talk us out of it?” Liz questioned.

John drew a deep breath and sighed. “I'm sorry. I get away from it for a while and I seem to forget how it affected me. When I return, it all comes crashing back down on me again. I don't know why that is, but it happens every time. If it makes you feel better don't listen to me, but do you realize how hard it is for a man like me to admit I am scared shitless by a house?"

Kim stifled a laugh. “Everyone has something that
scares them shitless
, John, and it doesn't take a haunted house for a lot of us!"

"That's true!” Liz chimed in, “Some people can't stand to see a black cat; others are afraid of snakes, or the dark, or there's my own personal favorite, spiders!"

John shook his head. “You're afraid of spiders, but
not
ghosts?"

Liz chuckled. “Well, yes. Maybe I should say rather that I'm not
unafraid
of ghosts, but Kim and I have been able to work out mutually agreeable arrangements with all the ones we have come into contact with ... so far. Of course, unlike spiders, spooks fascinate me. I can't resist them."

"Hmm ... figures. Sounds like something a dizzy dame would say,” John chided.

"Hey! Who's dizzy?"

John smiled then, and he seemed to relax a bit. “Hey, chill out, I was just kidding."

Liz smiled at him. She had always heard actors and actresses weren't as good-looking in person as they were on screen, but in John's instance, she couldn't disagree more. He must be at least twice as attractive in person as he was on the silver screen, and he looked younger, too. She scolded herself for the thoughts she was having about him. It wasn't exactly like her to have her head turned by a handsome face, but she was finding she liked John, and not altogether for his looks. She found him to be an interesting and genuine person, nothing like she had thought he would be.

"I know you were teasing me,” she chuckled. “I was teasing back!"

John smiled, “Good. I wouldn't want to alienate you. I'm going to be your closest neighbor, you know."

"Really? Neighbor?” Kim interrupted the two smiling faces in the front seat. She wasn't sure what was taking place between John and Liz, but she didn't think she liked it all that much.

"Yes, my house is the closest to McCann's, which is one reason it is so easy for me to see to the place. See, Tatum bought something like fifteen hundred acres with the old McCann place and in the fifties, he subdivided some of it and sold off the parcels to some of Hollywood's elite, called the community
Actor's Guild
. Of course, most of the places have changed hands several times by now, but it is still owned exclusively by actors, directors and other
celebrities.
You two will be the only ones out there who aren't in the entertainment
business
."

"Gee,” Liz mused, “a community of celebrities, kind of like a
little
Hollywood."

"Yes, but without all the glitz and glamor. It is a well-guarded secret, of course, and most of the
stars
are there part time, though several do live there full time, like myself. You will have about twenty to thirty
famous
neighbors to rub elbows with at any given time, if you want to get to know them.” He chuckled then, “Of course, not all of them are as
sociable
as I am. Some are retired and crotchety old has-beens, still too sold on themselves to spend much time getting to know anyone else."

"Well this sounds more interesting
and
more forbidding all the time!” Liz observed.

John pursed his lips. “You have no idea, my dear! And, of course, should the two of you succeed in ridding the mansion of its evil spirits, you will never lack for jet-setter friends who want to flaunt you and have you do some magical psychic thing for them, too. You will be invited to all the obscene parties and outlandish events you can stomach, and then some."

"Oh, dear,” Liz said, “maybe we should think more about it before we decide. What do you think, Kim?"

Kim knew Liz was being facetious. “Oh, I think we will be able to live with it, Liz, don't worry. I'm sure John and Wade will be able to help us ward off the curiosity seekers!"

Liz turned to look over her shoulder at Kim in the back seat. “Well, okay, if you're sure. I wouldn't want to get in over my head with a bunch of jet-setters!"

Kim cocked an eyebrow at her friend, “Of course not! I know how
you
are."

Liz smiled at Kim and winked. She was feeling quite good about this whole thing, she had to admit. Then she thought again about Missy, about the chilling nightmare she still could recall as though she had awakened from it just moments ago. Missy had not killed herself, Liz was convinced of that much. “John,” she began, “When did Missy die?"

"Missy? Well, let's see ... Leonard shot himself in the library in August of sixty-eight. Missy—
Melissa Angelica
, her name was—never could accept her father's death. She insisted Leonard would never have killed himself and left her. She claimed to have been visited by his ghost, a ghost who told her there was a monster who had killed him."

"A
monster
? What kind of monster?” Images flashed in her mind, sent it reeling, but they were too illusive. She couldn't focus in on them fast enough. What was it she could almost see but couldn't quite grasp? Was it a man who for some reason Missy thought of as a monster? The only image she could latch onto at all was that of a dark hooded figure, but it was impossible to tell if the figure inside the cloak was human.

"I don't know. No one knew much about Missy's monsters, I think. She saw monsters all the time, though; her mind was—unstable. She called this one Ptarmigan, but he was just like all the others, a figment of her imagination. Betty and her doctor, Hiram Winter, decided the house was a bad influence on Missy. They tried sending her to stay at her grandparents’ farm in Iowa, but she continued to rave about the monsters. So in December of seventy, they sent her to a private institution in New York. She jumped out a window the following April."

Liz looked at Kim, who stared back at her in disbelief. Winter was the name Missy had used when she thought of the man who had ordered her death. There
had
been a farm in Iowa. Should she tell John about the dream? Kim shook her head, as if in answer to Liz's unspoken question.
Not yet.
Liz would wait and see what she could turn up on her own, for a while, but then she wanted to talk to Betty, and to learn more about this Hiram Winter. What had been going on that brought about the deaths of Leonard and Missy Tatum? Who was Hiram Winter?

"Where is this Dr. Winter now?” Liz asked.

"Winter? Why do you ask?"

"I would like to talk to him about Missy,” she said.

"He was older than Betty, died a few years ago, I think,” John said.

"Oh. I don't suppose he spent time in New York while Missy was there, did he?"

"No, not as far as I know, but his brother Lucas was at the institute. As a matter of fact, he was the head of the facility. That was the reason they decided to send Missy there; he was supposedly the best in his field. May I ask why all this interest in Melissa?"

Liz paused.
What to say without telling him the entire story?
“I had a dream about her. She thought about a man named Dr. Winter and the farm in Iowa. This was
before
I met you or ever heard of McCann's mansion. When I saw her portrait in the library, it piqued my curiosity about Missy,” Liz said.

John frowned and asked, “You
dreamed
about Missy? You
are
psychic, aren't you? What do you think it means?"

"Well, I'm not sure yet. Guess that is why I'm curious,” she skirted the issue.

"I
guess
! Does this sort of thing happen to you often?” John looked at her with genuine curiosity.

"No, but it does happen sometimes. Kim and I both have these kinds of dreams from time to time. It usually means something significant, to be sure.” Liz chewed on her lower lip in thought.

John pulled in behind Kim's white Jaguar in front of the restaurant where they had met for lunch. “Sounds like it
might be
significant,” he mused. “Okay, well, I will see you Saturday morning and we will get this thing started, right?"

"I can hardly wait!” Liz smiled at John. “Thanks for the lunch, the tour and the conversation. It was great."

"For me, too, girls. See you Saturday."

Liz and Kim got out of John's blue Mercedes SUV and waved before getting into the Jag and driving away. The day had yielded puzzling information and they needed time to ponder it.

"So?” Kim asked at length.

Liz looked at Kim, puzzled, “So, what?"

"I saw you making eyes at John Carter. Are you interested in him or just leading him on?” She leaned back on the small sofa in their travel trailer and kicked off her shoes.

"Leading him on?” Liz protested, “I was not!"

"Yeah, uh-huh. I see that little grin on your face. You're smitten by him, admit it."

Liz frowned. “Smitten? Me?"

"Well, who else?"

Liz shook her head, cocked it to the side and asked, “What gave you an idea like that?"

"I wonder!” Kim retorted. “Do you deny it?"

Liz opened her mouth, shut it again. She hadn't thought about it. Was she smitten by John Carter? “I like John, Kim, but I don't think I'm
smitten
by him. I do find him attractive and charming, don't you?"

"Well, okay, maybe. At the same time, he bugs me. There is something not ... not quite
honest
about him."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Liz! Surely you noticed it. You even mentioned it yourself. He couldn't wait to get us out there to see the place and as soon as he saw we liked it he started trying to talk us out of staying there. Does that seem honest and aboveboard to you?"

Liz shrugged and replied, “I don't know. Maybe it is just like he said when he is away from it, he forgets how scared the place made him."

"Maybe, but he
is
an actor and a very
good
one. Maybe he's just trying to scare and confuse us. Maybe he doesn't want anyone to be able to stay there because he still has plans to ‘fix’ the place by himself."

Liz laughed, though Kim's words unnerved her. She knew better than to ignore Kim's observations, but she couldn't decide what had got Kim's hackles up. “Kim, that doesn't make any sense to me. Why mention the place to us in the first place if he intended to sabotage us?"

Kim sighed, shrugged, “I guess you're right. I just feel like there is something he's leaving out and I don't trust him yet. I was merely trying to make you aware that maybe he has some hidden agendas."

Liz studied her friend's tense expression, smiled and agreed, “All right. Your reservations have been noted. I'm not going ga-ga over the guy, and I never accept everything anyone tells me without checking it out for myself. Did the house get to you, too?"

"The house? No, I love the house. I just think John is not telling us everything. We need to be cautious about him,” Kim said.

"Okay, but it may not be an intentional omission, you know. I'm sure there is no way he could have told us everything in the length of time we've had with him."

"I know that, Liz, but there's something he's deliberately
not
telling us and I think it is something important. That's just my gut feeling on it."

Liz nodded, a bit disappointed, she had to admit. “We can't ignore that kind of feeling; thanks for sharing it with me. I will be careful."

Liz woke with a start and reached for the journal she always kept by her bed. Missy had visited her dreams again and she needed to make sure she didn't forget any of what the girl had told her. She clicked on the bedside lamp in the large luxurious master bedroom she had chosen in McCann's house to be hers. She wrote in a hurried scribble:

"Elizabeth ... Elizabeth...” she called to me in a soft, singsong voice, “You know, don't you?” Missy asked, her blue eyes wide and anxious.

"Know what, Missy?"

"You do know. Say it!” she pleaded.

"I know you didn't kill yourself. Is that what you mean?” I tried to go nearer to the girl, wanted to comfort her somehow. She moved into the shadows.

"That's part of it. My father didn't kill himself, either. Say you believe me."

"I want to believe you, Missy. I think you may be right about it, but I need some kind of proof. I can't very well just demand that someone investigate it because I feel you're right. There must be more, some kind of evidence or something to go on."

Missy came closer, her gleaming long brown hair in soft waves around her shoulders. “You are my friend, aren't you? Always people have pretended to be my friend, but only to get information. No one ever cared about me."

I reached my hand out toward her, smiled. “I am your friend,” I assured her. “What kind of information?"

She let me give her hand a reassuring squeeze, then she pulled away, though this time, she didn't move aside. “My parents were both famous. People were always wanting to know about them ... my mother's favorite flower, Daddy's favorite brand of liquor. Were they happily married, or were the rumors true?"

"Rumors?"

Tears filled her eyes as she stared at me. “People start such ugly rumors about you when you are famous or rich. My father had many enemies. Some hated him because he was rich; some because he was smart. Some hated him because he had her."

"Jealousy,” I stated.

"Yes, jealousy. That was it. My father loved my mother; he was devoted to her. She felt the same about him. She never looked at those other men, though some of them told nasty lies about her and the things she did when Daddy wasn't there."

"I see, yes people are bad about that sort of thing, aren't they? I'm always reading blatant lies and misquotes about famous people in the tabloids. The press doesn't give them much rest, does it?"

She shook her head. “Mother had friends who were men, but the only lover she had was my father. I'm not just a silly girl with unrealistic expectations about my parents. I knew them. They were like a storybook couple. Then he came along and then—then even my father didn't trust her fidelity anymore."