"I love you, Kim.” he whispered between the kisses. “I want you to go with me to California; marry me. We will make it together. I know I can make you happy. Give me the chance, Honey. That's what I wanted to say to you before I leave. I want you with me."
Kim's head was clear in an instant. She pulled her lips away from him, aghast. Had she really heard what she had just heard? Marry for a third time? Outrageous! “Oh, Wade. I ... this is something I would have to think about for a long time. I couldn't accept this proposal right here and now. It just wouldn't work. Wade, please, let me go!"
Wade let his arms drop to his sides in bewilderment. “You were just kissing me as though you couldn't live without me and you can say no, just like that?"
She was as dumbfounded as he, but she knew she couldn't accept his proposal when her thinking was so clouded by passion. It wouldn't be fair to him or to her. “I don't have any reasoning behind my refusal. I don't even know that it is a refusal, at least not a permanent one. All I know is that I can't say yes today. I'm not ready. I can't make a commitment to you when I have just committed to helping with this house, and I don't have any idea how long that will take. I have to have time to think. Please don't be hurt or angry; I don't want that."
Wade rubbed his chin, stepped back from her a pace or two. “All right. I've been waiting for you ever since high school. I can wait longer if that's what you want. You think about it; think about it until you're certain. Just don't forget to think about it."
Kim frowned. Was that all? Subject closed? “Does this mean I'm dismissed?"
He took a deep breath, led her by the hand back to the table. “Don't be silly. You haven't had dessert. It's our favorite turtle cheesecake with that wonderful Ecuadorian roasted coffee you helped me discover. Besides, I'll be gone for several weeks and I want to spend as much time with you before I go as I can."
Kim sat again, though it made her all the more uncomfortable to do so. She wasn't the least bit hungry, not for food, but she made every effort to finish the meal he had prepared for her. This had been a narrow escape and she should be glad the kissing hadn't gone farther than it had. Yes, she should be glad. Why, then, did she feel so deflated and disappointed?
Chapter 9
Liz had combed the hall for a lever, button, latch or anything that would open the wall to the mystery room across from the library, but found nothing. The crescent room had been simple compared to this one, or had it just been beginners luck? She sighed as her weary blue eyes swept the entire hall yet again. There must be something she had overlooked, but if it was there, it eluded her. Why couldn't she find it? It had to be there, or did it?
She closed the door to the back hall to the staircase and moved again into the entryway. Two hours had passed. She walked from the entrance, down the hallway, past the closets and into the back hall, combing the walls, searching for the hidden entrance to the first floor room that so captivated her mind. No luck. One positive thing had come from the search, however; a fine luster now adorned all the items on the walls. After a while, she had gone to get a soft cloth and had polished each picture frame as she moved it aside and searched the wall; each sconce with its beeswax candle as she moved her hands over the cold antiqued brass. She studied each item set on the small shelving units as she removed, investigated and replaced it and every tool and miniature decorative weapon hanging from a hook or ring mounted on the wall. Everything she touched, she noticed as she inspected each surface. It didn't get her anywhere, but at least she had a gleaming collection in the hallway leading up the stairs to her bedroom.
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of angry growls coming from down the hall. This time she hadn't even noticed the energy shift because she had been too rapt in thought. As she turned her attention toward the sound, she realized there had been another substantial change in her surroundings. Warm, glowing lanterns replaced the electric lights in the hallway as she approached the big gray cat crouched in the hall. Timothy seemed not to notice her, but continued to growl at some unseen enemy.
As she neared, the fluffy feline crept toward the normally closed door on the left of the entry hall leading to the front hall, but now the door was open. She wondered where her own two pets were, looked behind her and could see Spooky and Ghost standing in the distance as though they were separated from her by a gigantic chasm they were unable to bridge. They looked at her with what she interpreted as undisturbed curiosity. She started to follow Timothy and noticed several large muddy boot prints in the hall floor at the spot where she had first seen the cat crouching. The recurrent muddy boot prints, she thought, a strange feeling of foreboding snaking down her spine. Spencer. They were his boot prints, she could sense it.
She followed Timothy into the parlor. The cat hissed, moved toward the fireplace. Once inside the room, Liz saw two men struggling. Timothy leaped up and attacked the smaller man, who hurled the cat against the stone wall of the fireplace. Poor Timothy didn't move, but let out a low baleful yowl.
McCann dropped to his knees, reached for the cat. “Damn you, Spencer! I will kill you, you bastard."
Spencer made use of the momentary diversion the wounded cat afforded. In one swift movement, he picked up an andiron and smashed it along the side of McCann's face. McCann fell to the floor in a crumpled pile.
Spencer laughed, threw the iron poker to the floor. “I don't think so, Benjamin. You thought I didn't know about your vault, didn't you? You keep secrets very well. But I found out, see?” he reached for a smooth, irregular shaped stone by the mantle, and the floor of the fireplace opened. “Too bad, though, the vault is empty. I took the liberty of destroying your little air duct and also your escape lever."
He struggled as he pulled the weight of his bulky partner across the floor and into the fireplace, then shoved him into the hole. His laugh was vile as he picked up the wounded cat by the scruff of the neck, tossed him in on top of McCann. “Damn nasty tempered beast. You are as bad as your master. Well, now you can have each other for all time.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped up the dribble of blood from the floor and the rock wall, then wiped off the poker and replaced it in the stand with the other andirons before he threw the stained cloth into the vault.
He stood and waited for McCann to regain consciousness, looked over his handiwork to make sure he had left no signs of the struggle. After a few minutes, McCann began to stir. Spencer laughed long and hard into the hole. “Last chance. Talk"
McCann struggled but found it impossible to regain control of his limbs. He at last managed to scream at Spencer, “Devil, you will pay for this!"
"Certainly I will, partner, but not as much as you. Now, come; tell me where you hid it."
"Go to hell,” McCann spat.
Spencer laughed again. “You have a lot of balls, man, telling me to go to hell when you are at least eight feet closer to it than I am."
McCann was silent.
"You know, I will find it anyway, don't you? Why not go ahead and tell me and spare yourself this ordeal?"
"Spare myself how? You know you are going to kill me either way.” McCann spat.
Again the flagrant laugh. “That is true, but if you tell me where it is, I will go ahead and shoot you. Refuse and you and your stupid cat will die a slow death as you breathe all the air out of this tight little box you created. Or maybe I will just light a nice big fire on top of you and let the flames suck all the air out of your little vault. You are running out of time, Benjamin."
"No, David, you are the one running out of time. Every day for the rest of your miserable life you will wonder if that day is the day I will get my revenge. I will be right there with you every day, and when you least expect it, I will have my turn."
"Certainly you will, I am so sure of that,” he cackled.
"And another thing, David. No matter where you look or what you do, you will never have the gold. In fact, you will watch your entire fortune dwindle away to nothing.” McCann's eyes burned with fur
y. “By the time you die, your family will have to struggle to rake enough money together to bury you in a rough pine box."
"I have heard enough!” Spencer shouted.
"No! By the great God in heaven, you have not! It has nothing to do with the gold, or me or the cat or even the injustices you have made me suffer all these years. ‘Tis for the love of Constance I will have my revenge."
Spencer shook his head, “Poor pitiful fool, then so be it. Let's just see how much revenge you can exact from here!” Spencer stepped back, pushed the stone again and watched the floor of the fireplace slide back into position. As McCann's shouts and obscenities became too muffled to be heard through the density of the heavy metal plate that slid into place first and the thick mortar-like layer that followed, a slow diabolical grin distorted Spencer's face.
Liz was near shock at the events she had just witnessed. She watched Spencer leave the room, whistling a happy tune, then turned her attention to the stone he had pushed. She placed her hand on it, shoved with all the force she could muster. Nothing happened. She tried again; still nothing. Spencer must have done something to it later that broke or deactivated the devise that had opened the fireplace floor. She had to get McCann out. She felt the room begin to spin as she became aware she couldn't breathe. She groped at her throat, tried to get the air to fill her lungs, but it was no use. She was suffocating....
* * * *
Liz opened her eyes, looked into John's anxious face. “Boy, am I glad to see you!"
"I was just about to say the same thing to you. What happened?” John asked.
Liz sat upright on the sofa, looked around the room, “What are you doing here?"
"Well, I remembered Kim had said she was going to be in Austin this afternoon and I thought I would call and see if you wanted to come over and see my house, maybe meet some of the other neighbors.” John sat down beside her, concern etched on his features. “I called, but you didn't answer, so I thought maybe you were out in the garden or something."
"So you came over?” She felt trashed and probably looked it.
"Yes. When I didn't find you outdoors, I knocked, rang and pounded, but you still didn't answer,” he said. “The dog was barking and when I looked in the window and saw you lying on the floor there, I thought maybe I should come in. You were so pale I thought ... well, I thought the worst."
She smiled at his obvious dismay as he dabbed at her head with a damp cloth, “Ouch!” She touched her head, felt a knot under the cloth.
"Oops, sorry.” He parted the hair while she winced. “You must have hit your head when you fell. I think we should get you to the doctor. You might have a concussion."
"Oh, I'm okay.” she moved as if to stand up.
"Not so fast, there, little lady,” he said in his best John Wayne impression, “I figure whenever a pilgrim knocks herself out, it is cause for alarm."
She looked at him, confused. “No, I didn't knock myself out. I passed out."
Her attempt at reassurance somehow failed. “You what?” he asked.
"It is not what you think. I was having what is known as an empathic episode and when I got to the part where McCann was suffocating, I ... well I kind-of ... suffocated, too."
John stared at her, his disbelief apparent. She filled him in on the details of her sightings of McCann and his cat as well as Spencer and his muddy boot prints, though she left out the parts about Missy and the library because she wanted to know more about what John knew about Missy before she went into deeper explanations. When she finished her story, she waited for his reaction.
He kept looking at her for a while. “You contend McCann was buried alive here under his own fireplace by Spencer?” he asked.
"Benjamin and Timothy were both buried alive, John,” she stated, sounding like someone talking to a dunce.
"Timothy?” he was getting more confused
"The cat. You remember, you mentioned the ghost cat? Timothy is the cat!” she explained.
John scratched at his chin, his cool steely eyes fixed on hers. “Are you sure you feel all right?” There was a genuine concern behind his eyes, but there was something else as well. Skepticism, she admitted.
"You don't believe me? What is it? Are you jealous that I saw something you didn't? Maybe if you had followed the cat when you saw him instead of panicking about muddy prints in the hall, you would have seen the same thing.” Did she really say that? That was a low blow, she thought, but it was already said.
John handed the wet cloth to her, stood up and walked to the fireplace. “I'm not jealous you saw something I didn't see, Liz. I'm concerned about your ... frame of mind. This house makes people see things that aren't there."
She joined his side. “No, John, this house doesn't do anything. Some people may lose sight of reality here, but it is not the house's fault. It is a wonderful, beautiful house built with love by a man who adored the woman he built it for. Maybe his disappointments and his sorrow over the years crept into the spirit of the house, but it is still a beautiful house. McCann didn't disappear, John; he was murdered by his partner, a man whom the community, what there was of it, revered. Spencer got by with it and now the truth needs to be told. That, more than anything else, will heal this house."
"You're sure about what you saw?"
"Look, I don't drink, I don't do drugs and I never, ever hallucinate. I'm quite sure what I saw. If you don't believe me, that is another matter, but I'm telling you, I know what I saw,” she insisted.
John led her back to the sofa, patted her hand. “Okay, so calm down. It isn't that I don't believe you. You do have that rather large, nasty bump on your head and I still think you should see a doctor. And to tell the truth, I'm not any too anxious to be the one to find a murdered corpse hidden in this house, or anywhere else, for that matter."
Liz smiled. “Oh, like I am? I understand, but if McCann was maligned and murdered by Spencer, we have to set the record straight, don't you think? And don't you think it's about time? He has been in that vault for two hundred years with the world thinking he simply disappeared. No telling what all Spencer told people about him."
"I agree it's about time his spirit was set free, if everything you've told me is true. All this time I thought McCann was the menacing spirit. It must have been Spencer all along,” he said.
"Yes, it must have been. I have to confess, I didn't like him any more than the cat did."
"Well, that worries me a little. Once we set McCann free, he will leave, right?"
Liz shrugged, “I suppose. That is the idea in setting spirits free, you know."
"Well, yes, I do know. What if it's McCann's presence that has kept Spencer at bay all these years? If McCann leaves, there will be nothing to keep Spencer from doing whatever he wants here."
Liz considered the possibility of what John said. “I guess you might be right, but I don't understand what that has to do with freeing McCann. We have an obligation to free him now that we know his story."
"Let me tell you a story, okay?” John looked embarrassed as he touched her arm.
"Okay, John. Tell me a story.” Liz was willing to hear him out.
"My involvement with this house is ... well it's deeper than you might think. I used to spend a lot of time here with ... with Missy.” Abashed not to have shared this revelation with her before, he watched for her response.
Liz waited for his explanation. Previously, she had suspected there had been more between John and Missy than he had let on, but there weren't really any words she could say to ease the story he had to tell her. As he began to speak, she listened.
"We played here as kids. She was clever, brilliant in fact. She found all the secret passages. At least she found several, and she would never tell me where any of them were. She always waited for me to find them and she would never give me so much as a hint. I found one in all the time I was looking. She used to laugh at me and tell me I just didn't have what it took to find secret things.
"'Guess she was r
ight, because I still know where only one of them is. Anyway, as we grew up, I guess I fell for her in a big way. She was so beautiful; I always thought she was the finest woman in the world. Then time came for me go to graduate school. I didn't want to, but my father insisted I needed a couple of years away somewhere to finish up my education. He said I wouldn't know anything about anything until I had gone farther away from him and the family than I had ever been and spent some real time there.
"I don't know why he believed it, but when your father tells you that you have to do something, you do it. I wanted to be an actor, like him, but he wanted me to have something else to fall back on. That was when the whole world fell apart, while I was gone. I was so far away. Dad wanted me to go to an Ivy League School on the east coast.” John put his head in his hands, lost in thought.
When he went on, Liz noticed his expression was grave. His whole essence seemed to shift. “Leonard shot himself; Missy and Betty both seemed to lose all touch with reality; Dad became seriously ill and nothing could return to the way it was before. Missy was withdrawn and didn't want to see me. I was devastated, but I went back to finish law school, thinking, hoping all she needed was a little time and that when I came back, we could continue where we had left off. She was worth waiting for. But that wasn't to be."
Liz could feel his pain, but she didn't know what to say. She put her hand on his arm, waited for him to continue.
"Next thing I knew, my dad called to tell me Missy had killed herself in the institution in New York. I came back to try to be a comfort to Betty and to try to deal with my own grief, but the house was so cold and sad with Missy not here. Betty tried to stay because she loved the place so much, but even she couldn't stay here with both Leonard and Missy gone."
Liz nodded. “I can imagine,” she whispered.
McCann's Manor Page 9
