"There has to be something—the walls are all in place outside, but there is no obvious entrance to it, nor any windows. I figured there must be a hidden door somewhere."
Kim nodded, “Sounds logical."
Liz thought for a second before she spoke. “Look, there is a secret passage behind this wall and it leads to the library. I must have jammed the button or something while I was fooling around with all the other things looking for the entrance across the hall."
John looked doubtful, but said nothing.
"Don't look at me that way! I'm not out of my gourd by a long shot yet. I think I can activate it from the library side. There is a lever on the back side of the shelf. If you can get from this hall to the library, there must be a way to get from the library to this hall, right?"
John took a deep breath, stuffed his hands in his pockets. Kim tried not to look too concerned.
"Don't everyone agree with me at once; just come with me. Don't give me up for crazy yet,” she said as she led the way to the library, moved a few books off the shelf and felt behind the bookshelf. She found the lever, held her breath as she pushed it and heard the click. The shelf swung out into the room. Then she touched the wall, felt the same spring-type apparatus she had felt from the other side, pushed on the wall to open it. She looked at Kim and John, who were watching her, wide-eyed.
"Well,” she said at last. “You don't have to apologize for doubting me, but you do have to go get the flashlight out of the parlor so you can see what I wanted to show you."
John's lips spread in a slow smile as he leaned toward her, said, “I'm sorry. I thought—well, I was afraid maybe that lump on your head was more serious than you believed."
"Yeah, I know,” she agreed, returning his smile. “Would you go get the flashlight?"
"Of course. Be right back,” he said.
"I have a lot of questions,” Kim said when John left the room.
"So do I! John was in love with Missy. This isn't going to be easy for him, you know."
"In love with her? Are you serious?"
Liz nodded as John came back into the room. “Okay, here is the flashlight. We are going to have to get all these secret places wired, you know! It gets old always having to go find the flashlight before you can see anything."
Liz smiled, took the flashlight and led the way into the room. “Okay, this is the way it went: Missy had only to open this wall a crack to see and hear what was going on in the library. She remembers standing here, just so, and watching as Leonard and the other man argued. Leonard had taken his gun out of the drawer as a deterrent to any aggressive behavior on the part of the other man. But when Leonard told him he wasn't giving him anything else, Ptarmigan snatched the gun, shoved it in his face and shot him.
"Then he wiped the gun off, put it in Leonard's hand, took some papers off the desk and left. Missy was in shock. She had seen the whole thing, even her father's face being blown away. She opened the wall the rest of the way, pushed the lever to release the shelf, and went to her father. She was clinging to the hope maybe he might still be alive—or that it was like in the movies and he was all right and just pretending to be dead. She put her hands on his face, but he was gone.
"Reality began to sink in and she realized she needed to go up and wake her mother. She went back into the secret room and put everything back in place, which meant touching the surfaces—on the back of the bookshelf and on the wall, here.” she said, shining the flashlight onto the places where Missy's hand prints were still undisturbed.
"The room closes when you go back out,” Liz continued, “or at least it did for me this morning.” She went on with the tale. “She went up and woke Betty, but no one would believe her story. She omitted telling them about the secret room and it may have been since they didn't believe her, she decided to keep this room a secret. I suspect she never realized she had left her hand prints here and that they would have proven she had been watching whatever had happened to her dad,” Liz concluded.
"It still isn't proof he didn't kill himself.” John said.
"No, it isn't,” Liz agreed. “But I know there is proof somewhere—I just don't know where, yet. We would have to find out who Ptarmigan is and what his motivation was."
"Are you sure this is blood?” Kim asked.
"Put your hand in the print and see what you think,” Liz answered.
Kim shoved her hands down by her sides, rubbed them against her jeans, a look of repulsion on her face. “No, thanks. I think I will take your word for it."
"How's your psychometry, John?” Liz asked.
John thought about the question a minute, “Not good enough to rely on it,” he admitted.
"Well, we could scrape some of it off and take it to be analyzed, but I think we should wait until we have more to go on. Our friend, Sheriff Humphrey won't want to know about this until we can make a nice, neat case of it so he will look good."
John chuckled. “That old geezer is never going to like coming out here. He doesn't believe in paranormal phenomena."
Liz smiled, said, “We may have to court him a bit. He'll believe before this is all over."
"You're so evil!” Kim teased.
"Me?” Liz asked as she assumed an innocent look.
"Yes, you. Why do you want to make him suffer?” Kim asked.
"He called me a Madame Blavatsky wanna-be!"
John's eyes lit up. “When did he say that?” he asked.
"At his office, right after you called to report the body,” she replied.
He frowned, asked, “But how did you know?"
"Oh, it is a little trick I know—I will teach it to you sometime, if you like,” she offered.
"Remind me to be careful what I say about you when you aren't around,” he said.
Liz smiled, “Maybe I will just teach you how to protect your mind from psychic probes."
"Psychic—probes; interesting. Well, do you think you can get us through here to the hall?” he asked.
"Probably, but it might take a while to figure it out. You want to wait?"
"I could just look at all these manuscripts and books and things,” he answered.
Liz nodded. “I know. There is a real treasure trove here, I'm sure of it—if I could read the titles."
"You have to be right—these are ancient, older than anything in the library, to be sure. Makes you wonder about McCann, doesn't it?"
"Wonder what?” Kim asked.
"Well, everything McCann had in his library and all these works are about paranormal subjects. Here, look at these pictures—even if you can't read the words, you can tell from the diagrams, this is about the occult. What kind of man in the late seventeen hundreds would have only occult writings? Who was he and why was he hiding out here?"
"Hmm,” Kim said, “good point. You think he was a warlock or something?"
"He was something, for sure. And don't you think it strange that most of the Tatum's library that wasn't about cinematography was also about the occult? I'll wager much of your own library contains similar writings,” John said.
"Bingo,” Liz inserted. “What do you think that means? We have talked about that a little ourselves."
"There is something about this place that attracts—” John began.
"Weirdos?” Liz added.
"Well, I wouldn't call us weirdos, but yes, in a manner of speaking. Now, did that begin with McCann, or is it older than that? Did the site draw him here, for example, and if so, what is the deal?” he mused.
Liz at last touched on the right spot and the wall swung open. She put the shelf into place and closed the library wall, gestured for her companions to exit. Once they were outside the wall closed behind them. Just for good measure, she pushed the button once again and the entry swung open. She went inside, came back out and the entry closed again. John and Kim watched her without comment.
"Just checking,” she assured them. “I hate trying to share a secret passage with someone and having it not open for me.
Makes me feel like such a fool."
John ducked his head. “I'm sorry I doubted you. I just couldn't believe you had found the passage to the library and I didn't even know it existed."
"It's all right,” she assured him. “For a minute there, I was in need of a reality check, too—because I sure remembered it being there this morning."
"Speaking of this morning—it has been a long day,” Kim said. “I hate to be a spoil-sport, but I think I would like to slip into something more comfy and putter around up in my room."
"Want something to eat?” Liz asked.
"No, thanks. Wade and I had a nice lunch and then I ate one of those awful hamburgers at Tiny's with the group for dinner. I have had enough to eat for one day, I assure you."
"Okay. I guess I'll see you later. Probably Ghost would like to go out, though. I put the beasties upstairs in my room and forgot all about them in all the chaos that went on here. If you will send him downstairs, I'll let him out for a while,” Liz offered.
"Right. Later. Good night, John."
"Good night, Kim. Rest well."
Kim went up the stairs and out of sight. In a moment, the white Peke appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hey, Ghost, want to go outside. Come on, boy,” she coaxed. Ghost picked his way down the stairs, negotiating the steps one at a time.
John looked on in amusement. “Takes his own sweet time, doesn't he?"
Liz laughed. “That is because he is front heavy. Once he was sitting in Kim's lap at the drive-through at the Wendy's. He leaned out too far and the next thing he knew, he was standing on the ground looking around. His poor little head is the biggest part of his body."
"Oh, that must be a bummer,” John observed.
"Yeah, must be,” she agreed. “He's pretty good about just ignoring it and going on with his life, though. Good dog. Come on; let's go for your romp. I have to keep an eye on him so he doesn't take himself for a walk too far away. Care to join us? We can go to the herb garden since it is fenced."
John followed Liz and the dog to the door. “Yes, thanks, it is a nice evening. A walk would be nice."
They strolled into the garden along the walkway. The moon was rising over the trees as they made their way along the pathway. “This was a beautiful garden at one time, I can tell,” Liz said, breaking the silence.
"Yes, Betty and Missy tended it themselves. Missy was quite a horticulturist. Anything she planted would grow. There were the remains of an herb garden gone wild when they moved in here; Betty cleaned it up and Leonard hired a man to put in the walk through here. I think a lot of the original plants must have been put in by McCann himself.” He leaned down and pinched off a bit of mint, sniffed it, handed it to Liz.
Liz savored the heady scent. “Mm—nice. Wonder what kind of mint that is?"
John scratched his head, “Sorry, but I'm not the one to ask. All I know is that they planted every kind of herb they could find. It was beautiful in the spring and summer. The smell was so incredible. Of course, the grounds haven't been taken very good care of since Betty moved out. She wanted the house to be the top priority. I have a yard man come every couple of weeks to mow and water, but the gardens don't get much tending other than an occasional watering."
"Kim and I can get it back into shape. It is nice to have an herb garden. John—” she said as she stopped walking, looked up at him.
"Yes?"
"I don't know how to talk to you about Missy. I'm afraid I may have been too abrupt in springing the secret room by the library on you. I guess I didn't know how to tell you in a better way. I'm sure it opens up all sorts of old wounds for you, and—” she began.
John put his hands on her shoulder, met her gaze. “Don't worry about me. I have gotten over a lot of it. For me, Missy is just as gone, no matter how or why. I realize it will help the spirit of the house to sort out all the puzzles of Leonard and Missy,” he said. “I'm glad you are able to do it. I hope you will be capable of unraveling the entire enigma and Betty will be happy and at peace. I'm thrilled at the progress you two have made in—what? Three weeks? You handled yourself very well today; I'm proud of you. See, for the first time, I'm really beginning to believe someone will be able to make things all right here. The place feels a lot better out here already."
She smiled at him. “Thanks. Kim has a great stabilizing effect on disgruntled spirits. We haven't been trying to make contact with them, but it is happening, all the same. Did you dream about Missy much when you were here?” she asked.
He stood silent for several minutes before he turned away from her, hung his head. “I did have dreams about her, but I—I just don't remember my dreams very well. I was still feeling too guilty about being gone when she needed me the most. I thought dreams about Missy were just my missing her and feeling sorry for myself,” he confessed.
"Some of them might have been, but I'm sure some of them were her trying to contact you. She still cares for you; that's obvious to me in the way she speaks of you,” she said.
He shook his head, “No, don't—please, don't tell me that. She is beyond my being able to hold her now. I can't do this to myself. I'll always love her, but she and I weren't meant to be together—"
Liz sighed. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything, I guess, but I believe she wants you to know she cares and that she doesn't blame you for anything that happened. She wants you to heal, as well. There's nothing for you to feel guilty over."
He stared at the moon, shrugged, but said nothing. She wanted to throw her arms around him, wanted to say or do something that would make him smile. She waited in silence.
At last, he turned to her, tears gleaming in his eyes in the moonlight. “I—know—those things, I do—in my head,” he whispered. “In my heart, I feel lost. They say you always feel that way when you lose someone without being able to say good bye."
Now it was Liz's turn to be silent. He was right; their relationship had unfinished business to it. Should she—could she—channel Missy for him? Would that be wise? Or would it cloud her mind all the more about what she felt about him? Then a thought occurred to her—maybe the emotions she felt about John weren't her own anyway. Maybe she cared so much about him because Missy cared. She would have to think on it a while. She wouldn't make a decision tonight.
Missy had attached herself to Liz's psyche for some reason; maybe the attraction they both had displayed toward each other was nothing more than the affection John and Missy had for one another. Was Missy here with them now? Did she want to say things to John that she couldn't say any other way? Where would it lead if she invited Missy to come talk to John? What to do?
She closed her eyes, tried to converse in her mind with Missy. Are you here, Missy? Do you want to speak to John?
Yes! May I?
Liz was staggered at the strength of the reply. She had never channeled a spirit for anyone without Kim before. Kim could stabilize her, could bring her back if things got out of hand. Kim should be here; yet the urgency of Missy's response almost demanded Liz's immediate compliance. She swallowed hard, balled her hands into fists. All right, Missy; come in.
Chapter 12
Missy touched John's face, brushed at the tears. “Johnny, how long has it been?"
John peered at her. “What?"
"Can you see me, Johnny?” She pulled him close to her.
"Melissa? But it can't be—"
"It is me. What year is it?"
John reached for the vision that was forming before him. It looked like Missy; sounded like Missy. Could this be his Melissa? He blinked his eyes hard against the beauty he saw before him, but it seemed to make her clearer to him and for a moment his senses carried him into her arms. He kissed her, touched her face, kissed her again before his logic won out and he pushed her away. “No, it can't be you. You're dead and have been for more than thirty years."
"Yes, my love—my body is dead—but I'm not gone. You're still as handsome as you ever were—a bit older, but still my darling Johnny.” She t
ouched him again, tiptoed to kiss his cheek.
He took a deep breath, tried to sort out all the emotions he was feeling. “I'm sorry, but I'm finding this hard to believe. I want to believe, but I just can't—"
"Maybe you will find a way, Johnny. Please hold me. Yes, that's it—that feels so warm. It's cold where I am, but you're so warm. I was always so warm in your arms. Remember the time when we got lost in the woods and it started to rain? It was freezing rain and we ran and ran trying to get back to the house. We were so cold when we got back that all we could do was shiver and hold onto each other. Remember?"
He smiled down at her, pulled her closer to him, “How could I forget? That was the first time we made love. I was scared your dad was going to catch us, but I couldn't pull myself away from you. You were so soft and sweet, I could have stayed there with you forever, no matter who caught us or who saw. That was when I knew for the first time how much I loved you."
She kissed his hand, pressed it to her breast, “I guess it does take longer for boys, then, because I always knew how much I loved you. I want you to know something now: I never would have killed myself, no matter how bad things were for me—I wanted to come home to you. I wanted to be your wife. I wanted that more than I ever wanted anything else. I wanted to have your children and share your life with you. I wasn't crazy, Johnny, though sometimes I know I didn't seem rational."
"Missy—"
"Don't stop me, Johnny—I have to tell you this. I can't remember everything. I think that is because I wanted so much just to forget it and be allowed to go home. I wouldn't have told on anyone if they had just let me go, but they didn't believe me, anymore than you or Mother did. Daddy didn't kill himself; they killed him—and they killed me, too—because I knew. I did know, Johnny—I did!"
"Okay, I believe you, honey. But you're going to have to try to remember the things you willed yourself to forget. Can you do that? Liz needs to know what you knew and then she can help you more."
"I'll try, Johnny. If you believe me, I almost think I can do anything. You do believe me, don't you?"
McCann's Manor Page 12
