McCann's Manor (17 page)

She smiled. “I guess it has. You had some stress yourself—coming into the house like that when you don't like to be here."

"Well, I thought you needed me, I guess. All I know is that I felt like I
had
to get in and help you,” he said.

"And you say you're not psychic,” she said. “I suppose McCann—or even Missy—could have called out to you to come."

"Hmm—you think so?"

She smiled at him again. He looked like a small child standing there with his hands in his pockets. “Somehow, I don't think you're ready to be alone yet. Neither of us has had dinner. Want to come in and have a bite?"

His face brightened, “Let me take you to the big city of Bastrop and feed you,” he suggested. “You shouldn't be cooking in your condition."

"My condition?” she asked.

"Just look at you—you have been whacked in the head and had to tell the sordid story of empathizing with McCann while he was suffocating—several times over. You've been scoffed at by your friends when you tried to show them the secret passage and then one of your friends and a
ghost
rekindled their affair at your expense. Taking you out to eat is the least I can do,” he said.

Somehow, she felt it was more of a plea than an invitation. She shrugged, said, “Well, how can I turn down an invitation like that? Want to wait here while I put the dog up and wash my face, or do you want to come in?"

He looked toward the house in the growing gloom, replied, “It is getting dark—I think I'll wait in the car, thanks."

"Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes. Come on, Ghost, time for your supper.” She picked the dog up and headed toward the house. The Peke growled, his way of saying he would just as soon stay out all night.

Inside the house, Kim met her halfway up the stairs. “You look terrible!"

Sweet, she thought, but said, “Why, thanks, Kim. And how was
your
day?"

Kim threw both hands up in exasperation. “Why do you ask, Liz? Can't you tell?"

Liz smiled, shook her head. “Was it all bad?"

"Argh! How can you even ask?"

"I'm sorry, cutie. I need to go straighten myself out a little. John is taking me to town for dinner,” Liz said.

Kim stopped her by grabbing her arm, asked, “Wait a minute. Why are you so pale?"

Liz had hoped Kim wouldn't notice she was still shaken from Missy's visit. “John and I were talking about Missy and I thought it would help him if I let her talk to him."

"You
channeled
Missy for him? You won't channel her with me, but you channeled her for him—
without
me?” Kim asked, incredulous.

Liz sighed, “I know. But they needed to see each other and you had already said you were tired and I thought maybe it would help me clarify my feelings and—"

"Slow down,” she said. “Are you sure you are up to going out?"

"It isn't a date or anything, you know. I think eating might help me get grounded and I'm not sure I could fix anything for myself. I offered to fix John a bite and he asked me to go with him to town instead. I thought it might be a good idea,” she said. Why did it feel like the third degree from her mother when she was a girl in high school?

Kim nodded. “You know better what would help you than I do, I guess. I just know I wouldn't want to go anywhere if I had just spent the kind of day you did. But I guess you need a diversion, huh?"

Liz took a deep breath, shrugged. “You think I
shouldn't
go?"

"No, it's not that, but did you know that John tried to kill himself?"

"Yes, he told me,” she stated.

"He did?” Kim asked in surprise.

"Yes, he did. He was telling me about being here and trying to do something about the spirits. He felt like one of them was trying to possess him and I guess he lost perspective. He was still devastated over losing Missy and things kind of piled up—he's okay now,” Liz explained.

Kim backed away, “Okay. If he
told
you about it, I guess you're right and he
is
okay now. I won't say anything else about it. Enjoy your dinner."

"I understand your concern. Everything is going to be fine. I'll be gone an hour or so. Will you be all right?” she asked.

"Sure. Have a nice time. I was going to make sure Ghost and Spooky had plenty of food and water. Then I'm going to take a hot shower and read a while. I'll talk to you later,” Kim said as she headed on down the stairs.

"Okay, thanks. Have a nice, relaxing evening,” she called after Kim who had already disappeared down the hall.

Liz had taken a quick shower and changed her clothes, combed her hair and thrown on a dash of makeup before returning to find John waiting in his SUV. He drove to town without saying much. She had begun to feel very uncomfortable before they reached The Landing, a nostalgic little restaurant downtown overlooking the river.

Inside, they sat in a back corner at John's request. There wasn't much business since it was a weeknight. “Come here often?” Liz asked.

"Yes, I suppose I do,” he replied. “It is quiet in the evenings on week nights most of the time, but they fix the best mahi-mahi on the planet—well, next to mine, that is."

She smiled, “Mm—that is quite a recommendation,” she said with a smile. “Is that what you are having?"

"Yeah, think so. You want to try it?” he asked.

"Sounds interesting. Can't say I have ever tasted the best mahi-mahi on the planet. I guess I have been missing a great deal,” she said.

John smiled, asked, “You said you don't drink; does that mean you are a teetotaler, or just that you don't drink to the point of inebriation?"

"Oh, I drink in moderation—once or twice a year—when the situation calls for it,” she said. Something told her tonight was one of those times.

"If I order us a carafe of wine, you won't be insulted, will you? I don't currently, nor have I ever had a problem with alcohol, so you don't have to worry that I will get shit-faced or anything and embarrass you,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

"That's fine. I'm sure you know what goes best with the mahi-mahi,” she commented.

"Okay. Be right back. I'll just go drop a small suggestion in the manager's ear. They're used to me and my idiosyncrasies,” he said as he rose from the table.

Liz watched the people who were watching John cross the floor. She supposed most of the folks who lived around here were used to seeing him and knew who he was. He came back, nodding to a couple of individuals and stopping to say hello to two other men at the bar. When he returned, he gave her a dashing smile. “We just made it here under the wire; they were getting ready to close the kitchen, but I gave the cook a little tip. Hold onto your taste buds, because you are in for a real treat,” he said.

She nodded. “I'm sure I am."

"Hey, I didn't mention that you look nice. It isn't that I didn't notice; I was just a bit preoccupied,” he apologized.

She blushed in spite of herself, thought she was being silly. “Why, thank you. I thought maybe I should clean up a little, lest you have second thoughts about taking me to the hospital or something."

He laughed, poured the wine into the glasses the waitress brought over. “And—I meant also to thank you for letting me speak to Missy. I don't know how you did it, but it meant a lot to me."

Now it was Liz who was silent. She wondered if he realized she was aware of the conversation—and the kisses—that had passed between them. She felt her face flush at the thought of the incredible intimacy she had seen and been a part of just because he had kissed Missy the way he did. She felt like a voyeur and was a little ashamed she had been in on the whole thing.

"Where did you go?” he asked.

Should she tell him? Did he already know? She looked up at him, smiled. “I was just—feeling awkward."

"Why?"

She took a deep breath and a big sip of wine. “How much do you know about channeling?"

"Just that it has always seemed like a big, mysterious thing when I've seen it done before. The way you did it, it was so natural—and spooky as hell,” he said.

"Are you aware that, since I'm not a deep trance channel, I was cognizant of everything that went on between you and Missy?” she asked.

John looked at her with interest, the realization of what she had said beginning to sink in. He put down his drink, touched her hand. “Oh,” he whispered, “I'm sorry—I hadn't thought about it. At first, I was aware you were there, but as she became more real to me, I guess I forgot."

Liz looked down at her salad, busied herself with the dressing to avoid his eyes—and the feelings she was having, “Yes—well—she has some fond memories of—
being
with you."

He threw his hand over his mouth, stared at her, astounded. “Liz! I had no idea—I mean, I thought you were telling me I shouldn't have been kissing you that way and you were saying—you
feel
what she feels and whatever she thinks about, you know—"

Liz nodded, pursed her lips and smiled, “Yes, that's right."

"This is interesting. How do you feel about that?” He asked, his eyes wide as he tried to gauge her reaction.

"Well, I feel—awkward. I didn't mean to
spy
on you and her, but there it is. How do
you
feel about it?” she asked.

He arched his eyebrows, peered across the table at her and said, “That I'm still grateful for what you did. I'm sorry if you learned things you didn't want to know, but I'm still glad you let us have those moments together and I hope you aren't so abashed that you don't want to be my friend anymore."

She took another big sip of wine, let herself become aware of the slight tingle that went down her throat—and on down to her toes. “I
want
to be your friend—and hers,” she said at last. “I want the two of you to be able to find closure and if I can help with that, then I want to. I'm just having a few problems with the feelings and trying to keep everything in perspective."

He took her hand in his again, rubbed his thumb across her fingers. Why was he doing that? Didn't he understand what she was saying to him? “What are you afraid of, Liz? I love her—true—but she is not here anymore.
You are
. Are you afraid to pursue the contingency of a relationship with me?” he asked, peering into her soul, or so it seemed.

Was she? She had to admit to the possibility that it scared her more than any ghost she had ever faced. She had thought she would never have another relationship, had accepted that, even found it comfortable, secure. “What I'm afraid of is not knowing my own feelings from Missy's. I don't know right now whether I'm attracted to you because Missy has become so close to me or because
I
am drawn to you—let alone whether you're drawn to
me
—or you're being pulled by Missy's magnetism."

John pondered her words, nodded, said, “I see. Well, that makes sense, in a strange sort of nonsensical way. Now you put it that way, I suppose I couldn't say for certain which it is, either. All I know is that I'm more charmed by you than I have been by anyone else in a very long time. I want to get to know you. Is that feasible now, or are we going to run as fast as we can in opposite directions?"

She studied his face a moment before speaking. “I'm not sure I have a choice. I just wanted you to know I'm not sure whose feelings I'm having right now. I usually don't have that problem because I know myself pretty well—but this is a bit of a stumper for me."

He nodded, laid her hand back on the table, “We will be careful and take it slow. I'm sure Melissa will understand if you and I wind up being more than just friends."

Would she understand? Liz nodded as John refilled her glass. She wondered what on earth she was getting herself into.

Kim looked up from her book, called out to Liz, “Hey, is that you?"

No answer. Spooky and Ghost were both sleeping on her bed, so she knew it was neither of them, but she had heard something. Neither of the animals seemed concerned over the noise, but Kim was a bit unnerved by it, all the same. Maybe anything that happened would have unnerved her today, but she thought she should check it out. She put down her paperback, threw the covers back and pulled on her robe; left the room, turning on lights as she went.

First she checked Liz's room but found her friend wasn't there. Maybe she was still downstairs. Kim went down the stairs at the front of the house, but saw no sign of Liz. “Liz?” she called out again; no response. She checked the grandfather clock in the entry, found it was almost eleven o'clock. Liz should be home by now; she'd left before nine.

She opened the door to the outside, went out on the porch, but saw nothing. “Liz?” she called, louder this time. No answer. “What
is
going on here?” she asked herself as she checked the front door, locked it. She started down the hall toward the kitchen, but found no one there, either. The house was quiet, which was more than she could say for it moments ago. She had heard voices, or thought she had. It wasn't just a sound; there were
people talking
in the house.

She went into the library, found no one there, either, and returned to the entry hall, but when she looked back toward the portal, she noticed the door to one of the closets on the right was ajar.
Funny,
she didn't remember seeing it before. These doors were
always
closed—now this one was open. Maybe someone had opened it when all the investigators were there earlier, she told herself and headed down the hall to check it out. She opened the door and turned on the light, found nothing out of the ordinary, except the unusual size of the closet. It struck her once again, how spacious these
closets
were—of course, everything in this house was overlarge, compared to any she had lived in before. She had slept in bedrooms no larger than this room. There were built-in shelves on two of the walls, all made of the same polished dark wood as the paneling which also lined all the halls. It must have taken an entire forest to panel this house, she thought—not very into conservation, this McCann.

McCann had spared no expense in building the place. These built-ins must have been part of the original house, or else the Tatums had found an expert wood-crafter to add them. She examined the shelves, found them to be extraordinary in their workmanship. There were no scratches on them whatsoever—none of the wear and tear you would expect of shelves that had been used to store anything. Maybe the Tatums had refinished them—or maybe they had been used for linens or some other soft goods, but she could only guess as to their intended use. Most of the rooms had deep, burnished, floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves of the same quality. The storage capacity of the huge house was staggering. She wondered if McCann had ever filled it all. If so, what became of the rest of his collections? Had Spencer pilfered some of it? Why hadn't he taken it all?