McCann's Manor (4 page)

"So, tell me ... are you Liz or Kim?” a tall man asked as he sidled up to Liz. He was dressed as a bright green alligator with yellow triangles trailing from the top of his head all the way to the end of the tail.

She smiled and extended her hand, “I'm Liz. And
you
are—Al, right?"

He gave a hearty laugh, pushed his mask up to reveal his face. “How astute. I'm John, John Carter. Pleased to meet you, Liz."

"Oh, well, it is nice to meet you, too, Mr. Carter,” she said, taken aback as she saw his face.

"No-no! You must call me John or don't call me.” He smiled at her, realizing she was surprised when she recognized who he was.

Liz returned his smile and said, “All right, John. Have it your way."

"Grace tells me you and Kim are professional psychics."

Liz sighed. She was toe-to-toe with film legend John Carter with nothing to say, so she fell back on her standard answer, “Parapsychologists, actually, although we sometimes do psychic readings; that isn't our primary focus."

"Yes, quite. Forgive me if I've offended you.” He was perceptive enough to hear the exasperated tone in her voice. He could relate; the tone had been in his own responses in the past often enough.

"No, I'm not offended at all, John, just a little put out with our hostess. Is that all Grace ever says about us? I love being a professional psychic; I just don't always love all the questions that go with it."

"Good, because I have a little proposition for you and your friend and I wouldn't want us to get off on the wrong foot,” John said as he eyed her, curious, as though trying to size her up. He led her by the arm to the bay window, which harbored plants and a small amount of privacy.

He was making her nervous; tall, dark-haired with steel blue-gray eyes; perhaps in his early to mid-fifties and still quite handsome. A third generation screen actor, he had been one of Hollywood's hottest leading men until a couple of years ago. Rumor had it a drinking habit had begun to get in the way. Liz had heard he'd settled in semi-retirement in the Austin area. Indeed, it was becoming quite the vogue for actors to gravitate toward central Texas. What kind of proposition could he have for her? “I'm all ears,” she said.

He leaned back and gave her a complete and provocative once over, “Oh, no, you have many other delectable attributes besides just your ears, my dear!"

Liz cleared her throat and smiled, “Well, thank you, John. I don't know what else to say. You have piqued my curiosity, though, about this proposition..."

John gave her a dazzling smile, said, “Grace also tells me you're looking for a place to live."

"Did Grace give you a full biography or just partial?"

"I'm interested in parapsychology myself, so she knew I'd be interested in meeting you. Do you remember Betty Tatum? She had her heyday a little before your time, I'm afraid."

"I love old movies. Of course, I remember her. She was a lovely, lovely lady,” Liz said.

"She still is, although she has passed the time of being able to care for herself adequately. She lives in a retirement home near here. The old dear is ninety-six. Did you know she owns a fabulous old home in the Bastrop area, overlooking the Colorado River?” John asked.

"No, I didn't; that's fascinating."

"Well, you will probably be even more captivated to learn the place is haunted,” he announced, cocked his head to the side and peered at her from under arched eyebrows, gauging her reaction.

She giggled, “Well,
Bastrop
—you gotta figure—lots of haunted places there. So, are you looking for ghost busters for the place?” She wondered where this conversation was leading.

"Betty was a dear friend of my father's and when he passed away, I became her confidant in his stead. When she and her husband moved to the old place in the late forties, she adored it from the first time she saw it. She still loves the place and has set up a trust fund for its care for the next fifty years; maybe even longer,” he said.

"Wow. It must be an incredible place,” Liz commented.

"Oh, it is, let me assure you. Now she has decided the house needs to be
healed
, the spirits appeased, whatever. For the last ten years, she—
actually I
—have been trying, at her insistence, to find someone who can do that. I can't tell you how many people I have had out there trying to clean the spirits out of the place; all with no success.” He shook his head. “Everyone either has some kind of breakdown or just runs screaming into the night."

Liz was intrigued, “Are you serious?” She looked around to see if anyone was paying any attention to them. Not in the least, no one was close, although she saw some speculative glances her way as people saw who was with the alligator.

He continued in a low, urgent tone, “I assure you, I'm quite serious. So is Betty. She is so serious about it, she has written up a
proviso
on a contract which will allow anyone who can live in the house for one full year and get rid of the bad spirits to own the house, title and all."

Liz frowned, “I don't understand. She loves it so much, why would she give it away?"

"You have to understand Betty. She has suffered a lot because of that house. Her husband killed himself there and her daughter Missy went mad there; later took her life in an institution."

Liz felt a thrill of intuitive response to the name Missy, but cleared the emotion as she listened.

"Betty herself suffers from dementia, largely, I believe, because of this place. She feels if someone can stay there a year it will prove the
curse,
for want of a better term, is broken. She wants to visit it again before she dies and she doesn't think she can do that unless the spirits are all put to rest. I think she is afraid she will become one of them herself, tied emotionally to the house as she is,” he explained.

"But why give it away?” she repeated.
Her daughter Missy?
Liz thought. Missy was the name of the girl from her nightmare. Was there a connection?

"She has no family left alive. In her mind, giving it to whomever can break the curse is the proper karmic action. Otherwise, the state would wind up with the place and God only knows what would become of it then."

Liz said, “Yes, I suppose it makes sense at least to have a say in who gets it in the end. What about this
curse
?"

"Local legend has it old Ben McCann, who built the house in the late seventeen hundreds, had a stash of gold there and that it's his ghost who still guards the gold so jealously he kills or drives anyone mad who tries to stay there. You see, no one ever found the gold."

Liz laughed, shook her head.

"What do you find so amusing?"

"Don't take offense, John, but the spirits I've dealt with have never been into destroying people to protect anything as temporal as gold. There's almost always some other underlying reason for them to be there,” she paused to finish her thought, “some unfinished business perhaps, keeping them from being able to continue their journey."

John stared at Liz a moment, a blank expression on his face before speaking, then said, “I understand that may be the way it usually is, but in this instance ... there is a malevolence in that house, and I've also felt it."

Liz pursed her lips, frowned. If McCann's ghost were that menacing, why had Betty Tatum loved the place so much? Why had she stayed there? Why was she searching for someone who could put the spirit, the place, to rest? “So, tell me more about McCann."

"No one knows much about him, I don't think, except he was a smuggler and a privateer. He had a business partner named David Spencer, who broke off all relations with him after he learned what McCann was up to. What we know about McCann comes down through the Spencer family,” he said.

"So, what is known about McCann could be hearsay, or even out and out lies?” Liz prodded. Why had she said that?

John opened his mouth, closed it, pursed his lips, shrugged his broad shoulders, “I suppose that's true,” he said.

"Interesting. Are any of the Spencers still around?"

"Around Bastrop? Yes, one of his descendants still lives there. She has some of Spencer's records, but she doesn't seem to know much about the man or his dealings with McCann."

"Ah, then you have spoken with her?"

"Well, of course. I tried to dig into this thing, to please Betty; but I don't know enough. I'm interested in the paranormal, but it is only a
hobby
of mine. I'm an
actor
. The place needs someone with you and your friend's abilities. Liz, at least say you'll come out and look at it; maybe spend a few days and think about it,” he coaxed.

Liz smiled, “I don't think I can pass it up; sounds fascinating, John. When do you want to show it to us?"

John perked up, took her hand in his. “Somehow I just knew I could count on you. Would tomorrow be too soon?” he asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon would be all right; I have an appointment in the morning. Would that work for you?"

He smiled once again, a dazzling smile, “That would be perfect. I can come get you or meet you someplace; whichever you prefer. How about meeting for lunch and you and Kim can ride over with me?"

"So, where did
you
disappear to? I did fifteen readings,
by myself,
over by the pool with no sign of you whatsoever!” Kim made a point to ask as they walked to the circle drive and waited for the Jaguar to be brought around. It was one in the morning. Kim continued with more than a hint of exasperation, “I thought we were
both
supposed to give
Wade
a reading, at least. When you didn't show, I had to give him two!"

Liz gave Kim a look of shock, then smiled, an impish twinkle in her blue eyes. “I
met
someone,” she chuckled.

Kim shrugged, “Well, give the girl a cigar! She
met
someone, big whoopee!"

Liz giggled, “Come on, you're not
that
upset with me, are you?” Her friend never stayed upset with her for long.

"Well, I don't know. Exactly who is this joker you met?” Kim pried.

Liz smiled wider this time.

"So? Who did you meet?” Kim asked again.

Liz cleared her throat, tried to wipe the silly grin off her face, “John Carter."

"John Carter?
The
John Carter?” she asked.

"Yes, that's right,” Liz said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Kim looked at Liz, shrugged and asked, “Was it wonderful for you?"

Liz let out another string of laughs, shook her head. “It was nice, yes."

"Well, give the girl a whole
box
of cigars!” Kim said. “And you spent the entire evening ogling him?"

"I was not
ogling
him!” Liz objected. “He had a proposition he wanted to discuss with me."

"A proposition? Do tell me about it!” Kim said as the teenager climbed out of her car and handed her the key.

Liz looked around, whispered, “Get in the car and I will tell you all about it."

Kim arched her eyebrow and climbed inside the Jag.

They drove around town a while and talked about John Carter's offer before going home to the travel trailer and the waiting dog and cat.

"Ghost busting again, huh?” Kim picked up the little white Pekingese and held him near to her face. “What do you think, Ghost? Do you want to live in another haunted house?"

Liz looked at the pair, shook her head. “What do you think the dog is going to say? He doesn't care whether the house is haunted or not so long as the feeding arrangements are up to par. Isn't that right, Ghost?"

The Pekingese looked from Kim to Liz, then back again, flicked out his tongue. “Hmm,” Kim said, “typical male response. See, you mention food and he licks his chops. I think you just changed the subject."

Liz chuckled. “Now, Spooky, on the other hand, may have to give his permission. You know, he hasn't ever gone on a ghost bust with us. I'm not sure how he will react."

"Where is that goofy cat, anyway? Spooky! Come here, boy; kitty, kitty?” Kim put the Peke on the floor and headed down the hall toward the little cubbyhole they called the bathroom. “Oh, Spooky! Up to your old
tricks
again are you?"

"What?” Liz asked.

"He shredded the toilet paper,
again
."

"Oh, no; I thought I put it in the cabinet.” Liz sighed.

"You probably
did
, but the door is open, so either you didn't get it shut good or he has already learned how to open it. Spooky! Get your buns out here this minute; front and center, young man!"

The young black cat sidled up to Kim, eyes blinking from the light she turned on in his face as he came out of the bedroom. “So, there you are, you rascal. What do you have to say for yourself?"

The cat yawned as he walked past her and toward Liz. Liz bent to scratch behind his ears. “It was boredom, then?” The cat yawned again. “Kim, he was
bored
in his new home, pure and simple! I'll wager he would like a haunted house. At least he wouldn't be bored."

"Boredom? Spooky, honestly, where are your toys? Children are all the same; leave you to your own devices and you either get bored or destroy things—or both!” Kim chided.

"Oops!” Liz said.

"Oops, what?"

"I forgot to unpack his toys. It is entirely my fault if he got bored. His toys are still in the bag in the closet.” Liz confessed.

"Ah, well, then, I suppose
you
are the one who has committed the
faux pas
here. What do you think, how shall we punish her? Ghost? Spooky? What do you say, guys? Hmm? Right! Your fate is decided,
Miss Liz Culprit
. Step forward for sentencing."

Liz giggled. “What?"

Kim pursed her lips. “Now don't make light of this, young lady. You have been found guilty by a jury of your, um ...
friends
, the sentence to be carried out at once. You will hereby walk the dog until he is satisfied."

Liz let her shoulders droop and whined, “Oh, no! Not that! Please, I throw myself on your mercy. Don't make me do
that
."

Kim pointed an authoritative finger at the door. “You have heard the verdict and the sentence. There is no room for leniency. Now, go!"