The Haunting at Morgan's Rock Read online

  As I pulled up at the church, I felt unsettled. The driver opened the door for me and helped me out. I felt weak, but the hand up helped. I was surprised that my car was the only one here, but I reminded myself that people usually attended churches on Sundays. Although the heavy wooden door creaked open easily, I felt sick. My feet would not move forward despite the fact that a friendly priest greeted me by name. Behind the distant podium was a massive cathedral window, certainly the focal point of the whole area. Immediately, I broke into tears.

  “Oh dear, what is it, Miss Storm? Are you ill? How inconsiderate of me! Yes, you do look pale. Let me help you.” He offered me his arm, and I accepted it even though nausea rose up in my stomach. I had all but forgotten that sensation, the feeling of being seasick, like when my parents and I toured the Nile when I was only six. I thought perhaps I would die, for I had vomited so much on that trip, but then I had received my gift. The golden and blue stone scarab. It had immediately calmed my sickness and had been my prized possession until the night that I lost it.

  That horrible night when I lost Father.

  I cried harder at the thought. The priest gently said, “My child, it must be terrible for you. Fame and fortune can’t relieve the pain, can they? In the end, we are all God’s children. We all need Him to comfort us during times like this. Having suffered so much all these years, you must feel deep pain. Forgive this old man for not coming to see you, Miss Storm. No, it’s Mrs. Kincaid now, isn’t it? It’s just that I wasn’t sure I would be welcome; although I must confess I have always had great respect for your parents, bless them.” He seemed to have all the answers, so I didn’t try to stop him although I wanted to. Yes, the loss was great, and now there were ghosts!

  While I dabbed the tears from my eyes with my handkerchief, I took a seat beside him on the wooden pew. This fine piece of embroidery work had been my mother’s handkerchief. She did love her roses. Mother, what am I doing here?

  The priest continued speaking softly to me, something about grief and loss, but the nausea made it impossible for me to listen. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and could see a man running past the window.

  “Excuse me, sir!”

  I sprang to my feet, for he looked so familiar to me. Normally, I was one to observe protocol in every situation; however, I was so compelled to see him clearly that I followed him as he fled the church. I stepped outside onto the stone porch and looked up and down the street. Where could he have gone? The tall man with the dark hair…no! It couldn’t have been him. I wasn’t one to believe such things as moving vanity tables or missing coins or people who vanish into thin air.

  And then he was there again. I could see him disappearing around the building. Oh, he was crafty—and all too familiar to me. But it couldn’t be my own father. He was dead…gone for nearly a decade. You know that’s him, Joanna. Deep in your soul, you know it.

  “Father?” I screamed as I trailed behind the man in the black suit. He never looked back and soon crossed over a small road and hastened to the back of yet another building. I couldn’t let his evasiveness stop me. The nausea swept over me again, and I had to stop and hold onto something. I hung onto a wooden fence post as I tried to steady myself. Whoever this man was, he had to know that I was chasing him because he took great care to avoid me. But I wasn’t going to let him. Clutching my handkerchief and my stomach, I staggered out into the road to cross it. I had to find this man! No, I wasn’t going to be deterred.

  Not until I heard a car horn screaming at me.

  Chapter Ten

  Present Day

  “Miss Pressfield, Miss Pressfield? What are you doing out here? Can you hear me?” Aimee was tapping my face gently with her fingers. She was so close to me that it surprised me, and I yelped as I came out of my deep slumber. Where was I? Why was I lying in the grass? Oh yes, I was at Morgan’s Rock, but how did I get outside? Oh my God! I was wearing the dress—Joanna’s dress. Was it possible that I’d had a dream? A dream about Joanna Storm? “Oh, sorry, was I sleepwalking?”

  “I guess so. Are you a sleepwalker? You should have told me that, Miss Pressfield. And I don’t mean to alarm you, but there’s someone here to see you. A man claiming to be your agent. I didn’t want to let him in, but he says you’ve been expecting him. He’s right inside. I had to leave him so I could go look for you. I never imagined I’d find you sleeping in the driveway. It’s a wonder you didn’t get run over! I was just out here and didn’t see you. Where did you come from?”

  Alex was here to see me? Why? “I have no idea. I’m so sorry, Aimee. I’ve never done anything like this before. Please help me inside. On second thought, let’s go around the back door. The less Alex knows about this, the happier I will be.”

  She smiled serenely. “Your wish is my command. Come on; give me your hand, Megan. I mean, Miss Pressfield.”

  “I prefer Megan,” I replied in hopes that she would forgive me for my bizarre behavior.

  “No, it’s Miss Pressfield. You aren’t cut, are you? I can’t imagine that you don’t have a cut or two—you might have fallen. We’ll check when you get inside.”

  Then a thought occurred to me. “I thought you knew Alex.” We hurried to the side of the house and went up the servants’ stairs. I’d go down the hall and then the stairs that came out next to my bedroom. Hopefully Alex would never see me wearing this dress and looking like I just spent the night sleeping in the driveway. Had I actually slept in the driveway? The last I remembered was getting into the car. No, that wasn’t me.

  “I never met him in person…well, until now. You get cleaned up, and I’ll distract him. I’ll have coffee ready too. See you in five minutes.”

  Aimee hurried into the kitchen, and I could hear her talking to someone in there. I quietly walked down the stairs myself and waited for Aimee to keep her promise. She was certainly trying to distract him, but he was impatient about seeing me. Typical Alex Wagner. Nope, he wasn’t going for it. And for the record, Aimee was lousy at creating a distraction. He turned around and looked at me right as I was about to close the door to my room.

  “There you are! I flew all this way to see my favorite author, and you make me wait? Geesh, Meg. You look like hell. What’s that in your hair? Is that grass? What are you wearing?” Alex got off the barstool and walked toward me to pluck the grass out of my hair. “Have you been partying like a rock star? Is that what she’s been doing, Miss…”

  “Aimee, and no, she hasn’t. Miss Pressfield doesn’t really do much of anything except wander around Morgan’s Rock and research dead people. I would think you’d be happy about that. If you’ll excuse me, I have beds to make.” She vanished and left me alone with Alex. He’d clearly pissed her off.

  “She’s a bit of a pistol, isn’t she?” he said with an amused tone.

  “Yeah, well, you should know,” I reminded him as I excused myself. “Please let me go change my clothes. Be back in a sec.”

  “Wait a minute! What are you talking about?”

  “Bye, Alex!” I closed the door and leaned against it. Talk about bad timing. I couldn’t believe my luck. Had my agent hopped on a jet as soon as he got off the phone with me? I wouldn’t put it past him. I was actually kind of glad he was here, which was an unexpected feeling. I had no idea why he was here, but I was sure I would find out. I sat on the bed and carefully removed Joanna’s dress. You could not hang something like this on an ordinary plastic hanger. I decided to gently fold it and lay it in the bottom of the empty armoire. I glanced around to locate a sheet or something nice and clean I could use to cover the vintage garment. It was a miracle I hadn’t stained the thing wallowing in the grass like that. A tinge of a migraine threatened to blur my eyesight, but it passed quickly and I breathed through it.

  I am so sorry, Joanna. I am sorry for what you experienced. You didn’t deserve any of it.

  Traces of nausea vanished as I stored the dress and changed into blue jeans and a t-shirt. This shirt said: Shut up. I’m writin
g. I figured Alex would appreciate the sentiment. And then, of course, he was going to ask about the status of the book. Maybe I shouldn’t wear this shirt after all.

  I stalled by brushing my hair and my teeth and slapping on some basic makeup so I didn’t look quite as scary as I did a while ago. When I came back into the kitchen, Alex was on the phone and scribbling in his planner. He pointed at the coffeepot, as if to ask me for a cup or let me know there was coffee made; I wasn’t sure which. I sure as heck wasn’t his secretary. I poured myself a cup of coffee and then sat behind the island across from him pretending I wasn’t listening to his conversation. I got bored after a few minutes. Some guy was ranting because something didn’t go his way. Alex didn’t make faces or hang up the phone, not like I would have done. He took the hysterical writer’s words to heart and promised to find a solution. On second thought, maybe he did deserve a cup of coffee. I poured him one and handed him the sugar bowl, which he refused.

  “Thanks, Megan.”

  “Wow, you’re like a psychiatrist too. I don’t feel nearly as needy now. But I have to wonder why you’re here.”

  He finished his writing and closed his leather-bound book. “Because I wanted to make sure you were okay. You didn’t sound like you were completely happy here, and that’s my job, right? To make all my writers happy?” Was he being sarcastic with me right now? I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t great at reading social cues sometimes.

  “I don’t expect you to make me happy, nor did I expect you to fly to Florida just to cheer me up. But I am happy to see you. If you aren’t here to nag me about the book.”

  Alex’s lazy smile stretched across white teeth, and he nodded as he sipped the coffee. “Promise. No nagging. Don’t get a big head, though. I can’t stay long. Just the night, and then it’s off to Boston to try and pacify Mr. Screamer.”

  “Mr. Screamer? That’s horrible that you give us nicknames. I’d hate to think what mine would be.”

  Alex put the cup down and laughed heartily. “Swear to the heavens, that’s not a nickname—that is his real name. James W. Screamer. He wrote a book about his twenty years investigating haunted ships. Kind of an interesting guy with a bigger fandom than one might expect. But like many writers, he thinks a little too highly of himself. He doesn’t want to sit next to his competition on this panel. Seems kind of shortsighted if you ask me, but I’ll see what I can do to make Mr. Screamer happy.”

  “Oh my God!” I laughed too. “Are you serious right now? That’s his real name? Not a pseudonym?”

  “Yep. I’m as serious as a heart attack. I guess you heard all about his current complaint.”

  “Kind of hard not to hear when he shouts. Some people have no volume control.”

  “And he’s always like that, even if he’s happy.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “And you didn’t even have him on speaker. So, I guess that’s why you’re flying up to Boston? To make sure he doesn’t clobber this other writer?”

  Alex tapped his book with the palm of his hand. “Something like that. If I can’t convince the conference coordinator to move him to another panel, he’s refusing to go. Which is kind of silly. By being difficult about it all, you know, having it in for this other guy, all he’s doing is costing himself fans. The sad thing is both the authors, Screamer and Mr. Perry, are nice guys. But when you put them together, well, that’s another story.”

  I didn’t have any advice to offer, but I was so glad to see Alex that I hugged him. It was a polite hug, and I let go quickly. “Want a tour?”

  “I’ve seen Morgan’s Rock before. Remember? I was here last year, but I’d be happy to see where you’re working. Let me guess—the third floor?”

  Before I could respond, I heard Aimee screaming in her bedroom. By the time the two of us made it to her doorway, she was running out of it. Panicked, her eyes wide with fear, she hugged me close.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it! There was a woman in my closet. I opened the door and there she was. She said something, but I couldn’t hear her good. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at her. I was afraid to move, but then she charged at me! Oh God, Miss Pressfield! I can’t stay here! I have to go!”

  “Whoa, hold on, Aimee. Come into the kitchen. Let me get you a glass of water,” I offered in an attempt to calm her nerves.

  “No water will calm how I am feeling. I can’t stay the night, Miss Pressfield. I’ll come back in the morning, but I’m not staying, no way, no how.” She took her keys and within thirty seconds was tearing down the driveway leaving me staring after her.

  “She’s a bit high-strung, isn’t she?” Alex said as we both watched her leave. Despite the fact that it was early in the day, it was hot out already.

  “You recommended her, Alex. Didn’t you know that about her? Imagine sending a nervous Nellie to Morgan’s Rock to take care of me. What has she ever done to you?” I laughed but had to admit I had a creepy feeling all over my skin. The kind that lets you know you’re in danger and that someone is near, someone you can’t see. “Let’s go in that room and see what all the fuss was about.”

  “Wait a second. I hired her? I don’t remember that at all.”

  “Sure you did. You were her referral, at least. I’m pretty sure she listed you on her resume as her referral, and that’s what she told me.”

  “I think I would remember that, Megan.” His eyes were curious, but I shook my head. We had bigger fish to fry now. What was in this closet that had Aimee so freaked out?

  I slid open the door and saw nothing. No ghost. No apparition. But inside was a full-length mirror—perhaps Aimee hadn’t noticed it before? That could be it. She opened it, saw her own reflection in the mirror and then freaked out.

  I could overlook her being scared about that, but lying to me about knowing Alex? No, I couldn’t let that go. I’d have to fire her even though I really liked her. But then again, I didn’t really know her. Maybe the girl I “liked” wasn’t the true Aimee at all, just a mask. It had happened to me before. If I wasn’t careful, this might end up like that.

  I walked out of the room and turned off the light. “Let’s just shut the door and leave everything alone. If you didn’t refer her, she’s going to have to go.”

  “Don’t blame you there, but I would have told you if I referred her. I promise. Now that this morning’s excitement is over, why don’t you take me on the tour you promised me? And then we can go into town to find some lunch. Still can’t cook, can you?” He grinned as he touched my hand playfully.

  What was going on here? Was Alex interested in me? I wasn’t offended by the idea—I mean, I’d have to be blind not to see how handsome he was—but beauty wasn’t everything. If it were, I’d still be married to Glenn.

  “Can you cook?”

  “Nope. Can’t boil water. So we will have to go out for food. Show me this office, Megan Pressfield. I can’t wait to see where the next bestseller is being written.”

  Of course he would have to mention that. I smiled and showed him all three floors of the house, and then against my better judgment handed the first few chapters of the new book to him. I hated every word and hated watching him read it. When he finished, he sat on the edge of my desk and sighed.

  I cringed and said, “Yeah, I know. It’s horrible. Maybe I should burn it in the fireplace and get it over with.” I buried my face in my hands and fought the urge to cry. “But I have been writing. Just not the book you want.”

  “Read it to me,” he said as he insisted that he take my seat. I paced the floor and read the twenty or so pages I’d written. I didn’t tell him how I saw all this, or what I had experienced here with my own ghost encounter. And he didn’t ask.

  When I arranged the pages on the desk after having read them, he just stared at me. He was leaning back in the chair, his hands behind his head. He’d dressed kind of casually today, but even Alex’s casual was dressy. He wore a neat gray suit, with black shoes and a black belt to tie the outfit together. I was a
mess of wavy blond hair, black-rimmed glasses and my usual attire. Nothing too fancy. We were polar opposites in so many ways, and wardrobe was certainly one of them. But this story…he either liked it or hated it. Now which was it? I wished he would say something. Anything.

  “Forget the sequel, Megan. You finish this book, and I promise you I will sell it. This has a genuineness to it that you just can’t find in most books. This is fresh and real. We’ve got to talk about this further. I think I can get you an advance—I know you don’t need one, but we need West House to commit to this. If not, I’ll start shopping it to Oracle Words or maybe even Everstar. This would be right up their alley. What’s the working title?”

  “Uh, um…I don’t have one yet. It just came to me the other day.”

  Alex rose from the desk and walked around the room. “Yes, it was a good idea to send you here. I knew you’d find inspiration, and Joanna Storm…who wouldn’t want to know what happened to her? She’s a legend. A sad, tragic legend. Do you think her husband did her in? What’s your theory?”

  “I can’t say yet. It’s too early. But if you need a working title, let’s go with The Haunting of Joanna Storm.”

  “I like it! I think if you could occasionally mention the paranormal aspect, it would help me sell it. And not only to publishing companies but also to people like Paramount. They’re always looking for stories like this, and paranormal is big right now. As you well know with The Robin’s Song. In fact, I’ll make some phone calls while you get dressed.”