The Haunting at Morgan's Rock Read online

  “While I get dressed?”

  “If I can arrange for you to meet a guy from Paramount today, wouldn’t you want to? And if the answer is yes,” he said as he began to dial a number on his cell phone, “would you want him to see you in that?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sure that I’m ready for…”

  “You’re not, but that’s why you have me, Megan Pressfield. I’m the guy who’s going to make sure the spotlight falls squarely on your beautiful face. Now get dressed.”

  I touched my face absently and smiled at his compliment, even if it was an offhanded one. He thinks I’m beautiful? That’s cool. The feeling was mutual, but surely I was reading too much into this. He was just doing his job. Damn, he was good at it.

  I hurried down the stairs to the bottom floor and went to my bedroom. I could see that Aimee’s door was open, but I was pretty sure I’d closed it. Closing it again, I ignored the sensation of someone breathing in my ear. It was only briefly, and thankfully, Alex was walking down the stairs talking on the phone. He was having a good time schmoozing his contact. Did I think he’d really get that meeting today? No, but this was a step in the right direction. Who knew where it would lead?

  Glenn always hated Alex, and maybe for good reason. I searched my suitcase for something other than my wrinkled dress pants and boring white shirt. If I wore that combination I would look like the server, not the guest. I opened the armoire one more time, just to make sure I hadn’t stuck something in there. I expected to find Joanna’s gown folded right where I left it. But it wasn’t.

  The gown was swinging slightly, and it was on a hanger I’d never seen before. I don’t know how or why I thought this, but seeing the swinging dress didn’t frighten me. I took it as an invitation. Someone wanted me to slide the Vivaldi over my nude body. I could beg off lunch. Alex wouldn’t object, would he? I reached my hand out to touch the dress.

  I shook myself out of my strange trance. This was bizarre. Maybe Aimee had hung up the gown before she left? But that was at least an hour ago. It wouldn’t still be swinging, would it? I did a little experiment. I closed and opened the armoire door again and checked to see if the dress would move. It didn’t. I closed the armoire and stepped away. No. I wasn’t going to touch the Vivaldi. Not now. Maybe later.

  I quickly stripped down and put on my green dress. It wasn’t anything fancy and fit me rather snugly, but hey, I didn’t look half bad. I rolled pink lipstick on my lips and tapped a bit of it on my cheeks just to brighten my face. And this was as good as it was going to get.

  When I walked to the door and turned off the light, I pretended that I didn’t hear the armoire door open again. I closed the bedroom door and went to the kitchen with a smile on my face.

  I was ready to leave the ghosts of Morgan’s Rock behind. At least for a little while.

  Chapter Eleven

  March 1932

  “Over here, Joanna! Miss Storm!”

  I paused in the doorway beneath a spray of peacock feathers, the same colors sewn into my Vivaldi gown. What a coincidence! I hadn’t planned on holding an impromptu photo shoot here, but I had to please the photogs. I really didn’t mind giving them what they wanted. A little leg, a flirtatious smile, profile shots with me holding my Ladykiller cigarettes. The ebony cigarette holder had been a gift from Danny. How he hated me calling him that. “It’s Dan, Joanna. Just Dan.” I never listened. In fact, he was watching me now, and I couldn’t help but smile at him. He didn’t smile back but took a deep pull from his cigarette and walked away. I felt the old, familiar disappointment, but I had long since given up pining for Dan. I had quietly made up my mind that I would marry Paden Kincaid when he asked. He would certainly ask me. I had confidence that he would. Paden loved me, and I was sure I would eventually come to love him as deeply. Forget about Dan, Joanna. Move on with your life. That had been Vivian’s advice to me, and I took it. Yes, Paden was certainly beautiful. Probably the most beautiful man I would ever know, and I knew some handsome men. Not the least of those was Gary Randolph, my most recent leading man. We kissed briefly once, but it was for a scene and no sparks had flown. It didn’t take long to realize that Gary was more interested in Dan than in me. Although I was quite certain my friend and manager wasn’t at all interested in Gary.

  But then came Paden. When he showed up to work at Morgan’s Rock, everyone fell in love with him. Even Vivian, which broke my heart but not enough to prevent me from wanting to possess him. To know him, in the most intimate of ways, but also to let myself care for him. Sometimes I got the impression that he came from another time, that I was lucky to have him love me.

  You are such a strange bird, Joanna. Smile for the cameras. You have to please your fans. Think of all those magazine covers and newspapers! This is your moment to shine for them!

  Lights flashed, and there was the familiar smell that followed, an odd burning smell. I had come to think of it as the smell of fame. Duke Ellington’s Mood Indigo played from the Victrola in the room behind me, and I was eager to join the party. My friends were here with some of the members of the Swan Song cast, including Gary Randolph…who’d been trying his best to catch Danny’s eye, without any success. To add to the raucousness, Vivian had returned from her trek to her homeland in Ankara. I was eager to hear all about it, but time had not allowed us to share any private moments. I had missed her these many months, and it would be good to have her home again, as she was all the family I had left. When I could manage it, I had already decided that I would travel too, before my next film. Maybe return to Egypt with Paden to see my beloved Sphinx and the Nile River. But first there were decisions to make. I just couldn’t choose which movie to work on next. Danny was pushing me to take the lead in Daughter of the Harvest, but I wasn’t sold on the idea. It was such a strange story, and I had no desire to play the murderess. Was that what he thought of me? Why? What had I ever done to him except elevate him in the theater and movie world? If it weren’t for me, he’d be managing flea circuses in Sandusky. Again, my thoughts of Dan were tinged with regret and rejection. I sighed inwardly knowing that I would take that role and would probably not make it to Egypt this year. Danny’s management had made me a wealthy woman, twice as wealthy as my parents had left me, and that had been a considerable amount.

  Let the photographers take a peek inside Morgan’s Rock. Let them see the great Joanna Storm in her native environment. The world wants to know how you live; they want a peek into your glittering world, my dear. Show them how wonderful your life is, dearest!

  And I had agreed to Dan’s proposal, after much prodding on his part. Since the success of Swan Song, I was feeling on top of the world, mostly. I’d had a few weeks where I felt rather poorly, but that was all behind me now.

  You’re just overworked, dearest. Let’s go home to Morgan’s Rock and bathe in the Florida sunshine. It will do you a world of good.

  But here I was, still working, and now the media throng had followed me into my haven, my den of rest. I wasn’t pleased at all. Dan was waving at me to follow him as he headed toward the staircase that led to the clock tower. I hesitated because I didn’t like the clock tower room. It was too dark and sparsely decorated, and I had seen things there when I was a young teenager. But I obediently climbed the steps as I held up the hem of my Vivaldi dress slightly to keep from tripping. As I cleared the first curve in the stone spiral staircase, I could see that Dan had arranged to bring in some candles, dozens of them, but that didn’t do anything to warm the stone room. In fact, I shivered in my sleeveless dress, but I laughed at the cold sensation as I hiked the narrow stairs in my strappy high heels. I wasn’t by myself up here, and I wasn’t going to let a few ghosts stop me from celebrating my party. And then Paden’s warm hand was in mine. So sweet of him to come up here with me. He must have sensed how much I hated the clock tower. I turned to smile at him, to thank him for being there, but Paden wasn’t there. There was no one holding my hand. I tugged at my hand, and whatever it was that touched me wa
s now gone. But someone had clearly been there.

  I stopped and glanced suspiciously at the photographer behind me. He paused and smiled expectantly.

  “Were you just…” No way did that man grab my hand; he wasn’t close enough. I grinned at him and tried to shake it off. “Are you sure you want to see the clock tower, Caspar? They say it’s haunted by my Storm ancestors. You know the stones come from Storm Castle in Kent. Are you a brave man?”

  “It’s Christopher.” He smiled back and added, “Yes, Miss Storm; I want to see it. Maybe I’ll be the first person to snap a picture of a ghost.” He gave me a big grin as he chewed his gum loudly.

  I smiled but didn’t feel the warmth I tried to convey. I know I felt something hold my hand.

  Stop it, Joanna! You’re as spooky as Vivian now.

  No way. I’d never be as spooky as all that, despite what I just experienced and what I had seen throughout the house. Images of Father’s face flashed in my mind. I occasionally saw him lingering in the hallways of Morgan’s Rock, looking confused and even angry. Was he angry with me? I could not say. He had a habit of vanishing before I could speak or cry out or make any gesture at all. At first sighting, I blamed it on the haze of smoke that swirled in the Great Room. But then I saw him again in the rooms that held his treasures. And there was no smoke at all. In my mind’s eye, I saw him as I remembered him from the night of his death. His perfect coiffure, the dark smudges under his eyes and that sad, loving look on his face. Yes, that’s how I always saw him.

  I’m sorry, Father. Sorry that I left you.

  “You say something, Miss Storm?” the pimple-faced photographer asked as we cleared the landing. He was still chewing his gum ferociously and grinning. I hadn’t thought I was speaking aloud. Maybe I had been but just didn’t realize it?

  “No. Right this way, Caspar and everyone.”

  “It’s Christopher,” he corrected me again as I smiled at him. I knew exactly what his name was, but I didn’t want him to get the idea that we knew one another on a personal level. I couldn’t have that. I would give Dan thirty minutes and then insist that everyone leave Morgan’s Rock, everyone except my closest friends. I needed time to breathe. I felt tired again, and my hand still tingled from my ghostly encounter. But what ghost here would try to hold my hand? Father’s ghost? Maybe Mother? Danny gave his solemn spiel about the history of the house and my family. As always, he knew more than I did about the Storm family, and he ended his dissertation by asserting that I was some kind of royalty—as far as I knew, I was not. But then again, what did I know? Since my parents’ deaths, I had made it my sole purpose in life to distance myself from my happy childhood. It was far easier to deal with life that way.

  I shivered in front of the reverse clock face. Bright moonlight shone through the muted glass and created a strange silhouette around me. The clock tower here at Morgan’s Rock wasn’t anywhere near as grand as the one in London, but it was unusual. Of course, it was also unusual to have a clock tower or a home that looked like a castle here in Florida. The tower room had a high ceiling and open beams that made a handy home for birds that managed to find their way in during all seasons of the year. I imagined now that I could see some flutter above me. Wouldn’t it be a hoot if droppings fell on Dan?

  “This way, Joanna! Turn this way!” This was Christopher again; the excited photographer chewed his gum like a maniac as I posed with my hand on my hip. I noticed that Vivian had stepped into the room. Her mouth eased into her familiar serpentine smile. She clasped her hands and stood in the shadows, watching the photographers demand more. More of everything. I dimly smiled back at her . Why was I suddenly so light-headed, as if I were poised on the edge of the balcony and about to take a step off? My cigarette was out, but I held up the holder anyway.

  “Step back, step into the light!”

  Upon hearing Dan’s request, my skin grew cold but I took a half step back. The floor was sound but a bit knotty in a few places. If I fell in front of these photographers, that would be a Class A mistake. No doubt photos of me tumbling to the floor and falling on my face would land on every front page in the nation.

  But what if I fell from the clock window? It was only glass. Easy to break if you pushed on it just right. I can’t say why, but I turned my back on the photographers and stared at the clock. It had large Roman numerals, all in reverse of course. I put my hands on either side of the clock face and turned my head slightly to give the photographers a glimpse at my profile.

  “Wow! That’s gorgeous, Joanna! Can you tilt your head up just a bit more? Look at me, Miss Storm!”

  Candlelight bounced softly around the windowed room. To accommodate the photographer’s request, I leaned forward a bit harder on the wooden frame of the clock and kicked up a heel slightly, just to show a bit of sassiness. I turned my face toward him, trying to muster a smile. This was an uncomfortable, awkward position for my neck and other parts of my body, but I knew from experience that the most uncomfortable positions were often the most flattering. For photos, at least.

  “That’s lovely! Wow! What a shot!”

  Lights popped, and I pushed off the frame to stand up straight. That’s when I felt the clock begin to shift. The wood was splintering! How could that be? I didn’t weigh enough to move this clock, but I couldn’t release it either. It was as if my hands were glued to the wood. I muffled a scream, and suddenly Dan was there and I wasn’t falling from the window and I hadn’t broken the clock. Yet I couldn’t release the wood; my hands had a death grip on it. I couldn’t speak, but I was aware of everything that was happening to me. I was about to be humiliated before the entire world and with cameras conveniently ready to memorialize the event.

  Dan whispered in my ear, “I’ve got you, Joanna. Don’t worry, dearest.” To the rest of the people, he shouted, “Everyone out. Now! Vivian!” I heard complaints and footsteps, but my hearing began to fade. I could see flashes of light, bright flashes that threatened to blind me. My body began to shake as I heard the footsteps of the departing onlookers going down the stairs. At least we were alone now, alone so no one could see my shame. I finally released the windowsill and fell into a heap in Dan’s arms. I clutched the sleeve of his jacket, but I could no longer see him or hear him although I was sure he was still talking to me.

  And when I could do nothing else, I surrendered to the seizure and the world went black.

  Chapter Twelve

  Present Day

  The day out with Alex had been lovely, despite the lack of a meeting with Paramount, and I slept restfully. But my peace faded the next morning. Before I opened my eyes, I knew there was someone in my room. That wasn’t right. I hadn’t shared a bedroom with anyone in over a year. Glenn and I hadn’t shared a room for six months before we split up, and I wasn’t the kind of woman to sleep with a stranger. I heard a male voice whispering in my ear and heard the floor squeak behind me, like there was someone standing over me.

  I can’t just lie here! What if he has a knife? If I move, I have to move fast! I remained as still as I could until I couldn’t take it anymore. The whispering got louder, but I still couldn’t discern any words. It sounded like nonsense. I slung the covers back and spun around in one move. I screamed in surprise—there was no one there. Not a living person, anyway; only the briefest glimpse of a face. Not a body. Just the outline of a face.

  I ran through him and raced out into the hallway. “Aimee!” I screamed as I fell into the opposite wall.

  “What is it?” Aimee’s shoes slapped on the floor as she ran toward me. “Are you okay?”

  “Someone was in my room. I swear. I saw someone in my room!”

  “What?” she asked as she helped me up and glanced nervously up and down the hall. “Where?”

  “He was in my room, but he’s not there now. I’m sorry. I just panicked.”

  “No. Don’t apologize, Miss Pressfield. We better get out of here and call the police. Come on, let’s go before he comes back,” she said as she le
d me into the kitchen. “Do you know which way he went?”

  I paused at the barstools and grabbed the counter. How to answer that? “I just need to think. I know this sounds crazy, but he disappeared, right in front of me. I heard a voice and then I woke up and I could hear him talking to me but then he was gone. I swear, someone was there, Aimee.”

  “Geesh, Miss Pressfield.” Aimee shook as if a rabbit had run over her grave. “I believe you. You don’t have to convince me, but I haven’t seen anyone come in or out. And I sure as heck haven’t had anyone stay here. I would never do that. Was it your boyfriend, maybe?”

  “Alex? No. He’s my agent, not my boyfriend.”

  “So, you don’t want me to call the police?”

  “Hand me the phone. I’ll call Alex. I don’t want to get the police involved if I don’t have to, for obvious reasons. You know, on second thought, hand me that knife.”

  “What?”

  “I need a knife; it doesn’t have to be a big one,” I said as I held out my hand. With a nervous swallow, Aimee handed me a steak knife. “Will you come with me? Just stay behind me.”

  “Sure, but I think we should call the police—or your friend. Or I could call my dad.”

  “Not yet,” I said quietly. “Do you hear anything?”

  We waited but didn’t hear a thing. I whispered, “Stay behind me. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I have to check this out because I know someone was there.”

  “I’m right behind you,” she said as she touched my shoulder gently. I noticed that she was shaking. Or maybe it was me shaking. I couldn’t be sure. There was no one there at all. We searched the entire lower floor, checked the doors and then searched the top two floors. There wasn’t a soul to be found. I didn’t have the key to the clock tower room, but the fact that it was locked let me know that there was no one inside. Come to think of it, where was the key? If I was really going to buy Morgan’s Rock, I should probably at least take a look at the place.