Read Online McCann's Manor by Charlotte Holley - Free Book Online Page B

always reading blatant lies and misquotes about famous people in the tabloids. The press doesn't give them much rest, does it?"
    She shook her head. “Mother had friends who were men, but the only lover she had was my father. I'm not just a silly girl with unrealistic expectations about my parents. I knew them. They were like a storybook couple. Then he came along and then—then even my father didn't trust her fidelity anymore."
    "He?"
    "John Carter."
    I was confused. “John?"
    She searched my face a moment before she understood what I was asking. “John Carter Senior; your John's father."
    "My John? He's only a friend, Missy.” I must have blushed because she smiled at me then.
    "Old Mr. Carter was very dashing and handsome, too, like John.” Her voice took on a special tone when she spoke John's name. She looked at me a moment and then turned away before she continued. “There was something special between him and my mother, but it wasn't like that. They were in a film together and that is when the rumors started. He was always around after that. They were—close. But if you were there to see it, like I was, it was a closeness like a brother and sister would have, nothing like the bond between my mother and father. There wasn't anything else like that in the whole world."
    Was Missy ever romantically involved with my John, I wondered, though I didn't dare ask for fear of interrupting what she was trying to tell me about her father. “Was your father suspicious of Mr. Carter?"
    "No. Or maybe I should say not at first. Then Ptarmigan—"
    "Ptarmigan? Who—or what—is Ptarmigan?"
    She considered the question a moment. “I don't know why I called him that. There was a reason once, but it escapes me now. Anyway, Ptarmigan was a friend of my father's. At least he claimed to be, but he poisoned Daddy's mind against Mr. Carter; against Mother, too."
    Should I ask? Would it ruin the natural unfolding of what she was trying to tell me? John had said Ptarmigan was one of Missy's monsters, but who was this man? Was he the same monster she had been running from in the first dream? Could I rely on this information, or was this just a dream spurred by my thinking about it so much? I said nothing, but waited for her to continue.
    "He had pictures, see? They supposedly proved beyond any doubt that Mr. Carter and Mother were having an affair."
    "Did you see these pictures?"
    "Yes, I did. They were taken at the New Year's party and all they showed was a kiss—a simple kiss. Everyone kisses each other at those kinds of parties, especially actors—they're a real kissing bunch. It proved nothing."
    "How many pictures were there?"
    "I only saw one."
    "But you said there were pictures, Missy."
    She looked at me now with suspicion, backed away. “There were several pictures, but I saw only one close enough to know what was in it. My father kept them in a secret place in the library."
    "I see. Do you think they're still someplace in the library?"
    "I don't know. I think Ptarmigan took them when he killed my father."
    My throat tightened and I felt queasy. “Ptarmigan killed your father?"
    "Yes, that much I do know for sure. I heard them arguing in the library, so I peeped in. Ptarmigan had the gun and he was threatening Daddy with it. Daddy waved him off, saying he'd had too much to drink. He told Ptarmigan he didn't have any intention of giving him anything; that Mother was innocent of his accusations and he wanted to hear no more of the nonsense. That's when Ptarmigan growled at Daddy like an angry lion. He told Daddy he would never hear from him again, nor from anyone else, for that matter.
    "Then he pushed the gun at Daddy's head and—” She dissolved into sobs, hands over her face. I felt sick. I believed she was telling the truth and that this Ptarmigan, whoever he might be, had indeed killed her father. At length, she brought her grief under control and spoke again, “After—he wiped the gun and put it into Daddy's hand.