Spirits of Spring (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 4)

by Joy Elbel

  Before I had a chance to discuss my problems with Shelly, she greeted me at the door with some disappointing news—the Masons cancelled their plan to spend Easter Sunday with us. With this being the holiday that my dad chose to work, that left just Shelly and me alone again like on Christmas. This time around, it didn’t seem like such a bad turn of events. Even though Dad knew all about my epic weirdness and accepted it fully, I still felt more at ease approaching these kinds of matters with Shelly first. Now, we would have an entire day together to figure things out. I went to bed exhausted and had another dreamless night.

  With only two names on the guest list, Shelly opted out of baking a ham. Instead, I helped her make fried chicken and seasoned potato wedges—something we both loved. While we slaved away in the kitchen, I posed my current dilemma to her. She listened intently to my account of recent events and Clay helped me fill in the details.

  During my explanation, my mind went back to the day last summer when she almost caught sight of paranormal activity over the breakfast table. I was mortified at the time and confused about whether or not I wanted her to notice it. Now as we stood together peeling and cutting potatoes—both of us fully aware of the ghost sitting at the table watching us—I marveled at how much things had changed in what was relatively such a short period of time.

  Once Shelly had heard all of the pertinent details, she quickly offered her advice on the situation. “Don’t go to the police. You don’t have any real evidence and you’ll only be stirring a pot that’s already itching to boil over. Don’t go anywhere near Spring Avenue. Stop investigating Clay’s death—sorry Clay, I know you’d like to have some answers but this isn’t the way to get them. If you still want to help Clay, I suggest letting things settle down for a bit and then try locating Sophie. You said you think she’s still in Ohio, right? I would wait until fall. You will have plenty of free time on your hands while Zach is in class. In the meantime, you and Clay need to find a way to peacefully coexist together.”

  I took a minute to let her advice sink in. She was right, on every count, she was right. Clay agreed as well except for the part about finding Sophie who he wanted to remain unfound for the rest of eternity. I liked to think of myself as being pretty persuasive so I figured that I could change his mind on the subject over the coming months. By the end of the conversation, I felt positive that things were going to work out fine.

  With dinner topic number one out of the way, Shelly turned to the next biggest piece of emotional baggage on my mind. “How’s everything been going at school? You haven’t mentioned anything about it in weeks. Has the bullying stopped?”

  She had to be kidding, right? If she knew Misty the way I knew her, Shelly would realize that my academic torture wasn’t going to end until after graduation was over—and I would be lucky if it ended then. I would still be spending most of the summer in Charlotte’s Grove and so would Misty. Hopefully, she would be too busy with her new restaurant— and I nearly choked on the words just thinking them—to worry about what Zach and I were up to.

  I filled Shelly in on what happened at the track meet and she got angrier and angrier as my story unfolded. Shelly threw down her fork in disgust. “That’s it—I’m calling your principal first thing in the morning. This has to stop. Misty’s out of control behavior cannot go unpunished.”

  “Don’t bother,” I replied. “Lascher came right out and told Dad that he was too afraid of Jack Wolfe to discipline Misty in any way. All she’ll get is a lukewarm lecture on bullying and he’ll send her on her way. The only thing that will accomplish is making me look like a weak cry baby and make her want to torture me some more.”

  “But—” “No ‘buts’. My plan is to ride out the storm until the end of the school year. There are too many other things on my mind to worry about her. Zach really needs my support. Things aren’t so happy in the Mason family right about now in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Thinking about everything he and I discussed on Friday made me lose my appetite. I pushed my plate to the side, leaving half of my potato wedges uneaten—something I once declared to be a mortal sin. I didn’t feel that it would be right to tell her everything that he shared with me in confidence so I tidied it into a few short sentences without verbalizing the painful details.

  “Zach and his dad both have unresolved issues from the past—the death of Zach’s grandpa and the whole lost football career thing kind of intertwined. They collide head on nearly every day it seems. I need to know how I can fix the situation.” I expected her to lay out a detailed plan for me—a plan that would restore peace to the Mason home. That wasn’t what I got. I was barely finished speaking when she offered a response.

  “You can’t fix it, Ruby. The only thing you can do is offer Zach your support—be there to listen when he needs to talk but don’t try to get involved. It won’t be easy—trust me, I know—but you need to let them work it out on their own.”

  I nodded disappointedly. Zach had gotten me out of so many tight spots since we’d met. For once, I wanted to come to his rescue. When I replaced the car he wrecked because of me, I thought that would bring an end to their arguing. Money really couldn’t buy everything—at least not the important things. Shelly offered plenty of sound advice today but the only real thing I walked away with was this—I needed to have patience. Patience sucks.

  I helped Shelly clean up the kitchen before heading upstairs to skulk for a while before bed. I told her goodnight even though it would be hours before I attempted sleep. She returned the sentiment with one addition.

  “Goodnight, Clay.”

  Clay seemed shocked and overwhelmed. With a shy smile, he whispered back, “Goodnight.” My heart began to weep for my invisible friend because in that moment, I knew precisely what was going through his mind. He was wishing that his own mother had treated him with as much respect as this veritable stranger who couldn’t even see him. Why couldn’t everyone have a family as supportive as mine was? Clay had no peace in life but come hell or high water, I would see to it that he found it in the afterlife.

  Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck me. “I changed my mind. Tonight would be a good night to start getting caught up on all of those episodes of Cinnamon Jones that I’ve missed. You guys up for a few hours of television before bed?”

  Cue the smiles. I couldn’t decipher which one of them seemed happier. Or perhaps I was the one most deserving of that award. Either way, I guess it didn’t really matter. Just as we were sitting down to watch the first episode, Dad arrived home from work. I waited until he was seated on the couch with a plateful of reheated food before doing what I once considered to be unthinkable—I “introduced” him to Clay.

  It was a little awkward at first, but once he’d had time to digest the situation—and a second plate of Easter dinner— he became just as relaxed around Clay as Shelly was. It was nothing more than a typical atypical family bonding night at the Matthews house. While I knew that Clay’s feelings toward me hadn’t changed, my feelings toward him had. He wasn’t really my friend anymore—he was family.

  It wasn’t until I was ready to climb into bed that I realized that I hadn’t heard from Zach at all today. I sent him one text and waited anxiously for a reply.

  “Happy Easter, Zach! Mwah!”

  He responded almost instantly.

  “Not really. Mwah.” That negative reply erased all of the good feelings I gathered throughout the course of the night. While I was busy making sure that Clay had a good holiday, I forgot all about Zach. I should have invited him over for dinner. I should have asked him to stay and watch TV with a family that wasn’t constantly fighting. I’d already broken the cardinal rule of a good relationship—be supportive. Clearly, my Super Girlfriend cape needed a bit of ironing.

  I woke up the next morning feeling “off”. Once again, I couldn’t remember a single thing from my dreams. That wasn’t normal for me—not normal at all. remember, recalling vivid dreams

  For as long as I could was the f
irst thing that happened to me upon waking. Even on those rare occasions that my sleeping mind took a night off, I could always be assured that they would return the next night. That wasn’t holding true anymore.

  Sluggish and super troubled by my dreamlessness, I dragged myself downstairs for breakfast. Oatmeal. Unflavored oatmeal. I had nothing against oatmeal as long as either some sort of fruit or cinnamon were involved. On its own, though, it was nothing more than a bowlful of mushy cardboard— tasteless and foul textured. After a few spoonfuls’ worth, I abandoned the pursuit and toasted a bagel instead.

  The weather had been getting progressively warmer but I kept forgetting to pull out my lighter weight clothing. Okay, it wasn’t so much forgetting as it was procrastinating. Word mincing aside, I struggled to find something that wasn’t as wrinkled as my Super Girlfriend cape and that I wouldn’t be sweating to death in by first period. Deciding that semiwrinkled was more than semi-okay with me, I threw on some clothes and set about tackling my hair.

  After fifteen minutes of strenuous straightening efforts, I still looked like I’d just rolled out of bed. Cautiously, I moved my finger closer and closer to the ceramic plate until I was certain that I wasn’t going to burn myself. It was barely even warm. My beloved straightener that had kept me nearly frizzfree for almost two years now had finally kicked the bucket. Armed only with straightening serum now, I did my best. In the end, I decided that semi-straight was also semi-okay with me. My hair would be alright as long as it didn’t—

  Rain. Tons of it. Pouring down from the sky and forming into puddles on the drive. I was already so close to being late for school that I didn’t bother looking for an umbrella. I threw my jacket over my head instead and bolted off the front porch toward my car. No joke, I could already feel my hair growing like an out of control Chia Pet. Semi-straight was nearly semi-gone. But that wasn’t the only thing that was gone.

  My car. My car was not where I parked it when I got home on Saturday night. My car was missing. I tried to rationalize the situation in my head. Dad or Shelly must have moved it for some reason and forgotten to tell me. That was a logical explanation. It made perfect sense. Except that it didn’t. There was only one set of keys to that car and I was currently clutching them in my rain-soaked hand.

  Even on the most organized of mornings, I had to at least spend five minutes tracking down where I left them the night before. As a matter of fact, this morning I found them on my bathroom counter lying underneath the sweater I wore on Saturday. There was no way that Dad or Shelly would have found or returned them to that very spot. My car was officially gone. Someone stole my Neon. Wrinkled clothes and frizzy hair didn’t seem like such big problems anymore. I let my jacket drop down around my shoulders and ran like hell back into the house. Clay looked at me like I was crazy but followed me back into the house anyway.

  “DAD! SHELLY!” I shouted at the top of my lungs before I was even inside the house. “DAD! SHELLY! SOMEBODY STOLE MY CAR!” They both came running into the foyer from opposite directions, nearly colliding into each other as they slid onto the now wet floor. I stood there dripping everywhere and with one last dramatic gasp, I spat out, “Call the police!” Then I threw myself down onto the bottom step of the grand staircase and proceeded to cry.

  When they looked at each other and smiled, I felt like throwing one shoe at each of their heads. What was so funny about a stolen car?

  “Ha ha,” deadpanned my dad, “Nice one, Ruby. Quite creative as a matter of fact. Much better than the year you tried to convince me that there was a downed alien spaceship in the backyard. Happy April Fool’s Day, anyway.”

  I had forgotten what day it was. Did they hide my car to pull the ultimate prank on me? If so, they got me, they got me good. What a sense of relief! Of course, I was going to have to plot the perfect revenge over the next year.

  “Thank God! I really thought someone stole my car! I dub thee King and Queen of Fools—now where’s the Neon? Your joke is going to make me late for school. And how did you move it without using my keys?” I said as I dangled my keychain in the air.

  “We didn’t move it, Ruby,” Shelly replied suspiciously. “You better not be playing a trick on us.”

  “I swear I’m not!” I said as that sick feeling of panic overtook me again. “Scout’s Honor!” Once they realized that I was telling them the truth, they both sprang into action. Dad flew outside in his pajama pants and bare feet to double check as Shelly grabbed her phone and waited on the front porch. While I knew for certain that it was gone, I still held out hope that Dad would miraculously find the bright red, two ton hunk of metal that curiously eluded me. When I heard him tell Shelly to go ahead and call, I knew that was nothing more than wishful thinking.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Clay as he took a seat next to me.

  “Thinking? I’m barely capable of breathing right now,” I said between sobs. “Someone stole my car! I love that car.” “I know you do, Ruby,” Clay said as he placed his hand on my shoulder to comfort me. His icy cold touch mixed with the chill I was already feeling from the rain making me a thousand times colder. I shuddered and pulled my jacket tightly around me. What was meant to be a thoughtful gesture made me feel worse. Clay removed his hand with an apology. “Sorry, when I touch you I feel warmth. I keep forgetting that you don’t feel it, too.”

  I felt like a complete shitass, especially when it sunk in that there was a deeper meaning to his words. Could my day get any worse? I returned to his original line of questioning in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

  “You asked me if I was thinking the same thing you were thinking—what did you mean by that?” Without looking me in the eye, he said, “I’m thinking that Shane may be behind this. You know, as a kind of warning to stay out of things. I wish that I didn’t have to say this, Ruby, but I think you can thank me for the fact that you don’t have any wheels.”

  Just when I thought that I couldn’t possibly feel any shitassier than I already did, he had to go and blame himself for grand theft auto by proxy. Weird. I always thought that life must get a whole lot easier once you were dead. Guess I was mistaken. Guilt sure was one nasty son of a bitch.

  “It isn’t your fault, Clay. But you’re probably right. No real car thief would be dumb enough to steal an old Neon like mine. My car is most likely up on blocks and being stripped as we speak.”

  The thought of someone gutting my precious piece of crap for spare parts was unthinkable—thugs disemboweling my baby for extra cash on the black market. Oh, and I just put in a new air freshener, too. I usually only stuck in one of those dollar store tree-shaped ones that last for a week tops. This time I splurged and bought a red sparkly crystal one that smelled like black cherry.

  While mourning the loss of that scented bauble, I realized that all of my personal belongings that were inside my car were gone now, too. Bye bye, black ballet flats that I stashed in the backseat for those days when my heels started killing my feet. Sayonara comfy red hoodie that I forgot to bring in to be laundered. I also left my bag in there after the track meet on Thursday. I would certainly not miss seeing that “I see dead people” shirt ever again.

  The special text tone I had for Zach began to echo through my bag, bringing me back to the reality at hand. There was no doubt about it—I was definitely late for school now. His message was simple and so was my reply.

  “Ur late. Everything ok?”

  “Someone stole my car.” While I waited for his reply, he must have passed that information on to his sister because my next text came from Rachel. Even if I hadn’t checked to see who sent it, it would have been impossible for me to misidentify the sender.

  “OMG! Did police send out an Amber Alert?”

  I shared her message with Clay who chuckled and said, “Let me guess, Rachel?” Her question was even more nonsensical than when she asked me why cemeteries didn’t have Wi-Fi. Why couldn’t I live in a happy little bubble like she did? She wasn’t stupid—sh
e was merely naïve to the truly crappy nature of life. I envied her innocence yet it also gave me a reason to laugh. Without correcting her or supplying sarcasm, I replied.

  “Shelly calling police. Will update u both later. Not an April Fool joke—I swear.” Just then, Shelly ended her call to the police station. “They’re sending some officers over now to get a basic statement from you. I’m going to call the school and let them know why you won’t be coming in today.”

  A free day off from school should have felt more satisfying to me than it did. It was just a car, right? It could easily be replaced. So why did I feel so terrible right now? It wasn’t the car at all—it was the memories attached to that car.

  For one thing, it was my first car. If I owned a thousand different vehicles in my lifetime, I would never forget the feeling I had when I drove that thing out of the lot. Priceless and irreplaceable. There was one other reason why I dreaded the loss of the Neon. Zach. It reminded me so much of Zach. Countless dates and rides to school were spent in that car. Plus, the reason I chose that specific car was because it was exactly like the one that he drove. Drove. Past tense. His Neon was history now—it made perfect sense that mine should be, too.

  I stayed seated there on that step—wet, wrinkled, and frizzy—and waited for a knock on the door. When it finally came, Dad opened it and two very familiar police officers stepped out of the rain and into the foyer. California Sun Kissed and Milan Museum to my rescue. Again.

  “Hello again, Miss Matthews. We’re here in response to a call about a stolen vehicle. Can you provide us with title and registration information for your 2005 Dodge Neon, please.”

  Now that my feet were firmly planted on the right side of the law, I didn’t have anything to fear about the conversation. Aside from how stupid I sounded, of course. California Sun Kissed—whose badge bore the last name Nichols—was even cuter now that I wasn’t afraid of him.