Ruby's Letters

by Maggie Van Well

  That, more than anything, scared the shit out of him.

  He could never have her. Even if she and Tag went their separate ways, he’d be wrong to pursue her. A guy never went after his best friend’s ex.

  What scared Ryan most was he loved her more than any woman he’d ever known. Including Julie. Julie was supposed to have been the love of his life.

  She wasn’t.

  Emma was.

  How he knew that for certain was anyone’s guess.

  He could be the man he once was. He could see in Emma’s eyes that she had faith in him. When she looked at him like that, encircled in his arms, her lips a mere breath away, he believed he could take on the world.

  He used to be someone who fought for what he wanted, for what he believed in. This time he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. To fight and be the man he once was would hurt his best friend.

  But could he just walk away from Emma, the woman with whom he now knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life?

  Emotionally drained, his insides still shaking, he had to put his feelings on hold. Emma practically dragged him along, and the last thing he needed was to fall down a narrow, unstable flight of steps.

  Or fall apart again.

  Upon entering the master bedroom, Emma stopped so suddenly he nearly knocked her over.

  “Emma, what the hell?”

  “It’s gone.”

  In confusion, Ryan followed her gaze. He walked over to the mirror, but nothing unusual jumped out at him. No cracks, no bull’s-eye. “Are you sure you saw it crack?”

  “Positive.”

  “Well, maybe our ghost knows Betsy would be upset if that mirror was broken, and fixed it.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Can ghosts do that?”

  “I dunno. Apparently, they can. Let’s stop the speculation and try to figure out what it was trying to tell you.”

  They examined the mirror, checking it for words carved into the silvering or any identifiable characteristics, and studied the intricate carvings in the frame.

  Nothing.

  “Maybe it was made by some special artist?” Emma suggested.

  “Do you know of any famous wood frame makers from the nineteenth century?”

  She smirked. “No, not really.”

  Ryan paced in front of the fireplace, pondering. “Maybe the mirror isn’t the clue.”

  “Why the bull’s-eye then?”

  “Maybe it’s a target?”

  “You mean, we’re supposed to break it?”

  “That’s unlikely, since the ghost could’ve done that herself.”

  “What if…” Emma walked over to the mirror and ran her fingers along the wall beside it. “What if what we’re looking for is behind the mirror?”

  “Can you take it down?”

  Emma shook her head. “It’s attached to the wall.”

  “I really don’t want to mess with this piece. I’ve done my best to keep it from being damaged.”

  “So have we.” Her shoulders slumped. “Well, I can’t risk ruining this on the whim of a ghost.”

  “Right. Besides, I doubt whatever we’re looking for is behind here anyway.”

  Emma slid down the wall, rubbing her temples. God, she didn’t need a migraine right now. But with having her brother visit, Ryan’s panic attack, and now the letdown over the mirror, she’d earned it.

  “Ryan, you know this house better than anyone. Can you remember anything you might have uncovered that could’ve meant something?”

  He paced the room again, his thumb and forefinger stroking his chin. “No, nothing. The only oddity was the paper in the fireplace, and you found that. And the body, of course. Other than that, we haven’t found so much as a cubbyhole with an old handkerchief in it.”

  Emma sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. “My gut is telling me it’s the mirror. Something about the mirror.”

  “Maybe I could come over to your house tonight and we can do a few searches on the Internet?”

  Emma rubbed her temples again. “I can’t, I have plans.”

  Ryan’s jaw clenched for only a moment before he nodded and walked over to her. “I guess I can do the research on my own. Come here.”

  Emma went all squishy inside when he took her hand and pulled her up toward him. She thought he was going to kiss her again. How could she not when the kiss he’d given her earlier was repeatedly pushing itself to the front of her mind?

  Maybe it meant nothing to him, but it repulsed her that his innocent kisses of desperation made her tremble and tingle. God, she wanted to caress and touch every inch of that rock hard body, screw his brains out, and then hold him close until they both fell asleep.

  Instead, he turned her around and massaged her neck at the top of her spine. If only he had found a cubbyhole. She’d love nothing more than to crawl into one right now.

  “You’re getting one of those headaches again, aren’t you?”

  “You picked up on that, huh?”

  “You know, cheese and dark chocolate have been known to bring them on. Maybe you get them because of all those café mochas you drink?”

  Turning to him, she looked at him in horror. “Bite your tongue.”

  He chuckled. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” He turned her to face him. “Not many people could handle hearing what I said up on the roof and then act like it didn’t change anything.”

  “Yes, they could, if they cared about you enough.”

  His breath hitched, his eyes rounded in disbelief. Well, of course he was shocked. She’d all but just admitted she cared about the man. She really needed to think before she spoke.

  His gaze held hers for a few seconds more, and then he stepped back, lowering his head. “Thanks. I’m gonna go see how my men are doing. I’ll catch you later.”

  She could see him physically close himself off to her. She wanted to cry out for him to come back, but she didn’t. He was just a G.C. she worked with, and it was best it stayed that way.

  Chapter Eighteen

  AS SOON AS she’d wrapped it up for the day, Emma high-tailed it home and went directly to Sheila's house. She didn’t tell her about Ryan’s confession. That would be breaking a confidence, but she had to tell her friend about the contact with the ghost. To not tell Sheila would be betrayal of the highest degree.

  Sheila served her coffee and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Oh, my, gosh, I’m so jealous!”

  Emma rubbed the back of her neck, hoping to mimic what Ryan had done to ease her pain, but it was no use. She was in for a migraine. “I’m telling you, it was one of the most intense experiences of my life.”

  “But to actually make contact with a ghost? It’s incredible.”

  Emma nodded. “And that trick with the mirror—”

  Sheila slammed down her cup.

  Emma jumped, spilling the warm liquid down the front of her soot- and silicone-caked Blue’s Clues T-shirt. Thankfully the coffee wasn’t too hot, but damn it, this was going to stain.

  Her friend seemed unconcerned about spillage. “What trick with what mirror?”

  Emma grabbed a napkin and blotted at her shirt. “Oh, that’s right, I didn’t tell you. So much has happened today that it slipped my mind.”

  She described what transpired with the mirror, thinking it an amazing story she’d one day tell her grandchildren. But Sheila didn’t seem to share her flare for the dramatic. Instead she simply shrugged and sipped her coffee.

  Emma twisted her mouth in annoyance. “Well?”

  “Well, what, hon?”

  “You know. A broken mirror…seven years bad luck…here, take some garlic and cream cheese and smear it all over your naked body at sundown.”

  Sheila shook her head. “No, that’s what you do when you walk under a ladder. With a broken mirror you have to smash it until no one can see their reflection in even the tiniest of pieces.”

  “Oh
, my mistake,” Emma said, unsure if her friend was joking or not.

  Sheila sat forward in her seat, her brow furrowed.

  Ha! Now I have her attention.

  “There are a lot of superstitions about mirrors. The most common is the seven years bad luck thing, but you didn’t see your reflection, did you?”

  Emma shook her head.

  Sheila ran her finger along the rim of her mug. “Well, then you’re okay. The lore is, if a mirror breaks, whoever was looking in it at the time will have seven years bad luck.”

  Even though Emma didn’t subscribe to old superstitions, she breathed a sigh of relief. “So, I’m in the clear then?”

  “Oh, yes, except there’s the myth that when a mirror breaks a loved one will die. The gods tried to protect you from seeing the tragic event. Another superstition is if you look in the mirror too long you’ll see the devil—”

  “Jeez! Am I going to die, or what?” Emma’s stomach twisted into knots.

  Reaching over, Sheila took her hand. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. No, of course not. First of all, the mirror isn’t broken. If I had to guess, it was just a ghostly illusion.”

  “Can ghosts do that?”

  “People have seen nooses hanging from ceilings and bouncing red balls, why can’t a mirror appear cracked?”

  Even though the tension left Emma, the pounding in her head persisted. “So what does it all mean then?”

  “Maybe there’s something in the mirror you need to see, or the mirror is a hint to finding the next clue.”

  “Humph, and I got annoyed because I thought the ghost was making it far too easy for me.” Emma dropped her throbbing head down onto the table.

  Shelia rubbed her shoulder. “Honey, I think you should go home and get to bed. You don’t look well.”

  Lifting her head with some effort, Emma rubbed her eyes. “I need to cook and help Nicole with her homework before Jared comes over for dinner.”

  “I’m sure he’ll understand if you go to bed early.” Sheila walked Emma to the door. “If you need anything else, just come a-hollerin’.”

  Overwhelmed with affection for her friend, Emma hugged her. “You can count on it.”

  ***

  When Emma arrived at the job site the next morning, she tossed down two pills and tried to take her mind off her headache by studying the mysterious mirror. Not an easy thing to do with everyone and their brother working in the master bedroom today.

  She squinted and focused on the ghostly shadows in the mirror, willing it to give her an idea what to do next.

  Just as the thought formed in her mind, a reddish hue manifested around the frame, taking over the reflection like blood dripping onto glass.

  What is that? Emma stepped closer, reaching up to touch the mirror, but stopped with her fingers inches from the glass.

  She must’ve screamed. Within a heartbeat her men surrounded her.

  “Emma, are you all right?”

  The pounding in her ears muffled Mike’s question. Trying to rationalize what she’d seen, she turned to him with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure, Boss Lady?” Bart came up to her and placed his hand on her forehead. “You were making a face like you were straining on the toilet, and then you shrieked like you were in pain or something.”

  Carlos patted her back. “No, no, that’s the noise and face she would make when she is crying out with pleasures.”

  She held up her hands, stopping their banter. “Well, this is the face and voice of a woman who’s about to fire your sorry asses if you don’t shut up.”

  Bart let out a loud laugh as he made his way to the stairs. “Oh, Emma, you’ve fired me more times than Carlos’s had sex.”

  The mason’s eyes grew wide. “You mean she fired you millions of times?”

  Leave it to the three stooges to get her mind off her troubles. “Bart, just go get the chalk so we can run a chalk line.”

  Bart left the room. A loud rumbling echoed from the staircase, followed by a frightening crash.

  There is the belief that if a mirror breaks a loved one will die.

  Her heart jumped into her throat. “Bart!”

  Emma fought for room as she, Mike, and Carlos squeezed into the stairwell. Down at the bottom of the steps, Bart stood with his hands raised as if he’d just scored a ten dismounting off the uneven bars. “It’s all right, not to worry. I’m a professional carpenter.”

  Emma sighed, torn between relief and wanting to throttle him. She compromised by flipping her carpenter’s pencil at him instead of the tape measure hooked to her pocket.

  Of course he wasn’t hurt. He’s done the “falling down the stairs so everyone freaks out” trick so many times she should be used to it by now. “I swear I should dock you a day’s pay every time you do that.”

  ***

  The air in the back parlor was stale and smelled of primer. Emma curled her nose. Any other day she probably wouldn’t notice it.

  She’d had enough mirror studying for a while, and left the men to their work while she found a place to recuperate.

  The meds must finally be working. She sat on the floor against the wall, staring into space. The pain was still there, but she didn’t seem to mind. All she could think about was what she had seen in the mirror above the fireplace.

  What she’d seen…it had to be the medication. That red liquid-like reflection must’ve been her eyes playing tricks on her.

  And the face?

  Yes, she’d seen a face. At first she’d thought, Oh my God, the myth is true, you do see the devil if you stare at a mirror too long, but then she got real. Unless the devil was a middle-aged woman with a long, thin face and hair pulled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, it wasn’t him. Still, the face scared her. No warm fuzzies there.

  Her breathing became slow and steady, the room going hazy right before her eyes. She closed them, no longer hearing the loud noises of the men or music.

  Wow, this medication was kind of funky. Her body felt light, as if it floated above the floor.

  A hand touched her cheek. Emma lifted her lids. A short, slight apparition of a woman stood before her. She was transparent but oddly solid-looking, like an ice sculpture. The apparition had no color, although she appeared outlined in a thin blue aura. Her eyes and smile were kind. Emma recognized her as the Lady in the Shawl from the roof.

  “Hello, Emma.”

  She sat up abruptly, her heart jumping into over-drive. “I can hear you.”

  The lady nodded. “For some reason, when you suffer from an intense headache, you can hear us.”

  “So there’s more than one of you?”

  Her glassy eyes appeared worried. “Please, I don’t have much time. What you’re looking for is behind the mirror.”

  “I can’t move the mirror. Betsy—”

  “She will understand, I promise you. Please, you must find them.”

  “Do you know Betsy Morris?”

  “Of course I do, dear. She bought this house and then hired Ryan who in turn hired you. I was set free.”

  Emma shook her head. “No, it’s more than that. Is she in danger?”

  “If you don’t find them, she will be.”

  A red mist seeped into the room, catching Emma’s eye.

  The ghost followed her gaze and then turned back to Emma, her eyes wide with fear. “You must leave. Please, look behind the mirror.”

  Emma wanted to jump to her feet, but she couldn’t. “Can’t you at least tell me—”

  “I’ll do all I can to keep you safe.” The aura that outlined her grew until it engulfed her into a heavy blue mist, she disappeared and Emma fell into unconsciousness.

  ***

  “Emma!”

  Jerking awake with a loud gasp, she found herself staring into Tag’s concerned face. It was a dream? But it had seemed so real.

  His brow furrowed. “You had me worried. I called your name over and over. I even shook you, but you would
n’t wake up. Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Emma touched her forehead in confusion. Her migraine was gone.

  Tag took her hand and pulled her up.

  “Is Ryan around?” She had to tell him about the dream, or whatever it was, and see if he’d agree to remove the mirror.

  The lines of Tag’s face hardened. “Why do you need Ryan?”

  What could she tell him? He’d never believe the truth. “I—ah—I wanted to tell him the guys ran those chalk lines around the master bedroom.”

  “I’m the one who asked you to do that, not Ryan, so why wouldn’t you just tell me?”

  Why was he acting like a jealous boyfriend? On their dates, if she could call them that, he was more like a pleasant companion than a romantic partner. Was it possible his feelings for her were deeper than she thought? “I’m sorry. I had a migraine, and I’m using this new medication. It must be making my brain a little fuzzy.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just concerned.”

  She summoned a small smile. “It’s okay. I think we’re both in need of caffeine. Want to walk over to Montague Street with me and get a couple of mochas?”

  That finally got her a smile. “I’d like that.”

  Emma followed Tag outside. The day was warm but cloudy, with a strong smell of ozone in the air that oozed the threat of thunderstorms. Emma hoped they held off long enough for her to get home. She loved storms. She just hated traveling in them.

  Tag took her hand. “I had a really nice time the other night.”

  Emma squeezed his fingers. “Me, too.” And that was the truth. The restaurant he’d taken her to had been excellent. The movie they’d seen was pretty good, if a little sappy, but the whole time she’d wondered what a date with Ryan would be like. What did he do with his evenings? Did he ever think about her when he was alone?

  Her guilty thoughts made it hard for her to fully relax. She liked Tag, but he just didn’t do it for her.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Emma hoped her thoughts weren’t visible on her face. “I was just thinking about our last date.”

  “All good things, I hope?”