Ruby's Letters

by Maggie Van Well

  Emma leaned in close. “I was putting salt in your pocket.”

  His lips tightened. “Oh, well, that explains it.”

  “Oh, hush.” She rummaged through her jacket and pulled out the chalcedony and obsidian silver necklace. “Here, take this.”

  Ryan held up the piece with a look of disgust. “Not only is this ugly, it goes with nothing I own.”

  “I should’ve told you this last night, but I felt stupid.”

  “Told me what?”

  “When I went to Sheila’s house, it wasn’t because I was out of eggs.”

  Ryan gasped and placed a hand against his cheek. “Really? I never would’ve guessed.”

  “It’s true. She told me salt and silver jewelry are ghost repellents.” Emma went on to explain about the different plants, stones, and the seashell wrapped in red thread.

  He studied the necklace and then placed it around her neck. “You need this more than I do.”

  She tried to stop him from securing the clasp. “No, you need protection.”

  “If the ghost even remembers what happened yesterday, it’s not me it’s after.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’ve been here since six a.m., and I haven’t seen so much as a hammer twitch.”

  Emma smiled. “You’ve been here since six? Aren’t you the brave one?”

  His face softened, his eyes boring into hers. “I’m learning.”

  Emma licked her suddenly dry lips and returned his stare, willing him to move closer.

  He studied her now wet lips and swallowed hard before turning away and heading back into the master bedroom.

  Emma followed, dragging her feet, her shoulders slumped.

  He pointed at the mantel. “I searched behind the mirror, but if there were any stray letters, I didn’t see them.”

  She forced a grin, sinking her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Thanks.”

  Emma walked over to the workbench that held Ryan’s windbreaker. After glancing around the room, she surreptitiously slipped a handful of salt into its pocket.

  “Oh, I wondered where you two had gone off to.” Betsy held out a box. “I really must try to find the Smith family. These pictures would be precious to them.”

  Taking a peek over her client’s shoulder, Emma studied the old black and white photo, discolored and worn with age. Three very pretty girls stood on a beach. Betsy turned the photo over. The faded writing on the back said “Coney Island.”

  “I love looking at old pictures. They’re like a ticket back in time.” Emma delighted in seeing the faces of the three girls she’d come to know through the letters.

  “I agree.” Betsy picked up another picture and studied it closely. “This must be a family photo, but I must say, none of them look terribly happy.”

  Betsy showed the picture to her, but Emma found it too hard to breathe to comment. A heavy weight settled on her chest. Blood pounded in her ears, but her eyes remained focused and unblinking on the picture in Betsy’s hand.

  The three young women were there, along with a man she assumed was their father, but the older woman standing behind the girls caught Emma’s attention. She was tall, with a long, gaunt face and her hair pulled back into a severe bun.

  The face in the mirror.

  Unaware of the change in Emma’s demeanor, Betsy continued talking, examining the back of the picture carefully. “The writing is a bit faded, but I think this must be a picture of Hilary, Nathan, and their daughters. I can barely make out their names.”

  Emma must’ve made some kind of sound. Betsy and Ryan looked at her with their brows furrowed. “Are you okay?” Betsy asked.

  She covered her mouth, hoping she still had color in her face, and tried to regulate her breathing. “Oh, yeah, sorry, I—uh had onions in my omelet this morning.”

  Betsy smiled hesitantly and took a half a step away from her.

  “In fact, I’d better—I’m going to—I’ll talk to you later.”

  Running from the room, Emma passed Mike as he worked on the second floor fireplace. Carlos sang into a hammer as he sorted through his tools, while Bart furtively caught it on video with his cell. With a roll of her eyes, she left the area in search of someplace private.

  The roof was as good a place as any.

  Emma looked over toward Manhattan. The sun bathed it with morning light.

  She needed to make sense of everything she’d learned in the last twenty-four hours.

  Ruby Van Leer was quite possibly Betsy’s great-aunt or great-great-aunt or whatever. Hilary Smith hated Ruby, and judging by the picture she just saw, Hilary was the face in the mirror. The face had been surrounded by a red mist, so did that mean Hilary Smith was the evil spirit that was after her?

  Why would Hilary hate Emma for releasing the Lady in the Shawl? Could she be the reason Hilary had died? Why hadn’t Hilary wanted her to take the letters from the house, and what did Ruby Van Leer have to do with all of this? Maybe the connection was the Smith’s daughters, but somehow Emma didn’t think so. From what she could get from the letters, none of the girls had any contact with Hilary right before she died.

  She was missing something, one piece of the puzzle that she had to make fit, but what was it?

  Great, another migraine. Before she had a chance to think, she sat down on the ledge with her head in her hands. Maybe she should just let it come. The pain might be worth getting another chance to talk to her ghost.

  She didn’t know anymore. All she did know was if she didn’t figure this out, Betsy Morris could be in danger.

  ***

  Ruby couldn’t help but feel smug. Hilary was furious. The woman never did give credit where credit was due. Emma Hopkins was a divorced, lowly chimney sweep with no pedigree, and yet somehow she’d managed to find a way to outsmart Hilary.

  Hilary had tried everything she could to hurt the girl. It was quite comical that every attempt she made bounced back at her. Seeing Hilary’s face as a well-aimed hammer turned in midair and flew back at her was priceless. That no one could witness her attempts was interesting too.

  Now Ruby was in the front parlor listening to the workmen. Thankfully, Hilary had been so caught up in trying to harm Emma, she hadn’t heard the bit about Betsy being Ruby’s niece. For a moment, when Betsy mentioned her grandfather, Ruby had felt a pang of fear. If Hilary knew…she shuddered at the thought.

  Betsy was family—someone Ruby loved without ever meeting—and she had to keep her safe until the good Lord Himself called her home. Maybe Emma would put two and two together quickly, and then any fears of Hilary harming her niece or anyone else would be groundless.

  Ruby had underestimated her foe. Hilary knew more about myths and superstition than she’d realized. What Ruby had learned by doing, Hilary learned by reading, and now she was using that knowledge against Emma.

  “What have you done?” Hilary demanded as she entered the room. “Why can’t I get near the sweep?”

  Ruby didn’t look at her. She didn’t feel the need. “I promise you, I have no idea.”

  “I demand to know. Look at me when I speak to you!”

  She didn’t. “I only show respect to those who deserve it. And you, Hil, do not.”

  A bony hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. The look in Hilary’s eyes terrified Ruby. “I will find a way to hurt the sweep, and on that day, I will gladly stand over you and laugh while you weep.”

  Hilary floated through the floor before she could respond. Ruby would never take her for granted again. The evil woman knew far more than she had realized about the afterlife and its laws.

  Ruby sighed and drifted through the door. Hilary had mentioned hurting Emma, but not once did she mention Ryan or Betsy.

  At least she could find comfort in that.

  ***

  The light in Emma’s office shined brightly on her face, but it was little comfort for her tired eyes. The sun had yet to go down, but she needed all the light she could get a
t the moment. Ever so carefully she read and re-read all of Mary's letters, hoping to find something she’d missed the first time around.

  Nothing.

  God, she felt so stupid. There had to be something in these letters. Otherwise, why would the Lady in the Shawl lead her to them?

  “Sheesh, I found three clues. Aren’t I supposed to win the game now?” Emma stared at her Blue’s Clues mug, feeling let down.

  Tossing the letter aside, she rubbed her temples, not from a pending migraine but from stress. Please, God, help me find what I need to find.

  She reached for her coffee cup and sipped the hot liquid, savoring it as it slid down her throat with chocolaty goodness.

  “Mom!”

  Emma gasped in surprise and fell into a coughing fit.

  “Are you okay?” Nicole asked, at least having the decency to look concerned.

  Emma nodded, wiping tears and coughing.

  Her daughter took advantage of her inability to speak and prattled on. “How come you only set one place for dinner? Why aren’t you eating with me, or is it me who isn’t eating? Oh! Am I going to Daddy’s house, or are you going out? You’re going out, aren’t you? Why can’t you stay in—”

  Reaching over, Emma covered her child’s mouth with her hand, hoping that would be enough to shut her up for a minute. When she spoke, her voice was still raspy. “You’re staying here. Tag and I are going out. Sheila will be here soon to babysit.”

  “Awwwwwww. Why can’t I go over there? I could play with her kids, and I heard that Jillian got a new Wii game.”

  “Because Sam is sick. The last thing I need is you getting sick too.”

  With a deep, dramatic sigh, Nicole left the room.

  Emma mimicked her sigh, not looking forward to tonight. Ending their—whatever they had, wouldn’t be easy, but she’d put it off long enough.

  After finding a safe place for the letters, Emma made her way to the kitchen to serve Nicole dinner. While her daughter chowed down on homemade chicken nuggets and broccoli, Emma made her way to her room.

  How does one dress for a breakup? Getting too dressed up would give false hope. Wearing a stained T-shirt and ripped jeans would imply she didn’t care at all.

  In the end, she’d settled on a business casual peach blouse and tan slacks.

  Emma stared at herself in the mirror and grimaced. One thing she didn’t need was hideous silver jewelry. Removing Sheila’s necklace and bracelet, Emma placed them in her jewelry box and promised herself she’d put them back on before she went to work.

  She had just fluffed her hair when the doorbell rang.

  With a smile, she ran to greet Sheila, but when she looked through the side panel it wasn’t her quirky friend who stood on her doorstep, but Tag.

  What time was it? She glanced at her watch and frowned. Sheila was late? That wasn’t like her.

  “Hi, Tag. Come on in. My babysitter isn’t here yet.”

  Her guest stepped over the threshold and kissed her cheek. “Who are you waiting for? Jared?”

  She took his jacket and walked into the living room, throwing it over the arm of her loveseat. “No, Sheila was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. And it’s not like she can get caught in traffic.”

  Tag checked his watch. “We still have a few minutes, but we can’t wait much longer if we’re going to make the next showing.”

  Emma turned away and scowled. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad ending things with him. At least she wouldn’t have to sit through another stupid chick flick.

  Nicole chose that moment to run into the room, her smile indicating she expected to see their neighbor. “Oh, it’s Tag. Hi.”

  His mouth twisted. “Hi, Nicole.”

  “Mom, where’s Aunt Sheila? Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

  Emma forced a smile, trying to swallow the concern she felt. “I’m sure she just lost track of the time.”

  “Well, if she doesn’t come, can we call Ryan? I like when he babysits.”

  Inwardly groaning, Emma snuck a peek at Tag from the corner of her eye. If his smile was twisted before, now it was downright catawampus.

  Clearing her throat, hoping to speak over the lump suddenly lodged there, Emma said, “No, sweetie. Ryan has his own things to do. He just babysat that one time because we were in a pickle.”

  She thought her statement explained everything Tag needed to know, but alas her darling little angel was not done.

  “I bet he wouldn’t mind,” Nicole insisted. “And if you’re late he can always spend the night again.”

  Emma’s whole body went stiff. Maybe he hadn’t heard the “again” part. Maybe he would figure it was no big deal.

  Yeah, right, and maybe George Clooney would walk through her front door and declare his undying love for her…or Chris Pine. She wasn’t picky.

  One look at Tag, and Emma could see this was going to be a very long night. His face looked carved from marble. His lips all but disappeared into a tight line.

  “Nicole, why don’t you go finish your dinner? I’ll call you when Aunt Sheila gets here.”

  Once Nicole was off, Emma turned to Tag. “Want to hear a funny story?”

  He wanted to spit nails was more like it, if his expression was anything to go by. “Sure.”

  Emma was about to explain, but then she stopped. What was she supposed to say? The reason Ryan stayed was understandable, but how could she explain why he’d been there in the first place? She couldn’t exactly say, “Ryan was here because we were reading letters a ghost led us to in order to solve some mystery.”

  Yeah, I don’t think so.

  The longer she debated on how to answer, the more she knew Tag wasn’t going to believe her. How could she blame him? She was sure he could see the wheels turning in her head.

  “On the night we had those awful storms, Ryan had stopped by to help me go over a few things with the job site. The power was out, there was a possibility of tornadoes, so I insisted he stay over.”

  Tag simply stared at her, his eyes accusing her of, oh, so many things.

  Guess he didn’t find it so funny.

  Just then her doorbell rang. God, she loved being saved by the bell.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late.” Sheila walked in and shook Emma’s hand. “Sam and Jillian are both sick, and I had a mess to clean up. Hank can’t handle—well, let’s just say, if I left it for him to do, I’d have twice the mess when I got home.”

  Sheila glanced between Emma and Tag, her face uneasy. “What? Why do I feel like someone just insulted someone else’s mother?”

  “We’d better go,” Tag said before Emma could answer. “The movie is starting any minute.”

  Emma smiled tentatively at her friend and grabbed her sweater. “I promise we won’t be late.”

  Sheila nodded. “Take your time. Hank needs to get used to kids and their bodily fluids eventually.”

  So much for avoiding another chick flick.

  The movie really didn’t capture her interest, but at least it gave her a reprieve from Tag’s mood. Just his body language alone said “back off!” To say the evening was as fun as an old dog’s funeral would’ve been an understatement.

  All too soon, though, the lights came up and everyone stood to leave.

  Helping her on with her jacket, Tag asked, “What did you think?”

  “Not bad.”

  He didn’t say anything more until they got to the car. Before she buckled herself in, Emma turned to him, deciding it would be best not to have the man pay for dinner. “Tag, we need to talk.”

  When he turned to her, the intense look in his eyes made her feel slightly uncomfortable. “No, now’s not the time to talk.”

  Before she knew his intentions, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to him, landing his lips none too gently on hers. He must have mistaken her gasp of surprise as an invitation to invade her mouth. Tag deepened the kiss, his hands moving so fast she didn’t realize he’d slid one of them inside her blouse
until it was in her bra.

  “Tag!” She pushed against his chest. “Stop! We’re not teenagers hoping for a quickie in the back seat.”

  His hand still on her breast, his lips sought hers. “Then let’s go back to my place. I want to make love to you.”

  Wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she pulled his hand from under her shirt. She adjusted her blouse and sat back, facing forward. “This isn’t going to work.”

  Tag put an arm around her, his thumb lightly stroking her ear. “You’re not ready to sleep with me? That’s okay. I can wait.”

  Emma shook her head, willing herself not to cry. “No, I mean that we, you and I, aren’t going to work.”

  Very slowly, Tag removed his arm and sat back in his seat, gripping the steering wheel.

  “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t let this go on any longer. It’s not fair to you or me.”

  Even though she could only see his profile under the dim light illuminating the parking lot, she could see his face contort. “Is this because of Ryan?”

  Emma shook her head.

  He faced her, his anger very apparent now. “Did you sleep with him?”

  Her anger rose too. “No, Tag, I never slept with Ryan—”

  “Have you kissed him?”

  Okay, that caused some of her indignant anger to lessen. She took a few seconds to answer, trying to gather her thoughts. “This isn’t about Ryan. This is about you and me and the fact that I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

  His face softened into a frown, and his shoulders slumped. “It’s not supposed to be like this,” he whispered gruffly.

  “What do you mean?”

  He stared out his window. “How can I be in love with someone who doesn’t love me back?”

  Emma gasped. “Oh, Tag, maybe you’re not—”

  He turned to her suddenly, his face tight and harsh. “Don’t tell me it’s not love. I’ve had my fair share of female companionship, and in thirty-nine years I’ve never felt this way about anyone but you.”

  She sank her teeth into her lower lip, blinking repeatedly, denying her tears freedom. “I’m so sorry. I hate that I’m hurting you.”

  “Yeah, I bet it’s just killing you.” He let out a dry laugh. “Is Ryan at your house waiting to hear he’s in the clear?”