“You could remain single. Or you could marry a man of your own choosing.”
“No, thank you. You’ve made me see how bad I am at that.” She glared at the top of his head. “I always choose inappropriate men. Look at Donald. Look at what else I’ve involved myself with.” She meant him, that he was as bad as all the other men she’d chosen over the centuries.
Michael didn’t bother to look up. “But then, you didn’t choose me, did you, Emily? I chose you. Now, run along and see if you can find the treasure. The captain says it’s rubies; his wife loved rubies.”
For a moment Emily thought about sitting down on a mattress and not moving, anything to keep from obeying his autocratic dismissal, but, in the end, rubies won out. As she started up the stairs again she was sure she heard laughter and knew very well that it was the captain showing his amusement that she had chosen sparkling stones over revenge. “Your wife probably committed suicide to get away from you,” she said under her breath, then immediately wished she hadn’t because she could feel the spirit vanish. Instead of being surrounded by warm laughter she felt nothing but emptiness near her.
“Great,” she said. “I have offended a ghost and an angel. Who’s next? Maybe God should let me at the devil. With my luck I’d make him so angry he’d go into a sulk and never speak to the world again.”
With heavy feet, she made her way up to the attic and now she’d spent two days there going through old trunks and looking at the edition numbers in the hundreds of books there. She hadn’t found any rubies but she had found some wonderful furniture and books and a set of china that was beautiful.
It was on the afternoon of the second day that she sat on a round-top trunk and surveyed what was in front of her. She had to give it to the captain that he’d been strong enough to keep vandals away from these treasures all these years. Emily knew a couple of antique dealers who’d give a great deal to see what she was seeing now. And if Emily knew anything it was that there were some real treasures up here.
“Wonder how much it’s all worth?” she said aloud, but instead of thinking of money, she thought how nice that wing chair with the eagle-headed arms would look downstairs in the living room. There was a huge trunk full of curtains and Emily wondered if they could be relined and reused. Wouldn’t the red ones look divine in the dining room? She could almost see the dining room at Christmas, red candles everywhere, those dishes she’d found in a huge wooden crate on the table and heavy silver flatware glowing in the candlelight. And—”
Suddenly, it was as though the whole house began to vibrate. At first she thought it was the beginning of an earthquake but as she looked at the walls and the contents of the room, they were still. It was just the air that was vibrating. It was as though an electrical current was coursing through the air of the room and she could feel it.
“Angels and ghosts,” she said aloud and knew that Michael had at last found the evil he was looking for. Without even dusting herself off, she started running for the stairs, but Michael was already there.
“I found it,” he said, holding up the computer and she could see that there was a picture on the screen. “It wasn’t in the printed matter but in the photographs. I didn’t know you could have pictures on these things. I didn’t know—”
He broke off as he looked about the attic. Glancing backward, Emily saw what he did. Every trunk, wardrobe, crate, box had been opened and the contents were now standing about.
“The captain said you were a damn good rummager but I had no idea…”
Emily narrowed her eyes at him. “You want to show me the photo and stop commenting on what is none of your business?”
“Want to know where the rubies are?”
Emily had to bite her tongue to keep from shouting, “Yes!” He had been cool to her for days now so she could be cool in return. “If the captain wants to tell me he may, but it doesn’t matter as I’d just have to turn them over to the city because it owns this house.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” Michael said. “And you wouldn’t want to have the fun of finding them, would you?”
“Could you refrain from making fun of me long enough to tell me what it is that you found? And, by the way, is someone moving those curtains over there?”
“Albert!” Michael said sharply. “You’ll frighten Emily. Look at this,” he said, handing the computer to her. “One of those men is responsible for trying to kill you. Who are they and what do they have to do with you? What have you done to one of them?”
After a look of disgust at him, she turned toward the photo. There were three men wearing beat-up old fishing gear, laughing into the camera, holding up four fish hardly bigger than pet goldfish.
“I’ve never seen any of them in my life. Where did the picture come from?”
“The computer,” Michael said as though she’d just asked a very stupid question.
“Who put it in the computer and why?”
For a moment Michael listened then he told her that Donald had manned all the pictures into the computer.
“Scanned,” Emily said automatically. “So you’re saying this is just one of many photos he has on disk?”
“Yes. There are at least fifty of them. No, Alfred says there are seventy-one photos and only a few of them have captions so he doesn’t know who the people are.”
“I would imagine Donald knows who everyone is in those photos,” Emily said.
“Shall we call him?” Michael asked with a smile.
“He might be a bit, ah, perturbed that we took his computer,” she answered, smiling back at Michael. The minute their eyes met, he looked away and his friendly manner was once again cool.
She took a deep breath. She was not going to ask him why he’d turned against her or what was wrong with him, or the worst one, what she had done wrong. If he wanted to sulk, let him. And the sooner they found out why he was here, the sooner he could leave and the sooner she could have a life.
“Nice-looking men,” she said, studying the photo. “Wonder if they’re married?”
“One of them is trying to kill you but the other two might be available. We just have to sort out who is who.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t I meet all three of them and the one I fall madly in love with will surely be the killer.”
Michael had to override his coolness to laugh at that, and in spite of his good intentions, he warmed up. “All right, we have work to do. Tomorrow night there is a big party in the city and we’re going to go. There’re going to be two men there for you to meet; it’s all been arranged. Now I need to know who these men are so they can be there too. Once I meet them I’ll know which one is trying to harm you.”
“Will you know why?”
“I doubt it but I can make him tell us.”
“Then what do you do? How do you stop him from going ahead and killing me? You can’t murder him first, can you? You can’t make him have a heart attack, can you?”
At that Michael looked aghast. “God decides when people live and die. Angels do not,” he said stiffly, as though she’d insulted his code of ethics.
“But, really, what can you do if you find out this is the man?”
For a moment Michael looked bewildered. Obviously he hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t know. If I meet him I can go right to his guardian and find the answers to a lot of things. But to do it the other way, to take the photo home and try to find who guards this man could take years.”
“Could you condense it into earth time and make it a couple of hours here?”
Michael narrowed his eyes at her. “You want me to spend years working when you could make a few calls and find out what we need to know?”
Emily had the pleasure of giving a little shrug, as though to say, It’s all the same to me.
“Now, is there someone besides Donald who’d know who these men are?”
“What makes you think I would know such a person? After all, I’m not smart enough to be told the truth about Captain Madison’s li
fe so how could a dummy like me know about three men fishing?”
“Emily!” Michael said through clenched teeth. “This is no time to play your female games. This is serious! One of these men is trying to kill you and we need to stop him. I feel sure that you know someone who can help us. I need to get the men to this party and we need to Raphael you and—”
“Irene,” Emily said quickly, “and what does that mean? That you need to Raphael me?”
In answer, Michael looked at her as though she should know the answer to that without his having to explain. “Call Irene and tell her we’re coming and that—”
“A makeover! That’s what you mean, isn’t it?” Anger began to surge through Emily as she realized what he’d meant by “Raphael her.” When Michael had first been in her apartment he had watched TV and when he saw an ad for the Sally Jessy Raphael show he’d thought it was about angels. With great amusement, Emily had watched Michael as he sat through an hour of agonizing stories which were all solved by a better haircut. For hours afterward he had asked questions about what makeup means to a woman.
“Don’t they see the spirits of the women?” he asked. “Why does it matter what they smear on their eyes? Or what color their hair is? I cannot understand this.”
But now he seemed to understand perfectly, Emily thought, if he was planning to do a makeover on her! So much for his declarations of her being beautiful just as she is, she thought.
“Give me the telephone,” she said, glaring at him.
“Emily, I didn’t mean that I think you’re not—” Not finishing his sentence, he straightened his shoulders and started down the stairs. “You’d better call her soon. We have a lot to do.”
Following him, Emily hoped that he could read every thought that went through her mind.
In minutes she had Irene on the phone, for she had her friend’s most private number, the line she always answered no matter what.
“Emily?” Irene said in astonishment. “Where the hell are you? Do you know that the FBI has been here looking for you? And that egomaniac you planned to marry has called me three times. What in the world have you done?!”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Look, I need your help.”
“Anything, sugar. I’m so glad to see you break out of that stranglehold Mr. News,” she said the name with great contempt, “had on you that I’ll do anything you want. John could help. I can get him to do anything.”
John was Irene’s boss and Emily happened to know that Irene was having an affair with him.
“Do you know of a big party that’s to be held in the city in the next few weeks? Not a private party but something big.”
“You mean the Ragtime Ball?”
“Probably. Can you get me into it? Actually, I need two tickets.”
“You are kidding, aren’t you? I’m not even invited to that thing. You have to submit a net-worth statement to get invited. And since when have you wanted to do something like that? I had no idea that rubbing elbows with the rich and snobbish was your dream.”
“It’s not. I just need to meet some men.”
There was a pause on Irene’s end. “At last. Emily, you have made my whole week.”
“No, really, I need to meet some specific men, not just any men. Look, I have a big favor to ask you. Would you look at a photo of three men and tell me if you know them or not. I very much need to know who they are. I can e-mail it to you.”
“Sure. I’ll do my best. If they’re local I’ll know them or I can find someone who does. Send the photo now and I’ll call you back. Give me your number.”
Michael put his hand on Emily’s arm and shook his head. She was not to give the telephone number to anyone—if their illegal line had a number, that is.
“I’ll send the photo then call you back.”
“Wise move, honey. I wouldn’t put it past the FBI to have tapped my lines. Don’t tell anyone where you are until this thing is settled. By the way, what happened to that man they said you were protecting, that hit man?”
“Oh,” Emily said lightly, “he’s long gone. Haven’t seen him for days.”
“Right. Gotcha,” Irene said then hung up.
Emily sent the photo through the wires, waited a few minutes then called Irene back.
“You do know how to play big, don’t you, honey? Whatever are you mixed up in?”
“Do you know them?”
“I can’t believe that you don’t know them. But then they don’t usually allow themselves to be photographed. I think they’re afraid of someone using their pictures to practice voodoo on, and, believe me, there are lots of people who’d like to stick pins in these men.”
“Irene!”
“Okay. The man on the left is Charles Wentworth. He owns most of the banks in the state. The man in the middle is Statler Mortman. He owns land. Like maybe entire states’ worth of land. And the guy on the right uses both of them. He gets money from Wentworth, land from Mortman and builds things. Big, ugly things that sometimes fall down on people. You know, Emily, a newspaper would pay a lot for a copy of this photo. Where’d you get it?”
“From Donald.”
“Oh my, then it was you who stole his computer. He said it was but no one believed him, especially since he’d earlier told people that you were dead. His credibility is plummeting by the minute. Another station has already challenged every word that he’s reported. Did you know that they think the woman in your car was Chamberlain’s wife?”
“Really? And what makes them say that?”
“Beats me. Autopsy, I guess.”
“But how did they find enough of her to autopsy?”
“Oh, hang on, John’s buzzing me.”
While Emily was on hold, she was looking at the computer screen at the three handsome men and wondering what these men had to do with her. She’d done many stories for Donald but she hadn’t worked on any about men this powerful and this rich.
The phone clicked back on as Irene released the hold button and when she spoke her voice sounded odd. It was barely a whisper. “Emily, dearest, you are not going to believe this. John just told me that he and his wife could not attend the Ragtime Ball and he offered me their tickets.”
For just a moment, Emily glanced at Michael, knowing that he had somehow made this happen. She didn’t like that he’d done this. For all he knew the Ragtime Ball was the highlight of John’s life and of his poor downtrodden wife.
“John says he was never so glad to get out of anything in his life. He says his wife is dragging him off to visit her relatives.”
“Irene, may I have the tickets?”
“Of course. Somehow I don’t think these tickets would have been available if you hadn’t wanted them. Now why do I feel like that, Emily?”
“I have no idea. There’s something else, Irene. I’ll be bringing a friend into the city and we need a place to stay.”
Irene hesitated. “Ah, this isn’t a man, is it? About six feet, dark curly hair?”
“What about your phone lines?”
“Do you think that a man in John’s position would allow his lines to be bugged? You can tell me anything.”
Emily set her mouth in a grim line. “Then I’ll tell you the worst of it. I need a makeover. You know, the kind on TV. I need to be made to look as unlike myself as possible.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult since wearing lipstick is an alien experience to you. So who’s the man you’re trying to catch?”
“The truth is that my guardian angel has come to earth, he’s promised to find the perfect man for me and he’s told me that I’m to meet this man at the Ragtime Ball. So you can see why I want to look my best. I’ll need hair, makeup and a dress.”
“Guardian angel, huh? Boy, Emily, when you go off the deep end, you sure do fall.”
“Yes, but, unfortunately, I fall too hard and too often.”
“Better than not falling at all,” Irene said. “Look, honey, I’ll expect you tonight or early tomorr
ow. And I’ll make appointments for you for all-day tomorrow; the ball is tomorrow night. I’ll say one thing for you, when you do move, you don’t let any dust settle on you.”
“Necessity,” she said as she hung up the phone, then said to Michael, “Oh no, I forgot to ask about the dress. I can’t borrow anything of Irene’s; she’s a foot taller than I am.”
“Let me take care of the dress,” Michael said, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “What’s the name of that store you like that’s in that place?”
Emily was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she understood him. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said haughtily.
Looking at her over the computer screen, he lifted one eyebrow.
“Neiman Marcus in Dallas, Texas,” she said with her lips tensed.
Michael didn’t look up from the computer screen but there was a tiny smile about his lips. “You always know what I want when I want it and you always understand me,” he said softly. “Whether I’m in a body or not you understand me.”
Emily wanted to shout that she didn’t understand him now and hadn’t been able to figure him out for the last two days, but she said nothing. Instead, she mumbled about returning upstairs and when Michael made no protest, she went back to the attics.
For a moment Michael watched her back as she left the room and it took all his strength to stay where he was. “I owe her this,” he said aloud to himself then made himself remember her last two lonely lives, lives that he had caused to be unhappy. “I’m not going to do it again,” he said, then picked up the phone and, with Alfred’s help, got the number to the main store in Dallas.
Thirty minutes later he put down the phone, smiling. With the help of a lovely saleswoman, Michael had ordered a dress that he was assured was to “die for.” “I certainly hope not,” he’d said and the woman had laughed. When he was told the dress cost over ten thousand dollars, he glanced at the computer screen and by this time Alfred had come up with a credit card number and an address, which Michael read over the line. Credit was approved instantly. He didn’t know and didn’t ask, but a month later, a fabulously wealthy man received a bill for his wife’s shopping which included a charge for a dress, shoes and matching coat. The man’s secretary paid the bill without so much as blinking.
An Angel for Emily Page 20
