Ruby's Letters

by Maggie Van Well

  Mrs. Morris grinned, her dark brown eyes sparkling. “You’re humoring me, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe just a little. Do you still want to restore that fireplace?”

  With a deep sigh, she nodded. “Yes, that was never meant to be the poor woman’s resting place. I have no problem using it.”

  “You feel like it’s a woman, too?”

  “Oh, yes.” She offered an impish grin. “Plus, the coroner said the bones were consistent with a female.”

  Feisty. I like that. “You’re humoring me now.”

  “Maybe just a little.” The woman winked and rose to her feet. “I’m going to leave this in Ryan’s capable hands. I’ll be in touch.”

  No sooner had Mrs. Morris turned the corner than shouts came from inside the house. Emma jumped up and rushed in.

  Atkinson stood with the police detective, a vein throbbing at his temple. “You can’t close us down—it’ll kill my deadline.”

  “Mr. Atkinson,” the detective said, his voice low and soothing, “I sympathize, but this is now a crime scene.”

  “A crime scene? That body’s been there over a hundred years. Whoever the murderer was is long dead by now.”

  “Your chimney technician said there was something off about the brickwork before she tore it down. Someone could’ve knocked a hole in that wall, dumped the body in the fireplace, and bricked it up again.”

  Emma stepped forward. “That’s unlikely, sir. Those bricks were identical. There’s no way they were from two different time periods.”

  “Someone could’ve re-used the same bricks.”

  “That’s possible, but unlikely. None of them looked broken or re-used, and the mortar was still pretty old.”

  The detective closed his notepad. “Well, until we’re sure, this place is off limits.”

  As soon as the detective left the house, Ryan punched the air. “This is ridiculous!”

  “For goodness sakes, Mr. Atkinson, a woman has been murdered.”

  “This is all your fault.”

  Emma crossed her arms. “Of course it is. I killed her and dumped her body just to hold up your work.”

  “If you had just shut up about the differences between the top and bottom halves of the brick wall, we would’ve missed half a day of work, a day at the most.”

  Emma’s usual composure blew away like an F5 tornado. “So you expected me to lie to the police just to save your sorry ass? Not a fucking chance!”

  Turning on her heel, she marched from the house. The cool breeze coupled with the afternoon sun didn’t have its usual calming effect on her. Well, she’d just lost herself a huge job, but she’d be damned if she’d put up with that kind of disrespect.

  Emma slowed her pace as reality sank in. What the hell was wrong with her? She had a child, a business, and several employees to think about. So what if Atkinson was an ass? He was her client, disrespectful or not. But something about him made her insides twist, and she wasn’t quite sure how to handle it.

  ***

  Shit, Ryan hated himself sometimes. The chimney tech didn’t deserve to be spoken to that way, but he was so damn afraid of losing this job, he’d lashed out at her.

  The sudden pounding in his ears had him gripping the doorjamb for support. His chest tightened as his breathing turned to short gasps. He bent over, forcing in long, deep puffs of air.

  Please, God. Not a panic attack. Not now.

  He knew this would happen. He knew the second it had sunk in that she would be on his job site every day.

  One look and he was in trouble.

  Those full pouty lips, made for kissing, lured his eyes every time she spoke, just as her dark brown eyes enticed them back. Her silky mahogany hair protruding from the back of a New York Mets baseball cap dangled between her shoulder blades. Why couldn’t she be a Yankees fan so he’d have good reason to hate her?

  And that body. Nothing but well-toned curves. It was as if God himself had said, “Hey Ryan, what do you like in a mate?” and then along came this woman.

  Why did it have to be now?

  This was the first decent job he’d landed in years. The last thing he needed was a distraction, a daily reminder of what he couldn’t have.

  He was about to leave when the coroner entered the room, followed by an assistant pushing a gurney carrying a white body bag. A human life had been lost, and here he was moaning about a woman he’d just met. In a New York minute, his torment left him.

  All he could do now was go home. The last place he wanted to be.

  ***

  As soon as the bones left the house, a strong breeze wafted through the garden floor rooms. With it came the scent of lilacs.

  Floating through the air, feeling as light as a feather, Ruby Van Leer was free for the first time in over a hundred years. How awful it had been, being stuck in that dreadful fireplace for so long, and now she was unbound! She hovered near the door, watching Ryan Atkinson walk out with his head down, looking as if the world sat upon his shoulders. The poor dear.

  He had freed her. He and that lovely woman, Emma. Every day of every year, locked inside that concrete prison, Ruby had prayed for someone to discover her bones and remove them from the house so she could know free movement. She had been aware of every presence that had lived in this house over the years, could feel them, but had been unable to reach them.

  Ruby stretched. Even without bones and muscles, it felt divine. She still had her old gifts surging through her like sparks from a campfire, and she would use them one last time—to help Ryan and Emma. Just as she had with countless soul mates before them.

  Overjoyed by her release, she hadn’t taken in her surroundings until now. Goodness, the house appeared different from what she remembered. The once elegant home was now a lifeless shell.

  Sunlight streamed through the tall, double-hung windows, bouncing off sparkling dust particles as they spiraled through air. Oh, how the maple wood floors had once gleamed when the brilliant rays hit their dazzling finish. Now the light only shone upon a dull, scratched surface.

  The walls had been stripped of their plaster and lath, leaving ugly wood beams behind. Various-sized doors and crown moldings were propped up against a dirty brick wall, their natural mahogany covered in chipped white paint. Ghastly!

  She breathed in. Ah, lovely. Her sense of smell was with her. Earthy. Something chemical with a hint of wood.

  Ruby stared out the window. Her jaw dropped. Was that Manhattan Island? In her time, the largest structures in the city were the spire of Trinity Church and the towers of the Brooklyn Bridge.

  The bridge. Still so magnificent. Ruby remembered vividly that day in May of 1884 when P.T. Barnum had marched twenty-one elephants across the bridge. It was also the day she’d met the heartless woman who would eventually seal her fate.

  So much had changed since that fateful day. Now, there were hundreds of buildings, taller than she’d ever thought possible. No carriages crowded the streets, only machines that moved without the aid of a horse. Women walked by wearing the oddest clothes, showing their navels, legs uncovered. Several of them wore men’s trousers. Appalling!

  A chill entered her essence. Ruby scanned the room.

  Something was wrong.

  Something evil.

  Before she could absorb any more, the room was flooded with a brilliant golden light that seemed to originate from nowhere. It warmed her, beckoned.

  Ruby pulled back. “No, no, not yet. I want to help Ryan and Emma, and I can’t leave knowing something malevolent lurks here. Will you let me stay just a little while longer?”

  The light danced, as if blown by a gentle breeze. A sense of peace and love flowed through Ruby’s being. Then the rippling white glow faded away.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  When the light was gone, the joy left and once again malice seeped in. Ruby floated around the garden and parlor floors, the unpleasantness growing as she ascended through the house.

  When Ruby reached
the third floor, she froze.

  There it was. The fragrance of expensive musk.

  Hilary was here.

  Chapter Two

  “I REALIZE GRANITE is tough, but even it can be abused.”

  Emma stopped hammering the frozen hamburgers against her countertop and glared at her brother. He’d shaved his hair down to a crew cut again. God, she disliked him sometimes. That he’d inherited their father’s wavy blond locks and emerald green eyes was a crime against nature. “Don’t you have a wife and children to get home to?”

  Frankie leaned his hip against the countertop. “Yes, but the kids are having a back-to-school pizza party, so I’m making a bigger deal about this body in the fireplace than I need to.”

  Emma grunted. “You have no idea how lucky you are to have Doreen.”

  “Oh, yes I do,” he said, with genuine affection. “And forgive me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t you be kissing my ass right now?”

  Emma blew out a long sigh. “Thank you for straightening things out with Atkinson.”

  “Don’t mention it. He didn’t seem all that upset to me.”

  “Still, I appreciate it. So whose party is it? Marco’s, Abby’s, or Dennis’s?”

  Frankie lowered his head, pulling apart hamburger buns. “All three.”

  Emma’s jaw dropped. “All three? Why on earth—” The doorbell interrupted her tirade.

  “Saved by the bell!” Frankie ran to the entry hall.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Emma followed. “What’s the matter with you? Go home right now.”

  Frankie reached the door, saving himself from a response. “Sheila, you sexy beast, you.”

  Sheila Rogers blew Frankie a kiss and then walked over to Emma and held out her hand.

  Sighing in resignation, Emma shook it. “I keep telling you, that’s just a myth.”

  The short, plump redhead had breezed into the house next door and Emma’s life with her infectious blue eyes and quirky persona four years ago. They’d been best friends ever since.

  “And I keep telling you, shaking hands with a chimney sweep is good luck,” Sheila said. “Mary Poppins, remember?”

  Emma held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not one to dispute Walt Disney. What brings you by?”

  “As soon as I saw your darling brother’s car, I rushed right over. How are my two favorite people, aside from my husband, kids, and a few close relatives?”

  Frankie and Emma each barked out their own story at the same time.

  “Frankie left Doreen to fend for herself with a houseful of kids.”

  “Emma found a human skeleton in the fireplace she’s working on.”

  “Whoa, whoa.” Sheila held up her hands to stop their banter. “As fascinating as your story sounds, Emma, I think Frankie has you beat.”

  She stomped back to the kitchen. “It’s no big deal.”

  Frankie and Sheila followed. “Yeah, it’s so not a big deal she almost broke her granite countertop explaining about it.”

  Emma spun around, her fists clenched at her sides, and glared at her brother.

  He winked at the short redhead. “She’s a bit pissed.”

  “I can understand being upset, but why’s she so mad?” Sheila sat at the kitchenette and folded her hands on the table, looking at Frankie expectantly.

  “Because of that—and I’m quoting here—‘arrogant, senseless jackass of a general contractor.’ Is that about right, Sis?”

  “Bite me,” Emma muttered, and then repeated everything she’d told Frankie to Sheila.

  “That is a wild story.” She rubbed her eyes and then studied her fingertips. Emma’s brow furrowed as Sheila placed an eyelash on the back of her left hand.

  “I wonder if there are any superstitions about finding a skeleton in an old house.” Sheila closed her eyes, her lips moving slightly, as if in prayer. Then she whacked the palm of her left hand with the back of her right. She did it three times, checked the back of her hand, and then smiled secretively.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Frankie asked, seemingly as confused as Emma.

  “I’m making a wish.”

  Emma was used to Sheila’s strange and superstitious behavior, but this was a bit odd, even for her. “A what?”

  Sheila shrugged. “I lost an eyelash. You’re supposed to put it on the back of your left hand and make a wish. You get three chances to slap it away. If you succeed, your wish comes true. If not, you have to burn it.”

  “Dare I ask why?” Frankie asked.

  “Because if someone else finds it they can use it to put nasty little curses on you.”

  “Do you really believe all this stuff?”

  “What’s an ounce of prevention?” She turned to Emma. “Since you bragged about this row house over the phone, I’m dying to see the pictures you took.”

  “Okay, but give me a few minutes. I haven’t transferred them to the computer yet.”

  While Frankie watched the food, Emma led Sheila into her small office to download the pictures.

  “You okay?” Sheila asked.

  Emma sighed, relieved to have someone she could trust to talk to. “Yeah, it’s just been a long day.”

  “I don’t know how you do it. I sure couldn’t.”

  “Well, my dad had me up on rooftops by the time I was five, much to my mother’s chagrin. I think I knew more about chimneys and fireplaces than I did Barbie dolls by the time I was ten. It’s second nature now.”

  “I was talking about all the physical labor, not your knowledge.” Sheila rested her hand on the back of Emma’s chair and leaned in, studying the screen as she flicked through the pictures. “That’s some house, although those narrow hallways and staircases would drive me insane.”

  “But the rooms are unbelievable.” Emma studied the photos. Some of them were clear, showing off the grandeur of the space. Others were fuzzy or had streaks of light, probably from the sun. A photographer she was not.

  “You’ve worked on houses older and more impressive than this. Why the fascination?”

  She rubbed her forehead, wondering how much she should reveal to her neighbor. Sheila was very superstitious. The last thing Emma needed was a lecture on ghosts, folklore, and urban legends. “I don’t know. The second I walked into the house, I fell in love. It seemed to be whispering to me to fix it.”

  “Sometimes old houses have personalities of their own.” Her eyes grew wide with excitement. “Maybe it’s haunted?”

  “You know I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  Emma grinned, hoping her friend didn’t see. Sheila fancied herself a bit of a ghost hunter. She watched all the programs, read all the books, had even joined the local paranormal investigator group on a few cases. “I’ll be sure to be on the lookout for disembodied voices and energy spikes.”

  “Hey, don’t mock me. I’ve seen ghosts before so I know—wow, who is that?”

  Emma groaned. When she’d taken the picture of the kitchen fireplace after she’d found the body, somehow the reason for her “long day” had gotten in the way. “That is Ryan Atkinson, the G.C.”

  “Oh my gosh, I could eat him alive.”

  Emma turned to her, pleading. “Could you? Would you do that for me?”

  Sheila burst out laughing. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Aside from being an asshole?”

  “Hey, watch your language. You’re not on a job site.”

  Emma slumped in her seat. “He annoys me.”

  “You should sleep with him.”

  “What? I just said I didn’t like the man.”

  “With a body like that, you could learn to love him. Come on. Let me live vicariously.”

  “I’m not that shallow.”

  Sheila rolled her eyes. “You like him, I can tell.”

  “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

  “Because you’re obsessing. If you didn’t like him, you wouldn’t care.�
�

  Emma’s stubborn side woke up and flipped Sheila the finger. “No, I really don’t. Besides, I’m not ready for a relationship.”

  “Look, I know Jared didn’t move out until your divorce was final, but I also know you and he haven’t been intimate since you decided to go your separate ways.”

  “So?”

  “So, that’s a very long time.”

  Emma sat forward and stared at the screen, at the contractor’s face. “I can’t just hop into bed with the first guy who makes my blood boil.”

  “Aha! So you admit he turns you on.”

  “I do no such—never mind. The point is I’ve never been casual about sex. I’m not going to start now. Plus, I have a six-year-old daughter to think about.”

  Sheila took a seat on the sofa next to the desk. “You can’t let Nicole run your life. The sooner she accepts Jared isn’t coming back the better. And I’m not saying sleep with a guy on the first date. I just think you’d probably like some male company.”

  She stared at the computer screen. Yes, she did miss having someone to talk to, maybe hold hands with. Hell, even take in a movie.

  Her eyes surveyed the strong profile and toned physique of the G.C., wondering what it would feel like to—

  With a bit more force than necessary, Emma pushed herself out of her chair. “If I do get into a relationship, it will, for sure, not be with Ryan Atkinson.”

  Her friend chuckled as she followed Emma out of the office.

  “I know what that giggle is about, so you might as well stop it.” She paused at the doorway into the kitchen and turned. “I have no interest in him.”

  With her obstinate chin in the air, she entered the room and gasped, her head swimming as she tried to blink her vision into focus.

  A hazy image, as if she were looking through water, took shape. Ryan Atkinson sat at her kitchen table, making funny faces at her daughter.

  But—Atkinson wasn’t here.

  Neither was Nicole!

  “Sis, you okay?” Frankie stood by the stove, spatula in hand, his brow furrowed in concern.

  Emma squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them the room was clear, the table empty.

  She studied her brother’s worried face before she spoke. “Yes, I’m fine. I just had a daymare.”