“But what if whatever hates me goes after her once we’re gone? Can you live with yourself if something happens?”
“Don’t be a fool, nothing’s after you.”
She jerked back, his words like a verbal slap to the face. “So this is your way of dealing with the situation? Ignore it and it will go away, because you’re too chicken-shit to accept what’s right before your eyes?”
Turning so he wouldn’t see the tears slip from her eyes, she headed for the door. “Fine, I won’t say a word.”
Emma was almost to the doorway when a sudden strong breeze brushed by her. The heavy wood door hoisted itself from against the wall and slammed shut. The bang it caused echoed throughout the room. A loud click followed.
Frozen, Emma stared at the suddenly-closed door. Then she glanced at Ryan. He looked as if he needed thawing as well. After a few breathless seconds, she reached out, touching the doorknob. When it didn’t burn her hand or jump up to bite her, she gripped the knob and twisted. It turned, she pulled, but the door stayed closed.
Somehow, the door that needed a long-gone skeleton key to lock and unlock was sealed shut.
“What’s wrong?” Ryan’s voice was not so condescending now.
Wiping her eyes with shaky hands, Emma turned to him. “The door’s locked.”
Ryan shook his head. “That’s not possible.”
“Well, since I’m just a useless, irrational female, perhaps you should try to open it?”
Looking rather unsure, he walked over and tugged at the door.
It wouldn’t budge.
He jiggled the knob as if he couldn’t believe it had the audacity to remain closed against his wishes.
“It’s locked. Didn’t you hear it click?”
Ryan continued to shake and pull the object of his anger. “It couldn’t have locked. There’s no key.”
With a roll of her eyes and mumbling about obstinate men, she banged on the door, shouting for her men.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Emma halted her banging. “Um…calling for help?”
“We can get out ourselves. It can’t be locked. It’s probably just stuck.”
Emma patted his back. “You’re right. It can’t possibly be a ghost. I mean, I’ve encountered a lot of doors that slam shut and lock on their own.”
Putting one booted foot against the doorjamb and wrapping both hands around the doorknob, Ryan yanked and twisted and pulled. “It’s not a ghost. Didn’t you feel that strong wind? It must’ve blown the door.”
“There’s no wind today, and frankly, Ryan, if this house is that drafty, you’re not doing a very good job fixing it up. Now stop yanking on the knob before you break it. It’s original to the house.”
Ryan did as he was told, but only to turn to her in anger. “You’re not helping—”
“Emma? Ryan? Are you okay?”
Betsy’s concerned voice had Emma turning wide-eyed to the door.
“Look what you did!” Ryan accused in a hoarse whisper.
“Me? I didn’t slam the door and lock it.”
“You are so infuriating—”
“Emma? Please answer me.”
She shot Ryan a warning look before laying her face against the door. “We’re fine, Betsy. We’re just locked in.”
“How did that happen? There’s no key.”
“We are not locked in!” He slammed his fist against the doorjamb.
“Then why won’t the door open?” To prove her point, Emma grabbed the knob, turned, and pulled. For a split second she was airborne. The next moment she was flat on her back, unable to breathe.
“Emma!”
Ryan knelt by her side in a heartbeat, his eyes filled with the concern they lacked before. She could do nothing but stare at him and let out one pathetic little cough.
“Oh, my, you took a nasty spill.”
As breath found its way into her lungs again, Emma stared at the kind face of Ryan’s client. If Betsy was in the room that meant the door was open. “How—how did you get in?”
She looked at her in confusion. “You let me in.”
Emma sat up and stared at the door, which was standing ajar, looking all innocent as if nothing unusual had happened to it a few minutes ago. “But I swear it was locked.”
“It couldn’t have been. It’s not possible. Is it, Ryan?”
He helped Emma to her feet, thankful she seemed unhurt. Betsy insisted she sit down and catch her breath. Then both women turned to him. Ryan looked away. He could tell by Emma’s eyes she expected he would tell the truth.
The truth. He couldn’t face the truth. Something was wrong here, very wrong, and he couldn’t deal with that. It sickened him that he was actually considering selling Emma out. He longed to agree with Betsy that of course the door couldn’t have been locked, even though he knew he’d tried with all his strength to get it open.
But how could he answer? If he told her the truth, he had to admit other things were happening too. Things he couldn’t explain. Things that frightened him.
At one time he’d have welcomed an adventure that led him into unexplained territory. He would’ve faced it head-on too.
But now, he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle telling his client something was wrong with her beloved house. In the end, who else would Betsy turn to if not him? She couldn’t pick up a phone, call Ghost Busters, and expect a snarky Bill Murray and a daffy Dan Aykroyd to put her fears to rest.
The silence grew and lingered as the two women stared at him, waiting for his reply. Betsy wanted reassurance, and Emma wanted him to stand by her.
He avoided Emma’s stare as long as he could, but as soon as he met her dark brown eyes, he knew he couldn’t let her down. Even as the disbelief grew on her face, something grew inside him. A strength he hadn’t felt in years, a strength he had to admit came from the breathless woman sitting on the overturned bucket by his side.
Don’t fuck it up, Ryan, not this time.
Hooking an arm under Emma’s elbow, he helped her to her feet. “Betsy, we need to talk.”
Chapter Fifteen
A SURGE OF JOY leapt through Emma at Ryan’s words. He believed her. He’d taken a chance on her and risked losing the biggest job of his life to back her up.
At first Betsy looked startled, but her penetrating green eyes seemed to bore into him, as if she could see his thoughts. “Yes, I believe we do. Shall we go downstairs and find a place to sit?”
Ryan swept his hand through the air. “After you, ladies.”
“You and Betsy go ahead.” Emma paced the room, rubbing her palms on her jeans. “I’ll be right there.”
Ryan nodded. “Meet us downstairs, and be quick about it.”
Waiting until they were almost down the stairs, Emma circled the room slowly, listening, feeling, watching…
“You’re here, aren’t you?” Her voice was steady and firm. “But you’re not the malevolent one. I know you’re not. I feel nothing but calm and peace right now.”
Emma didn’t know what she expected, but a gentle brush across her cheek, like the soft caress a mother would give a sleeping child, wasn’t it. Even though it left a chill on her skin, it wasn’t disturbing or frightening.
The experience was overwhelming, beautiful, precious. Being able to reach out and communicate with someone who had left this earth was so unbelievable it formed a lump in her throat.
“You were in the fireplace, weren’t you?”
Again a soft touch.
Something even stranger than the slamming door and ghostly touch happened then. Emma felt love for this being. Love, compassion, and a feeling that this entity would always try to protect her.
Clearing her throat, she headed for the door. Before she left, she turned and spoke to the quiet room. “I’ll find them. Whatever you need, I’ll find. I promise.”
Emma joined Ryan and Betsy in the front parlor with a feeling of contentment in her heart.
She took a seat on a pile
of cement bags and waited for him to start.
“Now that you’re both here, I trust you’ll tell me what’s going on without any beating around the bush?” Betsy said.
“Of course.” Taking a deep breath, Ryan forged on. “We think your house is haunted.”
The only sound heard in the parlor was the distant music of Green Day going on holiday. Emma stared at their client, waiting for her reaction to Ryan’s bold statement.
She gnawed on her thumbnail, thinking the woman must be one hell of a poker player. If Betsy thought they were crazy or was about to fire them, it didn’t show on her face. She simply stared at them, her mouth slightly agape.
“Haunted,” she finally said. “As in, bangs and noises and ghosts floating through the air playing tricks?”
Emma felt like a fool. Ryan was right. They should’ve kept it to themselves. Hearing the words coming from Betsy’s mouth made the whole thing sound ridiculous.
Ryan shifted from foot to foot. “Well. Yes.”
Betsy studied space for a moment and then stood. “Well, all right, then. Carry on.”
“What?” Emma shrieked, stunned.
Halfway to the door, Betsy stopped and turned to face them. “Is there anything else, dear?”
Emma thought she must look like a fish, with her mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out. Finally, she found her voice. “You believe us?”
“Of course. I don’t think for a minute you or Ryan would tell me something like this without good reason.”
Ryan studied Mrs. Morris skeptically. She returned his stare with a questioning eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”
“To be honest, once I told you what we believed was happening, I figured you’d be on the phone with Bellevue.”
She chuckle. “Don’t be silly, I’d never do that. It’s a horrible place, and I don’t have their phone number anyway.” She walked back over to them. “Is it really so hard for you to understand why I believe you? I’ve felt something was off about this house from the very beginning.”
Emma placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Why did you buy it then?”
Betsy glanced down, staring at the ruby ring she twisted on her finger. “It’s hard to explain. I knew the history of the house. How no one’s been able to hold onto it long enough to do any real renovations. For some reason, I felt I was the one who’d be successful.”
Ryan looked at her as if he should be the one searching for the number to Bellevue. “So, you’re saying the house told you, you were the chosen one?”
“Don’t look down at me, young man. After what you just confessed, my beliefs can’t be so farfetched, now can they?”
Emma took a deep breath. “Well, you’ve certainly gotten much further than anyone else.”
“And I have you two to thank for that.” The older woman gripped both their hands.
Emma smiled, but inside, her head spun. What if she wasn’t successful in finding whatever the ghost wanted her to find? What if, because of her failure, Betsy wound up in danger?
Sheila had told her that paranormal experts differed on whether or not ghosts could do more harm to humans than just a few scary parlor tricks. It was plausible. Being locked in a room wasn’t all that scary, but what if a ghost pushed her down the stairs or threw a knife at her?
Whatever the answers, Emma knew one thing.
She had something to find.
***
“Wow, you’ve gotten a lot done.” Frankie stood inside the kitchen fireplace, inspecting the new firebox Mike had built.
“Yeah, we’re moving along pretty damn good, I think.” Normally, Emma loved to have her brother on a jobsite. They didn’t work together much anymore. Frankie usually stuck to the selling and management part of the business, while she supervised the jobsites.
But today Emma gnawed on her thumbnail, or what was left of it, waiting for Frankie to leave. He couldn’t find out about—oh, so many things.
Forget that the house was possibly haunted and one of the resident ghosts had a grudge against her. If Frankie found out, even though he’d call it a bunch of hooey, he’d have her off this job site faster than shit through a goose.
“I cannot get over how big the kitchen fireplace is now that it’s open.”
“Yeah, cool, huh?” Oh, why isn’t he leaving? Jeez, doesn’t he have a wife and kids to get home to? No! Damn, Frankie, don’t go upstairs!
Only when he stopped on the steps and looked at her skeptically did Emma get her mind off her whiny thoughts and onto her brother.
He arched an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”
“What? Me? No.”
He narrowed his eyes but continued up the stairs without comment.
To the untrained eye, the master bedroom fireplace looked in horrible disrepair, but Frankie knew how much they’d accomplished. “Very nice. Who did the new firebox? Carlos?”
She nodded, flinching when she bit her nail to the quick. Thankfully, she had two thumbs. “Yes. I think I’ll have him do the tiling around the mouth when it’s ready.”
“I’ll have to tell him what an awesome job he did.”
Just as he was about to leave and hope grew that she could save her left thumbnail from a stubby fate, Bart decided to prance into the room.
“Hey, Boss Man. Emma been telling you about the drunken midnight orgies we’ve been having?”
Frankie laughed. He’d always been Bart’s best audience. Pathetic. There they stood, right in front of the fireplace, two grown men, exchanging potty humor and thinking it hysterical.
“Oh, man, you gotta see this.”
Emma groaned when Bart pulled out his cell phone. She knew what was coming, and Frankie, being the immature male he was, would love every minute of it.
Apparently, a video of Carlos using a make-shift toilet was something to enjoy and savor.
Just as Bart was about to perform his somehow always successful pull-my-finger trick, a flicker from the mirror above the fireplace caught her eye.
Right above the mantel, the old gilded mirror stood reflecting light back into the room. She squinted and studied it. The mirror went hazy, like a pool of water, and then the image of a man—Ryan—cowering in the corner against a concrete wall flashed through her mind.
She blinked and rubbed her eyes and then looked again, but only her reflection stared back.
What the hell was that all about?
Then the glass made a loud snapping sound. Emma jerked around to her brother and Bart, but they didn’t seem to hear anything. Or they were too focused on Bart’s ability to force noxious gas through his bowels to notice. She turned back to the mirror. It popped and trembled ever more violently until a crack appeared and moved slowly across the mirror in a circular pattern.
Emma stood there, too frozen in shock to do more than gape at the mirror as it formed an image.
Okay, she was no glass expert, but usually glass didn’t fracture on its own.
Nor did cracks in glass form perfect circles.
The sudden foul odor that assaulted her nostrils brought her back to the events around her. Apparently, Bart’s talent was alive and well. She snapped out of her shock and took action. Gaseous anomaly aside, she had to get Bart and Frankie out of the room before they noticed the very common symbol now etched in the glass.
A bull’s-eye.
Humph. Couldn’t her friendly ghost at least try to be a little more creative? Why not just put up a huge, blinking, neon sign saying “what you’re looking for is here.” No imagination at all.
Letting out a loud cackle, Emma took both men by their upper arms and led them toward the exit. “Wow, Bart, you’re too much but don’t you have work to do? I’m sure Frankie would love to see what you did on the parlor floor fireplaces, they’re so nice I’m sure he’ll go gaga for them.”
“Damn, Emma, when did you stop using punctuation when you speak? You sound like Nicole when she has a story to tell.”
“Ha ha ha, you’re so funny, Bart.
Isn’t he funny, Frank?”
Her brother stopped on his way out the door. “I’ve had this feeling you’ve been trying to get rid of me since I got here. What’s going on?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all. I’m just really pleased with all we’ve accomplished.”
She led them down the stairs, babbling as she went. The mirror would have to wait.
It took her another twenty minutes to get Frankie out onto the street. The afternoon was warm but very windy, something that often slowed their progress, especially when they worked on the roof. Her ringing ears were relieved to finally get a break from the constant noise.
“Wow, when did the wind pick up?” Emma asked.
“It was getting pretty strong when I arrived.” Frankie pulled out his car keys. “It looks like you’re ahead of schedule. You’ll be done here before you know it.”
With that one statement, sorrow grew in the pit of her stomach. Once she was done here, she’d have no reason to see Ryan anymore.
As if her thoughts could control fate, Ryan came up the street. Even though she hadn’t really taken that vision in the mirror seriously, she was still glad to see he was okay.
Frankie walked toward him. “Ryan, great job on the house. Everything going on schedule?”
By the time Ryan reached him, he had a smile on his face and his hand extended. “Yeah, pretty much. We’ve had a few setbacks, but nothing that’s thrown us completely off course.” He shot a quick gaze at Emma, but it was so fast, she doubted anyone noticed.
“I love what you did to the parlor. When I walked in, I felt like I stepped back into the nineteenth century.”
“That is a huge compliment, thanks. I always felt that—”
He suddenly stopped talking and turned ghostly white, staring at something behind her. The wind howled, and a low-flying plane filtered out most of the noise coming from the house.
Concerned, Emma followed his gaze, but except for a few pedestrians and traffic she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Ryan, are you okay?” Frankie asked.
Ruby's Letters Page 13
