SEPTEMBER 2006
THREE LARGE MEN glared at Emma Hopkins, their beefy arms crossed over equally massive chests. Her gloved hands tightened around the handle of a sledgehammer.
Her employees. Fearless. Manly.
Pouting like a bunch of four-year-olds.
“Oh, stop sulking. You guys always get to do the demolition. It’s my turn.”
“We are no sulking. We are waiting,” Carlos quipped in a thick Cuban accent. “Swing the hammer.”
“Yeah, just pretend the wall is the head of that meter maid who gave you a ticket while you were stopped at a red light,” Bart said.
Relaxing her hold, she scrutinized the laborer. “You know, Bart, you really scare me sometimes.”
“He scares all of us.” Mike, her head mason, flicked a contractor bag until it opened.
“Gee, I can’t imagine why.” Emma returned to her task. A gentle late-summer breeze came in through the open window, bringing with it the pleasing fragrance of damp earth. “Hush, all of you. I need to focus.”
She studied the five-foot-high brick structure jutting out from the wall that imprisoned the enormous kitchen fireplace, looking for the perfect place to land her blow. The bottom half appeared solid, with pin-straight mortar joints, but the top was sloppy and uneven. Either two different people had built this thing, or someone had imbibed a few cocktails while on the job. In any case, behind the wall was a huge fireplace she was itching to get her hands on.
She’d earned this privilege.
With a deep breath, Emma swung the hammer through the air.
As soon as the heavy metal head made contact, the top portion of the barrier gave way. She gasped in surprise, stumbling as the hammer dropped from her hands. Bricks and mortar collapsed into the firebox as a blast of cold, stale air swept through her, sending chills down her spine. No, not chills. More like an electric shock that froze her body for a millisecond before it warmed again.
Emma steadied herself. What the hell?
“Estás bien, Boss Lady?”
She focused on Carlos’s concerned face, trying to shake off the odd feeling. “Yeah. I was just startled at how easily it fell.”
He smirked. “Even the wall knows not to mess with you before you’ve had your café.”
Emma removed her safety glasses and slapped them against his chest. “You’ve just been reduced to bag holder.”
While she mindlessly tossed debris into the contractor bag Carlos grudgingly held open for her, her sense of pride grew.
She always loved the first day at a new job, but this one—this one—would put her fireplace and chimney company on the map. Working in a historic brownstone practically at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge was going to be a delight, even if it was a bitch to find a parking space. She loved this part of Brooklyn Heights, and with ten fireplaces to restore, they were going to have one hell of a job to brag about.
As long as everything went smoothly.
Her gloved hand wrapped around something long, thin, and hard. What the hell? She gave a good tug and withdrew a bone. Great, another dead animal. She’d better get it out of the firebox before Bart saw it. With his sick sense of humor, God only knew what perverse ideas he’d come up with just to get a laugh.
Grabbing a droplight, she brought it over to the opening and aimed it down into the pit, peering over the half-wall.
Empty eye sockets stared back at her.
Shock waves rocketed through her body, unleashing a guttural scream. She jerked back, dropping the light and whacking her head against the opening of the firebox.
Her butt hit the ground hard. She cradled the back of her skull, more from reflex than from actual pain. Her mind was too numb for that.
No, it can’t be.
Emma stared at the bone still gripped in her hand. “Ew!” She flung it aside.
In seconds, her men surrounded her.
“Emma, what’s wrong?” Bart’s normally pink-hued face appeared white even against his reddish blond hair.
She opened her mouth to speak but instead released a high-pitched squeak. Carlos offered a hand.
She grabbed it, hoping to draw strength from him before he pulled her up. The guys stared at her, waiting for some direction.
With her heart attempting to punch a hole through her chest, she inched toward the fireplace and picked up the lamp again. Hesitating, she braced herself before glancing over what remained of the brick wall.
Bones.
Grotesque. Surreal. Contorted into the form of what was once a human being. The skull looked dingy brown in the bright light of the drop lamp. Arm bones, pinned behind the rib cage, were visible beneath the debris.
“There’s a body in here,” she whispered.
All hell broke loose at Emma’s softly spoken words. Like balls in a pinball machine, the men bounced off each other trying to get a look into the firebox.
“Everybody freeze!”
The commotion stopped at the booming command. A huge hunk of a man appeared from the butler’s pantry, towering over Emma’s five-foot-eight frame. Well-formed biceps and forearms indicated hard labor. His foreboding expression did nothing to hide rugged good looks. Without moving a muscle, he exuded raw power. Blue-green eyes locked on hers. Intense, penetrating. Emma felt naked.
“Someone care to explain what’s going on here?”
Mike opened his mouth to speak, but Emma stepped forward.
“I need to talk with the general contractor right away.”
“You’re looking at him.”
Her eyes widened. This was Ryan Atkinson? She struggled to remember everything her brother, Frankie, had told her about this man. Decent, easy-going, yet somehow intense at the same time.
Well, he sure got the intense part right.
“I’m Emma Hopkins, from M.A.D. Chimney & Fireplace Restoration. You hired us to do the renovations.”
For the briefest of moments, his eyes widened in a flicker of panic. “I hired Frankie DeVuono.”
“Frankie is my sales manager. I own the company and will be supervising here.”
“You call this supervision? When I walked in, you were lounging against the wall while your workers ran around like the three stooges on crack.”
“I can explain—”
“Of course you can.”
“We were working on—”
“I’m not interested in excuses.”
“There’s a body in the fireplace.”
Emma hadn’t wanted to blurt it out like that, but this guy pinched at her last good nerve. His arms dropped to his sides, his face a mask of shock.
“Is that a good enough reason for you, Mr. Atkinson?” Emma gripped the cool porcelain counter, the reality of what she’d just found sinking in.
A murder victim.
Atkinson barked out orders to her men, who scrambled to do his bidding. Then he tunneled long fingers though his chin-length brown hair as he walked over to her. His warm hand settled on her shoulder. Heat snaked down her arm from his gentle touch. “You okay?”
The soft baritone reminded her of melted chocolate. Smooth, creamy, and loaded with yumminess. She pulled in a breath to calm her nerves, but instead inhaled the scent of sawdust sprinkled with a hint of spice. She trembled. From his voice, from shock, she wasn’t sure. “Sorry for snapping. I’ve never found a human skeleton in a fireplace before.”
She peered into his eyes, unable to decipher whether they were blue or green. Where before they were so intense, they now reflected empathy. Her breath hitched.
“I’m going to look, okay?” he said.
Emma grabbed his arm. “No, please. It’s horrifying. She looks like she was just thrown in there.”
“How do you know it’s female?”
She shook her head, frightened of her own certainty. “I don’t know.”
“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.” A streak of pain clouded his eyes as he tried to tug from her grip.
Her hand tightened, and she prayed her face would convey the horror her words couldn’t.
His fingers brushed the skin of her wrist. “I need to see.”
Again, warmth radiated up her arm. She let go before the heat traveled any further.
His gaze held hers a moment longer before he turned toward the fireplace. He didn’t hesitate. He simply grabbed the light and searched the firebox as if looking for a lost tool. “Yup, that’s a human skeleton, all right.”
“The bricks and mortar were pretty old. Do you think she’s been in there all this time?”
“More than likely.”
Bart entered the room dragging a bag of garbage. “The police are on their way, so I figure we have a couple of hours to kill before they actually get here. I brought this back for the cops to go through.”
“Is that what you pulled from the fireplace?” Atkinson asked, the melted chocolate voice gone.
“Yeah. There’s one more bag I have to get.”
“That was very wise, Bart, thank you,” Emma said with a small smile.
“Just promise not to ask how I know so much about how to behave at a crime scene.” With that ominous statement hanging in the air, he headed to the exit, drumming a beat against the doorjamb as he exited.
Atkinson stared after him. “What he just said doesn’t bother you?”
Emma walked over to the open bag. Her tremors, so strong only moments before, settled. “Nah, he knows because his dad was a New York City detective for twenty-five years. He’s just trying to rattle you. It’s his way.”
Afraid to look but unable to stop herself, Emma searched among the crumbled mortar and broken brick, expecting to find a bony hand or finger sticking out of the trash.
Instead, a bit of old paper peeking out from under debris caught her eye.
Sneaking a glance at the general contractor, who was concentrating on his cell phone, she extracted a faded yellow newspaper. “In a Blizzard’s Grasp,” the headline read. She glanced at the date. March 13th, 1888.
Emma held back a shriek of excitement. She’d seen so many programs about the great blizzard of 1888, and now she held a piece of its history in her hand.
“Hey, Boss Lady. The police está aquí.”
At Carlos’s shout, she surreptitiously tucked the treasure into her jacket.
***
After taking a trip to the coffee shop a few blocks away, Emma sat on the front stoop, a café mocha in her hand, as the police took over the brownstone. They’d questioned her about everything that had happened up to the point where she found the skeleton. She tried to be as thorough as she could, but her nerves were so frayed, she was sure she’d messed up a few details.
“What a way to meet.”
She turned toward the unexpected voice coming from the entranceway of the brownstone. A beautiful elderly woman stood at the top of the stairs. Short and model thin, she resembled Joan Collins, with nearly black hair and striking features.
Her casual pantsuit put Emma in mind of her mother before Sunday morning church, but she’d bet her favorite tape measure that the simple outfit cost more than her monthly car payment. Around her shoulders, the woman wore a black cashmere shawl. Understated elegance.
“Pardon?”
With a refinement that couldn’t be taught, she descended a step and sat beside Emma. “Betsy Morris. I’m the owner of this home.”
Emma felt a smile form--the first real smile since she’d found the body that morning. She immediately liked Mrs. Morris. For someone who’d just bought a house complete with a skeleton, she sure was taking it well. “Emma Hopkins. I’m the fireplace tech.”
“I know. Ryan told me.” She leaned close and whispered, “I think he likes you.”
Heat crawled into her face. The idea of Ryan Atkinson having the hots for her was disturbingly provocative. “I only met him this morning.”
“Time means nothing where the art of courtship is concerned.”
“Ha! Tell that to my mother.”
Mrs. Morris smiled, but the smile faded quickly. Emma could only imagine what she must be feeling. “I’m sorry we had to meet this way too,” Emma added.
The older woman glanced over her shoulder at the front door. “The house seems different now, doesn’t it? Angry. Like we revealed a secret we weren’t supposed to.”
Emma thought back to when she’d first broken through the wall and the odd sensation that had followed. Probably best not to mention that. “I don’t know. I get the feeling it’s relieved.”
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.