An Angel for Emily Page 12

  “Damn, damn, double-damn,” she muttered, then pulled a big corkboard screen from the corner and moved it around the table. “Go on,” she said in disgust. “But if anybody walks by here, you stop moving the papers, you understand me?”

  Emily wasn’t sure but she thought that as she turned away she distinctly heard a man’s voice say, “Thank you.” She threw up her hands. “Great. I am now helping ghosts to overcome their boredom.”

  Gidrah nodded toward the screen. “Who were you talkin’ to?”

  “Myself,” Emily answered. “I have my Madison research back there and I don’t want anyone touching it.” She moved away before Gidrah could ask why she didn’t put the papers back in the office. And what was she to answer—that she’d prefer that those two dead men, one of whom might be a murderer, stay out of her office?

  So now it was Friday and for four days the library had been a madhouse. At first the women had come to meet Michael, their eyes full of hope for a wild romance and a commitment. At least that’s what Emily saw in their eyes. But as the days passed, things had changed.

  “Suffer the little children to come unto me,” Gidrah had said on Wednesday afternoon as she looked at Michael, laughing with the children and showing them a game from the fifteenth century. “That’s what he reminds me of, what it says in the Bible. He wants the children to come to him. Just like Jesus.”

  “I think Michael is a different level,” Emily said tightly as she carried another stack of books to the checkout counter.

  “Level?” Gidrah said, then smiled. “I do believe that you’re jealous, Emily. And I find that rather odd seein’ as how you’re engaged to marry Donald. By the way, how is he? How does he like your livin’ with that gorgeous hunk of muscle and black hair?”

  As Emily put the books on the counter, she didn’t say a word.

  “Well, well,” Gidrah said. “If the color of your face is anything to judge by, I’d say that Mr. TV-man doesn’t know about this, ah, cousin. Tell me again, exactly how is he related to you?”

  Emily wondered how she could have ever liked Gidrah’s sense of humor. “On my mother’s side,” she said sweetly. “We have the same grandmother.”

  “Oh,” Gidrah said as she rapidly stamped three books. “Is this the same grandmother who used to go to school with my grandmother? The one who married that man from Tulsa and had only one daughter who was your mother? That grandmother?”

  “I hate small towns,” Emily muttered as she disappeared into the stacks.

  It was only at night that she spent any time with Michael, and that was only because they acted like fugitives and escaped. On Tuesday, as soon as she’d closed the library, there were women waiting with hot casseroles. “I thought that since you worked all day and had a guest you could use a little help in the kitchen,” a woman said, and Emily had no idea who she was. But there was a white line on her ring finger that showed that a wedding ring had recently been removed.

  “Thank you, but—” Emily began, but Michael was already taking the dish and smiling in delight at the woman.

  “And here’s my name, address and telephone number,” she said. “So you can return the dish.”

  Since the casserole was in a throwaway aluminum baking dish, Emily gave her a terse smile. “Of course,” she murmured. “How kind of you.” She looked at Michael. “Shall we go?”

  As they walked back to the apartment, four cars, with only women in them, slowed down and reminded Michael of some social invitation he had accepted. When they got to the apartment there were seventeen notes stuck between the door and the frame. “For you,” Emily said, as she shoved all of them at Michael.

  Once inside, she went to her bedroom with no intention of coming out ever again. She didn’t know what she was so angry about, but angry she was. When Michael opened her bedroom door without knocking, she started to tell him that this was her private territory, but instead, to her horror, she burst into tears.

  Immediately, Michael sat down beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “No one is going to come after me.”

  “It’s not that,” she said, wiping her tears on the back of her hand. “It’s—” Actually, she had no idea what was wrong with her, but it had something to do with Michael no longer being her private, secret property, and she did not, under any circumstances, want to look into that.

  “Let’s take the food and escape into the woods,” Michael said, his arm still around her. “I want to be with just you and I want you to tell me everything you did today and I’ll tell you about the children.”

  “And those women,” she said, sounding like a little girl.

  “You know, Emily, not one of them has as good a heart as you have. Not one of them has your purity of spirit or generosity. Why, some of them were downright…what’s that word for those fish you mortals think about so much?”

  She started to say porpoises but she knew he meant sharks. “Predators?”

  “Exactly. They didn’t like me or want to get to know me; they just want a male.”

  If he’d told her that she was the most beautiful woman in town, as most men would have done, she wouldn’t have believed him. But he said things about her heart, how he saw the inside of her.

  Before she could say a word, there was a knock on the door and she looked up with a grimace.

  “You get on your jeans, the ones with a hole in the seat, and I’ll go get some more food, then we’ll escape,” he said as he headed for the front door. “Alfred and Ephrim told me some things today, and tomorrow they want paper and pencils so they can make notes.”

  Emily opened her mouth to ask who Alfred and Ephrim were, but she knew. “They can’t let anyone see them writing,” she called after him. Then as she realized what she’d said, she laughed. Weren’t people supposed to be afraid of ghosts? She got up and went to her closet to get her torn jeans.

  Chapter 11

  BY THE TIME THEY GOT AWAY, AFTER EMILY HAD handed the telephone to Michael at least a dozen times, and she’d listened to him accept every invitation extended, it was nearly dark outside. “It’s too late to go now,” she said, her mouth in a thin line of disgust. Of course she knew she was sulking over a missed picnic, something that shouldn’t have bothered her at all. After all, she usually spent most of the week alone. And, truthfully, she even spent a lot of weekends alone, since Donald had to stay in the city if he was covering a breaking news story.

  But Michael put down the telephone, picked up the picnic basket, grabbed her hand and led her out the door, the phone ringing behind them. “Not afraid of the dark, are you?” he teased, leading her down the stairs so fast it’s a wonder she didn’t fall.

  “Not anymore,” she answered, laughing. “Not after today. Not after I’ve bawled out ghosts and told them to behave. And when did you have time to talk to them? Every time I looked up you were busy telling stories to the children.”

  “Ephrim came over and told me a story while I put little Jeremiah’s wagon back together. I just told it to the children.”

  They had reached the edge of the woods and Emily hesitated. Being a sane and sensible creature, she didn’t usually go into dense woods at night.

  “Come on,” Michael said, pulling on her hand. “The wood sprites will show us the way.”

  “Oh, of course,” she muttered, tripping along behind him. “Whatever was I thinking? Wood sprites. Ephrim wasn’t the one who…ah, uh…”

  “Murdered his wife, chopped her up and hid her body parts in a trunk?”

  “What?” she asked softly and stopped right where she was. Wood sprites or no, stories of chopped-up wives told in a dark forest were too much.

  Halting, Michael grinned at her and she could see his white teeth in what little light there was left. “No, Ephrim didn’t kill anyone. He was accused and executed but he vowed to stay on earth until the killer was found.”

  “Oh. And did he? Find the killer, I mean?”

  “Guess not sin
ce he’s still here. I do wish you mortals would stop making those deathbed vows. They cause so many problems. Just look at poor Ephrim,” he said, pulling on her hand and she started walking again.

  “Yes, poor thing. He’s bored to death. Or, maybe that’s not the right comparison. How long ago was his wife murdered?”

  Michael stopped for a moment and seemed to be listening to something or, knowing him, to someone. Wonder what wood sprites sound like? she thought, then he pulled her hand and led her into what seemed to be impenetrable brush. But there was a path there and it led to a clearing near a little spring. Even in the dark it was a place of incredible beauty.

  “You like it?”

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, looking up at the trees that seemed to form a cathedral ceiling.

  Opening the picnic basket, Michael took out a bottle of wine. “The sprites are naughty creatures,” he said as he poured her a full glass. “They only allow mortals to come to this spot when the woman is fertile. According to them, half the first babies in town have been made right here.”

  Laughing, Emily took the wine.

  “You asked me a question, what was it?” Michael asked as he rummaged in the basket, brushing her hands away when she tried to help.

  “Mmmm, I don’t know,” she said, stretching out her legs on the grass and listening to the water. Maybe it was her imagination, but this spot did seem to be very romantic.

  “Emily,” Michael said softly, “don’t lean back on your arms like that, and do you have something to tie your hair up with?”

  For a moment she couldn’t help herself, but she stretched and then tossed her hair just a bit. Michael’s tone made her feel like an irresistible temptress.

  “Get out!” Michael shouted, waving his arms. “Out! All of you!”

  His harsh, loud voice broke the spell and Emily sat up abruptly. “What was that all about?”

  “Wicked creatures. They said they could—”

  “Could what?”

  “Shield us from Adrian’s eyes,” Michael said, looking down at the cheese he was cutting. “And that you are fertile now,” he said softly.

  “Oh,” Emily said, eyes wide. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Now, about Ephrim,” Michael said in a businesslike tone.

  “Yes,” she answered, taking the plate he handed her. “The man who didn’t dismember his wife.” Maybe thinking about murder would take her mind off the atmosphere of this secluded, sweet-smelling little nest and make her think of what she and Michael were supposed to think of.

  “Yes,” he said. “Ephrim.” Michael sounded as though he were having difficulty remembering who Ephrim was. “Oh yes. He told me that a few years ago he’d met a man who knew Captain Madison.”

  “A few years ago? But Captain Madison died a hundred years ago so how—oh, I see. Dead men. Ghosts. Tell me—do they have parties and a regular social life?”

  She was making a joke, but Michael didn’t take it as such. “No, not usually. The truth is, Emily, that spirits who stay on this earth after their bodies die are not really very happy individuals. Most of them don’t even know they don’t have bodies. And it’s usually something tragic that keeps them here on earth.”

  Emily blinked at him. It was sometimes odd to be with a person who had no idea that ghosts were something to be feared. But then, even Michael had feared Captain Madison. “So, anyway, what did Ephrim’s friend have to say about that dreadful man?”

  “That’s just it,” Michael said, refilling her glass with wine. “He said that you couldn’t hope to meet a nicer man than Captain Madison. He was generous to a fault and the men on his ships loved him so much they would have willingly died for him.”

  “This is the man whose spirit threw swords at you at the Madison house? That Captain Madison?”

  “The very same. I like this. What is it?” he asked, holding up a bowl full of food.

  “I have no idea; it’s too dark to see. Besides, she’s in love with you, not me. But her hair is not naturally that color.”

  Even in the dark, she could see Michael’s grin. “You can’t see what’s in the bowl, but you can see the bowl enough to know who sent it?”

  Emily didn’t bother to answer him. “So if Captain Madison is such a nice man, why is he still haunting his house? And why was he hanged for murder in the first place? I think your ghost’s memory is faulty.”

  “Ephrim said that the people who knew the captain couldn’t believe he’d ever killed anyone. According to what he heard the girl the captain married was in the family way and the baby’s father had left town.”

  “Ah….” Emily said, licking powdered sugar off her fingers from the cookie she’d just eaten. “That would make sense. Maybe the old captain fell in love with his young bride and when her lover came back years later, the captain murdered him. Love can make even nice people do awful things.”

  “Really?” Michael said, one eyebrow lifted. “I wouldn’t know about that since I’ve seen little in this world.”

  “Okay, Methuselah, I know you’re an old man but—”

  “Methuselah? Did I tell you that he was one of mine?”

  Emily grabbed a handful of grass and threw it at him. “Can you be serious for even a minute? How are we going to find out why you’re here if we never work on it?”

  He kept his eyes on his plate, which he was refilling for the third time. “I thought I was some slap man and I killed people for a living, so what do you mean ‘why I’m here’?”

  “Hit man, not slap man. And you may not be an angel, but you’re definitely not a murderer. And,” her head came up, “do you think that maybe Captain Madison was executed wrongly and that’s why he’s so angry? And why he refuses to leave this earth? Maybe you were sent here to find out the truth so his spirit can be set free.”

  Michael had his mouth full of what looked to be Jell-O salad. He really did have the palate of a nine-year-old, she thought. “Maybe he was hanged for something he didn’t do—we see a lot of that in my business—but what does that have to do with you, Emily? Captain Madison isn’t one of mine, you are. I was sent here for something to do with you.”

  “If I solve this mystery and write about it and it makes bestseller lists, that could make me rich. Rich is about me.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think so.”

  “Too mortal, right?”

  “Definitely. What is this?”

  “Cherry pie. You really shouldn’t eat meat loaf, Jell-O and pie all at the same time. So what does Captain Madison have to do with me other than that I’ve been researching him for four years? And what does Captain Madison have to do with you?”

  “I’m beginning to think we are howling at the wrong moon.”

  Emily had to think a bit to figure that one out. “Barking up the wrong tree,” she said. “So I take it you don’t think Captain Madison has anything to do with why you were sent here.”

  She had to wait while he ate what looked to be a quarter of a pie in one bite. “Emily, I am truly puzzled by everything. I’ve spent nearly a week with you and maybe my perceptions have lost a lot in the move from there to here, but I really can’t see much evil around you. Oh, there are several women who are jealous of you but—”

  “Me? Why in the world would anyone be jealous of me?”

  “Let’s see. Where should I begin? You are young and pretty and smart and you make things happen. People like you, trust you and want to be near you. You receive rewards and honors and you have a boyfriend. You—”

  “Okay, I get the message,” she said, embarrassed, but pleased. “So no one is secretly thinking about killing me?” she said, smiling, meaning it as a joke, but Michael was serious.

  “No. No one I’ve seen yet, but there’s always tomorrow. Am I right in thinking that tomorrow you don’t go to the library?”

  “No, Gidrah runs the place on Saturdays.” She didn’t say that it would probably be empty if he weren’t there.

  �
�Could we walk around town tomorrow? I want to go into every store, see all the houses. There has to be some danger somewhere. I’m just not sensing it.”

  “All right. You can meet Irene tomorrow. She’s my best friend and she works in the city during the week. She’s a glamorous personal assistant to some madly famous attorney and she always has marvelous stories to tell.”

  “You’ve always liked her,” Michael said under his breath.

  “Past lives?” she asked, trying to sound as though she didn’t believe him, or if she did, she didn’t care, but she would have loved to hear how she and Irene knew each other.

  But he didn’t say anything about Irene. “You ready to go?” he asked as he began to shove things back into the basket. “This wine has made me sleepy.”

  Emily wasn’t sure what had happened, but she knew something had changed his good mood. On the way back to her apartment he didn’t say anything, just held her hand and led her through the darkness as easily as though it were bright day. Once she heard him mutter, “Shut up,” then she was almost sure she heard a chorus of giggles and the fluttering of wings.

  When they got back to the apartment the light on her answering machine was flashing, but Emily couldn’t bear to hear yet another woman inviting Michael to some party or movie or whatever. As for him, he went to the shower and when he returned with a towel around his waist he told her he was going to bed.

  “Is it something I’ve done?” she asked softly as he walked past her.

  “What could you have done? You haven’t done anything bad in centuries,” he answered before sauntering toward the living room couch. But when Emily kept standing there, he said over his shoulder, “Emily, dearest, go to bed. And be sure to lock your door. In fact, bolt it so I cannot get in.”

  “Oh,” she said, smiling, then happily went to her bedroom. She closed the door, but she didn’t lock it, and she certainly didn’t bolt it.