Chapter 12 Ruby

12

Ruby

Tonight was the night.

From her little pot of savings, Ruby had taken two hundred dollars and gone shopping. She wanted to look her best for the party. It would become a party, of course. No gathering in this street happens without a lot of money being spent on food and booze. The excuse that had been given was that this was an emergency neighborhood-watch meeting. To talk about the murder and John Jackson's arrest and what, if anything, the neighbors could do to protect themselves.

This translated as what the neighbors could do to get the Jacksons out of the street.

And Ruby had a front-row seat. In fact, she would be the star of the evening.

Gossip was rife on the street and everyone knew Ruby worked for the Jacksons, first as a cleaner and then solely as a nanny for Tomas. Ruby had the inside scoop on exactly what was going on in the Jacksons' home. Had she seen something suspicious in the lead-up to the murder? Had she ever seen a gun in the house? Were John Jackson and Maggs having an affair? Even though Ruby had also worked for Maggs, from time to time, they would not ask much about her, if anything. They had already made up their minds about poor Maggs. Like Ruby, she was not accepted. Unwelcome. A woman of loose morals, some said. But, to Ruby, Maggs was free. Because she never cared what the rest of the street thought of her. She was beyond them. The only question they might ask tonight about Maggs was whether she was having an affair with John Jackson.

This, and other questions, would be posed to Ruby before the end of the evening. She was sure of it. For once in her life, Ruby Johnson got to be the center of attention. And she couldn't wait for it. That afternoon, she got a manicure. Even spent two hours in the salon getting her hair done. She had thought about getting her make-up done, but decided against it. She put on the same foundation she always wore, but added just a little eyeliner and a brighter shade of pink lipstick.

She wanted to look her best. This was her moment with the neighbors in West 74 th Street.

In the evening, Ruby stood on the sidewalk gazing up at the home of Peter and Petra Schwartzman and their four children. Lights were on inside. The soft lilt of a piano escaped from the bay window – Peter was a big jazz fan. Petra never did anything by halves. The frequency of her little community gatherings had increased of late. Now that Peter and Petra's children had all grown up and were either in college or working, they had more time to socialize. The downside was they no longer needed any childcare and all their cleaning needs were met by a company. Ruby knew the family, but hadn't been in the house in a long time.

Petra could be hard work. She was the real gossip on the street. Knew everyone's business – who was having an affair, who had shares in a company that was about to skyrocket in value, who hadn't chipped in for the street's annual charity gathering. It had been over a year since Ruby had had any contact from Petra. Then she got the invite to the WhatsApp group and Petra invited her to the gathering tonight.

She pulled her pink, cashmere sweater down. Smoothed out her new jeans. She couldn't remember the last time she had bought clothes that didn't come from a thrift store. Not in a very long time. She had thought about buying a party dress, or a cocktail dress. She wasn't exactly sure of the difference, but in the end she decided against it. She wanted to wear something nice, but not formal. This wasn't officially a party, after all.

And the last thing Ruby wanted tonight was to embarrass herself.

And here she was, in her new outfit, her heart beating twice as fast as normal and a strange fluttering sensation in her throat.

Ruby didn't get nervous. Not often. She was used to being around money – serious money. But she was normally there just to clean the toilet or change the diapers.

Now, Ruby was going to meet these people as equals. Okay, perhaps not exactly equals, but she was there as a person . Not the help .

She would be seen tonight. She had to build on the trust she had established. It would make everything easier in the end.

Clearing her throat, Ruby climbed the front steps and rang the doorbell. It was answered by Petra herself – a small lady wearing a green dress with diamonds in her ears and a big fake smile.

‘Ruby, darling,' she said, and embraced her. ‘Thank you so much for coming. Let's go to the kitchen.'

She led Ruby through the hallway and they passed the living room, already crowded with guests.

‘Tell me, how is your mother these days? It's been so long since we've seen her.'

‘She's okay. Not so mobile these days, you know, with the illness.'

‘Of course. Please give her our best when you see her.'

The kitchen had a full staff tonight. A chef in whites was taking hot trays of food out of the oven while another prepped smoked salmon. A young female server, dressed in black, waited to take food out to the guests.

‘Everyone, this is Ruby. Ruby, this is Chef Antonio. He'll get you up to speed,' said Petra.

Ruby gave Petra a confused look. The nerves in her stomach were suddenly replaced by a hollow, empty feeling.

‘Chef, please give Ruby an apron. Ruby, I can't tell you how happy I am to see you and thank you so much for helping out tonight. The guests in the conservatory haven't had any food yet. Could you be a darling and go straight there?'

As Petra turned away, the smile on her face fell away. The server gave Ruby an apron and pointed at a tray of canapés.

She wasn't here as an equal.

No one wanted to talk to Ruby.

No one wanted her insight into life inside the Jacksons' house.

Tonight she was not a person . She would not be seen .

She was the help .

She was here to give out canapés and top up wineglasses.

‘Are you okay?' asked the server.

Forcing a smile, Ruby nodded, put on the black apron over her new clothes, tied it at the back and picked up the silver tray.

‘You've got smoked-salmon blinis and venison-sausage profiteroles,' said Chef Antonio, a big man with thick hairy arms.

Ruby nodded.

‘Speak,' said the chef. ‘Say, "Yes, Chef," ' he said.

As Ruby's eyes filled with tears, she said, ‘Yes, Chef.'

‘Good, now get the fuck out of here and give these people some food and then come straight back for another tray. Go, go, go . . .'

She reversed out of the kitchen door, balancing the tray in one hand as she dabbed at her eyes with the other.

Once in the hallway, Ruby took deep breaths. She could feel her face flushing. The combination of heartbreak and embarrassment was burning her cheeks. She could not allow herself to cry. It would ruin her eyeliner. People would point at her. People would stare. They would see her and know that she wasn't like them. Taking two deep breaths, Ruby calmed herself. Then she willed her features into a smile and checked her reflection in the large, oval mirror in the hallway. It looked as if she'd been given electric shock treatment; her expression looked contorted, even painful. She relaxed her shoulders, closed her eyes and let out her breath. When she looked at her reflection again, she appeared more natural. The smile no longer appeared mechanical.

She stepped into the living room and was enveloped in sound. Music, voices, laughter too – the rich make jokes even when discussing a murder.

The first person Ruby approached was Todd Ellis. He stood with his back to the wall, champagne in hand, nodding as he pretended to take in the conversation of the little group that had formed around him. He had a striking appearance – his head shaven to the skin, eyebrows sculpted to thin rows of dark black hair. Dyed, obviously. Small, bald and thin. His head turned red whenever he got angry, making him look like a matchstick in a suit. Ellis made it big on Wall Street in the nineties. He now served on the board of a bank and was the most regimented person Ruby had ever met. She had sat for his kids a few times. Two horrible brats who broke their toys for fun.

Just like their father.

Ellis had his PA send him his schedule for the next day at ten p.m. the night before for review. If something upset his schedule, Ellis would fly into a rage. She'd seen it once before. The car was late to take him and his wife to the ballet. He'd punched a mirror in the hallway, smashing it and cutting his knuckles. Ruby remembered staring at him as he pulled a shard of glass from the webbing between his index finger and thumb, and then sucked on the blood.

He was an empty man. His billions couldn't fill him up. And only work, money and pleasure kept the anger in check. A year ago, Ruby had caught Mrs. Ellis in the kitchen, crying. It took some gentle coaxing, but Ruby found out that Todd was having an affair with Maggs. Maggs had ended it, but Todd wouldn't take no for an answer. So Maggs had called Mrs. Ellis to tell her to keep her husband on a leash and spilled all of the dirty truth of the affair. Somehow, Mrs. Ellis had stayed with her husband. They'd patched it up. It was around the same time that Todd bought her a mansion in Hawaii, which Ruby supposed would have helped ease the situation.

But there was no easing the resentment in Ellis. It lived within him.

And he had continued to pursue Maggs. Ruby had seen Maggs sneaking him into her house, about a week before the murder. If Ellis's wife had found out he was back with her, there would have been a divorce. The price of that, according to the gossip the last time his wife threatened to separate – was close to three billion dollars.

That's an expensive affair.

He didn't even look at Ruby as he snatched an hors d'oeuvre off the tray.

She moved on. Saw Petra in the corner, making the rounds. She moved toward her, gestured for her to come over.

‘Is there a problem with the canapés?' asked Petra.

‘No, nothing like that. I just overheard some conversation. People are scared,' said Ruby. ‘It would be good if someone could reassure them.'

‘The DA isn't going to make it tonight, I'm afraid. I don't blame him after that press conference today. Did you see it?'

Ruby nodded, said, ‘I think the neighborhood is angry and frightened. Somebody needs to do something. People can't be expected to live in the same neighborhood as a killer.'

‘And yet you continue to work for them,' said Petra, and quickly followed her jab at Ruby with a solid right hand, ‘Oh, I'm not judging you, darling Ruby. I'm sure you need the money . . .'

Petra waved her fingers at Ruby to continue passing around the appetizers. Ruby smiled with the full breadth of her mouth, forcibly, and moved on. Her little suggestion had been enough. She had planted a seed.

Petra would grow that into an oak tree. She moved to the front of the room, stood on a chair and tapped her champagne flute with a spoon.

‘Thank you all so much for coming . . .'

Ruby had been making her way around the room. She stopped and looked around for somewhere to put down the platter. No dice. She held it in front of her.

Just as Petra began speaking, Brett Bale brushed past her, taking an appetizer from her tray as he moved. He was rake thin – tanned and athletic – with a flop of thick brown hair, which gave him a preppy appearance. He'd been a tennis prodigy in his teenage years, but an ACL tear that led to a total knee replacement two years later ended any high hopes he may have had of turning pro. Instead of switching careers, Brett, with the backing of his parents, opened a tennis camp upstate. It proved popular. Really popular. Another four camps followed – two in Florida, one in Miami and the last in Texas, of all places.

Having four wildly successful tennis camps had given Brett the excuse to travel, and he then embarked on a series of affairs. Now, Brett at forty-five had been unfaithful to all four of his previous wives. Out of the four of them, only three survived. The last one had died suspiciously. She'd drowned while swimming from Bale's boat. Accidents at sea happen all the time, even to two-time national swimming champs like the late Mrs. Bale. Her family didn't buy it and had used their wealth and influence to pressure the police to charge him, but nothing worked. Bale's wealth was greater, and his lawyers were better.

None of this had stopped Maggs from getting involved with Brett. At least he was single, and some of the wives in the neighborhood were glad she had taken up with Brett as it might stop her flirting with their husbands. Maggs once told Ruby that she would like to be her for a day. To be unseen. For all her beauty, Maggs was insecure around women and men. She never thought she was good enough, pretty enough or smart enough. If only the neighbors had known that, they might actually mourn her. They were more concerned about the crime and the perpetrator than the poor victim.

Gossip was always hot on West 74 th Street.

‘As some of you may know,' continued Petra, ‘our brave district attorney was due to give an address to our little soirée, this evening. However, due to circumstances beyond his control, he is no longer able to join us tonight. But he sends this message.'

She unfolded a note, perched her Gucci reading glasses on the end of her nose and read.

‘ I want all the residents of West 74 th Street to know that we will get justice for Margaret. Jackson has betrayed our trust, and has brought murder to our community. I will personally see to it that he spends the rest of his life behind bars. For now, until we can rid our street of this devil, be watchful .'

She finished reading the note, folded it and held it in her hand.

‘Now, if our illustrious DA were here this evening, I would run this by him, but, as you know, I'm very attuned to the mood of this street. I've been here a long time, and I know everybody is scared and angry. Well, we're not your average neighborhood. We can do things other people cannot . . .'

They had gathered to drink champagne, and eat canapés, and gossip, and plot, but none of the people in this room had the slightest remorse for poor Maggs. None of them mentioned her. Not one word of sympathy. Ruby bore Maggs no ill will, and she'd liked her company and her kindness, but Ruby was not built to grieve, as her grandmother had guessed – something wasn't quite right. Yet, she was sorry she was dead. Of all the residents, Maggs's kindness to Ruby made her stand out. And made Ruby hate them all so much more.

Petra continued, ‘I propose we do the following . . .'

Ruby didn't listen to the rest of the speech, delivered in Petra's Upper West Side drawl. She knew Petra could never resist the opportunity to increase her standing in the community. She had the chance now to give the residents exactly what they wanted. All Ruby had done was point her in the right direction. Ruby's goal for the evening was complete. Now, she had other things on her mind: the two men in this room whom she'd gotten close to tonight. None of them paid her any attention.

Todd Ellis, the psychopath banker and matchstick man.

And Brett Bale, the tennis coach who may have murdered his wife.

Ruby had seen one of these men recently.

She'd watched him shoot Margaret Blakemore in the head, then skip down the porch steps and hide the gun in a garbage bag before casually walking back into this very house. And he had not noticed her that night. Just as he had not noticed her this evening. That was her great strength. Ruby thought herself foolish to have expected to be welcomed and treated as an equal this evening, treated like a member of this community. She was not one of them any more. She was the help.

Silent. Invisible. But that was also her power. She was a poisonous spider, lurking in the dark corners of every home on the street.

Ruby intended to keep it that way. For now.

Later that night, as she helped the caterers tidy up, she made plans. Ruby needed serious money.

And now she was going to get it.

So many spider threads she had yet to lay out. Some she could now begin to gather.

One thing was for sure – Ruby's game was just beginning.

And she had flies to catch.