Chapter 4 Ruby

4

Ruby

Ruby opened the knife drawer and gazed inside.

She had quite the selection to choose from. All were Japanese. The very finest handcrafted steel blades with walnut handles. For a second, her eyes flicked across the kitchen island to Tomas. He sat on a stool at the opposite end of the island, reading his Spider-Man comic book. He was dressed in a Spider-Man-themed sweater, blue jeans and little red-and-blue Nikes. He was small for a seven-year-old. Ruby had picked him up from elementary school and taken him to the waiting town car and the family driver, who then drove them back to Tomas's West 74 th Street home.

Tomas's gaze never left the comic book as he angled his head and his small, cherry lips searched for the paper straw sticking out of his juice box.

He wasn't tall enough for his feet to reach the footrest on the stool, so he swung his legs idly. His heels tapped the stool legs, banging out a dull beat.

Dum – dum.

Dum – dum.

Ruby looked back at the knife drawer, selected a blade about six inches long and two inches wide. The steel had a blue, mottled look to it. Like it was submerged in fast-flowing water, just a part of the tempering process to harden the steel as it's folded and cooled and sharpened. The tip looked like it could go through anything.

Ruby listened to the beat of Tomas's feet on the stool.

Dum – dum.

The rhythm echoed her heartbeat.

As Tomas sucked at his juice box, his cheeks concaved and Ruby wondered how easily the tip of the knife would slip into the plump, pink, perfect skin around Tomas's neck.

Dum – dum.

She closed the drawer, walked round the kitchen island to stand beside Tomas. He looked up, glanced at the knife and for a second, he was transfixed by its strangeness. He turned back to his comic book as Ruby gripped the handle tighter, bent her elbow and raised the knife into a vertical position, shoulder height.

Dum – dum.

Her elbow extended, pushing the blunt end of the knife over her shoulder. She was winding up her arm. Ready to whip the blade forward with force.

Dum – dum.

Ruby extended her arm, dropped her shoulder – all in milliseconds. The blade flashed toward Tomas.

And down.

Tomas flinched.

His legs were suddenly still.

The apple on the chopping board split in half, the tip of the blade buried in the hardwood board. Ruby smiled, yanked it free and began quartering the fruit.

She placed the apple in a bowl beside Tomas and said, ‘Hey, little mini-munch, don't you have homework you should get started on?'

‘Not today I don't. Mom gave Mrs. Gordon a note.'

Behind her, Ruby heard the vacuum cleaner firing up in the hallway. Althea, the maid, was finishing off the last part of her shift.

Althea had started with the family a few months ago. Ruby had previously been cleaning for them one morning per week as well as picking up Tomas from school and babysitting him for two hours afterwards. One day, Ruby got an urgent call from the Goldmans, who had to head out of town for two days due to a sick relative. Ruby had to babysit the kids, which meant canceling her morning cleaning session for Tomas's mom, Alison.

The next week, Ruby got a text message to say she would no longer be required to clean for them.

Althea had replaced Ruby. And Althea was great. So good, in fact, that they increased her hours to Monday and Thursday. Ruby had gotten to know her a little, but the young lady, who was Hispanic, didn't say much even though her English was perfect. Althea kept her head down and worked. My God did she work . Her clothes were threadbare. That blue summer dress was so thin and worn it looked like lace. To protect what clothes she had, Althea wore an apron when she cleaned. She kept it in the utility cupboard. It was the first thing she did when she got into the house, put on her little canvas apron. The last thing she did before she left was hang it up. A brown stain was now permanent on the neck of that apron – from Althea's sweat. She worked like no one Ruby had ever seen, but, more than that, she made sure Alison saw her work and appreciated it. Althea always wanted more hours. In this regard, she was a real threat to Ruby, who made sure to try to keep Althea and Tomas separate. She didn't want Althea getting to know Tomas. Althea wanted Ruby's job. This wasn't anything personal, purely business, but, even so, she suspected that Althea could sense Ruby's true nature. Some people are like that. They operate on more than one plane.

‘Eat your apple, sweety-boo,' said Ruby, and then cast her eyes around the kitchen.

It was, by any stretch, a dream kitchen for almost anyone. Tasteful slate-gray marble worktops, ivory cupboard doors with bright chrome handles to match the faucets. Everything was showroom-clean and tidy. The refrigerator door served as the receptacle for souvenirs, and the only hint that the kitchen was lived in and used by a family. Magnets marking family vacations to Rome, San Francisco and Disney World pinned up hand-scrawled notes to order more oat milk and eggs, postcards from relatives, old Polaroid pictures, the rough plans for renovation work on the house, and some of Tomas's artwork. A white page adorned with his little handprints in bright green and yellow paint, forming the stem and then the head of a flower. She remembered making it with Tomas one afternoon. She remembered Alison's face when she saw it – the pride illuminating her eyes. It had been immediately pinned to the door with a magnet in the shape of the Eiffel Tower.

Ruby walked past the nostalgia-covered refrigerator and peered round the kitchen door. She could see into the hallway and directly opposite was the lounge. Alison, Tomas's mom, was still talking on the phone. Even though Ruby couldn't hear her conversation, she could see Alison, in her white silk blouse and tan pants, sitting on the couch with the phone pressed to her ear. She'd been on the phone all day. Althea faced the front door, just starting to sweep the machine over the carpet.

Ruby looked over her shoulder. Tomas turned the page of his comic book, picked up an apple slice and bit it in half.

There was no one else in the house.

Ruby had a lot of practice at moving silently.

When Ruby was seven years old, she'd been woken one night by a strange sound in the house. She didn't know what it was at first. It sounded bad. Like something heavy falling and breaking downstairs. She sat up in bed, wide awake very quickly, and listened. There was another sound. This time she recognized it. Ruby swept back the comforter, put her feet to the cold floorboards and padded to her bedroom door. Either the spindle on the doorknob or the latch bolt tended to squeak, but only if you turned it normally. She took hold of the knob, pulled down on it, because that helped, and then turned it very slowly until it could turn no more. Smoothly, she pulled open the door just enough for her to squeeze through. The upper hallway was in darkness, but light spilled up the stairs from below.

Ruby had made her way to the top of the stairs, counting the oak floorboards as she moved. Twenty-three boards to the stairs. Seventeen and twenty were loose and would creak if any weight came upon them. She stepped lightly over them as her lips moved silently, counting her steps. She approached the dog-leg staircase, and kept her little feet on the thick carpet that ran up the center of the stairs. She knelt on the landing, and peered down the next set of stairs into the hallway.

The lamp was burning in the living room. She could see shadows thrown onto the polished tile floor of the hallway. There were no voices.

Her father, Josef, came out of the lounge, holding his wrist. He marched into the kitchen and she heard him holler, ‘Get me some ice. Look what you've done.'

A few moments later, Mom came out of the lounge holding the side of her face. There was blood on her lips and in her other hand were the shattered remains of her favorite vase. That was the noise that had woken Ruby.

‘You see what you've done! I've hurt my wrist,' called her father. ‘Hurry up – get the ice. And put some on your face. I don't want any questions from the neighbors.'

As her mom moved unsteadily toward the kitchen, she glanced up the stairs. Ruby moved quickly, hiding in the shadows between the banisters.

Her mom shook her head. A warning.

Don't come downstairs.

Ruby turned and went back to bed as quietly as she could. She closed her bedroom door, then pushed her bookcase in front of it.

Daddy was being bad again. Josef Johnson was born with every advantage and privilege it was possible to enjoy – loving parents, wealth, good looks, intelligence, contacts and power. By the age of twenty-five, Josef had thrown almost all of it away. He had a fire inside him that consumed his better nature, his habits, his mind and everyone around him. The only thing that could calm it down was the thrill of winning a poker hand, or a horse race. But he was not a good gambler. The losses always outweighed the wins. Soon the only thing that gave him peace was strong liquor – and eventually all that did was add flames.

As bad as her father could be, her mother was just as sweet. She protected Ruby from everyone, especially Daddy. She would take the insults, the snide looks, the punches, the kicks, even the burns – anything as long as Ruby was safe.

Ruby had grown up in a house with a sleeping tiger.

They are dangerous if they are woken. And so Ruby learned to keep quiet.

As the vacuum cleaner whined and Althea focused on her work, Ruby's memories faded and she stepped into the hallway, heel toe, heel toe. She meant to move straight upstairs, but found herself pausing in front of the picture on the wall, to her left, just before the staircase.

The picture of the red priest.

She didn't know who had painted it, or how old it was. Pretty old, she guessed. And expensive. A priest sat at a table, his left arm resting beside a goblet of red wine. The wine had stained his mouth, made it shine like a scarlet button on a puffy marshmallow face. Muddy eyes stared out below wisps of white hair. Red robes flowed from his shoulders to pool on the floor. His expression was hard to read. There was something wise yet feral in his look.

A big, fat fly landed on the painting. It buzzed around the curves of the oil hardened on the canvas.

The buzzing noise increased. What began as a hum, a low throb, became a roar, getting louder and louder, until it sounded like a buzz saw in her head. Ruby covered her ears. But it only made it worse. The noise built. Her head became a pressure cooker. The only way to stop her brain from exploding was to take her hands away from her ears, let out the steam.

She didn't want to talk to the red priest today.

Ruby gasped, let her hands fall by her sides.

She heard his voice.

Rubbbeeeee . . .

Rubbeeeeeeeeeee . . .

She didn't need to speak for the priest to hear her. He knew her thoughts already.

I'm here , said Ruby, in her mind.

You should have cut the boy's throat. It's the only way . . . said the red priest.

Ruby shook her head, looked away from the picture and moved quickly onto the stairs. There was no time to talk to the red priest today. She had business. The buzzing noise left her. She was no longer hypnotized by the picture. Only a faint dizziness remained.

She shook it off.

Concentrated.

There were no creaks on these floorboards. No squeals from these stairs. Alison had new stairs and floorboards put in when they first moved to the neighborhood. She liked to spend money on the house. She had a major reconstruction project planned.

Upstairs, Ruby was alone. She opened the door to the main bedroom, then moved to the dressing table and opened the top right drawer. Black silk cloth lined the bottom of these drawers, and in each one of the five drawers an array of fine jewelry was laid out. This one contained Alison's rings and brooches.

Ruby closed the first drawer, opened the second.

Necklaces.

She was looking for the perfect piece. Nothing too expensive. Something that Alison wore regularly. The diamond heart choker was out. Nobody wears a hundred grand of diamonds when they go for morning coffee with their girlfriends. The rose-gold Versace pearl drop was a good choice, but perhaps not important enough.

Pulling the drawer out a little further, Ruby found the silver lace necklace. A beautiful thing. It looked old and fragile. It had been Alison's grandmother's necklace. Passed down to her from her mother. There was a story to this necklace. Alison's grandmother was given the necklace by an aunt as a gift for her eighteenth birthday. A year later, Alison's grandmother hid the necklace in her boot as she was leaving Poland in the summer of 1939.

Ruby stuffed the necklace into the front pocket of her jeans as she closed the drawer.

Althea saw her coming downstairs. She made a point to let Ruby know that she had seen her. Rubbing her hands together, Ruby smiled at Althea, then smoothed her palms on the back of her jeans, as if she'd just used the bathroom upstairs and her hands were still a little damp.

Tomas had finished his apple.

‘Let's do some coloring, Tommy-tickles,' said Ruby, in her singsong voice. She gave him a picture of a squirrel and his crayons. Tomas got bored halfway through and Ruby helped him finish the tail.

Her shift was over. She could hear Alison finishing up her call. Althea was upstairs now, vacuuming the carpet.

The front door opened.

Ruby moved to the kitchen door to listen. Then peeked out.

‘Honey, I'm so glad you're home,' said Alison, throwing her arms round her handsome husband.

John Jackson hugged his wife, buried his face in her blond hair, like a soldier returning from war. She rubbed his back then they parted and he held her shoulders.

‘How did it go with Al? Did he take you to see the other lawyer?'

‘He did. And they're gonna take the case.'

Another embrace.

‘Oh, honey, this is great news. This is all going to blow over. Everything is going to be just fine. I know it.'

John's gaze flitted to Ruby. It was hard to read his expression. It was as if Ruby had trespassed on an intimate moment.

Tomas brushed past Ruby's legs and ran into the hallway. John scooped him up in a bear hug.

‘Hey, little man. How are you?'

He put Tomas down when he didn't get an answer. The boy looked shy at first, then hung his head.

‘Hey, what's wrong?' asked John.

‘Daddy, did you do a bad thing?' asked Tomas sincerely.

John looked to Alison, the wound from that question landing in his chest, punching the air from his body. As quickly as the hurt registered, John shook it off. He didn't want to worry his little boy, or let him see that his father was deeply upset.

He knelt down to Tomas, ‘Why would you ask that?'

‘I heard two of the teachers whispering today. They were pointing at me. They didn't think I could hear them, but I listened real hard and I heard every word. They said you did a bad thing and they felt sorry for me.'

John's brow creased. A menacing look flashed over his face. The expression quickly disappeared, and John smiled at his son. He kept his voice low, and as he spoke the light from the hallway lamp caught on the tear forming in the corner of his eye.

‘What bad thing did they say I did?'

‘They said you killed a nice lady,' said Tomas, and burst into tears.

‘No, no, no, I didn't, son. I promise you I did not . Some people are confused right now. The police have made a mistake. I didn't hurt anyone .'

As John led Tomas into the living room by the hand, Alison turned away. Ruby could only see her back. Alison cupped her hand over her mouth and sobbed, silently, her shoulders heaving. Ruby stepped forward, making her feet loud and purposeful, so Alison would hear her approach and would not be startled when Ruby put her hand on her shoulder and began to comfort her.

‘ Oh, Ruby , thank you. I don't know what we would do without you,' said Alison.

‘I'm here for you. For whatever you need. Whenever you need me,' said Ruby.

She gave Alison a napkin to dry her tears. The skin around her eyes was inflamed and swollen. This wasn't the first time Ruby had heard Alison crying today. Ruby had not been present when the police raided the house. She'd been with one of her other clients, laundry day at the McSorley's. The day after the murder, Ruby had been at the Pullers', looking after their rotten kids as Chad puked his guts out upstairs. The detective had asked Ruby where she'd been last night. She told them the truth: she had left the Pullers' after midnight and walked home. She lied when she said she'd not seen anything, and not heard any shots.

Alison wiped her tears. Ruby spent a few more minutes with Alison, calming her. Telling her everything would be alright.

They both heard the sound of a key in the lock and turned to face the front door.

Esther wrestled her key from the lock as she stepped into the hallway. Alison's mother had shocking white hair in a loose curl and brown eyes that always betrayed her true feelings. She wore a tan suit, black patent-leather Christian Louboutin heels and carried a Gucci shopping bag in one hand. In her seventies, but good for it. Plastic surgery, a rich dead husband and very little conscience had kept her looking young.

Ruby didn't like Esther. Because Esther didn't like Ruby. At first, Ruby thought it was a territorial thing. Another young woman, working in her daughter's house. Always around her daughter's handsome brain surgeon husband. Esther had been a player in her younger days. That was the impression Ruby had. And perhaps Esther thought she spotted a fellow grifter in Ruby.

She closed the front door, embraced Alison, said, ‘My darling, how is he?'

‘He's okay, I think. We got the lawyer we wanted. He's in the living room with Tomas. Give him a minute.'

Esther didn't ask how her daughter was feeling. Ruby noticed that. She got the impression Alison noticed it too.

‘Ruby, how are you?' said Esther, and contorted her face into what passed for a smile, but her eyes always let Esther down. The cold look she gave Ruby was unaffected by what the rest of her face was doing. Esther's gaze sometimes reminded her of the way her grandmother used to look at her.

Ruby said she was okay, but Esther had already turned away from her. She shook off her tan jacket and without looking at Ruby held it out for her to hang up.

Ruby hung the jacket on the coat rail on the opposite wall from the priest picture. It began to whisper in its low hiss, as if there were layers of voices inside her head.

Ruubbbeeee . . .

You have to hurry. Get the money. Your mother doesn't have long left . . .

Ruby turned sharply, and in her mind she told the priest to be quiet.

‘Do you like that picture?' asked Esther.

Ruby hadn't realized that Esther was standing in the hallway. She'd thought the woman had gone through to the living room. But she was still there, staring at Ruby inquisitively.

‘Ah, sure. It's . . .' She was about to say the picture was lovely, but it wasn't. It was ugly and frightening, and it haunted her. ‘It looks very old. Is it expensive?'

‘It's worth a lot of money, yes. More than you could earn in a lifetime,' said Esther.

Ruby's skin began to crawl, as if Esther was looking right through her. Quickly, Ruby said her goodbyes to Alison and said it would be better to leave the family to some private time.

She lifted her backpack and closed the front door softly behind her. She headed across Riverside Drive to the Henry Hudson Parkway, then on to the Empire State Trail on the Hudson River Greenway. Her feet took her to Pier One. There were few people around, even in summer. Line fishermen and tourists. At the end of the pier, Ruby leaned over the rail and glanced back at Manhattan, the glass towers, the contour of the island, and then returned her eyes to the mud-gray waters of the Hudson.

She took Alison's heirloom necklace from her pocket and weighed it in her hand. It was surprisingly heavy, and durable, even though it looked as light as lace. The workmanship was exquisite. It was unique and quite beautiful. Handed down to Esther by her mother, who had smuggled it out from Nazi-occupied Poland. And who, in turn, had given it to Alison.

It meant a great deal to both of them. Their family. Their survival, even, was bound up with their hearts in the little diamonds studded along the silver lace of this necklace.

It was probably worth north of fifty grand. She could pawn it for ten thousand, easily.

Ruby balled up the necklace and threw it into the river.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text message from one of her West 74 th Street clients. It contained a link to a secret chat called ‘Neighborhood Watch'. Ruby looked through the messages in the group. The neighbors were going to have a meeting about the Jacksons, and the murder of Maggs.

And they were inviting Ruby to come along.