Widow's Tears (5 page)

As she drove, Ruby thought of what China had said—and what she hadn't. Ruby knew, of course, what China had been thinking: that it was time she buckled up and stopped mourning for Colin. They hadn't been married, for crying out loud—she wasn't a widow. She should learn to love Hark the way Hark loved her. She should get on with her life. And all of it made perfect sense. China was right, as usual, her logic perfectly indisputable.

Like nobody's loved you

Ruby sighed. Except that it didn't work that way. Her grief for Colin (it didn't matter that his name was Dan—she would always think of him as Colin) couldn't be turned on and off like a stupid faucet. Most of the time, she managed to keep it hidden from everyone except China, but it was always there, come rain, come sun, a permanent sadness shadowing her
heart. She valued Hark's affection, and she appreciated his intelligence and his quiet kindness. She even enjoyed the occasional cowboy who found her attractive and sexy and with whom she had a brief and gratifying fling.

But Colin, dead, was as unrelenting as he had been in life. He haunted her still, just as if they had been married. Cloudy days, sunny days, he was always in her thoughts, a spirit who refused to be exorcised. And until he was gone, there was no room for Hark. Oh, she could pretend, but that's all it was—just an act.

A slat-sided cattle truck passed her, an eighteen-wheeler loaded with a half dozen forlorn steers on their way to market, and Ruby slowed to let it move into the right-hand lane ahead of her. There was something else on her mind, something that China had not managed to guess—not yet, anyway. She was wondering whether it might be time to sell the Crystal Cave and her interest in their partnership. She had rejected the idea when it had first tiptoed into her mind, but it had returned, then hung around, and now seemed to be making an attractive nuisance of itself. Maybe, if she moved on to somewhere else, did something else, she could leave Colin's ghost behind.

The truth was that, while she liked what she was doing, she had painted herself into a corner. There was simply too much administrative stuff, which was satisfying in its own way but was eating her alive. The irony of this, of course, was that she was the one who had proposed the tearoom and the catering service and had been eager to jump on Cass' idea for home deliveries of gourmet meals. But while their three-ring circus (as China liked to call it) was still fun and interesting, it simply consumed too much time. She'd had to cut back on her teaching, for instance, which had always given her so much pleasure. When was the last time she had offered an I Ching class?

And she was neglecting her quilting and yoga and meditation—things
that she especially loved to do, that energized her and kept her healthy and focused. She didn't have to be psychic to recognize the signs and symptoms. She was trying to keep too many balls in the air at one time. She was on the slippery slope of too-much-to-do. At the bottom lay an arid desert littered with dried-up dreams. Burnout.

The radio DJ must have been theming his choices around rain songs, Ruby thought, for the next one he played was the old 1960s calypso piece, “Don't Let the Rain Come Down.” She slowed, then swung off the four-lane highway and onto the asphalt road that headed south across green meadows and low, wooded hills.

She had been thinking about this problem—the threat of burnout and what to do about it—for several months now, as the feeling became more urgent. But selling the shop was problematic. The economy wasn't all that great, and she didn't know anybody who had the money to buy her out. And it had to be somebody she knew. The Cave was as dear to her as a child. She couldn't bear the thought of handing it to a stranger. And it had to be somebody who understood what the business was all about, and who could teach the classes that brought people into the shop. Who did she know who could teach astrology, for heaven's sake?

And then her sister—three years younger—had come back into her life. As kids, she and Ramona hadn't been especially close, partly because of the age difference but mostly because they were just plain different. Sure, they had the same frizzy red hair and freckles, although Ramona was short and plump as a dumpling and Ruby was tall and pencil-thin. But the most significant difference had to do with something that wasn't visible to the ordinary eye: the share of Gram Gifford's gift that each girl had inherited. Ruby had gotten almost all of it, although, when Ramona paid careful attention, she could sometimes tune in to what other people were thinking.
And she could sometimes make weird things happen, moving things around and turning them upside down.

As they got older, the differences multiplied, Ruby becoming more laid back and easygoing, Ramona more competitive, especially when they were together. They had mostly gone their separate ways—until the previous autumn, when Ramona divorced her philandering husband, left her Dallas career in advertising, and moved to Pecan Springs. She had her own place now and pots of money (the divorce settlement had been a liberal one), and she was looking for a business to invest in. For a while, she had thought she might buy into the Hobbit House, a children's bookstore next door to Thyme and Seasons. But she and Molly McGregor, the owner, hadn't been able to come to terms. So she was still looking. And last evening, over dinner at Beans' Bar and Grill, she had brought up the idea of buying a half interest in Ruby's business.

“Or maybe more than half,” Ramona had said, popping a french fry into her mouth. “I have a hunch that you're thinking of getting out of it altogether. Correct?”

Ruby didn't answer directly. “Do you really think you'd like it, Mona? I know you could manage the business side of things—the inventory, the ordering, the bookkeeping. With your skills and experience, I'm sure that part of it would be easy. But you've never seemed very interested in…well, the occult.”

Ramona was intrigued by the tarot, she showed some promise with the Ouija board, and she knew her rising sign and what it meant. But that was the limit. And she definitely wasn't a teacher. Even if she'd had the knowledge, she didn't have the patience.

“You're right, I'm not super interested in that side of things,” Ramona conceded. “But I was thinking that maybe you could stay on to teach
classes and read palms and birth charts and all the other goofy, far-out things you like to do, while I took care of the rest of it.” She picked up her knife and fork and cast a critical look at the massive mound of gravy-smothered chicken-fried steak on her plate. “This is humongous,” she said. “It better be good.” She began cutting off a corner. “Oh, and not just the Cave, either, Ruby.”

Ruby frowned. “Not…just the Cave?”

“Uh-uh.” Ramona shook her head emphatically. “If I'm going to invest in this enterprise, I wouldn't want just a little piece of it. I'd want the whole thing. The Cave, the tearoom, Party Thyme, the Thymely Gourmet. The whole enchilada.”

Ruby sucked in her breath. Everything? Ramona would set her free of the entire three-ring circus?

“Naturally,” Ramona went on in a careless tone, “I'd be willing to pay a very good price for those pieces of the action. In fact, I'll pay almost any price you ask—within reason, of course. Thanks to my ex, I've got more cash than I know what to do with.” She forked up the cut-off corner of her chicken-fried steak. “Ain't that a hoot? He had to pay me all that money just for the privilege of marrying that not-so-dumb blonde who got her hooks into him.” With a chuckle, she stuck the meat into her mouth. “Getting what he deserves, if you ask me,” she added, chewing.

Ruby regarded her sister with near-disbelief. Sell her businesses to Ramona? Get rid of all that administrative stuff? The idea was so tempting that she almost blurted out an immediate and excited “Yes! Oh, Mona,
yes!
”

But she'd stopped herself in time. There was a catch, and one that she wasn't sure she could explain to her sister without hurting her feelings. If Ramona took over her part of the three-ring circus, she would have to work with Cass and China—especially with China.

And that would not be easy. China was entirely logical, one of the strongest left-brained people Ruby had ever known. From China's über-rational point of view, Ramona was, well, ditzy. She attracted bizarre events, like the time a car passed her on the freeway and flung a hubcap through her windshield. Or the evening the three of them were cooking dinner at Ruby's house and a hanging rack of pots fell down when Ramona came into the kitchen. When she turned around, the blind snapped up, knocking a flowerpot off the windowsill, and two cupboard doors flew open. Ruby had once tried to explain that such events were related to Ramona's piece of Gram Gifford's gift, but she gave it up. China was open-minded about most things, but poltergeists weren't something her left brain was prepared to accept—without more concrete evidence, that is.

But there was something else. China was her own woman. She did not like to be managed. Ramona, on the other hand, was a born manager. She was competitive. She liked to have her way—to be the boss. It would not be a match made in heaven.

As it turned out, however, Ruby didn't have to hurt her sister's feelings. “Of course,” Ramona added thoughtfully, “China might not be overjoyed if I dealt myself in.” She dug into her taco salad. “Cass and I get along okay, but China isn't my biggest fan.”

Ruby almost laughed. Ramona had obviously managed to tune in to China—and had gotten the message, loud and clear. But she only nodded. “That's a tempting offer, and I'm grateful, Mona. Let me think about it for a few days.” She hesitated. “The idea is really attractive. If you took over all that management stuff, it would solve so many problems. But of course, I'd have to talk to China.”

And at the thought of telling China what she was considering, her insides tightened into a cold, hard fist. They were best friends and close, in many ways closer than sisters, certainly closer than she and Ramona. They
had worked together for years and years, and while they'd had the occasional minor spat, they had always ironed things out. Leaving the partnership wouldn't be easy, that was for sure. Even though she would still be in and out of the shop, teaching classes and consulting and the like, it wouldn't be the same.

“I'm not sure I understand.” Ramona was scowling. “Why do you have to get permission from China to do what you want with your business? She's not your
boss
, is she?”

“Of course not,” Ruby snapped, then softened her tone. “We've been together for a long time. I just…I just have to think about it for a little bit, that's all.” She would also have to look at the partnership agreement she and China had signed. It seemed to her that she remembered some sort of language about what they would do if one of them wanted to back out.

She was still thinking about it five miles later when she pulled into the village of Round Top (population 77), consulted the clock on the dashboard, and made a quick left on Main Street. Halfway down the block, she pulled into a parking space in front of Royers Round Top Cafe, a funky little place that had once been a filling station. She hadn't been sure what time she'd get away, so she'd told Claire not to expect her for lunch. Anyway, Royers was reputed to serve the best hamburgers in South Texas and the best pie in the whole world.

A hand-painted sign beside the door said,
Oh No, Not You Again!!
And when she opened the door, she saw that the inside was every bit as funky and fun as the filling-station exterior. Oilcloth-covered tables and mismatched chairs were crammed close together. The walls were completely plastered with hand-lettered signs (
For Those in a Hurry, Go to Houston!!!
and
Eat Mo Pie
), slogan T-shirts signed by customers (some of them famous), postcards and clippings and advertisements for Royers' world-famous pie. It was still a little early, so she had the place almost to herself.

Royers' reputation was not exaggerated. The burger was generously topped with bacon and blue cheese, and the coffee was great. Claire had warned that she wasn't much of a cook, so they wouldn't be having any fancy meals, but Ruby thought it wouldn't matter now. After this lunch, she couldn't eat for a week. And the Blackwood house wasn't that far away—if they got really hungry, or if they just wanted to get out for an evening, they could come here.

At the thought of Claire, she frowned. The whole thing had been so extraordinary, so unexpected. It had happened on Sunday evening, when Ruby had been sorting through Gram Gifford's pieced quilt tops (she had inherited those, too), some of them made of marvelous old Depression-era fabrics. She had promised to give one to her quilting club, the Texas Stars, to quilt for the silent auction at the Pecan Springs library in July. Which of course had made her think of Gram and their wonderful summers in Smithville. Which had reminded her, inevitably, of their last summer together and Gram's gift and the Blackwood mansion. And of Claire, who had been her very best friend when she was a girl, and who had been at the Blackwood house with her the day Ruby discovered that she had inherited Gram's gift.

At that very moment the phone had rung, and Ruby had raised her head, knowing with a stabbing conviction that it was Claire on the other end of the line. Over the years, the two of them had gotten out of the habit of staying in touch, although they still exchanged birthday and Christmas greetings and kept up to date on major events in each other's lives. Claire had had her problems when she was in her twenties—drugs and alcohol among them—but she had straightened herself out, married a great guy, and seemed to be doing well. She had a good job at a magazine in San Antonio and did freelance writing and ghostwriting on the side. The last time she had called was when Colin was murdered. The last time Ruby
had seen her was at the memorial service for Claire's husband, Brad, two months after Colin's death. Brad had died of pancreatic cancer. Ruby had called a couple of times after that, but Claire hadn't returned her calls.