Emily's Ghost Read Online Free PDF Page A

lead-heavy
chain.
    So why did it feel so good
to have it? Was it because for once in her life she'd bought with
her heart instead of her head? And got one big treat, instead of a
dozen little ones? Was it because she'd thumbed her nose at Miss
Coco Chanel? Or was it just because -- she desperately hoped not --
it felt so satisfying to behave like a rich girl instead of a
working one.
    She stared down at the
rose crystal that she'd been idly rubbing. Emily did not care for
jewelry very much, but she cared for this. There was something
soothing about the feel of its clean-cut facets, and the filigree
work really was quite intricate and very pretty. In the soft light
of her deco lamp the stone gleamed more amber than pink. She gazed
at it in half-dreamy pleasure. She'd once had a cat with eyes that
shade of amber. She could almost hear him purring in her lap as she
rubbed his chin; feel his silky fur as she stroked his back. Spooky
had been gone for fifteen years, but, oh, Spooky was there with her
now.

Chapter 3
    At eight o'clock the next
morning Emily placed a jelly doughnut and a large black coffee from
Dunkin' Donuts side by side on Stanley Cooper's desk. "For you,"
she said. "Because life is good."
    "Meaning, you actually got
somewhere with the senator yesterday." Stan wasn't
surprised.
    But Emily was. "How did
you know I met with the senator yesterday?"
    Stan popped the lid on his
coffee. "For one thing, I heard that Lee Alden's mother had some
kind of attack. Alden's brother was away on business in
Czechoslovakia and couldn't get a flight over. That left the
senator to fly back up. They thought it was her heart; turned out
it was her stomach."
    "And for another thing,"
he said, sipping the hot stuff gingerly, "you took a vacation day:
out of guilt, because you were about to do a nutty thing. So. You
really nailed down the interview?"
    Emily busied herself with
unfolding the wrapping from her croissant. "What d'you do, read tea
leaves?" It was vastly annoying that Stan went to bed last night
knowing more about the senator than she did.
    Stan shrugged. "I
observe." He took a monstrous bite out of his jelly doughnut; a
blob of bright red filling oozed out and landed in a plop on his
knee.
    "Ah, hell," he said from
under a powdered-sugar mustache. He dabbed uselessly at his pants
leg and said in irritation, "I mean, why else would you have bought
that absurd bauble you're wearing around your neck, unless you were
feeling mighty pleased with yourself over something?"
    Automatically Emily's hand
went to the crystal necklace. She hadn't taken it off since she
bought it, nor was she about to. "Tsk, tsk; you're taking out your
jelly on my jewelry, Stan."
    Stan was heading with a
napkin for the water cooler, still muttering, when the phone on
Emily's desk rang. She picked up the receiver. It was Jim
Whitewood, the senator's aide, wanting to know whether she'd be
available for a twelve-thirty call from the senator. "Of course,"
Emily answered, and he rang off.
    Emily considered whether
to brag to Stan about her continuing contact with the senator and
then thought better of it. Maybe Senator Alden was canceling. In
any case, she didn't want Stan sitting with one ear hanging over
her desk at lunchtime.
    Luckily it was a slow news
day; at twelve-thirty the newsroom was pretty empty. When the phone
rang promptly at the half-hour, Emily lunged for it, aware of a
kind of first-date giddiness. If she were, oh, a hall monitor, then
Arthur Lee Alden III was the high-school quarterback.
    "Miss
Bowditch?"
    "Yessir."
    "Ah. You're in." It was
his voice all right; but something was wrong.
    Canceling, dammit. She saw
her Pulitzer Prize going straight down the tubes. "Senator? You
sound very ... tentative," she hazarded. "Are you having second
thoughts?" She closed her eyes and grimaced. Idiot! Give him an
opening, why don't you?
    His laugh was low and
rueful. "I'm having second thoughts, third, maybe even fourth. Not
about the interview, though,