Black Raven Inn: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 6) (4 page)

She’d
been
sitting across from Ruby Jane (“Call me ‘Ruby’”) for half an hour and Taryn was only
just
starting to feel like the situation might actually be real. For the first few minutes she’d felt like she was watching a movie and that she, herself, was nothing but a minor character. The feel of the soft leather cushion on the couch beneath her, the steaming mug of tea warming her hand, and the sugar particles on her lips from the cookies she’d been offered and accepted were all real enough though.

She’s just a person,
Taryn reminded herself.
I have to treat her as though she’s just another paying client.

In the meantime, she tried to ignore the big framed picture of Ruby goofing off with Willie Nelson that hung on the wall within her line of vision.

“I’m a big fan of your work,” Taryn heard Ruby saying.

Taryn was sure she was hearing things. “Excuse me?”

“Your work, I’m a fan,” Ruby said again with the patience of an angel.

The older woman who sat across from Taryn wore yoga pants over a sinewy build, a navy blue T-shirt, and had her hair pulled up in a sleek bun. Her toes were painted a bright green and she wore horn-rimmed glasses. Except for some light pink lipstick, she didn’t wear a bit of makeup. She appeared at least fifteen years younger than what she should’ve looked, yet it didn’t seem to Taryn that Ruby’d had any major work done.

“You said that in your email and it surprised me,” Taryn admitted as she placed her mug on a coaster. The last thing she wanted to do was leave a ring on the old maple coffee table. “Unless you’re in the historical business, so to speak, most people have never heard of me. Or of what I do.”

What Taryn
didn’t
add was that she’d also gained notoriety in the paranormal world, especially after her stint at Griffith Tavern. She was still occasionally surprised to find her name pop up in supernatural forums whenever she ran Google searches on herself (not that she actively tried to look herself up often, but she was only human).

“I’m on the board of several historical preservation societies,” Ruby admitted, her speaking voice, unlike her singing voice, was low and soft. “You did some fine work on a painting of a house down in Alabama that I grew up coveting.”

“I remember that house,” Taryn recalled fondly. She’d been with Andrew then and the house was an antebellum mansion. They’d fallen in love there. She’d never forget it. “It had the most beautiful ball room.”

And Andrew had seen a ghost in that ballroom
, Taryn thought. She wouldn’t forget that, either.

“I’ve looked at your online portfolio and you do incredible work,” Ruby continued. “You capture such detail in your paintings. I feel as though I could walk right into them. I’m an amateur photographer myself and enjoy taking photos but what
you
possess is a real artist’s soul.”

Taryn preened under the attention and it was all she could do not to turn the conversation back around to Ruby’s career and gush in return. She didn’t want to come across as a creeper fangirl, though. Best to hold off until Ruby actually liked her. (If that ever happened.)

“I’m going to need four prints in total,” Ruby said. She bent forward and removed a sheet of paper from the coffee table between them. When she handed it to Taryn, she saw that it was a meticulous list of the required paintings and what Ruby sought from each one.

“As you can see, I’d like one of the courtyard, a wide angle landscape of the exterior encompassing as many of the rooms as you can possibly get, the lobby, and the interior of one of the rooms.”

Taryn nodded as she read over the specifications. Behind the list was a contract.

“I’ll let you read over that,” Ruby added. “It’s standard. Says you won’t use the prints for any other purposes, that you’ll seek permission before using any reprints for advertising, and that you’ll adhere to the schedule.”

Taryn nodded again as she read. It was pretty standard, like most of the ones she signed.

“And there’s a privacy clause at the bottom, too. It basically says that you won’t publicly repeat anything I might disclose in confidence. That means no interviews with the press, no blog entries, etc.”

Taryn tried to imagine a world in which Ruby Jane Morgan shared her deepest secrets with her over chocolate and brandy. It was an exciting thought, but unlikely to happen.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Ruby added brightly, tapping her fingernails on the table. They, unlike her toenails, were not manicured. Instead, they were stubby, crooked, and caked with dirt–like she’d been digging in the garden.

Taryn paused in her reading and looked up, marking her place with her finger.

“If you take any photographs of the motel then I’d like to see them. Actually, I’d like copies if you don’t mind. That’s in the contract as well. I am going to provide you with a SD card for this job. If you can just meet with me on a weekly basis I’ll transfer everything over to my computer…”

Ruby faltered then and glanced down at her hands. Taryn saw that the long, elegant fingers were now nervously twisting and pulling at themselves. There was a slight change in the air, a subtle elevation of energy. It didn’t chill her but instead sent a wave of heat creeping up her back. She could feel beads of sweat balling under her lightweight scarf.

“That’s no problem,” Taryn replied. “I usually take a lot of pictures of the places where I work. My clients have never been interested in them before but taking the photos is one of my favorite parts of the project. I’d be glad to share them with you.”

Ruby offered a thin smile and bobbed her head, the bun at the back moving up and down like a little ball. Taryn returned to her reading.

“I am sure people are curious as to why I’ve bought the old motel,” Ruby offered distantly after a moment of silence.

Taryn wasn’t sure if that was a tactic to see what she thought or if Ruby was just thinking out loud.

“Well, I grew up around here so I know about the motel, of course,” Taryn said cautiously. “It’s actually a fine example of its kind. Run down, of course, but probably salvageable.”

“I always thought it had a bit of charm to it myself,” Ruby admitted, raising her eyebrows. “Most structures like that have been razed in favor of modern developments.”

“I think that’s a shame,” Taryn said and she meant it. It
was
a shame.

Both women were skirting around the fact that Ruby’s former partner had overdosed on heroin and been carted away from one of the rooms in a body bag. And Taryn certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. But, as it was, Room #5 was the white elephant hiding in the room.

Taryn wondered how long it would be before it was brought out and made to dance.

With
her
boots kicked off and her sweaty feet propped up on the arm of the sofa, Taryn flipped through the television channels and tried to find something mind numbing to watch. She was a sucker for reality television of all kinds, and if that didn’t work there was usually always some trashy true life movie on one of the women’s channels. Nothing was satisfying her tonight, however.

She was anxious about her new assignment.

Ruby had been nothing but polite, while still maintaining a professional distance, but Taryn couldn’t ignore the project’s brevity. It was obvious that the building was important to the singer, for reasons that she didn’t have to share with Taryn, so that made this job more personal, and stressful, than most.

“Like the stress of working with someone famous wasn’t enough as it was."

Taryn planned on starting the next morning. Miss Dixie, her beloved camera, watched her from the library table by the door leading into her short hallway. She looked pumped and expectant.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re ready for it,” Taryn tossed her way.

She’d begin with the pictures. For the first few days she’d walk around the motel and snap as she pleased, taking shots of the fine points that called to her.

Every building spoke to Taryn in a different way. Sometimes it was the windows that called to her. Sometimes it was the outside spaces–the porches, yards, patios, courtyards, and balconies. Other times it was the interior details like the carvings on the mantles, the gleaming natural wood panels or bannisters, or the ornate crown molding.

This was something she let Miss Dixie take the reins on that and Taryn never knew what would happen until her fingers began working and her camera started clicking. The two of them were a pair and worked as partners. She never went anywhere without her camera; Miss Dixie wasn’t just a tool–she was Taryn’s other set of eyes.

She was her friend.

After spending some time getting to know the building and taking dozens, if not hundreds, of pictures, she’d upload them and go through them one by one. It was from these shots that she’d start putting the painting together in her mind.

Only then, when she felt like she really knew what she was working with and could see the intricacies and nuances of the structure when she closed her eyes, would she begin working.

“I promise all the barricades will be removed by tomorrow morning,” Ruby had promised her. “I’ve also hired a security guard. He won’t get in your way but I don’t want anything to happen to you while you’re there alone. As an artist, I understand that you probably work as the mood strikes you. Aker is on standby, ready to go when you are. Just send him a text and give him a 30-minute warning. You all might want to work out some sort of schedule, of course.”

“A security guard? Like a bodyguard?”

Ruby had laughed then, a tinkling sound that rang throughout the room, filling it like tiny bells. “Oh, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Aker and I go way back. In fact, he probably remembers the motel the way it
was
. He’s been around Nashville all his life.”

While Taryn didn’t relish the idea of someone possibly standing over her and babysitting her all day, she understood Ruby’s position. If Taryn got hurt or someone tried to bother her, Ruby would have insurance issues on her hands, among other things.

It was the first time she’d ever had her own personal bodyguard. In some ways, she was moving up in the world.

Taryn had just settled into a television show she could life with when her phone rang. The ringtone played Coldplay’s “The Scientist” (her own inside joke) and as soon as she said “hello” Matt went into a spiel about his day.

“My students are driving me insane,” he groaned dramatically.

“You missed your calling as an actor,” she retorted. “So much drama.”

Matt had taken on student interns from a local university. He both loved the idea of acting as mentor and struggled with the notion of being in charge of so many people at once and not having any peace and quiet. He was an introvert at heart and mostly preferred to work alone. They were alike in that respect.

“Are you going to dock their pay?” Taryn teased him, knowing full and well that it was an unpaid position.

“Maybe,” he grumbled. “Or take away their access to the pop machine. A little less caffeine would do a few of them some good.”

“That’s just mean, Matt.”

Taryn never went anywhere without a Coke, and a backup drink.

“So, tell me about your meeting,” he said after going on a ten-minute rant about the lax work efforts of the younger generation. “How’d it go?”

“Weird,” Taryn answered, putting the television on mute so she could talk. “I mean, Ruby was nice and friendly. Just as pretty in person as I imagined, if not more so, but it was still strange to be in the presence of someone like that. I am still pinching myself.”

“So how do you feel about the job?”

Cold, wet fingers wrapped themselves around Taryn’s feet and left them numb. The chilly sensation started at her toes and slowly slithered its way up her body, leaving patches of ice along the way, until it reached her scalp. The hairs on her head stood at attention, one by one. She shook the feeling off with a twist of her head, shivering.

“Okay,” she replied at last. “I think it’s going to be fun. And I hope she likes what I do.”

“But? I hear a ‘but’ in there…”

“I don’t think she
needs
me,” Taryn said at last. She wasn’t going to tell him about what she’d felt at the motel, not just yet anyway.

“There are hundreds of photos of that old place floating around,” she said. “Google it and you’ll find everything you need, including paintings people have already done over the years. She doesn’t need
me
to show anyone what it looked like in its prime.”

“Maybe she just
wants
you,” Matt suggested. “Rich people are like that. They spend their money on weird stuff.”

“Like old, trashy motels their friends committed suicide in?” Taryn suggested.

“Yeah, like that.”

“Maybe…”

Taryn wasn’t convinced. She’d been hired for a reason, she was sure of that. Taryn wasn’t psychic. She had her sensitivities, true, but she needed Miss Dixie for most of that work.

Still, she was very good at reading people and all her meters were going off with this project.

She was sure Ruby Jane was hiding something.