I'm not a fan of purses, and certainly not big ones, but tonight I was carrying a small knapsack-style bag for the From Hell letter. Jeremy had decided this was the safest way to transport it. We hadn't wanted to leave it in the hotel or the Explorer, so I'd brought it along.
Jeremy took a tissue from his pocket and wiped out the inside of the cup before crushing it and tucking it into my knapsack. The letter was still in its plastic bag, but I guess he wasn't taking any chances with stray coffee droplets. I started to zip up the knapsack, then stopped and took out the letter.
"Are we going to...? I mean, can I take a look? Before we drop it off?"
Jeremy hesitated.
"I'll be careful," I said. "I've got these." I tugged the latex gloves from my pocket.
He still hesitated, but I could tell he was as curious as I was, so after a moment he nodded.
We moved to the side of the road, under a streetlamp. I set down my latte on the curb, then put on the gloves, opened the bag, reached in and took out the letter. I expected it to be brittle, but it was oddly supple, almost clothlike, as if it had softened with time.
I unrolled it. The paper was brownish, the color uneven. I doubted a drop or two of Jeremy's coffee would have made much difference. It was already spotted with ink and other substances. I remembered reading that the letter had come packed in a cardboard box that included part of a kidney preserved in wine. I really hoped the reddish splotches were wine.
The writing was a near-indecipherable scrawl, with a quarter of the words mangled. If I hadn't known what it was supposed to say, I wouldn't have made out half of it.
"Looks deliberately misspelled," I said.
"That's the general consensus with the other Ripper letters as well," Jeremy said. "The spelling is erratic, with some words spelled correctly once, then misspelled--"
Clay slapped my upper arm. I spun so fast I almost tripped.
"Mosquito," he said.
I glared at him.
"They have West Nile here, don't they?" he said.
"Just like at home," I said through my teeth.
"But at home you've been wearing that special stuff Jeremy got for you. You didn't bring it, did you?"
"Clayton's right," Jeremy said softly. "I know the risk is minimal, but if you've forgotten the repellent, you really should be wearing long sleeves after dark. If you contract the virus, it can be passed on--"
"To my baby, I know. But considering what else I'm already passing on to my baby, West Nile virus seems the least of my concerns." I shook my head, then leaned toward Clay. "Smack me again, and I smack you back. Maybe you can smack harder, but I dare to smack harder."
A small smile. "You sure about that?"
"You wanna test me?"
"Uh-uh," Jeremy said. "No smacking challenges. At least, not while you're holding that letter. Here, better put it away. Looks like it's already creased."
I looked down. When Clay swatted the mosquito on my arm, my hand had automatically clenched on the letter.
"Shit!" I quickly straightened it. "There. No harm--"
The mosquito was still on the paper, now a squashed dark splotch. It must have bounced onto the paper before I'd clenched it.
Jeremy shook his head. "No matter. It's dirty enough. I'll take a closer look before we drop it off. Now roll it up. Quickly."
"Before I drop it in the gutter and trample it," I muttered. "I can't believe I did that."
"Wasn't your fault," Clay said.
"That's right. It wasn't." I turned a mock scowl on him. "Bug killer."
"Yeah, but I only killed it. You squashed it."