One Hundred Humbugs (Aspen Cove #25)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The alarm clock’s shrill buzz pierced through Ruby Whitaker’s fitful sleep like an ice pick to the brain. She groaned, blindly slapping at the offending device until it fell silent. The sudden quiet revealed the muffled sounds of the city awakening outside her window—car horns, distant sirens, the rumble of garbage trucks. Another day in paradise.

8:15 a.m. glared at her in angry red digits. Late. Again.

“Shit,” Ruby muttered, bolting upright. The familiar knot of anxiety tightened in her chest as she took in her surroundings. Empty coffee cups formed an abstract art installation on her desk, their stained rings a testament to too many late nights spent hunched over her laptop. The acrid smell of old coffee mingled with the musty scent of laundry that needed doing weeks ago.

This wasn’t the glamorous freelance life Ruby had envisioned when she’d quit her soul-sucking corporate job two years ago. Freedom and flexibility had sounded great in theory, but it meant never-ending deadlines, clients who expected miracles on shoestring budgets, and a constant, gnawing fear that she was one missed payment away from financial ruin.

She scrambled out of bed, wincing as her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. A glance at her phone revealed five new emails, all marked urgent. Ruby’s stomach churned. She’d need at least three cups of coffee before she could face that circle of hell.

As she rushed through a semblance of a morning routine—dry shampoo instead of a shower, yesterday’s wrinkled shirt smoothed with desperate hands—Ruby caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles shadowed her usually bright eyes, and her hair was a tangled mess. For a moment, she didn’t recognize the harried woman staring back at her.

“Come on, Rubes,” she said to her reflection. “You’ve got this. Today’s the day things turn around.” It was the same pep talk she’d given herself every morning for months. Maybe if she said it enough times, it would come true.

The pep talk might have been more convincing if she could find two matching socks.

After a fruitless search, Ruby resigned herself to an odd pair—one faded blue, one bright pink. As she pulled them on, she shook her head in quiet amusement.

Her mother would be mortified if she could see her now. Margaret Whitaker’s voice echoed in her head: A put-together appearance is the first step to a put-together life, Ruby Jean.

Well, Mom , Ruby thought, I guess my life is as mismatched as my socks.

The clatter of mail falling through the slot jolted Ruby from her reverie. Bills, no doubt. More reminders of all the ways she was falling short. She considered ignoring them, adding to the pile on her entry table that had become a poor man’s filing system. But something—stubbornness, maybe, or a last vestige of responsibility—made her crouch down to gather the scattered envelopes.

Credit card offer—ha! Utility bill—double ha! Ruby frowned, her fingers brushing against an envelope that stood out from the rest. Thicker paper, almost like parchment, with her name and address written in elegant, unfamiliar handwriting. No return address.

Her curiosity piqued, she tore it open, unfolding the letter inside. Her eyes skimmed the first lines, and the noise of the city faded away. The world narrowed to the words on the page:

Dear Ms. Whitaker,

We are writing to inform you that you have been named the sole beneficiary of the estate of your uncle, Peter Larkin...

Ruby’s breath caught in her throat. Uncle Peter? The black sheep of the family, more myth than man? She’d met him a handful of times, each encounter leaving her with the impression of a man who lived life by his own rules, consequences be damned.

As she read on, the words blurred together. Estate. Aspen Cove, Colorado. It was all hers.

Ruby sank onto her secondhand couch, the springs groaning in protest. Her mind raced, memories surfacing of the few times she’d encountered her enigmatic uncle. His booming laugh at family gatherings and the way he’d wink at her, as if they shared some grand secret, were vivid in her memory. How he always seemed to appear and disappear like some magician, leaving a wake of wild stories and raised eyebrows.

“And now, apparently, there was a house in Colorado.” What the hell was she supposed to do with that?

Her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a reminder: Video call with Client From Hell in 15 minutes. Ruby glanced from the phone to the letter and back again, feeling as if she were on the edge of a cliff. On one side, the familiar chaos of her current life. On the other ... what? Freedom? Adventure? Financial ruin in a more scenic location?

As Ruby stared at the letter, a spark of something long dormant stirred to life in her chest. Hope rose within her, sweet and unexpected.

Ruby read the letter again, her heart pounding. The legalese swam before her eyes, but a few key phrases stood out: “sole beneficiary,” and “debt-free.”

She let out a laugh that sounded unhinged, even to her own ears. Debt-free. When was the last time anything in her life had been that?

Her gaze drifted to the corkboard above her desk, covered in Post-it notes of varying degrees of urgency. “Call Mom,” said one, the edges curling from age. Another read “Pitch new clients!!!” with enough exclamation points to betray her desperation. And in the center, written in bold red marker: “MAKE RENT OR ELSE.”

Ruby’s landlord, a mustachioed man with all the charm of a hungry piranha, had made it clear that his patience—and her tenancy—was wearing thin. One more late payment and she’d be out on the street, portfolio and student debt in tow.

But now ... now she had options. A lifeline, thrown to her by an uncle she hardly knew.

She pulled out her phone, fingers hovering over the search bar. What did one search for in this situation? “What to do when you unexpectedly inherit property from your estranged uncle?” Somehow, she doubted there’d be a wikiHow article for that .

Instead, she typed in “Aspen Cove, Colorado.” The search results loaded, revealing images that belonged on a postcard: majestic mountains with snow-capped peaks, lush forests of pine and aspen, and a quaint town center with buildings that looked like they’d been plucked from a movie set.

It was beautiful and peaceful. The complete antithesis of her cramped apartment with its view of a brick wall and a perpetually overflowing dumpster.

As Ruby scrolled through the images, a memory surfaced. She was ten years old, spending a rare afternoon with Uncle Peter during one of his infrequent visits. They were sitting on the back porch, Ruby nursing a scraped knee from a failed attempt at skateboarding.

“You know, Ruby Tuesday,” Uncle Peter had said, using the nickname only he ever called her, “there’s a whole world out there beyond these suburbs. Mountains that touch the sky, forests so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat. That’s where the real magic happens.”

She’d rolled her eyes then, in the way every preteen could. “Whatever, Uncle Peter. I’m gonna live in the big city and be a famous artist.”

He looked at me with a gentle, knowing smile. “Maybe so, kiddo. But remember, sometimes the universe has other plans. And those plans? They’re usually better than anything we could dream up ourselves.”

The memory faded, leaving Ruby feeling a heaviness she couldn’t shake. Had Uncle Peter somehow known she’d end up needing this escape hatch? Or was it just one of life’s strange coincidences?

In a few minutes, she’d have to pull herself together and pretend to care about website color schemes and font choices .

But for the first time in months—maybe years—a spark of excitement took hold within Ruby. A sense of possibility. She had choices now. She could sell the property, pay off her debts, maybe even squirrel away enough for a fresh start somewhere new. Or...

Or she could go to Aspen Cove. See this place for herself. Breathe in that mountain air Uncle Peter had raved about, walk in his footsteps, maybe even understand why he’d left her this unexpected gift.

The responsible thing would be to call a real estate agent, get the property assessed, put it on the market. That’s what her mother would advise. It’s what any sane person would do.

But Ruby was tired of being responsible. Tired of playing it safe and ending up miserable anyway.

Her fingers hovered over her laptop, itching to search for flights to Colorado. It was crazy. Impulsive. Potentially disastrous.

It was what she needed.

The video call notification popped up on her screen, her client’s name flashing insistently. Ruby took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. One last job, she told herself. One last dive into the world of hex codes and design. And then ... well, then it would be time for an adventure.

As she clicked to accept the call, a lightness spread through Ruby, more freeing than anything she’d experienced in years. She greeted her client on the screen, the mismatched socks on her feet seeming less like a mistake and more like a sign.

“Good morning!” she said, surprising herself with her enthusiasm. “Before we get started, I should let you know—this will be my last project for a while. I’m taking a ... sabbatical. ”

The word tasted foreign on her tongue, but not unpleasant. As her client sputtered in confusion, Ruby’s amusement grew.

Sometimes the universe does have other plans, she thought. And Uncle Peter? Wherever you are, I hope you’re enjoying the show.