The Whispered Word

by Ellery Adams

  “What the hell happened to you, lady?” Frye asked. He had yet to blink.

  Nora stared back at him. “I used to be a circus performer. A sword swallower, actually. For my finale, I’d always set my blades on fire. The crowd would get so quiet, waiting for me to swallow the fiery metal.” Her mouth curved into a maniacal grin. “Anyway, during my last performance, I was a bit heavy-handed with the fuel. When I flicked my Bic, whoosh! My circus career and chance of marrying well both went up in flames.”

  Frye’s mouth widened another half inch. Nora stared at his maw and thought of how much she’d like to plug that round O with a golf ball when another customer entered the shop, causing the sleigh bells to bang against the door.

  The noise roused Frye from his stupor. He shut his mouth and managed to place the bag on the counter. Eying Nora with suspicion, he asked, “Is that story true?”

  Ignoring the question, Nora pointed at the bag. “Is there something you’d like to show me, or should we keep talking about my face?”

  Thankfully, Frye took the hint. “Can you tell me what this book is worth? Just a ballpark. I don’t need anything in writing.”

  In other words, you don’t want to pay for a professional appraisal, Nora thought. But she was dying to look at whatever was inside the bag, so Nora told Amanda’s son that she’d do her best to help.

  Frye glanced at the couple who’d just entered the shop. “Do you have a more private place?”

  Nora wasn’t going to make things easy for him. Not after he’d been so rude. Besides, she wanted to watch his expression when she mentioned Virtual Genie.

  Primly folding her arms across her chest, she said, “Perhaps you’d be better off at Virtual Genie. They’re in the appraisal business. I’m just a bookseller.”

  Frye’s face darkened. “And hand over twenty percent of the profits after agreeing to a laundry list of bogus fees? How many people actually read the fine print in that swindler’s contract? Well, this guy does. I haven’t climbed the corporate ladder by skimming over the fine print. That’s where the real money is made or lost.”

  Jed and his mechanical bank appeared in Nora’s mind. She thought of all the people who’d stood in line, anxiously waiting to learn if their treasures might ease their financial burdens. If only a little. These people were Nora’s neighbors, and all they were looking for was a chance to keep the wolf from the door. Were Griffin and Tamara helping, or were they as bad as the scammers who’d tricked the townsfolk in the first place? The people from the bank and the real estate development firm who’d swindled the locals into buying into a dream that was really nothing but a nightmare.

  The Secret, Book, and Scone Society would have to find out for themselves, but in the meantime, Nora told Frye to follow her to the ticket agent’s office.

  As they walked, Nora introduced herself.

  “I’m Kenneth,” Frye replied. He glanced at Nora’s scarred hand and quickly stuffed his own into the front pocket of his jeans.

  Nora found it interesting that he’d omitted his surname. Miracle Springs was a small town, and Kenneth’s mother was a reader, so he must realize that Nora and Amanda knew each other. Was his evasiveness deliberate?

  The answer became clear as soon as he removed the book from the bag.

  Nora immediately recognized it as one of Amanda’s. Nora remembered exactly where it had been shelved, and she could also picture the other books in the series.

  “If this is yours, you have excellent reading taste,” she said to Kenneth Frye. “There’s a reason some books are called classics.”

  Kenneth didn’t show the slightest hint of guilt over stealing a book his mother had bequeathed to someone else. He simply gazed down at the plastic-covered copy of J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Two Towers with a dismissal. “I’m a businessman. I don’t waste my time on books. I read the Wall Street Journal.”

  Nora could understand why Amanda had left her collection to someone other than her son. Perhaps her former neighbor was a fellow book lover. Perhaps Amanda knew that her son would sell her collection within seconds of getting his massive hands on it.

  “May I?” Nora gestured at the book.

  “Knock yourself out,” said Kenneth.

  Nora examined the dust jacket first. It was in very fine condition. Though she’d seen and held many versions of this title, she found this edition a bit unsettling because of the staring red eye ringed by red runes on the front. Floating in the center of this stark white background was the infamous gold ring, the source of Middle-earth’s trouble.

  Nora carefully opened the book and searched for the copyright information. She noted that this was a first edition in its eleventh impression, printed in 1965. Next, she looked for an inscription. Finding none, she examined the page edges and other parts of the book for condition issues. Other than a few very minor marks, it was in what book collectors would deem fine condition.

  “To give you an idea of its value, I need to check prices on my laptop. Would you like a coffee while you wait?”

  Kenneth cast a dubious glance at her espresso machine. “No offense, but I’m from Chicago. We have really good coffee shops. Is yours strong? Because this guy needs strong.”

  After carefully sliding Amanda’s book back inside the bag, Nora moved to her pegboard to select a mug for Kenneth’s drink. She was tempted to remind “this guy” that he was from Miracle Springs and that people in these parts were perfectly capable of making a cup of coffee, but she refrained. “If you’d like to pay for an extra shot, I’d be glad to give you one.”

  Kenneth wrestled his wallet free from the back pocket of his pants and slapped down a few bills on the ledge where Nora placed completed drink orders. Without consulting the chalkboard menu, he said, “I’ll take a latte with whole milk. Two shots. Not too foamy. I don’t like foam on my mustache.”

  The foam reference reminded Nora of Kenneth’s mother, a woman who’d been found floating in her foamy green pond. Nora thought of how lovingly Amanda had wrapped her books in plastic and displayed them in her living room. She probably gazed at them every night. Her books were her shield against loneliness. They were her companions. Her family.

  It gave Nora a small measure of satisfaction to serve Kenneth his latte in a mustard-colored mug featuring a colorful chicken and the text, I DON’T GIVE A CLUCK. She suspected he wouldn’t even notice the design, and she was right. He was too fixated on what was inside his mug to pay attention to the outside.

  “Not bad,” he said after a tentative sip.

  Nora took his money and turned to her laptop. After calling up the website of a renowned international bookseller, she typed the Tolkien title and the publication year in the site’s search box. She found two books that were a near-perfect match to Amanda’s book.

  Frye tried to look over her shoulder, but Nora closed the laptop before he could see anything. “Your copy of The Two Towers is worth around five hundred dollars. However, if you had the other books in the trilogy, The Fellowship of the Ring and The Return of the King, the set would be worth even more.” Watching Kenneth carefully, she asked, “Do you own the other two books?”

  “I might,” Kenneth said cagily. “If I did, where would I sell them? Who’d get me the most money?”

  Nora shook her head. “I couldn’t say. As you can see, I deal in new, used, and a few collectible books. My most expensive books cost much less than the one you carried in, so I’m not the person to advise you on selling your, um, collection? Or it is just a handful of titles?”

  Instead of answering her questions, Kenneth put his empty mug on the coffee table and gave Nora a wave. “I’ve got it from here. Thanks for your help. It’s nice to meet a decent person in this crap town.”

  Kenneth Frye scooped up his book and barreled into another customer on his way out.

  As soon as he was gone, Nora sent a group text to the members of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society. It said, Emergency meeting tonight. We need to stop a book thief.


  * * *

  Nora could hear her friends before she saw them. They entered through the back door and appeared by the circle of chairs. They were all carrying covered dishes and had bags dangling from the crooks of their elbows.

  “We should eat while this is still hot,” June said, setting a casserole dish down on a pot holder in the center of the coffee table.

  Nora sniffed the air. “What’s that amazing smell?”

  June whipped the lid off her casserole dish. “Get ready for your daily serving of dairy, ladies. And then some. This is my famous mac and cheese recipe. I’ll share two of the three secret ingredients. Muenster cheese and eggs.”

  “Eggs? In mac and cheese?” Estella sounded alarmed.

  “Go on. Put a big scoop of cheesy heaven on your plate.” June handed Estella a serving spoon. “You’ll thank me after one bite.”

  Nora’s contribution to the meal, a salad of mixed greens tossed with homemade vinaigrette dressing, was already on the table. Estella placed a platter of tomatoes roasted with basil and thyme next to the salad bowl.

  “How beautiful,” Hester said. “Did you grow the tomatoes?”

  Estella snorted and spread her fingers in the air. “Do these hands look like they dig in dirt? No, the truth is that I had a client give me fresh produce as a tip today. I’d rather have cash, but I’m glad to still have her as a client. I think I jumped the gun when I hired part-time help after the bank and builder’s scandal. I’m starting to realize that lots of my new bookings were one-hit wonders—local reporters or curiosity seekers. When our town stopped being a major news story, my extra clients vanished. If that isn’t bad enough, my list of regular clients is shrinking fast.”

  “The town needs a bona fide real estate developer to buy The Meadows,” June said. “If those contracts to the electricians and plumbers and lumber houses were honored, so many folks could get back on their feet.”

  Hester laid a paper napkin on her lap. “Like Roy Macklemore, for example. He used to drop by the bakery every morning, but I haven’t seen him for a few weeks. He stopped by yesterday to do maintenance on my air-conditioning unit before heading over to Virtual Genie to get his grandmother’s cameo pin appraised. He looked totally heartbroken about it too. It’s his only heirloom, but he’s going to be a dad in November. He needs money for when the baby comes.”

  Nora served herself a scoop of mac and cheese, unintentionally leaving cheese strings hanging like tightropes from the edge of her plate to the edge of the casserole dish. June severed the cheese strings with her fork.

  “I’m glad you mentioned Virtual Genie. We need to look into that place.” Nora repeated what Kenneth Frye had said about the laundry list of fees.

  Estella stopped eating. “Kenneth Frye? As in, Amanda Frye’s son?” At Nora’s nod, she grew more excited. “He’s from Chicago, right? Word on the street is that he’s very successful. What’s he like?”

  “He’s a jackass,” Nora said. “A rude, oversized, bearded jackass.”

  “I like a man with a beard,” Estella murmured.

  Nora gave Estella a sharp look. “You don’t want to use your sex-kitten powers on this guy. He has no class.”

  This extinguished the glint in Estella’s eyes. “I should have guessed by the way he treated his mother.”

  “I don’t know what happened between mother and son, but Kenneth clearly held her responsible for his father’s death.” Nora repeated what she’d heard Kenneth say to Griffin Kingsley about his mother killing his father. She also told them what Deputy Andrews had shared about the Frye family’s dynamics.

  June pulled a face. “Sounds like Little Boy Frye passed judgment as only an aging bachelor can. What the hell would he know about the give-and-take a marriage requires? About the sacrifices? He wouldn’t. He just picked a villain and a victim and decided to see black and white when we live in a world with a hundred shades of gray.”

  “Not fifty?” Estella asked, nudging June with the toe of her shoe.

  Smiling, June flicked Estella with her napkin. “Thanks, hon. I was getting all riled up, but why should I let Kenneth Frye ruin my amazing mac and cheese?”

  “You might want to hold on to that riled feeling,” Nora said. “It seems that Kenneth intends to continue mistreating his mother, even after her death, by stealing the books she left to someone else.”

  Nora snuck in another bite of food before telling her friends about The Two Towers.

  When she was done, Hester performed a time-out gesture. “Don’t you think we’re condemning a total stranger without proof? Seriously, we know nothing about him, but we’re already assuming that he’s a terrible son and that he broke into his mother’s house to swipe a book and learn its value.” She spread her hands. “Does that sound like the behavior of a successful businessman? Why would he risk his career for a book?”

  Estella glanced at Nora. “That’s a good point.”

  “Selling those books might not have anything to do with money,” June said. “It might be about the anger Kenneth feels toward his mama—anger that he didn’t have the chance to express to her before she died.”

  Hester got up, walked into the ticket agent’s booth, and returned to the seating area with a gorgeous tart. Pear slices peeked through a thin, flaky crust, and Nora, who thought she might be too full for dessert, knew she’d find room for a slice.

  “Brown-butter-roasted pear tart in a shortbread crust.” Hester began cutting the dessert into even slices. “Let’s say you’re right, June. How can we prove the book is missing in the first place?”

  “Easy,” Nora said, eagerly accepting a plate from Hester. “We go to Amanda’s house. We can combine it with another round of Secret Kindness bag deliveries. It sounds like Roy Macklemore could use a lift.”

  “I’m game,” said June. “But don’t you rush my dessert. I plan to savor every bite. Hester, Hester, Hester. Your baking is good for my soul, but it is not good for my hips.”

  Estella waved off her comment. “What are you worried about? You’ll walk that off with your cats four or five hours from now.” A mischievous gleam surfaced in her eyes. “It’s too bad that you can’t find a way to harness that kitty energy. You’d be a rich woman.”

  “Who says my aim in life is to be rich?” June retorted. “You know what I’d like? I’d like my socks to cover the world’s cold, tired feet. That’s what I’d like. I love to take care of folks. It’s what I was born to do.”

  Nora opened five shopping bags and lined them up on the floor. “Okay, then. Let’s decide where we’re going tonight. We’ll get to the world later, June. For now, we have plenty of tired feet in our own backyard.”

  * * *

  The Secret, Book, and Scone Society members were much calmer during their second round of deliveries than they’d been for the first. Few people were quick to respond to a ringing doorbell after dark, which gave Hester plenty of time to return to June’s car without having to run. June learned that she didn’t have to peel away so violently that she scored the asphalt with tire marks. She crept forward slowly, keeping her headlights off until the targeted house was out of sight.

  After the five Secret Kindness bags were delivered without incident, June drove to Amanda’s house.

  Unlike the other homes on the street, her house sat in a pool of darkness. There wasn’t even a porch light or electric bug zapper to keep the night at bay.

  June hesitated at the top of the gravel driveway.

  “Are you sure about this, Nora?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” Nora tried not to stare at the surrounding woods. For some reason, the trees felt closer. And taller. They seemed to loom over the open spaces of Amanda’s yard, reclaiming it whenever there were no humans to witness their movement. “No one else has to get out of the car.”

  June made the turn and eased down the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath her tires. She came to a stop at an angle in front of the house, her headlights illuminatin
g the sagging stoop and collection of massive cobwebs.

  “You’d better duck when you go up those stairs,” Estella whispered. Nora didn’t even have to look at her to know that she was shrinking into her seat in revulsion. Estella was not a fan of spiders.

  Nora grabbed her flashlight and exited the car, shutting the passenger door behind her. She listened for the neighbor’s dogs and said a silent prayer of thanks when no frenzied barks pierced the quiet of the night.

  Wary of the cobwebs, Nora pressed her flashlight beam against the glass of the front window. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the various objects in the dark room, but she was able to train her light on the books lined up along the bottom row of crates. What she saw confirmed her theory. The Fellowship of the Ring and The Return of the King were leaning, shoulder-to-shoulder, when they should have been standing up straight. They couldn’t remain upright, because the book that had filled the gap between them was missing. It had been removed by Kenneth Frye.

  Nora passed her light over the rest of the books, searching for a sign that Frye had pilfered other volumes. She couldn’t be sure, because the crate closest to the hall was too cloaked in shadow, but she thought she saw a second pair of leaning books.

  “Bastard,” she grumbled and returned to the car.

  Hester didn’t need audible confirmation from Nora to know what she’d seen. Nora’s anger spread through the car like a thundercloud.

  “Are you going to report him?” she asked.

  “I’ll call Andrews in the morning,” Nora said. “I don’t want anything to happen to those books. Amanda left them to someone else—probably a fellow reader—and I owe it to her to see that her books reach that person.”

  June glanced over at her. “There’s no guarantee you could have helped Amanda, even if she’d opened up to you. I know you feel partially responsible, but I don’t think she was ever going to confide in you. You said it yourself. She came to Miracle Books in search of escape. Why would she want to drag her hard, ugly reality into her beautiful, warm, cozy escape place?”

  “I would have liked to try to combine the two,” Nora said, smiling at her friend. “The unique and magical nature of books is their ability to grant us temporary escape from our reality while also providing ways to cope with that reality when we’re forced to return to it.”