The Whispered Word

by Ellery Adams

  Nora scanned the other end of the shelves, recalling the dark space she thought she’d seen the night before. And there it was—a shadowy void following Catherine Cookson’s The Mallen Girl. She pointed it out to Andrews. “There might be another book missing. If I remember this series correctly, it’s called The Mallen Litter.”

  Andrews photographed the section of bookshelf using his phone. “Mr. Frye didn’t mention this book?”

  “No. Only the Tolkien,” Nora said. “And he wasn’t about to share details about other books in this collection. He clammed up the second he realized that I wasn’t going to tell him exactly how to sell ‘his’ books online, or how to find a cheap but reputable dealer to do it for him.”

  Andrews looked pensive as he scanned the shelves. “Is the other book Mr. Frye may have taken worth as much as the Tolkien? This Mallen Litter book?”

  “Not to a collector,” Nora said. “Ms. Cookson is a wonderful writer and has millions of fans, but even a first edition Cookson novel in its original dust jacket isn’t as rare as a first edition Tolkien in its original dust jacket.”

  “Then why would Mr. Frye steal it?” Andrews asked.

  Nora shrugged. “Because he doesn’t know his Cookson from his Tolkien?”

  “Is that the literary equivalent of his ass from his elbow?”

  “That would be deeply insulting to both Ms. Cookson and Mr. Tolkien,” Nora replied.

  “Well, Frye is an ass. He wasted no time making enemies in town,” Andrews said, putting his professional demeanor aside for the moment. “Mr. Kingsley came into the station to see if he could file a complaint about him. Apparently, Mr. Frye’s been telling anyone who’ll listen that Mr. Kingsley is a crook. When one of our new deputies asked Mr. Frye for details, he was so rude to her that she stormed out of the room. He used words that no lady should ever have to hear. She told us that she was worried she’d shoot the guy if she spent another second with him.”

  Nora could easily imagine Kenneth Frye using extremely coarse language. “What happened next?”

  “Mr. Frye left, but the sheriff wasn’t going to stand for anyone speaking to one of his deputies like that, so he drove out to Mr. Frye’s hotel to have a few words with him. Ginny Pugh runs the front desk and is dating Deputy Fuentes, and she told Fuentes that Mr. Frye didn’t enjoy his visit from Sheriff McCabe. Their conversation took place in Mr. Frye’s hotel room, but Frye yelled loud enough to shake a candy bar loose from the lobby vending machine.”

  Andrews removed his gloves and turned off the light in the living room. It was time to go.

  “The sheriff never raised his voice.” He continued the story as he locked the front door. “That’s not his way. And I know he’ll be interested to hear that Mr. Frye’s been helping himself to his mother’s books without waiting for an official ruling on her will. Thanks for letting me know about this, Ms. Pennington.”

  “Just doing my civic duty, Deputy.” Nora smiled at Andrews before getting in his car. She could feel the pull of the pond from across the yard and didn’t want to look in its direction.

  On the ride back to town, Andrews and Nora were lost in their own thoughts. Nora fixed her gaze out of the window and wondered what, if anything, her discovery about Amanda’s dress proved. The questions she had about Abilene and about Amanda’s death had only increased. The major difference was that the two disparate subjects now seemed to be connected.

  Nora had muted her phone during her time with Deputy Andrews, so she hadn’t known that Jed had texted her twice in the last fifteen minutes. She waited until she was inside Miracle Books to check her phone. Jed’s messages made her grin, but neither his witty humor nor his flirtatious tone could distract her from her obsessive thoughts. She had to share what she’d learned with the only people she trusted, because this secret was too convoluted for her to handle on her own.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry, ladies. I could not meet in the bookstore again,” Estella said as she slid into a booth at the Pink Lady Grill. “There are times when a woman wants to be seen. Especially when she’s just done her hair and nails. I mean, look at me. I can’t waste this artistry on just you three.”

  Nora did as she was told and looked. Estella was beautifully coiffed, as always. Tonight, however, her red hair was even glossier, her nails were a bright shade of apple red, and her makeup was so skillfully applied that she could pass for a woman a decade younger.

  “Why are you so dolled up? Are you hanging out at the lodge this evening, in hopes of hooking up with a rich tourist?” June was clearly poking fun at Estella, but when Estella averted her gaze, June’s smile turned into a frown. “Good Lord! Didn’t you learn your lesson after your last conquest tried to choke the life out of you?”

  “He tried, but he failed. I’m sure you remember. Anyway, I have needs,” Estella said. “I need attention from men.” She splayed her hands and examined her nails. “Okay, I don’t need it, but I like it. What I don’t like is you judging me.” She turned to Nora. “I’m not in a Jack’s-strawberry-milkshake kind of mood tonight. I want something sexy, like a martini. I love to pull the olives off the tip of the cocktail stirrer, nice and slow, when I know a man is watching. Drives them wild. You should try it with your cute deputy sometime, Hester.”

  Hester blushed and suddenly became very focused on her menu.

  “Well, I’m having a milkshake,” June declared. “You can have your olives and your men, Estella. And I’m not judging. I just worry about you.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Oh, here comes Jack.”

  Jack Nakamura was a Japanese-American transplant from Alabama who cooked traditional Southern comfort food as if his family had been making biscuits, fried chicken, grits, and ham steak for generations. The Pink Lady’s name and color scheme were a tribute to Jack’s late mother. After breast cancer claimed her life, Jack became a passionate advocate for breast cancer prevention. Letters and photographs from women who’d battled breast cancer were displayed throughout the diner, and a percentage of Jack’s profits were donated to area women in need of early-detection screenings.

  That summer, Jack had added a memory garden to the diner’s grounds. Though not large, it was a peaceful place where people could remember the women they’d loved and lost to cancer. Jack invited friends or family members to write the name of their loved one on a rock and add it to the river of stones he’d created in the center of the garden. He’d also placed a small bell that sang with every breath of air. Under the bell was a plaque inscribed with a Bash haiku:

  The temple bell stops—

  but the sound keeps coming

  out of the flowers.

  Jack was a kind, quiet man who often stopped by Miracle Books on his day off. His reading interests focused on health and wellness, cooking, gardening, and poetry.

  Tonight, however, he seemed mostly interested in Estella.

  “I’m going to be your server and your chef this evening,” he informed them, his gaze lingering on Estella. “May I tell you about the specials?”

  Estella flicked a wave of hair over her shoulder, exposing the pale, smooth skin of her neck. “We’d be delighted to hear all about them.”

  Jack described the soup-of-the-day and the catch-of-the-day in great detail. Estella moaned appreciatively during his recitation and then proceeded to order a Cobb salad. “I have to watch my figure,” she explained in an apologetic tone to Jack.

  “You’re wonderful just as you are,” Jack said before heading into the kitchen.

  June pointed at the swinging doors. “That, my friends, is what every person should aspire to hear from their partner. It’s the ultimate compliment.”

  Estella flicked her wrist. “He only said that because he doesn’t know me.” She shifted her gaze to Nora. “Are you ready to tell us why you called this auspicious meeting? Your texts were like a teaser to a juicy novel, but I have a feeling we’re not here to talk about books.”

  Nora produced Amanda’s housedress, which was fo
lded inside a plastic baggie, and set it on the table. “Do you recognize this dress?”

  “Of course we do,” Hester snapped. “What is up with you and this witch hunt?”

  “Hester.” Nora kept her voice soft. “When you look at Abilene, you see a young woman in need of rescue. I get it. You were once a young woman like that. You were mistreated and misjudged. And no one came along to rescue you. You had to be your own heroine.” Seeing the anger flare in Hester’s eyes, Nora spoke even faster. “I need you to stop seeing yourself in Abilene. She isn’t you. She’s a stranger. And she might be dangerous.”

  June held out a finger. “Come on, now. Abilene and dangerous aren’t PB and J. They do not go together.”

  “Where is this coming from? Is this because she tossed that muumuu in the wrong dumpster?” Estella asked Nora. “Remind me to keep you away from my recycling. I don’t always remember to rinse my milk cartons.”

  Nora was about to tell Estella to shut up when a waitress appeared with their drink orders.

  She distributed the drinks and then cheerfully informed them that their food would be out shortly.

  “I believe this dress belonged to Amanda Frye,” Nora said after taking a sip of sparkling water to calm herself. She then went on to tell her friends how she and Andrews had visited Amanda’s house.

  When she finished her story, Hester pointed at the dress and shrugged. “How many women own this same brand? Abilene could have gotten that dress anywhere.”

  “Maybe,” Nora conceded. “She was also wearing flip-flops the night we met. They were a size nine—way too big on her. I know the size because I climbed back into the recycling bin and found them in the same spot Abilene hid the dress.” She paused to take another drink. “Guess who else wore a size nine?”

  “Lord Almighty, please don’t say Amanda Frye,” June whispered.

  Hester slapped the table, her face contorting with anger. “Stop it! For shit’s sake, Nora, just stop! Who cares how Abilene got the dress or the shoes? Why can’t you leave her alone? Can’t you see that she needs kindness? Can’t you see that she needs help?” Shaking her head, Hester looked at Nora with doleful eyes. “I thought that you were all about trying to heal people, but I guess I was wrong.”

  Estella, who had the misfortune of sitting next to Hester, put a hand on her shoulder. Hester swatted her hand away.

  “Let me out!” she cried and gave Estella a fierce shove.

  Hester had the powerful arms of a baker, and Estella had to jump out of the booth or risk being pushed out.

  “Hester! Don’t go running off!” June called out.

  Ignoring her, Hester ran past a couple ambling toward the exit. Veering abruptly to avoid her, they barreled into Jack. Or, more specifically, into the tray balanced on Jack’s shoulder.

  The tray tilted and a trio of white platters crashed against the floor, fracturing into pieces. Food skittered across the polished tiles. A woman shrieked in surprise.

  “What the hell was that?” Estella asked, staring at the mess.

  “Our dinner,” June grumbled.

  Nora gazed out the window. “No. That was our friend, coming undone.”

  Chapter 8

  The mysterious magnet is either there, buried somewhere deep behind the sternum, or it is not.

  —Elizabeth Gilbert

  “You two stay here,” June said. “I’m going after her. I’ll call you later if I can.”

  June picked her way over the broken china and exited the diner.

  Nora watched her go. “Right now, all I want is a giant glass of wine, which is how I know I have an alcohol problem.”

  “That’s not an alcohol problem. There are just times when strawberry milkshakes just don’t cut it. This is one of those times,” Estella said. “Do you realize that we now have two things to investigate? We need to learn the story behind Abilene’s dress and we also need to find out if Virtual Genie is committing highway robbery. Half the town is hocking stuff with them, and though Kenneth Frye is a total jackass, even jackasses tell the truth once in a while.”

  “Jed took an antique bank to the Virtual Genie appraisal fair. I don’t know if he committed to selling it, but I think he’s having financial problems.”

  Estella wagged a finger. “Don’t ask him about it. Nothing will kill passion quicker than money talk. Leave that alone for now. You two haven’t even worked up a decent sweat yet, so you hardly need to compare bank account balances. I can’t imagine anything that would make his noodle go limp faster than—”

  “I get the picture,” Nora interrupted. “I don’t have anything to sell, which makes it hard to find out if Virtual Genie is doing things by the book. The pieces I buy for Miracle Books are wonderful, but they’re not expensive. What about you?”

  Estella shook her head. “I invest every penny back into my business. It’s my greatest asset. Besides my looks. And we both know which will stand the test of time.”

  Their conversation was curtailed by the arrival of a waitress. After presenting each of them with a complimentary order of spicy chicken dumplings, she promised that their meals would be out shortly.

  “I’ve never had these before.” Estella gave the dumplings a wary look. “I don’t normally go for spicy things. Outside the bedroom, that is.”

  Nora noticed the artistic sprinkle of sesame seeds and the garnish of scallion sprigs over the soy-ginger chili sauce before spearing a dumpling with her fork and popping it into her mouth. She loved spicy food.

  “Delicious.” She motioned for Estella to try hers.

  A few minutes later, Jack delivered their entrées. His white chef’s coat was a painter’s palette of fresh stains, and he was clearly distressed by the empty places at their table. “I’m sorry about the delay. Did your friends leave?”

  “It’s not your fault,” Estella said with a kind smile. “Hester acted like she was in the running of the bulls, which is why you’re wearing our food. Red is a very nice shade for you, by the way.”

  “June went after Hester,” Nora added, seeing the look of confusion on Jack’s face. “They won’t be back. We’ll pay for their meals.”

  Jack wouldn’t hear of it. Not only did he refuse payment, but he also surprised Nora and Estella by asking if he could have a word in private when they were finished eating.

  The women readily agreed, and when Jack had seen to the rest of his customers, he signaled for Nora and Estella to follow him outside to the garden.

  “You’re both savvy businesswomen, so I thought you could advise me,” Jack began. “I was thinking of selling an item through Virtual Genie, but I’ve heard rumors about them. I don’t usually pay attention to rumors, but I’m going to donate the money from the sale of this item to a person who needs medical treatment. I want to get every dollar of this item’s worth. No one on my staff has any experience with Virtual Genie. Have either of you?”

  “Yes,” Nora said. She shared her favorable impression of Griffin Kingsley as well as Kenneth Frye’s conviction that the Virtual Genie contract was padded with unnecessary fees.

  When she was done, Jack laced his hands together and gazed at the river of memorial stones.

  After a moment of silent contemplation, he turned back to Nora and Estella. “I’m going to take my item to them. They should have a chance to prove themselves.”

  “But if Mr. Frye is correct, something should be done about it,” Estella said with feeling. “We can’t let anyone else take advantage of our neighbors. Which is why I’d like to come with you, Jack.”

  Jack’s face shone like a lighthouse beacon. “You would?”

  “Yes. Many of my clients are selling things through Virtual Genie. Someone should be looking out for them.” Estella pulled up the calendar app on her phone. “I have a full day tomorrow, what with the festival and all, but could we find an hour to run over to Virtual Genie?”

  Jack nodded. “Yes, yes. We could.”

  After the pair had settled on a time, Estella asked, “
What are you selling?”

  “A cloisonné box,” Jack said. “It’s old. From the Meiji period.”

  Seeing the blank looks on the women’s faces, he elaborated. “The box was made by a Japanese artist named Kyoto in the second half of the nineteenth century. It’s decorated with a phoenix and enameled peony flowers. A woman I never met sent it to me after my mother passed away. My mother’s name was Peony.”

  “How lovely,” said Estella. “The peony is my favorite flower.”

  Jack beamed at her. “Would you like to see the box? I have it under the register.”

  Estella said that she would, but Nora demurred. She wasn’t quite ready to leave the peaceful garden, so she said goodnight to Estella and Jack and watched them reenter the diner.

  Nora sat down on the bench facing the river of stones. A breeze pushed the clapper of the little brass bell and a chorus of clear, high notes floated into the air. As Nora watched the light fade over the garden and listened to the haunting call of the bell, she had a strong and sudden longing to be in another’s company. And she knew just whose company she wanted.

  She took out her phone and dialed Jed’s number.

  “Want to come over?” she asked without preamble.

  “Yes,” he answered with equal directness.

  Nora left the lonely river to the dying light.

  * * *

  At home, she knew what would happen when Jed appeared. She felt electric with anticipation. It was much like the sensation of prickly heat she’d felt in Hester’s kitchen when the tension had risen and swelled like bread dough, but this tension was different. Its hunger wasn’t fed by suspicion or anger. It was fed by desire.

  Nora moved around her house, throwing open windows, inviting the nighttime scents and sounds to gather inside. The only light she lit was a battery-powered lantern. She knew that if she stood in front of it, the light would shine through her thin sundress, outlining the curves of her body.