The Whispered Word

by Ellery Adams

  “I probably had a dozen customers who fit that description,” Hester said. “Maybe the sheriff will find another set of fingerprints on the knife besides mine. And Abilene’s.”

  With no answers to be found at the Gingerbread House, the four women headed to the station.

  Nora gave their names to the desk clerk. Within minutes, a deputy came to collect Hester, explaining that he needed both her statement and her fingerprints. She looked frightened, but squared her shoulders and followed him. The pair disappeared into the building’s inner sanctum.

  “I bet she wishes Jasper was taking her prints,” Estella whispered. “He’d tell her not to worry. Make her feel safe.”

  June snorted. “He’s not going to compromise his job just so Hester thinks he’s the world’s best boyfriend. He and the rest of these folks have three deaths on their hands. The media’s going to catch wind of this soon. It’s only a matter of time before the news vans start chugging down the mountain road.”

  Nora was remembering how relieved everyone had felt after the last plague of journalists had departed Miracle Springs, when Deputy Andrews appeared in the waiting area.

  “Ms. Pennington, please come with me.”

  “We’ll be right here,” said June, giving Nora’s hand a quick squeeze. “Like two rocks of Gibraltar. No one can move us.”

  Andrews escorted Nora directly to the sheriff’s office and asked her to take a seat in the chair facing his desk.

  Nora was studying the framed war bond posters from World War I when McCabe entered the room.

  “How is she?” Nora asked.

  “Not talking,” said McCabe, dropping into his chair as if the burdens he carried weighed too heavily on his shoulders. “She didn’t even react when I called her Hannah.”

  Nora winced. “That probably made her retreat even more. I think she was telling me the truth when she said that she didn’t kill her uncle. Hester was using the knife—the murder weapon—at the Gingerbread Bread House after Abilene left to work her shift at Virtual Genie.”

  “She could have easily slipped back into the bakery,” the sheriff said. “I’ll have to ask Mr. Kingsley or Ms. Beacham if they saw her leave.” He rubbed his chin, staring pensively at his computer screen. “Since Abilene Tyler is an alias, how is she being paid?”

  Nora didn’t understand why this was relevant at the moment. “She works for Griffin in exchange for that crappy apartment. As for her part-time gig at the bakery, I can only assume that Hester pays Abilene in cash. Does it really matter that she’s not giving a share of her paltry wages to Uncle Sam?”

  Too late, she realized that she hadn’t chosen her words wisely. The war bond closest to her chair featured a gun-toting Uncle Sam standing in front of the American flag. The sky above him was filled with bombers and below him, an army charged toward an unseen enemy. McCabe was a lawman. The epitome of an upstanding citizen. A crime was a crime, no matter who’d committed it or why.

  However, he answered Nora’s question without any rancor. “It matters because I wanted to know how she convinced the Virtual Genie owners to forgo a lease. Considering their business depends on having a sterling reputation, this arrangement strikes me as odd.”

  “Abilene had a special skill set to offer. She could repair and appraise—” Nora stopped. “Can I talk to her? I’m not asking for privacy, but can I see her? I could try to ask her something important.”

  “What thought just ran through your mind?” McCabe put his forearms on his desk and leaned forward. His body language and keen gaze belied his mild tone of voice.

  “I was wondering if Abilene had seen the pocket watch from inside Amanda’s book before. Her uncle ran a clock and jewelry shop. Every day, he brought work home for her to do. She might recognize the watch. She might know its story.”

  McCabe got to his feet. “Let’s find out.”

  To Nora’s immense relief, Abilene wasn’t in a holding cell.

  She was sitting in one of the interview rooms, a bottle of water and a cup of coffee on the table in front of her. Both beverages appeared to be untouched.

  A female deputy stood in the corner of the room, and when the sheriff’s brows rose in a silent question, the deputy responded with a regretful shake of the head.

  Abilene still hadn’t said a word.

  Nora asked the sheriff for a piece of paper and a pen. He signaled to his deputy and she hurried out of the room, returning a minute later with a sheet of printer paper and a black pen.

  Nora sat next to Abilene and began to draw a crude imitation of the pocket watch case. As she worked, she spoke to the girl beside her. She didn’t mention Hester’s knife or ask Abilene if she’d left her job at Virtual Genie for even a few minutes that afternoon. She said nothing about the dead man on the landing. Instead, she talked about the pocket watches she’d come across in books.

  “There’s the White Rabbit in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. His anxiety was contagious. He was always checking his watch and fretting over being late. And who can forget Agatha Christie’s fussy, fastidious, pocket-watch toting detective, Hercule Poirot? He’s my favorite Christie sleuth. And in the wizarding world of Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore’s watch has twelve hands and planets instead of numbers.”

  Having completed a rough sketch of a watch cover with a ram’s head in the center, Nora sketched a face with three keyholes. Taking Abilene’s hand, she gently laid it on top of the paper. “I bet you’ve seen lots of pocket watches, but have you ever seen one with a ram’s head on the case. Like this?”

  Nora placed Abilene’s index finger on the head.

  When Abilene didn’t look up from her lap, Nora moved the other woman’s finger to the sketch she’d made of the face. “What about a watch with three keyholes? One.” She moved Abilene’s finger over each shaded dot representing a keyhole. “Two. Three.”

  Abilene jerked her hand away as if she’d been burned, and Nora sighed inwardly. Once again, she’d failed to get through to her.

  Just as Nora was about to stand up, Abilene leaned over and whispered, “The keys came when I turned eighteen. In the mail. He wore them around his neck. He never took them off.”

  “Your uncle?”

  Abilene released a soft puff of air. “Yes.”

  Nora put her arm around Abilene in a half hug. She held her that way and glanced at McCabe. He’d heard their whispered conversation, and when he looked away as if to hide his disappointment, Nora had the answer to the question she was just about to ask.

  The keys hadn’t been found on Crane’s body.

  The keys were gone.

  Chapter 16

  God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another.

  —William Shakespeare

  The members of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society settled in for a long wait at the sheriff’s department. As the time dragged, the women bought coffee from the lobby vending machine. It wasn’t very good, but it was hot.

  “You don’t have to stay,” Deputy Andrews had told Nora after she’d signed her statement.

  “I’m not leaving Abilene,” she’d said. “I told her that she wouldn’t be alone.”

  Apparently, no one else planned to leave either. This became clear when June took her knitting needles out of her handbag.

  “Guess I’ll get to work on your fox socks,” June said.

  Estella watched her work, fascinated. “I’ve always pictured knitters as old ladies in rocking chairs, shooing cats away from their yarn with an orthopedic shoe. You’ve got the cats. You just need a rocking chair and the shoes.”

  June threatened to give Estella a body piercing if she ever dared to stereotype a knitter again. She then turned to Nora. “I should knit you and Jed one of those chastity cocoons. “What was it called—that practice of sewing folks in their own cloth sacks so they couldn’t touch each other?”

  “Bundling,” Estella said. “I read too, you know, and at least a dozen of the historical romances I’ve read have men
tioned bundling. Even if I hadn’t come across that in books, I’d remember it from my history classes in school. They were my favorite.” A secretive smile tugged at her lips. “I really enjoyed talking to Jack about Japanese history the other day. He thinks I’m the smartest woman in town.”

  Hester, who’d been very quiet until now, gaped at Estella. “Jack? As in the Pink Lady? Don’t tell me you’re going to break his heart next.”

  Estella frowned. “It’s not like that. We’re friends. I’ve never had a guy friend before, but it’s really nice.”

  Nora thought of her recent run-in with Jack.

  “Has he mentioned the antique box Virtual Genie is selling for him?” she asked Estella.

  “No,” she said. “I’m supposed to drop by the diner tomorrow at three. Jack wants to serve me a traditional Japanese tea. I can ask about the box then.”

  Happy to find a subject to distract them from their current circumstance, Nora’s friends chatted about tea traditions across the globe. Instead of participating, she tuned them out. Something about Jack and his box struck her as unusual. Griffin Kingsley didn’t seem like the type of person who’d forget to post an auction. He was the type to pay close attention to every detail.

  Estella got up and tossed her coffee cup in the trash. When she sat back down, she took the chair next to Nora’s.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asked.

  “I was thinking about Virtual Genie,” Nora said. “Of that gorgeous main room. Of the Belgian chocolate, the iced chai, and the quotes from The Arabian Nights.”

  Estella dug around in her bag for a compact. “That reminds me to reapply my powder.” She opened the compact and showed it to Nora. “Sand Dune Shimmer.”

  Nora watched Estella dab powder on her smooth skin. Next, she refreshed her lipstick. It was the same shade of red as the fabric covering the walls of Virtual Genie.

  An illusion, Nora thought. Their décor is like the photoshopped image of a fashion model. It’s all smoke and mirrors. The appearance of luxury. Ali Baba’s exotic cave. Griffin said that they didn’t stay anywhere for long. He admitted that he and Tamara are travelers. Magic carpet riders.

  “Now what are you thinking?” Estella asked. “I can hear your gears turning.”

  “I was thinking about magicians and their use of misdirection.” Nora touched her friend’s bag. “Will you call Jack and ask him what happened with his box?”

  Estella wanted to know why, but Nora waved off her query. She couldn’t organize her thoughts into anything cohesive. She felt, without having concrete evidence for feeling the way she did, that Virtual Genie had played a part in recent events.

  The conversation between Estella and Jack was brief. When it was over, Estella wore a befuddled expression.

  “Tamara decided to delay his listing for a few days,” Estella said. “Apparently, other boxes similar to Jack’s were posted to sell and she didn’t want to saturate the market.”

  Nora was disappointed. She thought she’d been on the right track with Jack’s box, which was both valuable and portable. An easy thing to throw into one’s suitcase before hitting the road.

  “That makes sense,” she said.

  “Jack doesn’t agree. He checked out the auction sites she mentioned and none of the other boxes could hold a candle to his. If anything, they’d only make his look better. He called Tamara to complain and she promised to list it on Monday. She said that weekend listings don’t perform as well as weekday listings.”

  This sounded sketchy to Nora.

  “What’s he going to do?”

  Estella shrugged. “If the box isn’t listed first thing in the morning, then Jack’s going to march over to Virtual Genie, take back the box, and sell it himself. How hard can it be?”

  Nora thought this was a crucial question. Not all of Virtual Genie’s customers were inept with computers. Why didn’t they sell their items directly?

  “It’s the perception they’ve created,” Nora said, answering her own question aloud. “The whole purpose of their décor is to convey the message that they’re connoisseurs of luxury and wealth. People are influenced by Virtual Genie’s atmosphere the moment they step inside. They want to entrust their valuables to Griffin and Tamara. And if that’s true, why doesn’t Virtual Genie ever put down roots? Why do they keep moving?”

  “Where are you going?” Estella asked, for Nora had risen to her feet during her short monologue.

  “To ask the sheriff if Virtual Genie ever hung their shingle in Lubbock, Texas.”

  * * *

  McCabe looked as tired as Nora felt.

  “It’s not enough to distrust people,” he said after listening to Nora’s question. “We need evidence. I visited Virtual Genie. I reviewed their paperwork. They’re legit.”

  Nora couldn’t stop playing devil’s advocate. “Based on what? Their consignor contracts? What if the gleam in Griffin’s eyes when he saw that pocket watch was more than professional interest? Maybe he recognized it. Maybe he and Crane worked together in the past. Griffin could have stolen the three watch keys from Crane.”

  McCabe waved this suggestion off. “What good would the keys do him when we have the watch?”

  Nora was suddenly ashamed of herself. Was she trying to deflect blame from Abilene by placing it on other people? People whose focus had been helping townsfolk from the moment they’d opened for business.

  “You need to go home,” the sheriff said, curbing his annoyance. “Get some sleep. All of you. Ms. Tyler will be spending the night with us. There’s no way around that. She was found with the murder weapon and she knew the victim intimately.”

  “Intimately?” Nora’s anger flared. “Way to put a positive spin on Abilene’s imprisonment. A childhood marked with emotional and physical abuse! Is that how you define intimate? Until she came to Miracle Springs, that girl lived in Hell. And her only miracle is us. The four of us!” Nora pointed in the direction where her friends waited. “If we leave her alone now, she might never recover. She’s already fractured. She’s like a cracked egg. If someone doesn’t hold her together, she’s going to fall apart.”

  The sheriff held out his hands. “What do you want me to do? Put all of you in the cell with her?”

  Nora looked him in the eye and said, “Yes.”

  “This isn’t a hotel.” McCabe made it plain that he was losing patience.

  “Okay. I’ll commit a crime. That way, it’ll just be me. No need to book us a suite. How about assaulting an officer? Will that get me thrown in Abilene’s cell?”

  McCabe’s mouth twitched. “I would not advise that course of action. It’s been a long night and—”

  Nora slapped his cheek before he could finish.

  She immediately drew back, stunned by what she’d done.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She meant it. She liked Grant McCabe. He wasn’t the enemy. All her fear and anger had surged through her. It had taken over, just for a few seconds. But they’d been explosive seconds.

  With incredible self-control, the sheriff got to his feet and took hold of Nora’s arm. “All right. Have it your way.”

  As he marched her out of his office, Nora boldly suggested that someone in the department check to see if Virtual Genie had ever operated in or around Lubbock.

  McCabe didn’t reply. Nora could feel exasperation rolling off him in heated waves.

  He escorted her down a flight of stairs to the holding cells and left her standing in the hallway as he stepped into a small office and spoke with a stocky bald man in his late fifties. The office was crammed with papers, buttons, and screens displaying security-camera feeds. It was a jailor’s office.

  Nora felt a stab of panic. What the hell did I do?

  She had no time to reflect on her rash behavior, for the bald man exited his office, said good night to the sheriff, and grabbed Nora’s arm. Seeing the burn scars on the back of her hand, he immediately loosened his grip.

  “Did I hurt you?�
�� he asked, casting a worried look at her forearm.

  Nora was touched by his solicitousness. “No. They don’t hurt anymore.”

  Satisfied, the man walked her to a cell containing two sets of metal bunk beds. Abilene was curled up on the lower bunk. The rest of the beds were unoccupied.

  “These are our group accommodations,” the man said. “Blankets are folded at the end of the bed. Ms. Tyler was seen by our nurse before being turned over to me. I’m Sergeant Whitfield. I’ll be looking in on you.”

  The sergeant signaled for Nora to enter the cell. “Your personal items will be returned in the morning. The sheriff said you’re going home first thing tomorrow. For now, try to get some sleep.”

  “What about her?” Nora pointed at Abilene, who was curled in the fetal position with her face turned to the wall.

  The sergeant made it clear he wasn’t going to answer any questions, so Nora entered the cell and knelt beside the bony form on the lower bunk.

  “I’m here,” she whispered, and laid a hand on Abilene’s shoulder.

  Abilene flinched and rolled over.

  Nora pushed a strand of hair out of Abilene’s eyes. “I promised you wouldn’t be alone.”

  Without warning, Abilene grabbed Nora’s hand and pressed it flat against her chest, directly over her heart. It fluttered like a bird in a trap. Nora covered Abilene’s hands with her own and vowed to go to any length to comfort her young friend.

  “When I was little, my mom used to say that even the worst things look a little less horrible in the morning. The dark night is always followed by sunrise.”

  “Where is she?” Abilene whispered. “Your mom.”

  Nora reached for a blanket. After spreading it over Abilene, she grabbed the second blanket from the top bunk. “My guess is that she’s still where she was five years ago, but I couldn’t say for sure.”

  “You should find her,” Abilene said.

  Nora would never search for her parents or anyone else from her former life, but she couldn’t explain why the person she used to be was now gone. Abilene didn’t need to hear about more loss. She needed something to hold on to. Something to get her through the night. To get her to the next sunrise.