Wordless (Pink Sofa Secrets Book 1)

by Mel Sterling

  "So do I." Jack headed for his usual table, the smirking grin huge on his face.

  She started to call after him that it wasn't good for her to start the work day all worked up, but she knew he would only grin wider, so she tried to calm her rapid breathing and racing pulse. The tea didn't help—it was still too hot to drink, though it smelled wonderful, floral and sweet with a dark tannic bite running underneath.

  Sales were slow that morning. Lexie had time to do some of the store's bookkeeping between customers. She was just filing the bank statement in the back room when the bell over the front door rang, and she hurried out, pushing the file drawer closed with a soft clunk. Horace's wooden cabinets were as wonderful as the tall old bookcases. Ben undoubtedly knew what sort of polish or wax Horace had used on everything. So far, she'd only dusted with the lamb's wool duster on its long, flexible stick, but all that wood needed regular care to keep it clean and healthy.

  Coming through the door was a group of people, two men in suits, and two men and a woman in buttoned-down shirts and khakis. A fifth man loitered outside the bookstore, hands in his pockets, scanning up and down the sidewalk. For a moment, Lexie read their body language as "salesmen"—they weren't looking at the books, they wanted to connect with a person. Salespeople always made eye contact right away, and a beeline toward the desk instead of wandering in and checking out the shelves. They didn't travel in large groups, though, never more than two at a time.

  Jack got to his feet at his table, coming around it quickly to get between the men and the desk, his back to her, and she suddenly read the body language of the six people completely differently. They had business with her, and it wasn't necessarily good.

  "Alexia Worth?" inquired the man in the lead, ignoring Jack. He had a bit of a paunch beneath his single-button suit coat, but his shoulders were broad and his hands large, with big knuckles. He carried a big white envelope at his side between two fingers. His more-salt-than-pepper hair was parted on the far left of his head and combed over a thinning spot on top.

  Jack tossed a quick look over his shoulder at her. She wasn't sure how to interpret the glance, but she saw no point in dissimulating, so she nodded. "I'm Alexia. How can I help you?" She remained behind the tall desk.

  The man fished in his breast pocket and pulled out a badge wallet. He flipped it open to reveal official-looking photo identification. "I am Postal Inspector Richard Hazelton." He gestured to his left, where a second man, also in a suit, was just tucking a pair of night-dark sunglasses into his breast pocket. "This is Agent Neil Kastner, with the FBI."

  "Wh-what?" Even though she had clearly heard the words, Lexie found it difficult to process them. "The FBI?"

  "And the United States Postal Service," said Agent Kastner. He was younger than Hazelton, more fit, looking like he'd just come from a television studio. His jaw, cheekbones and nose were diamond-cut, and his hair was an immaculate brown swoop over his brow. She couldn't see what color his eyes were, because he kept them narrowed as he peered down his nose.

  "The Post Office has…cops?" Lexie felt an inappropriate urge to giggle. Mail cops? Was there such a thing?

  Inspector Hazelton's brows drew down. "This is no laughing matter, Ms. Worth." The white envelope flashed up. An official-looking seal was embossed upon it, but Lexie could not read it from several feet away, though her head tilted in reflex. "This is a warrant granting me permission to search your place of business for stolen financial information."

  Agent Kastner's slitted gaze flicked to Jack, who hadn't moved from his position in front of the counter. "Who are you?"

  "Jack Tucker," Jack said, without hesitation.

  "You're an employee of this business?"

  "Yes."

  Lexie's face was scrunched from trying to process "permission to search your place of business," so her astonishment at Jack's blatant lie didn't particularly change her expression. She turned her head slowly towards Jack, who stood with his back to her. His left hand was behind his back now, making a small, chopping gesture that seemed to tell her "say nothing." How was it that Jack was so fast on his feet? What did he see that she was missing? She drew herself up and took a deep breath.

  "There must be some mistake," she said. "You say you have a warrant to search my bookstore."

  "Yes ma'am." Hazelton nodded, as did Kastner.

  "I would like to see it, please." She held out her hand, astonished when it didn't tremble. She fought a nervous urge to clear her throat.

  Hazelton stepped forward, with a wary look at Jack. Kastner stared right at Jack, holding his gaze. Behind the two officers, the other three simply stood, blocking the front door with the assistance of the remaining man outside on the sidewalk. He laid the white envelope on the counter in easy reach. What she'd thought was an embossed seal turned out to be just a printed image. The paper inside was surprisingly informal, with a hand-written case number and rubber-stamped date, judge's name, and court address.

  She saw herself and Horace's Books named in the upper left corner, with her date of birth and her Social Security Number.

  Suddenly things got real, and Lexie's mouth felt loose and uncontrolled, as if she might lose the power to form words with her lips. She pressed them into a tight line, but still they twitched and squirmed, and her chin wobbled. Jack was there. Lexie hadn't seen him move, but he was right beside her, his ribcage against her shoulder to provide stability, and a hand at the back of her waist.

  "Mind if I read over your shoulder?" he asked her in a low voice, and she shook her head, then nodded, unsure of how to communicate her agreement.

  If her personal information at the top of the form was a slap to the face, the paragraph detailing the search criteria was a roundhouse kick to her solar plexus. Jack's hand moved to curve at her side and keep her standing. The agents were being directed by some Federal judge in the state capital to search for "evidence of consolidated financial reporting, receipts, data, files, digital devices, books, paperwork, ledgers, etc., not germane to the business conducted in or by Horace's Books, in any and all formats, including written, electronic, or otherwise recorded."

  It made no sense. Her breathing, already quickened, began to labor.

  "What. Is this." The paper shook in her trembling hand. "I don't understand."

  Hazelton motioned to one of the men standing at the door. The man came forward and placed a book on the counter. "Do you recognize this book?" Hazelton asked, staring steely-eyed at Lexie.

  It was a title, or its twin, that she had mailed from the store last week—a fat copy of Proust's Remembrance of Things Past. She looked up at Jack. "Do I need a lawyer?" The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to unsay them. They were, at the very least, an expression of weakness, and at the worst, an admission of guilt.

  She felt tears well up at his gentle expression, but his hand tightened at her waist and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop them. "The warrant gives them permission to search. It's not an arrest warrant."

  "That's my name at the top."

  "It's not an arrest warrant," he repeated. "Probably best to let them search. We—" he emphasized, and she remembered he'd lied about being her employee, "—have nothing to hide."

  Agent Kastner's lips quirked in a jaded, seen-it-all-before smirk. His expression lit a fire of outrage in Lexie, and she pointed a finger at the agent. "There's no need to look smug, sir. We don't have anything to hide, even though I can't imagine why on earth you're here." She looked at Inspector Hazelton, the postal policeman. "What happens if I refuse?"

  Inspector Hazelton leaned on the counter and stared straight into her eyes. "Asking your permission is a courtesy, Ms. Worth. That document gives me all the permission I need. It would be best if you let us get on with our job. Now. I repeat. Do you recognize this book?"

  "I don't see anything on that paper that requires me to answer your questions."

  Agent Kastner, still smiling smugly, crossed his arms and widened his stance. "Are you pla
nning on obstructing our investigation, Ms. Worth?"

  "It'll be all right," Jack murmured into her ear.

  "I still have no idea what they think they're looking for! What do they think they're going to find? What do they think we've done? It makes no sense!"

  "For the last time. Have you seen this book before?" Hazelton's hand came down with a smack on the cover of the book.

  She knew she couldn't delay responding any longer. If she wasn't mistaken, this was the book she had mailed—or, rather, tried to mail—to H. Barczak last week, the first one that had been stolen from her foyer at home. Her mind rabbited into a tailspin. She knew Jack was thinking the same thing as she when his fingers bit into her waist. She tried to school her face. How did all of this fit together? Nothing made any sense. She needed time to think all this through, paper and pencil to make a list and a timeline of these crazy events, but Hazelton and Kastner were watching her too closely.

  Lexie bit her lip. "I mailed it—or one like it—to a customer last week, I think. I'd have to check my records to know for certain, but it looks familiar. I think we have another copy of that same edition on our shelves, over there." She pointed. "If it came from our store, we'd have sent it out with a receipt tucked inside."

  "Like this?" Hazelton opened the front cover, and there it was: the packing slip with Horace's Books' logo at the top in a trim, clean font, printed on an image of an open book, shaped a bit like a bird flying. Books could take you anywhere…

  "…just like that," Lexie said, slowly. "I don't understand. Did it get misdelivered? Why would the FBI care about mail that's gone astray—"

  "I need to see the other copy of this book that you have."

  It only took a few seconds to locate the book and bring it back to the desk. Jack hadn't moved, and Lexie was comforted by his nearness. Hazelton took the book from her and compared it with the copy he'd brought in. His lips pursed, but he said nothing as he examined the new copy, opening the covers, peering down the spine as if he expected to find something there. Lexie bent, peering up the spine from the other direction. Hazelton gave her a stern look and put the second book on top of the first. She had seen nothing but daylight, and the blink of Hazelton's eye, up the book's hollow spine.

  Hazelton turned to Agent Kastner. "Have your team bring in the equipment, and lock the door." To Lexie, he said, "You'll be closing early today. I need your keys so we can secure the premises. Your customers will have to come another day. Are there other doors?"

  No please. No thank you. No apologies or other courtesies, just commands.

  Lexie was cold all the way to her core. Something was very wrong here. "Two. The connecting door to the coffee shop next door, and one to the back alley." She fished in her pocket and pulled out the bookstore keys—doors, cash register, file cabinets, the locking employee cupboard in the back room.

  Kastner nodded his head at the woman team member, tossing her the keys. Another agent nodded to the man standing outside the front door, who waved to someone out of sight down the street. A moment later a nondescript blue van pulled up. The three men went to open the back of the van and start unloading equipment.

  "If you'll both have a seat over there," Hazelton said smoothly. "Just let us tend to our jobs, and we'll be out of your way as soon as we can." He gestured to Jack's regular table.

  Lexie couldn't seem to get her feet moving. Her eyes followed the agents who were bringing in equipment on carts from the van outside, and the female agent who emerged from the back room and said, "Clear," to Agent Kastner.

  Jack ushered her out of the cash register area, his arm snugly around her waist. Lexie's mind, still groping for reality, handed her a pointless and silly idea to focus on. "You're supposed to be my employee," she hissed. "I don't think you should be holding me like this."

  He murmured to her out of the side of his mouth. "Will you give this PDA nonsense a rest? Nobody's paying attention to that right now." In only a moment or two he had sat her in his favorite chair in the open mic space, and dragged another one from a nearby table so they both had a clear view of what was happening in the store. He slid his tablet in front of him and closed all the applications, then turned the device off completely. Agent Kastner's chin went up as he saw Jack's movements.

  "We'll take that," Kastner said, holding out his hand.

  "You won't," Jack responded. "It's my personal device. You have a warrant to search the bookstore, not my personal possessions. Or hers. I'm just helping you draw that line clearly."

  "What are you, a bookselling attorney?" Kastner joked.

  "No, just a concerned and well-informed citizen."

  Kastner narrowed his eyes at them, coming to lean on his fists at their table. "So long as you're a citizen who's also well-informed on the difference between obstruction and so-called concern."

  "Then we're in agreement." Jack sat back in his chair, legs sprawled in supreme disregard of the agent intimidating them. Lexie drew in a long, slow breath that became a gasp when she saw one of the agents sitting at the cash register desk and plugging equipment into the store computer.

  "Relax," Kastner said, even as she started to rise. Jack's hand curved over her shoulder and kept her in her seat. "We're just going to make a copy of your hard drive." When Lexie started to sputter in rage and frustrated fury, Kastner spoke again, very softly. "You can stay here while we search as long as you behave yourself. Me, personally, I'm just waiting for you to do something that lets me put you on the other side of that door. This store's in the center of literally millions of dollars of stolen funds, and I'm dying to find the proof right here. I'm betting I do."

  A cold, hard lump formed in her chest, despite her shaking hands. Lexie got control of herself. "I'm betting you don't, Agent Kastner. Now if someone would give me a piece of paper and a pen, I'd like to take down all your badge numbers and names and the names and telephone numbers of your superior officers. For my records, you understand."

  From the center of the store, Inspector Hazelton gave a snort. "Oh, we understand, Ms. Worth. Believe it."

  It was Lexie's tense silence that disturbed Jack the most. She sat rigid in her chair next to him, fingers interlaced on top of the piece of paper on which she'd written all the agents' names and badge numbers. Her knuckles were white, and every time she heard a book slap to the floor, pages fluttering as it fell, she flinched. Jack slid his chair closer, so he could press his thigh along Lexie's, and provide what human comfort she would allow. This time she didn't hiss at him about public displays of affection in the store.

  Periodically she scribbled another note, things she would have to do after the searchers had gone. Find a lawyer, what about Horace's estate lawyer? Call the police? File complaint with FBI, or even post office? Call insurance agent!! Book Ben for overtime hours. Locate book repair supplies back room. Find camera at home. Check computer files, inventory database. In a separate column, she listed the searchers' activities, who was doing what in which section of the store, and any egregious carelessness she observed. At one point she wrote, very slowly in dark block letters, "BARCZAK," and underlined it twice.

  Jack read over her shoulder. He itched to wake his tablet and use its little camera to record the searchers' activities, but he knew that would only aggravate the situation. Documentation would certainly come in handy later, but his gut told him not to tip his hand. He was lucky none of the agents had recognized him from his appearances on broadcast television and the internet video muckraking he'd done. Part of that was because he'd given them the name he used when he was not working in his journalistic capacity. If he'd announced himself as John T. Jarvis, he'd have been outside the store, likely landing on his ass, in seconds.

  After two hours, the sales floor looked as if an extremely localized earthquake or pocket tornado had struck. Books lay everywhere, some fallen open, pages bent and creased, others stacked in teetering, perilous piles as high as his hip. Every book in the store had its pages riffled, then it was brought to a cart
with a machine resembling a photocopier. The agents lay the books in singles or pairs on its surface, turning them to be sure the text blocks, and particularly the spines, were in contact with the smooth surface. Rarely did the agents return a group of books to the bookcase they'd come from. Mostly they stacked the books wherever there was room on the floor. No one made much of an effort to be careful. The only order Jack could see to the search was that the agents had started at the front of the store and were systematically clearing the shelves, one by one, front to back.

  The machine was obviously a detector. They were hunting for something they thought was imbedded in a book. Jack figured it couldn't be any larger than an anti-theft device or data chip, not even as large as most flash drives. The machine probably detected radio frequencies. Horace's Books didn't have devices to detect stolen books at the door, therefore no RFID tags were tucked in the inventory. Their absence made the agents' work go swiftly, but even so, the process seemed to take forever. As far as Jack could tell, in two hours, they hadn't found a single book of interest, beyond the title Hazelton had requested at the start. Nothing had been set aside, nothing had been searched in more detail.

  Millions in stolen funds. Jack squinted in concentration. It had to be financial data the FBI was seeking, but it made no sense to search here at Horace's Books, unless the store was a dead drop of some sort. Millions.

  The agent working at the store computer had sat down at one of the tables in the community space with a laptop computer and plugged a small portable drive into it. He stared at the screen and occasionally joggled the mouse, clicking. His face was mostly unreadable. Like the other agents, he gave no sign that he'd found anything worthwhile.

  "Please take more care with our inventory," Lexie begged more than once. "We would like our new stock to still be new even after you're finished…doing whatever you're doing to it."

  Inspector Hazelton looked at her when she spoke, but Kastner simply stood in a wide stance, arms crossed, watching his agents as they worked. Jack pondered them, wondering which one was the boss of this investigation. The Feds were involved because whatever was going on involved the mail, and cross-state jurisdictions. Kastner seemed to be playing bad cop, but Hazelton had an edge Jack mistrusted. He couldn't quite read it.