The Whispered Word

by Ellery Adams

  Nora stared at the gun barrel. She wasn’t taking in the fact that its dark maw meant the end of her life because she was too busy thinking of all the mistakes she’d made. Why had she zeroed in on Griffin as the killer and not Tamara? Then she remembered why she’d drawn such an erroneous conclusion—why she’d made a mistake that could cost her everything.

  “I thought Griffin was the killer,” she said.

  “Obviously.” Tamara rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t have come up here otherwise. I guess you’re one of those people with book smarts, but not street smarts. You thought I was Griffin’s sidekick. His assistant. His business partner with benefits. But I’m none of those things. Griffin is my partner. I brought him in on . . .” She trailed off, gave a shake of her head, and continued. “I’m disappointed in you, Nora. You run a business. You know that it takes grit for a woman to succeed in a male-dominated world. You should have recognized me as one of your own.”

  Nora gave a helpless shrug. “You played the assistant. You served tea and chocolates to your clients. Griffin would offer, but you did the waitressing part. He never served anyone.”

  “That was deliberate.” Tamara looked pleased by Nora’s observation. “People in small towns are more comfortable with traditional gender roles, especially when they’re entrusting their treasures to strangers. I hated making that stupid tea. I hated those silver trays. I hated having to let Griffin take the lead. Wouldn’t you?”

  Tamara’s indignation almost made Nora feel ashamed. Almost. But there were millions of women across the globe who’d been overlooked or undervalued at some point in their lives, and they didn’t use this as an excuse to commit murder. It seemed unwise to make this argument to Tara, however.

  “You’re right. I should have seen you as an equal,” Nora said. “To be completely honest, I assumed Griffin was behind the murders because I didn’t think a woman would be strong enough to push Kenneth Frye off the balcony of that tree-house cabin. I mean, the man was a monster.”

  “A monster-sized bastard.” Tamara’s mouth twisted in anger. The gun dipped a little. The barrel was now pointed at Nora’s belly. “He threatened me at the festival. He thought I was scared of him—that I was working for him and not the other way around. Stupid ass. He was a bully with mommy issues. The world is a better place without him.”

  Though Nora couldn’t argue with that, she wanted to keep Tamara talking. The longer Nora could stall her, the greater the chance someone would notice their absence. And it seemed like Tamara wanted to share her story.

  “I have no problem with the late-night flight you sent him on. I just don’t get how you did it. The strength it would have taken to move that mountain of a man . . .” She trailed off and splayed her hands as if begging for an explanation.

  Laughter bubbled out of Tamara’s throat. She was enjoying this. “You don’t need strength when you have booze. Frye was totally wrecked by the time he stepped out on that balcony. He’d spent hours downing every type of booze the festival had to offer. Can you imagine the combo of beer and ’shine swirling around in your stomach?” She shuddered. “I went out to the balcony first, claiming I needed fresh air. Then, I tricked him into leaning over the railing by telling him there was a bear down below. The man was a dumb ass. He actually thought I came to his cabin to show him what had been hidden in his mother’s book.”

  “Is that why he had two hotel rooms? The tree-house cabin was reserved for meetings with you?”

  “There was only one meeting,” Tamara said. “And he was never going to survive it. If he hadn’t gotten sloshed at the festival, I would have spiked a bottle of vodka with sedatives. No matter what, Frye was going to be a Humpty Dumpty. He was going to fall, he was going to break, and no one was going to put him back together again.”

  Despite the precariousness of her situation, Nora felt a small surge of excitement. She could finally learn the secret of the pocket watch.

  “Kenneth stood between you and the watch. You wanted that watch. Who was the original owner? Ezekiel Crane?”

  At the sound of his name, Tamara went rigid. “That bastard got what he deserved too. That man cheated me over and over again. Back when I was new to the business, I was naïve and trusting. I took jewelry, watches, and clocks to Crane in exchange for a commission. He underpaid me from the get-go.”

  “Were they stolen?” Nora asked. Bluntness was a risk, but she sensed that Tamara respected people who spoke their minds.

  Tamara’s eyes narrowed. “Just trinkets from estates. Stuff that old people loved but their kids didn’t know or care about. Most of the time, the family would take what they wanted and leave the rest for me to sell. It was hard work. Dirty work. Have you ever cleaned out a house where a ninety-year-old and her ten cats lived for decades? Or dealt with an apartment where an eighty-year-old bachelor had amassed a huge collection of butterflies and bugs? I deserved more than what I was paid, so I always kept a few things for myself. I took the things to Crane and we split the profits. I just didn’t know how uneven our split was.”

  “Maybe you should have charged your customers more,” Nora suggested flatly.

  Taking this remark in stride, Tamara shrugged. “Maybe. But I was a woman in a man’s line of work. In Texas. So I charged less to attract clients. Everything was peachy until Crane ruined me. He started a rumor that I was a crook.”

  “Because you accused him of keeping more than his share of the profits?” Nora guessed.

  “Bingo!” Tamara exclaimed. She gazed off into the middle distance and pressed her lips into a hard, thin line. She’d gone back to that time in her life when things had turned sour. She’d been forced to run, moving from town to town, constantly changing identities.

  Nora thought of the framed prints lining the walls of Virtual Genie. Maybe she could appeal to a softer side of Tamara by talking to her about books. “Are you the Arabian Nights fan?”

  Tamara pointed at her chest with her free hand. “Me? I can’t sit still long enough to read a book.”

  “You’ve been on the run. Just like Abilene,” Nora said, seizing on the comparison. “She didn’t hurt you, Tamara. She was mistreated by Crane far worse than you were. You’re going to let her rot away in prison after she spent her entire childhood locked up in that sicko’s basement? He was more of a monster than Kenneth Frye. If you truly believe in equality for women, then you won’t let the injustice continue.”

  Tamara gaped in astonishment. “What are you talking about? Abilene and Crane? How are they connected?”

  “He was her uncle,” Nora said. “That’s why she’s so good at watch and clock appraisals. She’s been doing it for years. In her uncle’s basement. Where she was locked up every single day.”

  Tamara looked like she might be sick. She lowered the gun to her side and stared at Nora. “I didn’t know. She just showed up, asking about the apartment. She said she could pay partially in cash and partially in labor. She knew her stuff and the deal suited us because we didn’t want to draw up a lease agreement.”

  “Because none of you are using your real names. Abilene included.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Tamara muttered.

  She seemed unaware of her gun and, for a second, Nora considered lunging for it. She studied the space between her and Tamara and knew she wouldn’t make it. There were no other weapons within reach. Nothing she could use to gain her freedom.

  “Don’t bother trying to get out of this,” Tamara said, raising her gun. “I’m sorry about Abilene, but I can’t help her. I have a train to catch. Your journey ends here, in that nasty bathtub. I’m sorry, but this is your own fault. You inserted yourself into this story. And it ends here.”

  Tamara waved Nora toward the bathroom, but Nora didn’t budge. If she walked into that bathroom, it would be the last place she’d ever see. Tamara would have her lie down in the tub so she could shoot her, close the door, and leave. She’d go downstairs, grab the watch, her laptop, and the valuables she planned to steal fro
m the people of Miracle Springs, and skip town.

  “Deputy Wilcox will hear the shot. You’ll be caught,” Nora said, feeling desperate now.

  Tamara scooped a pillow off the futon. “No, I won’t,” she said with chilling assurance.

  Nora raised her hands in surrender. “I’ll go, but would you please answer one more question? I need to know why the pocket watch is so important. I looked up the market value. Fifteen grand isn’t chump change, but it doesn’t seem worth the risk of committing three murders. I say three because I’m guessing you were responsible for Amanda Frye’s involuntary swim in the pond.”

  “She could have avoided that fate if she’d just told me where the watch was hidden. Dumb cow!” Tamara snapped, her anger flaring with fresh intensity. “Her death is on Ezekiel. I told him not to show himself to Amanda before I had a second go at getting her to trust me, but he didn’t listen. Of course he didn’t. He was going to screw me over. Again! He was going to find the watch himself. By the time I got to her place, she was already spooked because she’d seen Ezekiel.”

  Nora furrowed her brow in confusion. “They used to be lovers. Why should she be afraid? Did she steal his watch?”

  Tamara smiled. “Not on purpose! She wanted something that belonged to him—something to remember him by after she moved away. Her Romeo next door. I mean, the two of them didn’t even kiss. Not once! Theirs was a love affair of words,” Tamara said with contempt. “She told me that she grabbed one of his books as a keepsake. He’d left it in the garden and she swiped it. By the time he realized it was gone, she was headed for her new life in Miracle Springs. I have no idea why he didn’t try to get it back before now.”

  Nora could picture Amanda hiding in the bathroom of her house in Miracle Springs. In that space, she could take out Ezekiel’s book and reminisce. How stunned she must have been to open the cover and discover the watch. How long had it taken her to tell Ezekiel about it? Had he asked her to mail it back? Demanded its return? Had his letters turned cold and harsh, shattering the lovely fantasy that had once defined their relationship?

  “Crane couldn’t travel to Miracle Springs to reclaim the watch,” Nora told Tamara. “Because of Abilene. He lived in fear of her escaping and telling the world how he’d kept her prisoner.”

  Tamara took this in. “It seems like a helluva long time to wait.”

  Nora was irritated that she’d given up information without getting the answer she wanted, but she tried to stay calm. She really did need to know why the watch was so special. Why was it more valuable than three human lives, regardless of how flawed those lives were?

  “Amanda didn’t return it and she didn’t sell it. Even though she was nearly penniless when she died, she still had that pocket watch.” Nora imagined Amanda in her backyard, the dresses on the clothesline riffling in the summer breeze. “When she saw Ezekiel on her property, she knew he’d come for the watch. Anything they’d once shared was gone and she knew he was to be feared. She was outside with Abilene when she saw him. That must be how things played out because she gave Abilene one of her dresses and whispered a single word.”

  “Which was?” Tamara asked. She’d lowered her pistol again, utterly entranced by the picture Nora was painting.

  Nora cupped her hands around her mouth. Injecting urgency into her voice, she used a stage whisper to heighten the drama and said, “Run.”

  As if compelled by an instinct more powerful than logic, Tamara did exactly as Amanda must have done. She glanced back over her shoulder, looking for the threat.

  In Tamara’s case, the threat wasn’t behind her. It was in front of her.

  Nora reacted without hesitation. She sprang at Tamara and kicked her gun hand with all the force she could muster.

  Tamara’s head whipped around and she cried out in pain and surprise.

  But she didn’t drop the gun.

  She was raising her right hand to take aim when Nora crashed into her.

  Tamara fell backward and struck the floor. The gun skittered several feet away. Tamara twisted violently to the side, reaching for the weapon, but Nora drove her fist into her face. There was a crunching noise as Nora’s knuckles met Tamara’s nose.

  Tamara shrieked with rage and brought her hands up to Nora’s face. Her fingernails bit into the burn scars on Nora’s cheek and her shriek became a growl as she raked her nails through Nora’s skin.

  The pain ripped through Nora. It felt like dozens of white-hot needles had pierced her cheek. For several seconds she couldn’t breathe, and she desperately tried to shove Tamara away.

  Nora couldn’t escape the pain, so she used it to channel her anger. Anger gave her strength.

  She struck out with her fist again. Her vision was clouded by unshed tears, so she didn’t know where the blow landed, but Tamara grunted in surprise. She then plunged her nails into Nora’s damaged cheek for a second time.

  The agony nearly blinded Nora.

  She sensed Tamara scrambling for the gun. She heard furious cursing and felt Tamara squirming out from under her. If Nora didn’t stop her, it would be all over.

  Fight! an internal voice screamed at Nora. Get the gun!

  For the second time, she hurled herself at Tamara. On the floor, the two women kicked and punched and clawed at each other until, as if from some great distance, Nora heard shouting from the stairwell.

  Time seemed to stop. There was an unreal stillness surrounding them. The room became charged, like the breathless moment preceding a lightning strike.

  The feeling of being outside of time didn’t last. There was a loud crack and a splintering of wood. The door to the landing burst open. Nora could feel a whisper of cool air waft over her.

  “Freeze!” a voice boomed.

  Sheriff McCabe’s voice.

  Nora blinked hard, squeezing the water out of her eyes until she could focus on a black boot.

  The boot kicked Tamara’s pistol to the other end of the kitchen.

  “Stay on the ground!” McCabe commanded. “Don’t move!”

  Nora scooted away from Tamara and slowly, gingerly, sat back on her heels.

  Uniformed men and women flowed into the room. Nora watched them crowd around Tamara, too dazed to react.

  Something tickled her chin and Nora wiped away a droplet of blood. Foolishly, she then touched her cheek with her fingertips. Nausea immediately roiled in her belly and she lowered her head and pulled in a deep breath of oxygen to stop herself from being sick.

  McCabe was suddenly kneeling at her side, his hand under her elbow. “Steady. Steady now.”

  He barked at someone to get the paramedics. This was followed by other orders, but Nora couldn’t process them.

  When the twisting in her gut had ceased, she sat up again.

  Tamara was being hauled to her feet. She hissed and spit like a cornered cat. Before Deputies Wilcox and Fuentes could remove her from the apartment, she turned to Nora and said, “Of all the towns and all the people, I can’t believe you took me down. But better you than an Ezekiel. Or a Kenneth Frye.” She tilted her head so that her cheek touched her shoulder. “Your face is pretty bad. Looks like I gave you something to remember me by. It’s no pocket watch, but that didn’t work out too well for Amanda, did it?”

  Deputy Wilcox had heard enough. She put a hand on Tamara’s back and pushed her toward the doorway.

  “Wait!” Nora called. Shouting sent a bolt of pain through her cheek, but she tried to push the feeling aside. “Who are you, really?” she asked Tamara.

  “Tara Liebold.” She seemed pleased by the question. “I’ve also been Mary, Mare, Moira, Aria, and Tamara. I have no idea who I really am anymore. Does anyone?”

  With that, the woman who’d committed three murders was taken away.

  When the paramedics entered, Nora was both disappointed and relieved that Jed wasn’t one of them. She was disappointed because he’d make her feel better with a word or a smile. She was relieved because she disliked being a damsel in distress.
Besides, how could she explain that her pride smarted as much her cheek? She’d been so shortsighted.

  “You’ll need stitches,” the male paramedic said as he gently pressed a bandage over Nora’s cheek. “From a skilled hand.”

  He went on to say that he could recommend a plastic surgeon, but Nora wasn’t listening.

  When the paramedic was finished, Sheriff McCabe helped Nora to her feet.

  “Deputy Andrews will drive you to the hospital,” he said and insisted on holding her arm down the stairs and through the back exit. “On the way, you can tell him what happened. If you’re up for it, just give him a sketch. I’m sure it hurts to talk. And if it hurts too much, tell him later.”

  “The watch?” Nora asked and winced. Talking hurt like hell. “Did Griffin have the keys?”

  McCabe shook his head. “Let’s hope his partner does.”

  After giving her arm a slight squeeze, the sheriff handed her over to Deputy Andrews. “Don’t leave her side,” he told his deputy. “Make sure she’s given the very best care. Understood?”

  Andrews stood a little taller. “I will, sir,” he promised.

  Nora watched Sheriff McCabe walk away.

  Miracle Springs hit the jackpot with him, she thought. It might be the only thing that’s gone right for this town lately.

  “I have bottled water,” Andrews said after pulling out of the lot. “Do you need anything else? Food? Coffee?”

  “No. I just want to get the hospital bit over with.”

  As Andrews drove past Miracle Books, Nora glanced at the bold letters of the CLOSED sign. Normally, she’d be upset over losing a day’s worth of sales, but not today. She was thinking of another sign—the HELP WANTED sign she’d recently taped to the window. If Abilene had never seen that sign, if she’d never taken it down and pressed it to her chest like a teddy bear, where would she be now?

  Nora’s phone buzzed inside her handbag. She’d turned the volume off before entering Virtual Genie and saw that she’d missed calls from the members of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society. This call, however, was from Jed.