Murder in the Locked Library

by Ellery Adams

  Louisa May Alcott—Light Roast

  Dante Alighieri—Decaf

  The Wilkie Collins—Cappuccino

  Jack London—Latte

  Agatha ChrisTEA—Earl Grey

  Nora turned away. She didn’t want to embarrass the girl by gawking at her while she tried to process the menu. Instead, she searched for the perfect coffee cup for her guest.

  The majority of Nora’s mugs, which were purchased at yard sales or flea markets, bore book-related sayings or humorous one-liners. Glancing at her collection, she decided that none of them were a good fit for this girl. She wished she had one of her handmade pottery mugs covered with a thick cobalt glaze from home, especially since the girl seemed to have an affinity for blue. Nora could give her one of the mugs she kept for when children asked for hot chocolate, but Cookie Monster, Batman, Snoopy, or Harry Potter cups didn’t feel right either.

  Nora selected a white mug with a donut covered in pink icing and rainbow sprinkles. The donut was flanked by the words, I to the left and CARE to the right. Giving the girl a questioning look, Nora wished, for the first time, that she owned an innocuous kitten or puppy mug.

  “Anything tempt you?”

  “A latte would be great, thanks.”

  Nora nodded and moved behind the espresso machine to make the drink. She hadn’t asked the girl if she wanted sugar or special milk because she didn’t make a habit of giving her customers too many choices. If they wanted sugar, they could stir it in themselves. If they wanted soy, almond, or coconut milk, they were out of luck. Nora didn’t stock a range of items. She was neither a Starbucks nor a grocery store. Her espresso machine was a refurnished model that ran on a wing and a prayer, and Nora was always relieved when her customers stuck to a standard cup of coffee or herbal tea.

  “What’s your name?” Nora casually inquired over the hiss and sputter of the machine. She’d already made the espresso and was now frothing the milk for the girl’s latte.

  There was no answer, so Nora finished preparing the latte. When she was done, she set down the donut mug next to the dish of food.

  The girl kept her eyes fixed on the offerings. “It’s . . . Abilene. My name’s Abilene.”

  Given the slight pause, Nora wondered if the girl had just made up a name. But if she had, it didn’t matter to Nora. She would call the girl whatever name she wanted to be called.

  “That’s a pretty name.” She gave the girl a friendly smile. “I don’t like it when people watch me eat, so why don’t you grab a seat and enjoy your food? I’m going to head to the front and take care of things I need to do before opening for the day. I don’t need to mess with the window display, thanks to you. I won’t want to change that for months. It’s really amazing.”

  Abilene returned Nora’s smile with a small, shy smile of her own. “Thanks.”

  Later, Nora was behind the checkout counter, circling promising yard sale ads in the paper when Abilene silently appeared. “Thanks for the food. The bread and berries were really good. And thanks for letting me stay last night. I’ll show myself out.”

  She turned toward the front door.

  Nora knew the girl couldn’t show herself out because the door was locked and the heavy brass skeleton key was inside the cash register. As she watched Abilene and tried to decide what to do about the young woman so clearly in need of help, something occurred that would keep her from leaving Miracle Books anytime soon.

  Without warning, the rubber strap on Abilene’s left flip-flop snapped, causing her to lose her balance. She pitched forward, colliding with a floor spinner stuffed with paperbacks. The display was made of acrylic, and Nora gasped in dismay as an entire side gave way in a series of violent cracks. Abilene cried out in pain.

  Nora dropped to her knees beside the girl who was cradling her right hand with her left. She tried to hide the blood seeping from between her fingers and the tear tracks wetting her cheeks, but failed.

  “Don’t move,” Nora ordered and ran to get a dishtowel from the back.

  When she returned to Abilene, the girl refused to let her look at her hand.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted stubbornly.

  Nora scowled at her. “Bullshit. You’re bleeding all over my floor. Come on. I need to see it.”

  Averting her gaze, Abilene offered Nora her injured hand.

  Gently, Nora pried away the girl’s fingers. Blood immediately welled from a deep gash across her palm. It was deep enough to require sutures. This was not a wound that would heal on its own.

  “You need stitches,” Nora said, balling up the towel and pressing it against Abilene’s palm.

  The girl drew back so abruptly that she nearly knocked Nora over. “No. I’m fine.”

  Nora realized that there was no way she’d get Abilene to an urgent care center or doctor’s office. “Listen. I have a friend who can patch you up. He won’t tell anyone about you. I’m going to call him. You’re going to stay with me today. No arguments. You’re going to rest and eat. No one will ask you questions. And if they do, you don’t have to answer them.”

  Abilene shook her head and Nora feared that the girl would bolt the second she turned her back. She’d have to find another way to coerce her into staying put, which wouldn’t be easy. It was obvious that Abilene was incredibly on edge.

  Why? Nora silently wondered as she held the girl’s hand. What happened to you?

  “Look, Abilene.” Nora adopted the firm, no-nonsense tone she’d employed during her previous life as a librarian. Pretending that Abilene was an unruly high school student, she said, “You broke my spinner and you’ve made a mess that needs to be cleaned up before I open at ten. The way I see it, you have two choices. You can run out through the back exit, leaving a trail of blood, and pass out in some field a few miles away. Your left foot will be wrecked because you have only one shoe that clearly doesn’t fit. But what happens to your foot doesn’t matter because your hand will likely get infected and you’ll run a fever. Whoever finds you will call for an ambulance. Or they’ll call the police. Is that what you want?”

  Abilene refused to answer.

  “Your other option is to let my friend patch you up. You can regain your strength, change into clothes that actually fit, and do a few light chores for me to earn your keep.” Nora cocked her head. “Do you like books?”

  Judging by the window display, the girl most certainly did, but Nora wanted to see if her question would elicit a response. It did.

  Abilene whipped her head around. Her eyes were lit with twin sparks. Not the sparks of enthusiasm, but of anger.

  “I love them,” she declared in a voice that was almost loud.

  Nora was relieved by this evidence of Abilene’s passion. Whatever else the girl was, she wasn’t weak. There was a layer of steel under that translucent skin. And Nora guessed it was strength that had carried Abilene this far. From wherever it was that she had come.

  “I love books too,” Nora whispered reverently to the girl. “In fact, they saved my life.” She held Abilene’s gaze. “So believe me when I tell you that this is a safe place for you. Here, among the books. With me, a woman who was rescued by them.”

  Abilene glanced around the shop and Nora recognized the girl’s expression of longing. How long had she been running? Who was she afraid of, and was Nora being a fool for inviting more danger into her quiet world? After all, she’d just risked life and limb for a complete stranger and had vowed never to repeat such ridiculous behavior. She’d barely been released from the hospital and yet, here she was, offering shelter to a young woman who was undoubtedly being hunted. But by whom?

  The thoughts churning around in Nora’s head were interrupted by a buzzing noise outside the bookstore. Putting the towel in Abilene’s left hand and forcing her to press it against the wound on her right palm, Nora stood and walked over to peer out the glass panel over the front door. What she saw made her breath catch in surprise.

  A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. The faces of men, w
omen, and children were all turned toward the display window of Miracle Books. This collection of locals and out-of-towners were pointing, smiling, and snapping pictures of Abilene’s creation with their cell phones.

  Nora looked at her watch. It was nine-thirty, which meant the trolley from Miracle Lodge had arrived early and delivered Nora’s favorite kind of customers: the wealthy kind.

  “There’s a group of people out there admiring your work,” Nora told Abilene. “You see? I’m not the only one who thinks it’s beautiful.”

  The compliment brought a rush of color to Abilene’s cheeks and she seemed to glow with delight. The reaction was so powerful that Nora could see that the girl was unaccustomed to being praised.

  “So? Should we see to that hand?”

  After a brief hesitation, Abilene reached out with her index finger and held it over Nora’s pinkie knuckle—over the empty space where the rest of her finger should have been, but wasn’t.

  “Did the books save you? After you were burned?” she asked in a timid whisper.

  Nora snatched her hand away. “We all have a story. We all have secrets. But we don’t have to share them. Not with everyone.”

  Someone knocked on the front door and Abilene gave a start.

  Since Nora didn’t recognize the man, she ignored him. He’d have to wait until she opened at ten.

  “How did it get so late so soon?” she muttered to herself. Abilene’s indecision was making her irritable. Not only did she have things to do, but she was also annoyed with herself for welcoming this strange girl in the first place.

  “I like his poems too,” Abilene said. “You were quoting Dr. Seuss, weren’t you?”

  When Nora gaped at her in surprise, the girl responded with a smile.

  Finally, Abilene got to her feet and said, “Yes. I’d like to stay. For a little while, if I can. Here with you. And the books. These wonderful, wonderful books.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  New York Times bestselling author ELLERY ADAMS has written over thirty novels and can’t imagine spending a day away from the keyboard. Ms. Adams, a Native New Yorker, has had a lifelong love affair with stories, food, rescue animals, and large bodies of water. When not working on her next novel, she bakes, gardens, spoils her three cats, and wastes far too much time on Pinterest. She lives with her husband and two children (aka the Trolls) in North Carolina. For more information, please visit www.elleryadamsmysteries.com.