The Book of Secrets

by Melissa McShane

  “I know,” I said, though I’d been wondering. “I’m surprised anyone ever finds anything worth reading in here. It seems unlikely.”

  “You never know where an interesting book will turn up.” He accepted the two books from me; they’d turned out to have prices written in pencil inside the front cover. “I’m Ross Dunlop, by the way. Nathaniel was a good friend of mine.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks. It’s… I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s hard seeing you behind the counter.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s a real tragedy. This store was his life. He must have seen something remarkable in you, to turn it over to you.”

  Our other criteria won’t matter to you, Mr. Briggs had said. For the first time since his death, I wondered what he’d meant. I also wondered why I hadn’t spoken to more grieving friends. Or relatives—

  “Did Mr. Briggs have family?” I asked.

  “No. He never married, and he was an only child.” Dunlop straightened his hat. “Good luck to you. I’m sure that custodian’s book is a real blessing.”

  I nodded and closed the cash register, making its bell chime. Apparently, I was the only person who didn’t know about the custodian’s book. My search of the office, cut short by the arrival of more customers, hadn’t turned anything up. It was probably somewhere in the basement.

  I glanced up as the door opened again, smiling to cover my frustration. I would have to come in early tomorrow morning, or stay late tonight, and I still hadn’t addressed the catalogues. How had Mr. Briggs managed without an assistant? Though, granted, he probably hadn’t been as popular as the mysterious new custodian seemed to be.

  I did one more augury before six o’clock. I felt more confident than I had with Campbell waiting by the front door that morning. By then, the hordes of people had mostly dwindled away, and I was able to take the final augury payment—a tube of sanguinis sapiens and an envelope full of twenties—to the basement.

  I put the tube into C134 with the others, then stepped back to regard the room. Where would Mr. Briggs have put something as important as an instruction manual for an oracular bookstore? That was probably the wrong question. He knew enough about the store not to need to consult the manual for every little thing. So it wasn’t likely to be somewhere obvious and accessible.

  Distantly, I heard the door open and close. I checked my phone—just after six o’clock. Hadn’t I locked the front door? I trudged up the stairs, wishing my feet didn’t ache so much. Last customer, then I’d search the basement for real.

  There was no one waiting by the front door when I arrived. I cursed silently, then called out, “I’m sorry, but I have to close up now. You can come back tomorrow.”

  No answer. No movement. The lights seemed faded, insufficient illumination now that the sun had set. I rubbed my arms against the sudden chill in the air and headed toward the office, cursing silently. I hadn’t heard the door again, so unless someone had just stuck their head in and changed their mind about entering, that person was still in the store. “Hello?”

  I came around a corner and had to stifle a shriek, because I’d nearly run into someone. She was tall and thin, with a sort of pale elven beauty, and without thinking I checked her ears. Well, I didn’t know if elves were real. I was willing to believe pretty much anything at that point. But she seemed as human as me, if more fashion-model-like. She was dressed entirely in white, down to the long parka trimmed with, I was certain, real ermine. Her pale lips, frost-kissed, drew up into a silent O of surprise, but otherwise she didn’t react to my sudden appearance.

  “Can I help you with something?” I said. “Only we’re closed now.”

  “I don’t need anything from the store.” She adjusted the silver-shot white scarf around her neck, and light reflected off her ring, the biggest diamond I’d ever seen outside fashion magazines. “It’s something Mr. Briggs was holding for me. I’d like it back.”

  “Um… sure. What was it?”

  “Some papers. I’m sure they’re in the office. I’ll show you which ones.”

  “I haven’t seen any papers that weren’t to do with Abernathy’s. But I can look again.”

  The woman in white followed me to the office and stood, watching, while I checked all the drawers of the desk and the filing cabinet. “Maybe he kept it filed with your augury records,” I finally said. “What’s your name?”

  “Eisen. Georgina Eisen. But I don’t—that is, go ahead and look.” She’d twisted her scarf entirely around her hand now, and her eyes darted restlessly from me to the cabinet to the photos on the walls as if she were assessing the possibility that they might attack her.

  “Can you spell that for me?”

  “E-I-S-E-N.”

  I dug through the records. There was a Stephen Eisen, but no Georgina. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where else to look.”

  The hand tightened on the scarf. “They must be there. It’s important. You just overlooked them.”

  I closed the drawer, slowly. “If they’re here, I’ll find them eventually. I don’t have time to search now. Why don’t you come back tomorrow?”

  “But I need them now.”

  I could suddenly see this conversation stretching out into the wee hours of the night. “I don’t know what you want me to do. If you tell me what papers to look for, I’ll set them aside for you—”

  “Never mind. I’ll come back later.” She was gone before I could finish my sentence, the heels of her white boots flashing at me as she left the office at a near-run. I followed her, heard the door open and shut, and emerged from the bookcases to find myself the only one in Abernathy’s. Finally.

  I locked the door and put up the sign, then retreated to the basement stairs, but as I passed the office, I had an idea. It was sort of cheesy, but I had looked everywhere else.

  In the office, I lifted the framed photo of the bald hat-wearing man off the wall. Bingo. A wall safe, one old enough to be original to this building, stared back at me. My satisfaction at guessing right faded as I realized I had no way of opening the thing. I put the photo back and stared at it. “You could be more helpful,” I told the man in the photo. He didn’t answer.

  I took a sheet of paper from the filing cabinet and scribbled a few questions until I found one I liked: Will Abernathy’s be better off if Helena Davies abdicates? I tore off the others and folded the augury request in half, then walked back to the bookcases and took a few tentative steps in. By this time, I was familiar with the silent, timeless feeling of the oracle around me, but the feeling didn’t arise. I took a few more steps. I felt nothing but the chill of the store, heard only the distant sound of traffic and my feet tapping across the linoleum. I wandered through the bookcases for a few minutes, but it was obvious the oracle declined to answer. I felt relieved and disappointed all at once. Maybe I wasn’t meant to work here, but the oracle wasn’t going to give me an easy out.

  I managed to search half the file cabinet drawers in the basement before I had to call it quits and run for the bus. I didn’t have enough time. And Campbell was right; I needed help. Not that I knew who to ask. Judy Rasmussen… probably a bad idea, and she didn’t like me very much anyway. Malcolm Campbell no doubt had his own concerns. None of the customers I’d met that day struck me as knowing any more about Abernathy’s than I did. That left Lucia, and I didn’t know how to reach her.

  I leaned my head back against the bus window, which was frigid thanks to the coming snowstorm. I might not know how to reach Lucia, but somebody did. I just had to ask around tomorrow. Anyone who commanded the obedience of bruisers who could manhandle a body into a van would know someone who could crack a safe.

  My pocket chimed a relaxing tinkle of bells. I pulled it out. “Viv?”

  “Sweetie! Why are you not answering my texts?”

  I flicked through the displays. Ten in a row. “I’ve been busy. I didn’t even notic
e them.”

  “You work too hard. We’re going out tonight. No arguments. Also, I’m getting rid of this oatmeal-colored thing in your closet. It doesn’t suit you. I’m not sure who it would suit. One of those mopey Communist hausfraus, probably.”

  “Viv, are you in my room?”

  “I’m buying you nail polish next time we go out. And eyeliner. Wow, Hel, where did you get this dress? The bargain rack at Sears?”

  “That’s rich, coming from the woman who only shops thrift stores.”

  “I have nothing against Sears except all their clothes look the same. So do yours. How does your boss expect you to dress for work? Career casual, or your usual jeans and sweater ensemble?”

  I gently banged my head against the freezing window. Sometimes I had trouble remembering why Viv and I, so very different, were friends. “Don’t throw my clothes out, Viv.”

  “I make no promises. Hurry up! The boys will be waiting.”

  “Boys?”

  ’Hara’s wasn’t an Irish pub, despite the name. The large windows glowed golden against the backdrop of a frozen evening, warm and welcoming. I hurried to follow Viv through the door and a mass of muggy air struck me, enveloping me in its embrace. It might be uncomfortably warm later, but for now it felt wonderful. I shed my unfashionable coat and ran my fingers through my hair to straighten out the tangles. The smell of craft beers filled the air, tempered by a whiff of sweetness, the perfume of the woman standing next to the door. I smiled at her as I passed, a friendly acknowledgement that we both existed, and she smiled absently back. It felt like an omen of good things to come.

  Up-tempo bluegrass fusion music played in the background, just loud enough that the conversations going on around me were pitched to carry across the pub. It wasn’t very crowded for a Friday night, though I was sure things would pick up once the seven o’clock movie showings let out and people arrived for a nightcap.

  Viv found us a table next to the wall, not too near the bar. I leaned against its artfully exposed brickwork and felt my chair shift as its uneven legs tipped me back. I was so glad to be sitting down, I didn’t feel like moving. Even the tangerine stiletto heels Viv had forced me to wear couldn’t ruin my mood, though my toes were verging on numb.

  It always surprised me how comfortable I felt in the outfits Viv selected for me. Not physically comfortable—the shoes always pinched—but emotionally so. I’d never have her fashion sense, and she didn’t try to dress me like herself, but I looked… maybe not glamorous, but groomed, at least. She’d matched my favorite jeans with a sweater I’d forgotten I had and insisted I wear the heels instead of my comfortable boots. With my hair brushed out and the dreaded eyeliner applied, I looked chic. Not as chic as Viv, in her multicolored bohemian tunic and red velvet leggings, but enough that I didn’t feel out of place surrounded by the young and hip who frequented O’Hara’s.

  “They’re supposed to meet us at eight,” Viv said, picking at a chip on the edge of the table with a turquoise-enameled fingernail. “Then we’re going for dinner. Then back here for more booze.” She wore her hair shaved close to her scalp on one side and in a flip that reached her chin on the other. This week, it was dyed a bright magenta that looked more pink under the bar’s low lighting.

  “Who are these guys, anyway?”

  “I met Shawn at my last gig. He was very appreciative of a female drummer.” Viv’s lips curved in a reminiscent smile. “I haven’t met his friend, but Shawn says he’s funny and smart, so I figured he sounded like your type.”

  “You thought Chet was my type.”

  “And he was, for about two weeks. It’s not my fault you have trouble breaking a man’s heart.” Viv half-rose from her seat. “That’s Shawn, and… ooh, he’s cute!”

  I had no idea which of the two men approaching us was destined to be my date, but they were both cute. One of them was beefier, with longish black hair, and the other was thin and tall with brown hair and an artfully unshaven face. Viv hopped up and kissed the beefy one on the cheek. “Shawn, this is my friend Helena. Helena, this is Shawn and… is it Brian?”

  “It is,” the tall one said, nodding at me. “Can I get you something to drink, Helena?”

  “Something pale, thanks.”

  “And I already know you like it dark and strong,” Shawn said, putting his arm around Viv’s waist. She laughed and pushed him in the direction of the bar.

  “See? He’s really cute,” Viv said, using her hand to shield her mouth, not that anyone could have heard her in that din.

  “I’ll give you cute, but he might have an awful personality,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t be so pessimistic. He’s got good manners, what else do you want?”

  “Someone smart enough not to bang his head on the table to knock a few words loose.”

  “Chet only did that once.”

  “Once was more than enough.”

  “Would you stop talking about your ex while you’re on a date with someone else? It’s like you’re still in love with him.”

  “I was never in love with Chet. Infatuated, maybe. And I’m going to stop talking about him now.” I never thought about Chet unless I was on a date, and then it was only to be grateful we weren’t together anymore. He’d been my first serious boyfriend, and we’d been together for eight months, six of which I’d spent wishing I knew how to blow him off. I glanced toward the bar where Brian and Shawn stood chatting and waiting for their drinks. Brian was cute, and unless he turned out to be a serial killer or political science major, he had potential.

  I smiled at him when he returned, glasses in hand, and offered me something straw-pale that tasted wonderful. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. So, are you in school?”

  “No, I work at a bookstore.”

  “That sounds like a dream job. If you’re a reader, that is. You look like a reader.”

  I had no idea what to say to that. “It’s never dull.”

  “Helena started yesterday, and it beats working at the Pick ‘n’ Pack,” Viv said. She was snuggled up next to Shawn and sipping her stout. “Beats my job, that’s for sure.”

  “Waitresses keep society moving,” Shawn intoned, making Viv giggle. “Seriously, what would we do without the service industry? That’s why I always tip well. They get no appreciation.”

  “What if the service sucks?” Brian said. “Should you still tip?”

  “Sure, why not? You don’t know what they’ve been going through. Maybe they just got a divorce or something.”

  “I appreciate it when people tip,” Viv said.

  “I always think of you when I tip,” I said. “What do you do, Brian? Are you in school?”

  “I’m studying to be a teacher. History.”

  “Speaking of underappreciated professions,” Viv said.

  Brian smiled. “I believe in following your dreams. I’ve always wanted to teach high school. Had a really great teacher my senior year, Mrs. Costas, and she sort of inspired me.”

  “I think that’s great,” I said. “I wish I knew what I wanted to do. I’ve never felt inspired by anything.” I remembered Silas Abernathy’s book, and how connected I’d felt to the store, and wondered if that were still true.

  “Give it time,” Brian said. “You don’t strike me as someone who meanders through life.”

  I smiled and took another drink. He was cute, and nice, and he wanted to be a teacher, and if his casual flirting was a little obvious, at least he was interested.

  We chatted for another fifteen minutes, enough for me to finish my drink and establish that Brian liked professional baseball, superhero movies, and crème brûlée. He was also funny in an understated way and capable of talking about his interests so even I, who didn’t care for organized sports and preferred classic films, was able to appreciate them. By the time we pushed back our chairs and headed for the door, I was enjoying myself and silently thanking Viv for having good taste in men.

  The air smelled crisp and cold, promising a clear
night, and I filled my lungs with it, reflecting how much nicer cold air was when it didn’t smell of onion. Brian and I trailed Viv and Shawn, who walked with their arms linked and occasionally kissed as they went. “How long has she known Shawn?” Brian asked.

  “A week, maybe?” I wasn’t actually sure about that, but Viv could go from zero to sixty in about two seconds when it came to men. “She knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to go after it.”

  Brian shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “I know she’s swept him off his feet. I hope she isn’t setting him up for disappointment.”

  “Viv’s always sincere when she’s attracted to someone. She doesn’t toy with men.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that he’s been burned before, and I’d hate to see it happen again.”

  I couldn’t think of a response that wouldn’t be defensive and angry. So Viv was quick to display her emotions. That didn’t make her a slut, or whatever Brian was implying. “They’re both adults. They know what they’re doing.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Brian stopped. “What’s that?”

  We were passing a narrow, dark alley between a couple of red-brick buildings. “What?”

  “It sounded like a dog. An injured dog.” Brian took a few steps into the alley.

  “You should leave it alone. An injured dog could be dangerous.”

  “I’m good with animals. Can’t you hear it?”

  I did hear it now, a high-pitched whimper that sobbed out for a few seconds, then stilled. Brian took another step. The whimper started again. “Brian, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

  Brian ignored me. “Come here, boy,” he murmured, and whistled between his teeth.

  Against my better judgment, I followed Brian, staying several paces behind him. “Seriously, what are you going to do if it comes to you? We can’t take it with us.” Red light pulsed at the end of the alley, shed by a neon sign on the hotel across the way. It cast Brian’s features in hellish relief. I stepped around a crushed cardboard box labeled THIS END UP and shied away from something that moved behind it. A rat. “Let’s go. We can call Animal Control and get them to pick it up.”