Abby parked her purple bike along the side of the Historical Society building, avoiding a large puddle leftover from the storm. Leaning against the white frame siding, the garish violet color looked even more childish than usual, incongruent next to the century-old carriage in the window. Morton pulled in behind her.
“You want to go in there?” he said. “It’s not your kind of place.”
“How do you know what I like? I don’t hang at the mall with my gal pals in the food court all day, giggling about the latest movie star. Jeez. Besides, the Munroe Bible is here, and it’s the key to the mystery about Silas. That’s what I’m into.” Abby couldn’t resist rolling her eyes.
“Oh yeah? Then why do you wear that gunk on your eyes and face? That’s what girly girls do. I saw it on Makeover Magic.” Morton batted his eyelashes and wiggled his butt.
“If you must know, I wear makeup because it covers my zits.”
“Yeah, all two of them. And you don’t go to the mall because you don’t have any friends, I get it.” Morton grinned. “But you got me, and I’m a way better friend than any back-stabbing girl.”
“I am so lucky.” Abby gritted her teeth; somehow Morton knew her too well. “Can we get back to the reason we’re here? The museum isn’t open all that long.”
“We could check with someone in town about the Silas thing. I got people.”
Abby shook her head. “Don’t you think if someone had discovered an unknown fact about President Lincoln we’d have heard about it? Nothing’s a secret in a small town. There would be a plaque somewhere or a statue of Silas. If we get stuck, we can ask around.”
Abby grabbed Morton’s arm and pulled him into the building. The interior, cool and dim, smelled musty with an overlay of peppermint. “Hello? Anyone here?” A light jingle, accompanied by squeaky footsteps, approached.
“Welcome to the Elizabeth … oh, it’s you again,” Mrs. Thurman said, coming out of a back room, the charms on her bracelet clanging against each other. “I just had to have my cup of peppermint tea to start the day right. My mother always said, ‘A cup of tea to start the day, everything will go your way.’ And I see you brought a little friend. How lovely to find young people interested in local history. Now, what can I do for you, dear?” She straightened the white cardigan that hung in limp folds from her narrow shoulders.
“I want to show my ‘little friend’ the old Bible from my last visit,” Abby said. “You know, the heavy one with the brass closures.”
Mrs. Thurman frowned, and her eyes darted from side to side.
“The one from the milk crate … we’ll just go back and find it ourselves. Thanks.”
“Yes, of course, now I remember,” Mrs. Thurman said. “We had a Bible and a dictionary all set for the antique store. I forgot about them, but you jogged my memory. Sometimes I need that. Getting older is not a picnic, you know. I took those books over and left them at the shop across the way. Let me show you the other historic Bibles in the back. Some even have family histories.” She marched toward the library.
Morton started to follow her, but Abby stopped him. “Maybe some other day. Thanks anyway.” They hurried out the front door, Mrs. Thurman muttering behind them about “silly children.”
“I can’t believe it. That Bible would still be here if I hadn’t made a big deal about it. Why didn’t I just come back the next day and get it? I’m such an idiot. Now we have to track it down. I just hope it looked ruined enough that even an antique-lover would reject it.”
“Look at it this way,” Morton said. “If you hadn’t seen it in the first place, Silas might never rest in peace. At least now he has a chance. Here, have an M&M.”
As he held out a fist-full of candies to her, Abby had a disturbing image of Jack hitting Morton’s hand and scattering the bright-colored pieces on the barn floor. She shook her head to clear it. She could almost hear her dad’s voice: “Focus on the job at hand, Abby. It’s the only way to get things done.”
After a short ride through town, Abby pulled to a stop in front of The Boston Shoppes. The old yellow brick structure now housed a gift shop with antiques. Garden decorations were displayed on the wide front porch. A multi-colored whirligig twirled wildly in the breeze, the improbable neon shades glaring in the sun.
“No, not here.” Morton clutched his throat. “I hate this stuff, it’s for girls, old girls. It’s like cutesy hell, that’s what it is. Please, no.”
“Get a grip. We’ll find the Bible, buy it, and we’re out of here. You think I like home décor any more than you do? Even if I am a girly girl?”
The signature smell of floral potpourri assailed Abby’s nostrils as she entered the establishment. An old bell attached to the doorframe announced their arrival. To the right, behind a polished wooden counter, a middle-aged woman sat reading. She looked up and smiled. “Welcome …” Her smiled faded as Morton picked up and almost dropped a crystal paperweight. She pointed to a sign on the counter: You break it, you buy it.
“I’ll watch him.” Abby tried to think of a plausible reason they might want to spend time in a store like this one. “Actually, we’re looking for a, um, birthday gift, a surprise.”
“A gift? Whose birthday? Huh?” Morton scratched his head.
“Men,” Abby said to the woman. “They never listen to us, do they?”
The woman smiled. “Just be careful. We have three floors; I’m sure you’ll find the perfect item for that special someone. Whomever it might be.”
Abby trudged up the oak staircase, dismayed by the wall-to-wall merchandise. A plethora of candles, stuffed animals, framed prints, and country furnishings competed with assorted small antiques. Each floor, divided into individual shops, looked the same.
Morton’s wheeze became audible on the second floor, but he kept going. Reaching the third floor, he took a noisy breath, raced ahead and pounced on a pile of old books. “Abs, over here!”
“At last. I’ve seen enough frou-frou decorations to last me forever.” She searched through the stack. “Not here. It’s huge, you can’t miss it. We have to ask.”
Back downstairs, Abby approached the clerk. “I’m looking for an antique book, a Bible I saw at the Historical Society the other day. Mrs. Thurman said she sent it over here. It’s exactly what I want. Any idea where it is? You have so many, um, interesting things, I must have missed it.”
“A Bible? I don’t recall anything like that. We don’t carry many books, although Jeannie on the third floor has a few.”
“No, we already looked there,” Morton said.
The woman thought for a minute. “Wait, I think I know. Is it a big old thing, falling apart? With brass clasps?”
Abby nodded, fingers crossed. “That’s what I’m looking for.”
“Sure, I remember now,” the woman said. “It looked too disreputable for us, so we sent it to Bill across the street. He has the salvage place, calls it his home for orphaned antiques and tragic furniture.” She went back to reading her paperback, then glanced up as they went out the door. “But I think I saw him throw a big book into the trash. The truck came by while you were upstairs. Sorry.”
“That’s it,” Morton said. “Some things aren’t meant to be. Maybe it’s better to let Silas rest in peace.”
Abby gave him a shove out the door. “I refuse to give up.”