Abby tapped one foot against the curb while she waited for traffic turning the corner off the bridge. When the final car went past, she dashed across the street to Bill’s. She noticed Morton licking his lips as he gazed at the Dairy Delicious cater-cornered from them. “Don’t even think it. If we find the Bible, I promise you ice cream.”
“That’s a big ‘if.’ It’s probably at the landfill by now.”
“If it’s not here, I’ll need ice cream, too,” Abby said. “Chocolate, and lots of it.”
“Chocolate’s not good for zits.” Morton popped a handful of M&M’s in his mouth. “You shouldn’t even have these, but who can resist?”
“Whatever.” Abby grabbed some candy as they dodged an odd assortment of chairs and old clothes on metal racks on their way into Bill’s.
No bell, no potpourri, no one greeted them in the dimly lit store. A chaotic hodge-podge of unrelated items covered every surface, from the floor to the leaning shelves lining the walls. Old washing machines rested next to rocking chairs. A set of faux pearls decorated a shade-less floor lamp adorned with a moldering fur coat. Stacks of old books leaned here and there. An oscillating fan whirred in the corner, faded ribbons attached to the front fluttering in the breeze.
Abby wrinkled her nose at the aroma of old linen, oil, and dirty dog. She took a tentative step into the room and jumped as a high-pitched whine pierced the stillness. “What …?”
“You there, girlie, watch out for my pooch.” A husky voice filled the space.
Abby stepped back and a mangy hound dog moved out of her way. It stretched, licked Abby’s hand, turned in a circle, and plopped onto a ratty braided rug in the middle of the aisle. “Sorry, doggie,” she said, looking up as a huge, bearded man approached. She took another step back as he towered over her.
“Hey, Bill, how’s it goin’?” Morton said.
Abby looked at Morton and back to the man. “You know him?”
Bill laughed. “Sure, honey. Me and Morty go way back. We’re what you call the unofficial local historical society, right, son?”
“This is the old guy. Sorry, Bill. I mean the guy I told you knows some things about the area. Ask him about the Bible.”
“Well now, I do love the Good Book.” Bill folded his hands as if in prayer. “You new in town? Lookin’ for a church?”
“No, I mean yes, I’m new in town, but I’m searching for a specific Bible.” Abby glanced at Morton who was too busy petting the dog to help her. “The real Historical Society had it. They gave it to The Boston Shoppes, and the lady there said she gave it to you. I need it; I want to buy it.”
Bill’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want with an old tore-up Bible?”
“So you do have it,” Abby said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t know it looked torn and old. Can I see it? I know it’s not worth much, but it has sentimental value to me.”
“Hmm, sentimental are you Miss Munroe?” Bill said.
“My last name’s Whitney, not Munroe,” Abby said. Seeing Bill’s raised eyebrows she realized her mistake. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s a different kind of sentiment. I saw it and thought it looked interesting, that’s all. So, can you get it for me? I have cash.”
“Well now, that all depends.” Bill pursed his lips. “Seems to me you went to a powerful lot of trouble to find something you think is kinda ‘interesting.’ If it’s all that exciting, you’ll have to work a little harder to get it.”
Abby sighed. “What’s your bottom line? How much? This might be your one chance to unload it.”
Bill laughed and nodded to Morton. “I like her, son. She’s a keeper, even if she don’t trust no one.” He turned to Abby. “Sorry, honey, I don’t have that ole Bible anymore. A bunch of folks came by on bikes, they was from down in Confluence, some church group. One of the gals wanted it, and I gave it to her. They took off down the bike trail not too long ago, heading for Pittsburgh I think.”
Abby charged out the door, shouting “Thanks.” She got on her bike and headed down the hill to the trailhead parking lot. “Maybe we can catch up with them,” she called over her shoulder to Morton. She put her head down, raced past the parking lot and onto the trail to the city.
Ten minutes later Abby’s knees ached as she pounded the pedals. She looked around for Morton, stopping when she couldn’t see him. What if he’d fallen and needed her? She gritted her teeth and got back on the bike.
“Damn you, Morton.” Another fifty feet and she turned around at a wide place in the gravel. She retraced her route and reached the edge of the field by the trailhead parking lot where she had started.
“Hey, Abs, over here.”
Morton sat in the grass. “I met these great people. They stopped me to get directions.”
Abby glared at him. “We really have to go, okay? Nice to meet you.” She nodded at the group seated by Morton. As she started to ride away she passed an older teenage girl on a burgundy cruiser with a wicker bike basket. She caught a glimpse of something big and dark in the basket and skidded to a stop. “Hey. Wait up.”
The girl stopped and dismounted; her bike fell. “I can’t ride with this,” she said to her friends. “I don’t know why I brought it along, or what to do with it now.”
Abby walked over, and laying in the grass she saw the Munroe Bible. Morton saw it at the same time.
“Hey, is that …”
Abby raised a hand to silence him and walked over to the girl. “If you don’t want that, I’ll take it home with me. I just live a couple miles away.”
The young woman appraised Abby. “Why do you want it?”
“It looks like a piece of history.”
“How do you know?”
Abby felt her frustration level building. “It’s obviously old, and old things are historical.”
“Hey, Kel,” one of her friends shouted. “Maybe it’s valuable, like the things on Antiques Road Show. Some of those people get thousands for old stuff they just happened to find.”
“Kel, right?” Abby said. When the girl nodded, she continued, “I know you got this from the junk dealer in town because I went there looking for it. I’m sure if it’s valuable he wouldn’t have given it to you. I’m just trying to help.”
Kel shook her head. “I’m going to keep it and have it appraised. Thanks anyway.” She picked up her bike, tied the Bible to the back of it with a bungee cord a friend supplied, and rode away.
“I can’t believe that just happened.” Abby’s shoulders slumped. “We might as well give up right now.”
“I thought you never give up.” Morton snorted.
Abby thought about her dad calling her “a bulldog with a bone.” The old pull of adrenaline and ambition he always managed to give her made her smile. “You’re right. I can’t give up. There must be another way to find the answers. I won’t give up on Silas. He’s too important to me.”
“I don’t know about ‘important,’” Morton said. “It’s a fun adventure, but not the end of the world if we don’t figure it out.”
“It’s complicated.” Abby had no idea how to explain her growing attraction to … what? A vision she’d had a few times? A ghost? A hallucination? She shrugged. “I promise you I’ll solve this, no matter what it takes.” At the look of “she’s crazy” in Morton’s eyes, she didn’t add what really coursed through her heart. Silas.
“You promised me ice cream.”
Abby straddled her bike. “Come on, milkshake man. We’ll hit the Dairy Delicious on the way home. I always keep my promises.”
“Especially to you,” she whispered into the wind, wondering if her words would reach Silas, wherever he might be.