The Vanishing Type
Also by Ellery Adams:
The Secret, Book, and Scone Society Mysteries:
The Secret, Book & Scone Society
The Whispered Word
The Book of Candlelight
Ink and Shadows
The Vanishing Type
Book Retreat Mysteries:
Murder in the Mystery Suite
Murder in the Paperback Parlor
Murder in the Secret Garden
Murder in the Locked Library
Murder in the Reading Room
Murder in the Storybook Cottage
Murder in the Cookbook Nook
Murder on the Poet’s Walk
The Vanishing Type
ELLERY ADAMS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
The Vanishing Type: A Secret, Book, and Scone Society Mystery Reader’s Guide
Bibliotherapy from The Vanishing Type
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2022 by Ellery Adams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
The K and Teapot logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2021951537
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2644-5
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: May 2022
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2646-9 (ebook)
To the artists who see a story’s soul and create a home for it in their book design.
To my favorite book designers and book cover designers:
Hugh Thomson
William Morris
Margaret Strong
Elbert Hubbard
Mr. Boddington’s Studio (Rebecca Schmidt Ruebensaal)
Coralie Bickford-Smith
Hülya Özdemir
Even as a small child, I understood that woman had secrets, and that some of these were only to be told to daughters. In this way we were bound together for eternity.
—Alice Hoffman, The Dovekeepers
“What must I do, Mother, what must I do to make a different world for her? How do I start?”
“The secret lies in the reading and the writing. You are able to read. Every day you must read one page from some good book to your child. Every day this must be until the child learns to read. Then she must read every day, I know this is the secret.”
—Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
The Secret, Book, and Scone Society Members
Nora Pennington, owner of Miracle Books
Hester Winthrop, owner of the Gingerbread House Bakery
Estella Sadler, owner of Magnolia Salon and Spa
June Dixon, thermal pools manager, Miracle Springs Lodge
Relevant Miracle Springs Residents
Sheriff Grant McCabe
Deputy Jasper Andrews
Sheldon Vega
Tyson Dixon
Miles and Meredith Comfort
Lea Carle
Persons connected to The Lady Artist Books
Elmore Freeman—Author
Sadie Strong—Book Designer
Chapter 1
Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I never can wish you a greater happiness than this!
—Louisa May Alcott, Little Women
Nora Pennington dropped multicolored marshmallows into a mug of hot chocolate and then smothered them with whipped cream. As she added a dusting of rainbow sprinkles to the turret of cream, she felt eyes on her.
Deputy Jasper Andrews stood at the ticket agent’s booth window, gazing at the Disney Fantasia mug with unconcealed longing.
“No wonder the kids think your Harry Potter hot cocoa is magical.”
“You’re never too old for rainbows.” Nora jerked a thumb at the pegboard of mugs behind her. “Want one? That new Star Trek mug has your name on it.”
Before Andrews could answer, a ginger-haired boy appeared at his side. Pointing at the Fantasia mug on the counter, he said, “That’s mine.”
Andrews raised his hands in surrender. “You’re a lucky kid.”
The little boy took in Andrews’s black boots and snow-dusted sheriff’s department coat and forgot about his drink.
“I got my teeth pulled. I can’t bite apples anymore. Not until my big teeth grow in. See?” He bared his teeth like a wolf cub and stuck his tongue through the gap between his lateral incisors. “Mom’s buying me a book because I was brave and didn’t cry. Any book I want!”
Nora and Andrews exchanged grins as the boy stood on his tiptoes and reached for the handle of the mug. The movement caused sprinkles to slide down the slope of whipped cream and fall onto the counter.
Andrews looked around for the boy’s mother. She wasn’t sitting in the Readers’ Circle or perusing new releases in the North Carolina Authors section. And because Nora’s shop was a labyrinth of book-lined shelves, it was impossible to see much past the Hot Enough to Melt Snow display at the beginning of the Romance section.
“Brian’s mom is in the Children’s Corner with a two-year-old and a newborn,” Nora explained. “Brian wants to drink from a mug like his dad, and since he was so brave at the dentist, I said I’d carry his not-too-hot hot chocolate for him.”
Andrews looped his thumbs through his belt. “How about this, Brian? I’ll put your drink on that coffee table and hang out with you for a bit.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I want to know if the marshmallows really taste like magic.”
“Me too,” Brian whispered back.
Suppressing a smile, Nora handed Andrews a compostable spoon. She watched the tall, lanky deputy with the boyish face escort Brian to the Readers’ Circle and made a mental note to tell Hester Winthrop, owner of the Gingerbread House bakery, and one of Nora’s closest friends, that her boyfriend was a very sweet man.
Ten minutes later, Andrews returned to the ticket agent’s booth.
“Brian’s got his eye on a book about policemen. Kid’s got good taste. Now, I need to find something to read.” Blushing, he added, “I also need your help with something. Something really important.”
Nora stepped out of the narrow room, where an agent had once sold tickets to people traveling by train to cities like Asheville, Raleigh, and Charlotte.
Trains still ran to Miracle Springs. Once a day, passengers would arrive at the new station. They’d roll their suitcases across the shiny marble floor while studying the departing passengers. They wanted to see a crowd of healthy, well-rested, energetic people. They wanted to believe that Miracle Springs was true to its name.
Every day, the sick, stressed, and soul-weary traveled to a place that promised to soothe and rejuvenate. The little berg in western North Carolina had hot springs, beautiful vistas, and dozens of businesses catering to visitors from all over the globe.
And when the powers-that-be decided to build a train station rivaling the beauty of Grand Central, the old station building was put on the market. It sat there for a long time, waiting.
“Waiting for me,” Nora always said.
She’d turned the neglected station into Miracle Books. Now the buttercup-yellow building with the periwinkle shutters was the heart of the town. And Nora, who’d been lost and lonely before she became a bookseller, tried to help every person who came into her store.
And here was Deputy Andrews, asking for her help. She touched his arm and said, “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.” His expression didn’t match his tone, so Nora waited for him to elaborate. “Can we talk in the Sci-Fi section?”
Sheldon, Nora’s only employee, had already gone home. When she was alone in the bookshop, Nora usually flitted back and forth between the checkout counter and the ticket agent’s booth. But since it was five o’clock on a cold and drowsy winter afternoon, Nora knew she could give Andrews her undivided attention.
The Sci-Fi section was a narrow, book-lined alcove tucked between Fantasy and Young Adult. String lights shaped like tiny stars hung from the shelves, and a Doctor Who mobile dangled down from the ceiling. A shiny blue telephon
e box spun lazily in the air, endlessly chased by glittering Daleks.
Andrews paused in front of the new releases.
“What are you in the mood for?” Nora asked.
“Something like that last Bradbury. I like comparing the book to the movie.”
Nora laughed and pointed at a ceramic plaque that said: THE BOOK IS ALWAYS BETTER.
“I guess, but I like seeing how a really good story translates to the screen. So far, I’ve read and watched Ender’s Game, Dune, Fahrenheit 451, The Martian, and Starship Troopers. That one was so bad that I want to see it again. It’s a guy thing. We like to watch bad movies multiple times.”
This last bit didn’t register with Nora because she was already hunting for books with movie adaptations. She took a copy of 2001: A Space Odyssey off the shelf and showed it to Andrews.
“The movie puts me to sleep. I need something with more action, so unless the book is way different, I’ll pass.”
Nora tapped her finger to her lips as she skimmed titles. “I’m thinking Minority Report or The War of the Worlds. I don’t know how you feel about Tom Cruise, but he stars in both movies.”
“Hester isn’t a fan, but I like him. I don’t need an Oscar performance from an action hero. Plus, he broke his ankle doing a stunt. That’s dedication. I think I’ll try The War of the Worlds.” Andrews chose the hardcover over the paperback and read the blurb on the back cover. When he was done, he closed the book and held it to his chest.
“Is that the one? Because I could come up with a few more.”
Glancing down at the book, Andrews said, “It’s the one. I know what I want right away. It was like that with Hester. I knew she was the one the first time we met. Which is why . . . I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
Nora wasn’t surprised. Andrews and Hester, who were both in their mid-thirties, had been dating for two years. Hester had spent Christmas with Andrews’s family, and many people believed the couple would be engaged by New Year’s. Though Andrews hadn’t popped the question in December, he was clearly ready to do it now, at the start of a new month in a new year.
“That’s wonderful!” Nora squeezed Andrews’s free hand. “I’m so happy for you both.”
Andrews responded with a shy smile. “Thanks, but I don’t think I can do it without your help. I mean, I know what I want to say, but I don’t want to get down on one knee in some fancy restaurant or have her see the question on a stadium scoreboard. I want to ask her when she’s surrounded by her closest friends.” He gave Nora an imploring look. “You, Estella, and June are the closest things she has to a family. I’m hoping you’ll help me come up with the perfect time and place to ask her the most important question of my life.”
Andrews sounded so nervous that Nora hurried to relieve his anxiety. “Of course, we’ll help.” When his shoulders sagged in relief, she added, “But there’s something you need to hear first—about marriage—starting right now, with this proposal.”
“What’s that?”
“A marriage is the union of two imperfect people, which means you need to go into it knowing it’ll never be perfect. Open up your mental window and throw that word out. Relationships are many things, but they’re never perfect. And that’s okay.”
Andrews shifted on his feet. “Um . . . okay . . .”
Nora smiled at him. “Don’t worry. June, Estella, and I will do everything we can to make your proposal amazing. We have a book club meeting tonight, so we’ll put our heads together then. Do you have a ring?”
“Yeah. My grandma’s. She left it to me to give to my future wife. It’s a ruby surrounded by little diamonds. It’s kind of star-shaped. And what’s really cool is that Hester and my grandma were both born in July. They have the same birthstone.”
“It sounds perfect,” Nora said with a wink.
* * *
Later, after the bookstore had closed for the day, the members of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society filed in through the delivery entrance.
“I hate the winter,” grumbled Estella, owner of Magnolia Salon and Spa. She sank into her favorite chair in the Readers’ Circle, hugging the throw pillow embroidered with JUST ONE MORE CHAPTER.
“Would coffee help?” Nora asked. “Or a shot of whiskey?”
Estella released the pillow and reached up to pat her hair. Satisfied that her soft auburn waves were as they should be, she sighed. “Honestly, I just want to complain. I have to be perky and sweet all day long, even when I don’t feel perky and sweet. If my clients don’t have a positive experience, they might not come back. I listen to their problems. I sympathize. I smile until my cheeks hurt, but it’s such a relief to be with you gals because I can finally be myself.”
Hester, who’d carried one of her delicious homemade desserts into the ticket agent’s booth, called out, “Same here!”
“Honey, we all have to play nice for a living.” With one hand, June Dixon unwound the scarf she’d knitted over the course of three relatively sleepless nights while digging into a grocery bag with the other. Pulling out a bottle of champagne, she flashed Estella a wide grin. “Are you too cold for a glass of bubbly?”
Estella jumped to her feet and leaned over to hug June. “You got the promotion!”
Beaming, June said, “You are looking at the new Guest Experience Manager of the Miracle Springs Lodge.”
Nora, Estella, and Hester clapped, whooped, and gave June congratulatory hugs.
“Are you happy with the terms?” Nora asked.
“Yes, and that’s partially thanks to you,” said June. “Because of the books you recommended, I was prepared to ask for what I deserved. And I got it. All of it! The job, the salary, and the benefits.”
Hester perched on the arm of June’s chair. “What were these incredibly empowering books?”
“I read three of the five on Nora’s list. Lean In, Grit, and Secrets of Six-Figure Women. I almost gave up on that last one when the author wrote something about how women believe in the nobility of poverty. Puh-lease!” June cried. “I grew up in a Black neighborhood in the Bronx, and I can tell you that we didn’t think there was a damn bit of nobility in being poor.”
“I’d rather be a rich degenerate than noble and poor,” said Estella, picking up the bottle of champagne.
June pointed at her. “I hear you. Still, I won’t quit reading a book because I disagree with a single point. Good thing too, because I took that author’s advice to heart. I walked into that interview with the swagger of a first-round draft pick. I knew exactly how to convert my skills and experience into a dollar amount.”
Estella opened the champagne, filled the four mugs she’d taken from the pegboard, and distributed them. Hester got the hot-pink BOSS BABE mug, June received the Wonder Woman mug, and Nora’s was white with black text that said: NEVER CROSS A WOMAN WHO READS STEPHEN KING. For herself, Estella chose a mug featuring four women with different skin tones and hair colors. The text marching around the rim said: WELL-READ WOMEN ARE DANGEROUS CREATURES.
Nora raised her mug. “Congratulations, June. Here’s to your seat on the rocket ship.”
“That’s from the Sandberg book,” June explained to Estella and Hester. “It goes, ‘If you’re offered a seat on a rocket ship, don’t ask which seat! Just get on.’ ”
“May your star keep rising,” Hester said.
After sipping champagne and chatting for a bit, the women loaded their plates with a cheesy chicken casserole and green salad from the ticket agent’s booth, grabbed napkins and flatware, and returned to the Readers’ Circle.