Bound By Secrets

Excerpt

Jump to Ordering Options ↓

Chapter One

“New York?” the man yelled through my rolled-up window.

I ignored him and tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my fingers pressing into the worn leather like it might steady me. The engine idled low and steady beneath me, emitting a familiar hum that felt out of place against everything else.

“Who is that?” my mom asked from the other end of the phone.

“I don’t know, the gas station employee,” I told her, shifting in the seat and angling my body away from the window like doing so might make him disappear. “He insisted on pumping my gas. It’s weird.”

I glanced out of the corner of my eye.

The place looked like it had been dropped right out of another decade and forgotten. The gas pumps were squat and metal, their once-bright paint chipped and curling at the edges. One of them had a faded red stripe that had nearly turned pink from the sun. The concrete beneath them was stained dark from years of spills, the scent of gasoline hanging thick in the air even through my closed windows.

Behind the pumps sat the garage. The name Grassel’s Garage was painted across a long sign that leaned just enough to make you notice. The letters were bold but worn, and a few of the bulbs inside flickered faintly, even though it was still daylight. The garage bays stood open, shadows stretching deep inside, where I could see the outline of tools and the underbelly of a truck lifted high.

A row of dented pickups sat off to the side, their paint dulled, their bodies streaked with grease and dust. They looked like they hadn’t moved in a while.

“I don’t know. I’ve driven through so many and they all look alike,” I told her. “The one main street, little shops, and a town square. But my GPS says I’m here.”

The Daniel Boone National Forest pressed in close now, no longer off in the distance. It surrounded everything. Thick green trees crowded the edges of the road, their shadows stretching long across the pavement. The air felt different here.

The man knocked on the window. I jerked around, and my shoulder bumped the door.

“Roll down the window,” he said, loud and steady, pointing down with a grease-stained finger.

“Don’t you dare open the window,” my mom insisted.

“I’ve got to pay,” I told her. “I’ll call you back.”

I ended the call and let out a breath before using the crank to roll down the window. The smell hit me immediately. Oil, hot asphalt, grease, and underneath them, fresh air, faint but present.

“Sorry about that. How much do I owe?” I asked him.

“Twenty-five dollars,” he said.

Up close, he looked even more like he belonged to the place. Early thirties, maybe. Broad shoulders and thick through the chest. His mechanic’s blue bib overalls were darkened in spots from oil, a handkerchief hanging out of the front pocket. His hands were blackened with grease, the lines of his palms filled in like permanent stains.

His hair was cut short, but I could tell it hadn’t always been. A thin patch near the crown caught the light, and the rest of his hair curled just slightly around the edges. His brown eyes held steady on me, sharp and aware, like he didn’t miss much. His face was set serious.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean, it just seems so cheap.”

“You’re gettin’ Kentucky prices, not New York,” he said with a grin. He wasn’t so scary.

That pulled a smile out of me.

“Let’s hope the bookseller gives me Kentucky prices,” I said, reaching over to grab my purse from the passenger seat. “I’m buying a rare book from a bookstore.”

He didn’t smile back.

I dug through my wallet, fingers brushing receipts and cards before finding cash. I pulled out twenty-five dollars quick, like he might change his mind if I moved too slow.

“Not around here you’re not,” he said, taking the money. “We ain’t got a bookstore.”

“Shoot,” I groaned, hoping I hadn’t gotten the city wrong.

I tapped my phone awake and swiped up, my thumb moving faster now as a knot formed in my chest. The screen was reflected faintly in the windshield, the map still pulled up.

“How far is Normal?” I asked, confirming from my correspondence with the seller that I was supposed to be in a Kentucky town called Normal.

“You’re here,” he said, stepping back a little, his eyes moving over my car like he was seeing it for the first time.

“1967 was the first year the Beetle had a twelve-volt electrical system instead of six-volt. Solid car.” He reached out and tapped the hood with the flat of his hand. “Are you sure you’re looking for a bookstore in Normal, Kentucky?”

I blinked at him.

“Umm…” I swiped to my notes and squinted at the screen. “Tough Nickel and someone named Buck Davis.”

“That’s not a bookstore,” he said with a low chuckle, which rolled out of him rough and easy. “It’s a thrift store and it’s closed. Tough Nickel Thrift Store.”

“It’s six p.m.,” I said, checking the time again like it might change.

“That means it’s quittin’ time for me too,” he said. “Welcome to Normal.”

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, my shoulders sinking back against the seat. The excitement that had carried me all the way from New York settled somewhere low in my stomach. “I hope I can cancel my reservation.”

“Where you stayin’?” he asked.

“I’m staying in a hotel in Tennessee, right over the border,” I said, shaking my head. “I had no idea this thrift store would be closed. Which gave me plenty of time to make it to the hotel tonight.”

“Well,” he said, shifting his weight and hooking his thumbs into the sides of his overalls, “you can stay at the Milkery. It’s a bed-and-breakfast not too far from here.”

I looked up at him.

“It’s got great food, comfy beds, and Southern hospitality,” he said, lifting his hand in the air and shrugging those broad shoulders.

“The Milkery?” I picked up my phone again, my fingers moving slower this time. When I typed in the name, the corresponding Web site popped right up. Pictures of a whitewashed old farmhouse with warm lights glowing in the windows filled the screen.

It looked… nice.

“My sister lived in New York City. She’s back here now,” he said. “You just might run into her at the Milkery.”

“Oh good,” I said, glancing back at him. “I look forward to telling her I met you.”

My eyes dropped to the name stitched onto his overalls.

“Bobby Ray,” he said, pointing at his name. “Tell Mary Elizabeth I sent you,” he called out as I shifted the car into drive.

The tires rolled over the cracked pavement as I pulled away. The garage shrank in the rearview mirror, the sign tilting just a little more the farther I got from it.

Normal.

I tightened my hands on the wheel again. So far, there didn’t seem to be anything normal about Normal.

 

Chapter Two

Luckily, there was still daylight, so taking these crazy, curvy, up-and-down mountainous roads very slow wasn’t too bad—I could see them.

I had both hands on the wheel now. Tight. My shoulders rose involuntarily. The road in front of me bent again in another sharp curve that disappeared into thick trees before I could see where it led.

I’d completely forgotten how bad the Bug’s headlights were at night, since it had usually been sitting in the garage of my New York City apartment.

The trees crowded close to the road, their branches reaching in just enough to make the lane feel smaller than it already was. There wasn’t much room on either side. A strip of pavement. A narrow shoulder. Then nothing but a drop that made my stomach turn if I looked at it for too long.

The blue line on the map told me I was getting close to Normal’s business district, which I saw had a courthouse with an attached police station, a bank, some buildings that looked like doctors’ offices, and the town’s public library.

I leaned forward a little, peering through the windshield as if that would help me see around the next bend faster.

Shocker. The buildings were all dim. Lights out.

“It’s after six,” I snickered, rolling my eyes. “Of course they are closed.”

Even the Cookie Crumble Bakery at what appeared to be the edge of the business district was closed.

My stomach grumbled.

I drove a little farther down another curve and then another, my foot easing off the gas each time the road twisted. Gravel crunched under my tires when I got too close to the edge, and I corrected quick, pulling back toward the center.

“Okay,” I muttered, glancing ahead. “Just a little farther.”

I slipped one hand off the wheel and reached into my purse. My fingers brushed over lip balm, a pen, and receipts. I kept my eyes on the road at first, feeling around for anything that might be food.

Nothing.

I glanced down.

Just for a second.

My fingers closed around something wrapped in plastic. I pulled it up and turned it enough to see it.

A protein bar.

When I lifted my eyes back to the road, the world tilted.

The right tire had drifted too far.

The edge of the pavement dropped off sharp, and I caught a glimpse past it. Open space. A steep slope that disappeared downward into a thick patch of trees and rock.

My chest locked.

I jerked the wheel left, harder than I meant to, and the Bug swerved. The tires screeched against the pavement, the whole car lurching as it caught the road again.

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.”

My heart slammed so hard I could feel it in my throat. I dropped the protein bar back into my lap, grabbed the wheel with both hands, and pulled the car steady as it fishtailed just enough to remind me how little room I had.

The next curve came up fast.

I slowed almost to a crawl, easing through the bend, my eyes fixed straight ahead. I didn’t look down again. Not even when my stomach growled louder.

“Eyes on the road,” I said out loud, my voice tight. “You are not dying on a mountain road for a protein bar.”

The trees thinned just enough to create a break in the view.

For a second, I saw it.

The land dropped away into a wide valley below, layers of green rolling out in soft folds. A few rooftops dotted the distance. Smoke curled up from somewhere unseen. Then the trees closed back in and the road curved again.

I swallowed and adjusted my grip on the wheel, forcing my shoulders to drop.

The blue line on my map bent one more time and then straightened.

The trees began to pull back.

And then I saw my destination.

Downtown Normal opened up ahead of me, tucked low between the hills, held in place by the forest rising up all around it. The sky above the town had turned into bands of orange and pink, streaked with gold that caught on the edges of the clouds.

I slowed without thinking.

Main Street split in front of me into two one-way roads, one veering left, the other right, wrapping around a wide grassy median that stretched down the center of town. The deep green grass was broken up by stepping-stone paths that wound through it in neat lines.

Tiny white lights wrapped around the trunks of the trees and along the posts lining the sidewalks. They blinked on one by one, dotting the street with a warm glow that settled in against the fading daylight.

I slowed as I passed by an amphitheater in the large grassy median that split Main Street into the one-way roads. The median looked to be a park-style setting. Picnic tables sat beneath large oak and hickory trees, their branches thick and full, leaves rustling softly in the evening air.

“This is so charming,” I said to myself when I noticed the gas lanterns along the walkways and sidewalk, their amber flames steady and low. “Just darling.”

I took in the buildings along the street, noting how unique they were.

Each one stood on its own, a small cottage-style store with a front porch and white trim. Tidy little courtyards lay between the shops. Picket fences framed narrow paths leading to their doors.

Their windows glowed from the inside. Even though the stores were closed, each display was lit up. I caught glimpses of them as I rolled past. Seasonal decorations were set just right, featuring camping gear, which I considered could have been a theme for Normal.

Planters overflowed with brightly colored flowers, set along the edges of the sidewalks and hanging from the dowel rods of the carriage lights.

I drove slower.

Very slow now.

The tension in my chest started to loosen, replaced by something else. Something quieter that I’d not felt since losing my job a few weeks ago.

“See?” I was talking to myself again, something I’d become used to since my unemployment began. “I never would’ve seen this cute town if I was still an editor.”

I’d gotten good at being my own hype girl and believing all the mumbo jumbo about positive thinking—a reason for everything; if not this, then something better…

I looked in the rearview mirror as the downtown area vanished behind me, not because of the distance but because the daylight was fading fast.

The road flattened out beneath me, the curves gone, the drop-offs behind me.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay…” I turned on the radio and hit the scan button. It landed on what the DJ called bluegrass music, but to me, it sounded like a bunch of fiddles and some twangy singing. Far from the jazz band I’d been listening to at the local bar down from my apartment a few weeks ago.

I watched the GPS unit as I headed toward the Milkery as well as those crazy roads, and I hit the automatic buttons to roll down the windows. In some of the books I had edited, I’d read about how good the mountain air was for you, and well… when in Rome.

For the first time since turning onto those mountain roads, I didn’t feel like I needed to brace myself.

My headlights lit up a sign that read Daniel Boone National Forest and, soon thereafter, another sign, which read Welcome to Normal.

I had to admit Normal didn’t look like much from the outside.

But right here, in this moment, it felt like I had just driven into somewhere I hadn’t known I was looking for.

 

Chapter Three

“Hi there! I reckon you’re the young lady my son called me about,” the woman hollered, waving her arms over her head as she stood at the entrance from the road to the Milkery. Oddly, she looked like she was about to go to a luncheon.

Her chestnut hair hit right at her collarbone, where her strand of pearls lay perfectly.

“I don’t know what you’re dressed up for, but spoiler alert,” I muttered to myself behind my smile as I pulled in between the black fenced-in entrance onto the long blacktop drive. “Everything here closes before six.”

“I’m so glad you made it,” she said, her lips neatly lined and colored with a shade of pink lipstick. “Shoo!” She swooped the back of her hand across her forehead in a dramatic gesture. “Bless your heart. Bobby Ray was worried about you making it clear across town. But goodness sakes alive, here you are.”

“I’m Sadie,” I said, not bothering to ask if this place was the Milkery. In what was left of the daylight, I could see that name printed in bold on a couple of silos off into the distance.

“Honey, I know who you are.” The woman, who wore what I thought was a pair of Lily Pulitzer linen trousers and a matching flowered button-down, walked to the back of my car, bent down, and quickly popped up. “Yep. New York license plate. I’m Mary Elizabeth Moberly.”

“What is it with these people and New York?” I asked, keeping a close eye on her as she now walked fully around the back to the driver’s-side window.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“I was wondering if you had a room for me tonight? Just one night because I’m going to the Tough Nickel bookstore, um, thrift store, to see Buck.”

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded before making her way around to the passenger side and opening the door. “I’m gonna need a ride up to the Milkery because when Bobby Ray called me about you, I thought, ‘It sure is a nice night to come down for a walk.’ Isn’t it beautiful out?” Despite having just directed a question to me, she kept on talking and pointing out aspects of the Milkery.

How she had purchased it with a friend, Dawn Gentry, and they turned the old house into a bed-and-breakfast. Then the woman pointed out the offices in a barn made from steel.

“And you need to stop right here,” she said and put her hand on the door. “Go on. Put it in park. We’ve got to put the chickens to bed before we head up to the bed-and-breakfast, where I put something delish for you on the stove because I bet you are famished from that big drive from New York.”

Again with the mention of New York. I sighed and put the car in park.

“I don’t know what you mean about putting chickens to bed, and I’ve never been around a chicken,” I told her. I wasn’t about to undo my seat belt.

Apparently Mary Elizabeth had other plans.

“Oh phooey,” she said just as she pressed the button that unbuckled my seat belt. “Chickens are better than humans. Come on now. The girls are waiting.”

Reluctantly, I got out of my car and heard Mary Elizabeth talking to someone in her sweet southern-hospitality voice. Clearly, she’d been teasing me about the chickens, I thought as she entered the large shed.

“Is this a cute little cabin where I’m going to be staying?” I asked as I turned to meet her at the door she was holding open.

“You can sleep in here, but Carly is a little hard to get along with,” Mary Elizabeth said, tucking into the door to where I followed.

“My gosh,” I shrieked. “This is a chicken coop. They live much better than I did.”

I had never seen anything like this luxurious henhouse, which was apparently climate-controlled. Mary Elizabeth had walked over to what looked to be a temperature control and tapped on it with her finger to turn on a burst of cool air.

“And this bookshelf.” I gulped and my eyes widened when I saw the bookcase and rocking chair on the far end of the coop, past all the bedding cubbies.

“I told you we were putting them to bed, and by that, I mean reading them a bedtime story,” she said. She picked up a chicken, kissed the top of its head, and put it back down. “Go on. Pick one out, and I’ll let you read it to them.”

“No thank you,” I told her politely.

“Yes, ma’am, you will,” she instructed me matter-of-factly. “The Milkery kitchen is closed. It’s not part of your payment tonight that I hurried up and fixed you something, so in exchange, you can read the girls their bedtime story.”

“Are you serious?” I asked. “Am I on some sort of reality show? Is someone filming me?”

“Oh, my goodness, I hope not.” Mary Elizabeth batted her hands around her hair and looked around as if what I’d asked about were a possibility. “I’d have changed into better clothes than these old things if I was going to be on the TV.”

When I realized she wasn’t kidding me and I wasn’t on any sort of hillbilly TV show, I gave up. I just wanted to get into a bed, go to sleep, and get out of here first thing in the morning.

I took a slow step toward the bookcase, keeping one eye on the chickens and the other on the door in case I needed a quick exit. The air inside the coop was cool and clean, not at all what I expected, and it held a faint scent of pine shavings mixed with something warm and homey.

“Well,” I said under my breath, brushing my fingers along the books’ spines, “if I’m doing this, I’m picking something short.”

The books were all children’s stories. Bright covers. Worn corners. A few had been taped along the edges, like the books had been read more times than anyone could count. I pulled one out with a smiling moon on the front and flipped it open.

“This seems harmless enough,” I muttered.

Behind me, I heard a low cluck.

Then another.

I froze for a second then slowly turned my head.

One hen stood a little apart from the others. Bigger. Fluffier. Her feathers puffed out around her, like she had something to prove. Her head tilted, one beady eye locked on me.

“That one’s Carly,” Mary Elizabeth said from across the coop.

Carly let out a sharp squawk.

“I don’t think she likes me,” I said, holding the book up like doing so might help.

“She don’t like much of anything,” Mary Elizabeth replied, reaching down to straighten a bit of bedding.

I cleared my throat and opened the book.

“Okay,” I said, forcing a smile I could feel pulling tight. “Once upon a time—”

Carly launched.

“Ah!” I yelped, jerking back as a blur of feathers came straight at me. Wings flapped hard and fast, the sound loud in the enclosed space. The book slipped in my hands as I stumbled sideways.

“Whoa! No. No, ma’am!” I tried to dodge Carly, but she followed, flapping and squawking, her feet hitting the ground and pushing her forward in quick, determined steps.

“Why is she coming at me?” I cried, backing up until my hip hit the side of one of the nesting boxes.

Carly jumped again, wings striking the air with a force that stirred up bits of straw around us. One feather brushed my arm, and I squealed, spinning away and nearly dropping the book.

“I am not equipped for this!” I said, half ducking, half running in a tight circle around the center of the coop.

Carly stayed on me.

Every time I moved, she adjusted. Head low. Eyes fixed. Squawking louder now like she had a point to make and I wasn’t getting it.

“Mary Elizabeth!” I called out, lifting the book in front of me like a shield as Carly flapped up again. “Call her off!”

“I ain’t calling nobody off,” she said calmly.

I stopped short, my breath coming quick, and Carly took the opportunity to close the distance. I jumped back again, bumping into the bookcase this time.

“She’s attacking me!” I insisted.

Mary Elizabeth glanced over, one hand resting on her hip, the other still holding a small scoop of feed.

“She ain’t attacking,” she said. “She’s expressing herself.”

“Expressing—” I ducked again as Carly’s wings beat the air right in front of my face. “She’s expressing violence!”

Carly released a loud, sharp squawk, hopped forward again, and pecked once at the bottom corner of the book.

I jerked it up out of her reach.

“That is not encouraging!” I said, holding it higher.

Mary Elizabeth watched for another second then nodded like something had just clicked into place.

“Well,” she said, matter-of-factly, “there’s your problem.”

“What problem?” I asked, breathless, edging toward the door.

“She don’t like the book you picked out.”

I blinked at her.

Behind me, Carly flapped again, louder this time, like she was agreeing with Mary Elizabeth.

“You’re telling me,” I said slowly, gripping the book with both hands, “this chicken is chasing me because of my reading selection?”

Mary Elizabeth gave a small shrug. “Carly’s particular.”

end of excerpt