by Ellery Adams
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
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
INK and SHADOWS
Ellery Adams
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
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
Ink and Shadows: A Secret, Book, and Scone Society Mystery Reader’s Guide
Bibliotherapy from - Ink and Shadows
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 © 2021 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.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2020944007
The K logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2641-4
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: February 2021
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2643-8 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2643-X (ebook)
If you struggle to find your place in this world, know that you’re not the only one. Also know that there’s a place for you in the world of books. The door’s always open. A light is always burning. Books don’t care about your age, bank account balance, BMI, or relationship status. They want to bestow gifts on you, one story at a time.
Thank you for opening the door to my story.
Your friend, EA
All the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darken’d or starry bright.
—William Butler Yeats
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
Key Players in the Miracle Springs Sheriff’s Department
Sheriff Grant McCabe
Jasper Andrews
Angela Wiggins
Carlos Fuentes
The Women of Lasting Values Society Members
Connie Knapp
Dominique Soto
Olga Gradiva
Bethann Beale
Chapter 1
O’What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!
—William Shakespeare
Nora Pennington stood on the sidewalk, frowning.
Most people wouldn’t understand her reaction to the bookshop’s window display. The window was full of cute plush toys inspired by children’s book characters. With the help of parachutes made from autumn leaves, Curious George, Olivia, the Very Hungry Caterpillar, Babar the Elephant, Peter Rabbit, Pete the Cat, Paddington Bear, Clifford the Big Red Dog, Winnie-the-Pooh, Arthur, Frog and Toad, Fantastic Mr. Fox, Maisie, and the Pigeon floated in a bright blue sky. All the animals were aiming for the same landing zone: a giant book. The book glowed, illuminating the fur of the closest parachuters, and its open pages were covered with letters made of rainbow glitter.
At the top of the window, a biplane piloted by Stuart Little trailed a yellow banner with the words FALL INTO A GOOD BOOK!
That August, the window had drawn smiles from locals and visitors to Miracle Springs, North Carolina. Then, September came, but summer wouldn’t let go. It was as hot and humid on the first day of school as it had been on the Fourth of July. Plants wilted. People drooped. The whole town was sunbaked and dry. It was hard to believe that October was right around the corner.
Autumn’s refusal to kick summer to the curb had gotten under everyone’s skin, including Nora’s. She stood outside, shading her eyes from the sun’s glare, and tried to imagine a festive fall scene in her display window. But nothing was coming to her. It was too hot to think.
“Are you channeling the Grouchy Ladybug?” asked Sheldon Vega.
Nora’s friend and employee pointed at her ALL THE COOL KIDS ARE READING T-shirt, which happened to be red.
“I’m pensive,” she said. “More Harriet the Spy than grumpy insect.”
Stroking his silver goatee, Sheldon looked at the window. “This display let our customers hang on to that summer freedom vibe while also giving them hope that they’ll still have time to read in between soccer games, PTA meetings, back-to-school nights, and the zillions of fall festivals I saw listed in the paper. You people are festival addicts.”
Nora laughed. “I had the same reaction when I first moved here. When I saw the festival calendar, I thought it was some kind of a joke. Molasses, Railroad, Guinea, Folk, Irish, Scottish Games, Greek, Clay, Cherokee, Zombie, and Mountain Bike Festivals. I’m a big fan of all of them. You know why? They draw big crowds. And a portion of those crowds find their way to Miracle Springs. From now until New Year’s is our moneymaking season, and I’m hoping it’s a banner one. I’d like to put something away for a rainy day.”
Sheldon nodded. “My nest egg could definitely use a little more yellow in its yolk.”
“Then we need to pick up the pace, starting with this window. Our next display needs to be less cutesy and more compelling.”
“We raised the bar too high these past few months,” said Sheldon. “We became the Fifth Avenue department store at Christmastime—full of magic and wonder and sugarplums. This month, our sugarplums were a little flat.” He tugged at the ends of his peach and purple bowtie. “Happens to the best of us.”
Nora smiled. Sheldon had that effect on her. Though he’d been working at the bookshop for only five months, she didn’t know how she’d ever managed without him. He had a profound love of reading, an excellent eye for design, and he made the world’s best coffee.
Sheldon Vega had inherited his love of reading and his ability to put people at ease from his Jew
ish mother. His self-assurance and passion for good food came from his Cuban father. Sheldon was in his sixties and looked like Don Johnson’s character in Django Unchained. He had a penchant for sweater vests, Nutella on toasts, and bear hugs. He suffered from chronic pain, which caused him to be absent or late to work. Nora had liked him from the moment they’d met.
“Lots of shops have their Halloween displays up,” Nora went on. “It’s one of the things I hate about retail. We always have to jump the gun on holidays. Valentine candy hits the shelves January first. And on February fifteenth, out comes the chocolate bunnies and jellybeans.”
Sheldon shuddered. “And those revolting marshmallow chicks.”
Nora turned to him. “So what should we do? Hang up ghosts and goblins even though it feels like we’re a desert planet from Dune?”
“Ghosts and goblins. Dracula and Frankenstein. Do they really have a wow factor?” Sheldon pursed his lips. “These stuffed paratroopers failed. They didn’t lure people inside. We need to do better.”
“True,” said Nora. “But in our defense, September is all about back-to-school. I’ve talked to a few of the moms about their schedules, and it stressed me out just listening to them. They’re driving kids here and there, working all kinds of hours, hitting the gym, stocking the fridge, prepping meals, balancing the books, and keeping everyone in their house happy. I’ve been shoving copies of Mrs. Everything into their hands and wishing I could afford to give away a spa voucher with every purchase.”
Sheldon held up a finger. “Hey, now. You might be onto something with this. Today’s women are women of power. Gifted, talented, and driven women. Magical women. Why not fill the window with women like that?”
“I’m picturing the Hocus Pocus witches around a cauldron,” Nora said in a dreamy voice. “The cauldron’s rimmed with salt because the witches are brewing margaritas. It’s their ghouls’ night out. Get it?”
“The UV rays must be getting to her,” Sheldon mumbled to himself. “Witches? Sure. It’s Halloween, after all. But not the hags with hairy warts and pointy hats. Beautiful witches. Multi-generational. Culturally diverse. What if they brew books in their cauldron? Stories about powerful females?”
Nora was instantly caught up by the idea. “Yes! We could display book covers featuring powerful women. Lady Macbeth. Medusa.”
“Elphaba, Alina Starkov, Matilda.”
“Medea.” Nora could see books flying out of the cauldron. Books with cardboard wings and paper bodies. Colorful, glossy, magical books.
“Don’t forget Hermione Granger,” Sheldon added. “We can’t have a power coven without her.”
The two friends became more and more animated as they discussed materials, lighting, and other design elements.
Suddenly, Nora noticed the time.
“We’d better get ready to open. Even though it feels like the first circle of Dante’s Inferno outside, people will still want coffee.”
“That’s because it’s my coffee,” Sheldon said. “I’ll get my elixir going and pull some titles. We’ll have a window’s worth of fierce females by lunchtime.”
Sheldon opened the front door to the noisy jangle of vintage sleigh bells. They hung from a hook on the back of the door, signaling the arrival or departure of customers—a useful alarm in a rabbit warren of a bookshop.
Useful or not, Sheldon hated them. “One of these days, I’m going to stuff those bells with bubble gum. Or plaster of paris.”
Nora was about to reply when a woman’s scream pierced the morning air.
The scream had come from up the street. Somewhere close.
It was just past nine on a muggy Tuesday, and downtown Miracle Springs was quiet. Kids were in school. Working professionals were in their air-conditioned offices. The shops on Main Street were either already open or preparing to open at ten. There was light foot traffic on the sidewalks and across the street in the park, but it didn’t look like anyone else had heard the scream.
Nora believed the sound had come from the town’s newest business. The insurance agency that used to occupy the space had relocated to a newer office building with ample parking, and Nora expected someone to grab the prime retail space right away. After it sat empty for months, she learned that the lease was for the entire building, including the storefront and the two-bedroom apartment above it.
But all that was about to change. Two days ago, Nora had been walking back to the bookshop from the Gingerbread House when she’d noticed a purple awning over the entrance to the former insurance agency. A young man was on a ladder, wiping fingerprints from the dark purple letters he’d just applied to the front door. The letters spelled SOOTHE.
Soothe was a block and a half away, and the scream had come from that direction. Nora didn’t hesitate. She took off running.
Nora ran until she came up behind a woman who was hunched over a large object on the sidewalk. The woman had a slim frame, long, gray hair mottled with brown, and freckled skin. She passed her hands over the object and let out a soft moan.
Nora took a few more steps and the source of the woman’s distress was revealed. It was a life-sized sculpture of a robed figure.
Squatting next to the woman, Nora looked her up and down. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said without taking her eyes off the sculpture. “I shouldn’t have screamed like that. She’s broken. But it’s okay. Broken things are still beautiful.”
Nora glanced at the pair of workmen standing under the purple awning.
“We’ve moved lots of heavy stuff, and nothing like this ever happened before.” The younger workman, who wore jeans and a sweat-stained RC Cola T-shirt, sounded spooked.
The older man had a bearlike build and a gruff voice. “I tied that knot myself. The rope slipped like it was covered in butter.”
He made the sign of the cross, and Nora’s gaze shifted back to the sculpture.
It was an angel. A winged angel.
Her right wing was intact, but there was a patch of rough marble where its left wing had been. As Nora stared at the wounded angel, she involuntarily brought her hand to her own shoulder. She could feel her burn scars through her thin shirt. The angel’s scar reminded her of lunar rock. It was nothing like hers, which looked like jellyfish and small octopi, forever suspended in an aquarium of skin.
She heard someone breathing hard behind her and glanced up to see Sheldon offering his hand to the woman.
“I don’t usually pant like a golden retriever when I meet people, and if I help you up, I promise not to lick you.”
The woman gave him a grateful smile and took his hand.
When she and Nora were both on their feet, she introduced herself as Celeste Leopold. “This is my store. Mine and my daughter’s. Bren’s inside and probably has no clue what just happened to Juliana.”
“Is that the angel’s name?” Nora asked.
Celeste cocked her head. “Angel, saint, healer, cunning woman. She’s had many titles.”
Nora and Sheldon introduced themselves and told Celeste about Miracle Books. By this time, the workmen had picked up the angel’s detached wing.
“Where do you want this, ma’am?” asked the older man.
“Put it in the window, please.” Celeste said. Her tone was surprisingly light considering how upset she’d just been. “I’ll use it as a display. There aren’t any mistakes in art. Only marvelous new creations.”
As the men carried the wing inside, Sheldon mopped his brow with a handkerchief. He was still breathing heavily.
“Go back to the shop and put your feet up,” Nora whispered to him. “You’re as white as that angel.”
Sheldon bobbed his head at Celeste. “Excuse me, neighbor, but when my skin goes from Greek god bronze to blanched almond, it’s my cue to leave. I hope the rest of your move is uneventful.”
While Celeste thanked Sheldon for his concern, Nora stared down at the angel.
The hair that framed her face was wavy and fell all the wa
y to the embroidered belt at her waist. Attached to the belt was a thick chain. The chain reached the hem of the woman’s floor-length skirts, and the last link was broken. The angel’s hands were cupped, and the stalk of a leafy plant was tucked under her left arm. Though she reminded Nora of the statues in European church naves, there was something modern about the woman’s expression.
She isn’t humble.
The angel’s gaze was direct. Unflinching. Her chin was raised. Was she confident? Or defiant?
“Does Juliana have a story?” she asked Celeste.
The question clearly pleased Celeste. “She sure does. It’s my story too. And my daughter’s.” Her face glowed with pride. “For many generations, the women in my family have been called Juliana. Sometimes, as a first name. Sometimes, as a middle name. That’s how important she is to us. She and I are centuries apart, but we share the same passion. She devoted her life to healing, and almost all of her descendants have followed in her footsteps.”
The workmen reappeared on the sidewalk with more rope. They eyed the sculpture warily before winding rope around her torso.
“What’s with the chain?” one of them asked.
There was a far-off look in Celeste’s blue eyes. “Some say she was chained to a devil. Others say it was a dragon. Since I sculpted her, I decided to set her free.”
The younger workman frowned. “Why not just get rid of the chain?”
Celeste glanced at Nora before answering, “Because once you’ve danced with a devil—or been burned by dragon fire— you don’t ever want to go near those things again. The chains are there as reminders.”
