Ink and Shadows

by Ellery Adams

  “Is that why these books are so rare?” Nora asked. “Not because of the curses, but because so many were burned?”

  Bobbie grunted. “No historian worth her salt believes that theory. Grimoires are rare because occult books were never popular. Before Gutenberg, the Church was the primary source of written material. Fast-forward a few centuries from that first printing press, and you’re still risking your life by penning a grimoire. The last official witch trial held in the United States occurred in Salem. But it wasn’t the Ipswich trial of 1878. There was a civil case as late as 1918. Grimoires are rare because they’re dangerous. To the authors, the readers, and those who profited from their sale.”

  Nora had a vision of Bren’s face, pale as the moonlight washing over her smooth skin. Had a single page from a grimoire led to her death? And if she’d been murdered, then why was the ME having such a hard time figuring out what had killed her?

  There were too many questions, and Nora was too drained to think about them anymore.

  “You’re exhausted,” Bobbie noted. “You should hit the sack. But if you want to help Celeste, then you should use me. That page must be the key to this mess. If I’m going to unlock its mysteries, then it has to go to New York. You need to convince your sheriff to let me take it.”

  Nora walked her friend to the door. “Someone wants that page, Bobbie. Either because it’s valuable, or because of what’s written on it. I think Bren hid it under my mat moments before she was killed. What if her killer learns that you have it? You could be putting yourself in serious danger.”

  Bobbie’s gaze turned fierce. “I’ll take my chances. Do you know why? Because I have a daughter, and that girl makes me happy to be alive. No mother should lose her child the way Celeste lost hers. I will carry that page to the ends of the earth if I have to. To find the answers. For Celeste. And for the child she lost.”

  Nora walked Bobbie to her rental car, which was parked in the lot behind Miracle Books. After embracing her old friend, she hurried home, eager to reach the safety of her tiny house.

  As she locked her door and turned off the lights, she realized that she’d never been afraid of the dark.

  Until now.

  Chapter 12

  The best safety lies in fear.

  —William Shakespeare

  The next morning, the light bored holes through Nora’s closed eyelids. Her tongue felt like a cotton ball and the hot needle pain inside her head throbbed like a thousand drums. No amount of water could quench her thirst, and her stomach roiled at the thought of food.

  Coffee didn’t seem like a good idea either, so Nora dropped a teabag into a mug and filled the electric kettle. Moving slowly, she went outside to get the paper. She waited on the deck with the door open and her eyes closed, until the kettle’s whistle stopped shrieking.

  When all was quiet, she went back inside and arranged the paper, her mug of tea, and three ibuprofen tablets on the kitchen table. Next, she reached for her phone.

  She had no calls or texts from Jed. He was hours and miles away. He was scared and alone. But he wouldn’t turn to Nora for support anymore.

  Nora sat at the table, cradling her mug, and cried.

  After a time, the tea and the ibuprofen worked their magic. The sharp stabs in her head became a dull ache. Her queasiness disappeared, so she ate two slices of toast with raspberry jam. The flavor brought back one of her first memories of Jed.

  Nora remembered how much she’d wanted to kiss him that summer day. She remembered how the sun had painted gold into his hair and how she’d watched him pull the raspberries off the branches. His fingers had been deft and gentle. She’d imagined them touching her. Moving over the curve of her cheek and down the slope of her neck.

  Thinking of this day, and of many others, Nora decided that she wasn’t going to let Jed walk away simply because she hadn’t agreed to his request. She dialed his number and left a message describing that memory of berry picking. She hoped it would inspire him to reach out to her. If not, she would keep calling. She would keep reminding him that they had a good thing going.

  Setting the phone aside, Nora pulled the paper out of its plastic sleeve and flattened it.

  She scanned the national news, her hand poised to turn the first page, when she saw the headline below the fold. It read ALLERGIC REACTION PROVES FATAL FOR LOCAL WOMAN. Brenna Leopold’s name appeared in the opening line.

  “What?” Nora cried.

  Her eyes raced over the words. The date of the tragic incident. A quote from the ME regarding evidence of anaphylaxis and a sudden drop of blood pressure. The presence of a rash resembling eczema. The need to consult with colleagues before establishing the “alpha-gal” diagnosis and the ruling of accidental death. How Bren and her mother, Celeste, were newcomers to Miracle Springs. How Celeste could not be reached for comment. Medical records from Washington County indicated that the late Ms. Leopold was diagnosed with the unusual condition two years ago.

  “She may have accidentally eaten red meat at the farm-to-table festival,” Deputy Fuentes had told the reporter. “There could have been a mix-up with her order. It’s hard to say exactly what happened. Our thoughts and prayers are with the young lady’s mother during this difficult time.”

  The article’s final line stated that Bren would be laid to rest in Woodland Cemetery. The date was not included, nor were details regarding a service or donations.

  “Accidental?” Nora spluttered.

  She grabbed her phone. She needed McCabe to explain how Bren’s death could possibly be a fatal case of food poisoning in light of the book page and the break-in at her house.

  When he didn’t answer, Nora hung up without leaving a message. Pushing the paper away, she ran a search for Alpha-gal on her laptop.

  Thanks to a concise description provided by the Center for Disease Control, Nora learned that alpha-gal was a relatively new food allergy caused by a tick bite. She was examining an image of the Lone Star tick when her phone rang.

  “Did you see the paper?” June asked in a shrill voice.

  “Just now. I’m trying to wrap my head around this alpha-gal thing.”

  Following a pause and an unintelligible murmur, June said, “You’re on speaker. I stopped by the Pink Lady for breakfast and ran into Estella. We’re standing in the alley, so tell us what you know, because this accidental death headline doesn’t feel right.”

  “I don’t buy it either, but here’s what I do know. Alpha-gal is a sugar molecule found in most mammals. An alpha-gal allergy means that you’re allergic to these sugar molecules. If you eat meat or are exposed to products made from mammals who carry this sugar molecule, you’ll have a bad reaction.”

  “So if I have alpha-gal and I eat fried chicken, I could die?” Estella asked.

  Nora consulted the chart on her screen. “Fish and birds are safe. They’re not mammals, so they don’t have the sugar molecule. It’s found in red meat like beef, pork, and lamb.”

  June said, “I’ve never heard of this thing. Was Bren born with it?”

  “Many scientists believe that it starts with a bite from the Lone Star tick,” answered Nora. “I was looking at an image of the nasty bug when you called. Lone Star ticks are found throughout the Southeast. They have white, star-shaped spots on their backs, and their bites are painless. This is really bad because most people don’t even know that they’ve been bitten. The ticks carry alpha-gal in their saliva.”

  Estella made a noise to convey her disgust. “I will never understand why God made ticks or mosquitos. Never.”

  “The article says that Bren was diagnosed in Washington County. The same county as Still Waters, right?” asked June.

  “Yep. Miles and miles of woods. Lots of trees mean lots of white-tailed deer. Lots of tick carriers. And the more a person with this condition is bitten by these ticks, the worse the allergy gets.”

  “Bren wasn’t a little kid,” Estella said. “She knew she had this allergy. She would have been insanely ca
reful about everything she put into her mouth.”

  Nora thought so too. “That’s why I think this ruling is wrong. Someone must have given her food or a product made with red meat. The same person who ransacked her rental house.”

  “But wouldn’t someone notice if her face turned bright red or her lips blew up like a balloon?” June asked. “A thousand people were milling around. If Bren ate something bad at that festival, why didn’t anyone notice her suffering?”

  “Let me check the FAQ section,” said Nora. “Okay, this is how a typical food allergy works. I’m allergic to shellfish, and I eat a big bite of lobster tail. I’m going to have a reaction before I can pull off my bib. But alpha-gal doesn’t work like that. There’s a delayed reaction time of up to six hours.”

  There was silence on the other end as June and Estella processed this information.

  “So if someone tricked Bren into eating a bite of hamburger at seven, she might not have died until after midnight?” Estella mused aloud. “Wouldn’t she know the difference? Between a black bean and beef burger, for example? I could tell. It’s not just the flavor. It’s the texture. She would have known something was off.”

  Could strong spices or especially salty condiments, combined with a beer or two, have muddled Bren’s palate? Nora didn’t think so.

  “I agree with you, Estella. But right now, I have to go.” Nora closed her laptop and stood up. “I left a message for McCabe. When I hear back from him, I’ll let you know.”

  “Wait!” June cried before Nora could hang up. “Don’t worry about lodge guests avoiding Miracle Books anymore. I took care of that forked-tongue concierge.”

  Nora went limp in relief. “I really needed some good news. Thank you, June. I hope you don’t pay a price for getting involved.”

  “If I do, it won’t be at work because that concierge was told not to report for today’s shift. Or any other shift.” June sounded smug. “You won’t be surprised to hear that she runs with Connie’s pack.”

  Estella said, “Maybe today’s paper will put an end to their witch hunt. Talk to you later.”

  Nora hung up and got ready for work. As she unlocked Miracle Books, she wondered if Bobbie was already at the station, arguing her case in front of Sheriff McCabe.

  Would he give her the book page now that Bren’s death had been ruled an accident? He had no reason to hold on to it. It wasn’t evidence in a murder investigation. It was just a piece of paper that someone had put under Nora’s doormat the night Bren had died.

  Sheldon sent a text saying that he’d had a rough night and would be coming in late, so Nora put thoughts of Bobbie aside and hurried to finish the opening tasks.

  “Why didn’t Celeste say something about Bren’s allergy?” Nora muttered as she brewed coffee. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the machine. “Maybe she didn’t know.”

  It was possible. Bren had been diagnosed two years ago. She’d been eighteen. A legal adult. Had she gotten sick and gone to the hospital without her mother’s knowledge? Whatever the details, Bren’s diagnosis would have resulted in an abrupt dietary change. But would anyone be surprised when a young woman living in a secluded community suddenly announced that she was giving up red meat? Nora doubted it.

  What Nora kept thinking about was how Bren had dropped to the sidewalk the Friday night before her death. She’d been sick to her stomach. Violently sick. Had something triggered her allergy? Would Celeste remember what her daughter had eaten that day?

  I’ll have to ask her.

  Sheldon arrived an hour late, looking as haggard as Nora. Though pain had plagued him throughout the night, staying in bed this morning had given him the boost he needed to make it through the workday. He explained this to Nora as he put the box of book pockets on the counter and opened the lid. While he washed his hands, the scent of warm, buttery dough drifted through the store, luring customers back to the ticket agent’s office.

  Seeing their approach, Sheldon waved at Nora. “Tell me quick. Why are you and June so worked up because the powers-that-be are calling Bren’s death an accident? Isn’t that an easier thing for a mother to accept than a suspicious death or a murder ? What’s done is done. Can’t you let Celeste bury her girl and try to move forward?”

  “It’s not that simple,” said Nora.

  “I thought you understood suffering. I guess I was wrong,” said Sheldon. Before Nora could reply, he turned away to serve his first customer.

  Customers needed Nora’s help too, so she wasn’t able to explain herself until much later. She and Sheldon were in the YA section, restocking titles. After shelving books for several minutes, Nora broke the silence.

  “Do you think Voltaire understood suffering?” she asked.

  Sheldon looked wary. “He could hardly be called a champion of the poor, downtrodden, and unjustly persecuted if he didn’t.”

  “‘To the living we owe respect, but to the dead we owe only truth.’ Those are his words.” Nora passed Sheldon two Leigh Bardugo books. “I believe that too. I respect Celeste. I feel terrible for her. But someone owes Bren the truth.”

  Sheldon arched a brow. “And why should that someone be you?”

  “That’s a fair question,” Nora said, moving toward the Fantasy section. “I guess it’s because she died near my house. Or because I found her. I offered her a place to go if she needed one, and I think she needed one.”

  “And you ended up with a book page full of scribbles.”

  Nora tried to shove a second copy of Anansi Boys into the Neil Gaiman row, but it wouldn’t fit. After sliding Stardust into the space, she reached for another book and grabbed two by accident. They both slid out of her grasp and fell to the floor.

  Before Nora could bend down to retrieve them, Bobbie scooped them up. She examined the covers, nodded in approval, and shelved them.

  “Thanks,” said Nora. “But I’m supposed to be helping you, not the other way around.”

  “I’m easy. I want everything.” Bobbie laughed. “I visit bookstores like other people visit major league baseball stadiums. I don’t take selfies. I take pictures of book covers. When I go on vacation, I plan my itinerary around book settings.”

  Sheldon beamed at her. “Aren’t you a breath of fresh air?”

  Bobbie and Sheldon would probably find loads to talk about if Nora didn’t intervene, so she asked Bobbie if she’d like to see the display table highlighting all things Scotland.

  Taking the hint, Bobbie followed Nora to the front.

  “I would not time-travel to eighteenth-century Scotland,” Bobbie said, tapping a copy of Outlander. “Jamie Fraser might be the sexiest man in the world, but I’d trade him for indoor plumbing and Chinese takeout in a New York minute.”

  Nora laughed. “I’m with you on the indoor plumbing, but I’d replace Chinese food with coffee. Jamie could never make it how I like it. Not his fault. He wouldn’t have access to the right ingredients.”

  Bobbie pointed at the stack of books on the checkout counter. “My reading material for the plane.”

  Bobbie’s stack contained twelve books, all of which had been pulled from the shelf labeled STAFF PICKS–NORA.

  Nora stared at the cover of Ask Again, Yes, because if she met Bobbie’s eyes at this moment, she would probably cry. When she’d mastered her emotions, she asked, “Are you going to New York by way of Australia?”

  “I have two nightstands. One has my clock, water glass, and current read. The other, which used to be Stan’s, has my book skyscrapers. I call it TBR City.” Bobbie laid a hand on the top of the stack. “I sleep better when stories are guarding my dreams.”

  Nora wanted to give Bobbie the books as a gift, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m just another customer. You’re going to swipe my credit card, bag my books, and wish me a nice day. After that, I’ll hop into my rental car and drive to that terrifyingly tiny airport in Asheville. By the time you’re ready to close for the day, I’ll have started evaluating that book page.” />
  “Fine. But there’s something I want you to have that isn’t a book. Let me grab it.”

  “Who is that interesting creature?” Sheldon asked when Nora reappeared in the back of the store.

  “The name on her credit card says Roberta Rabinowitz, but she introduced herself as Bobbie.”

  Having finished with YA, Sheldon had pushed the book cart into the children’s section. “I wonder if that’s a childhood nickname.”

  “I asked her the same thing,” Nora lied, knowing Sheldon would appreciate the explanation. “Apparently, she gave herself the nickname when she was applying for her first job. Having a man’s name got her foot in the door. All she needed was that opening, and before anyone knew it, she was inside.”

  Sheldon laughed in delight.

  “Bobbie thinks that everyone should experience the benefits of a gender-neutral nickname.”

  “So you and I could be Pat and Morgan. Or Taylor and Blake,” said Sheldon. “That Bobbie is fun. I hope she comes back.”

  Turning away before he could see the look in her eyes, Nora said, “Me too.”

  Bobbie was standing by the bookmark spinner when Nora approached.

  Feeling a little shy, she held out a string of beads and said, “This is a mala necklace. It’s made of red tiger eye beads, which are supposed to provide protection. I assume you don’t travel with a prayer shawl, but I wanted some kind of positive force to stand between you and that book page. Especially if it’s from a grimoire.” Nora put the necklace over Bobbie’s head. “May this bless you and keep you.”

  Bobbie rubbed the beads between her thumb and forefinger. “Eye of the tiger. No one’s ever given me a more suitable piece of jewelry. Thank you.”

  The two women clasped hands until the door opened, and several customers wandered inside. At that moment, Nora took her place behind the checkout counter and rang up Bobbie’s books. As she handed the bag to her old friend, more customers entered the shop. They all carried turquoise totes, signaling the onset of the midmorning rush.