by Ellery Adams
“I actually feel sorry for Lazarus Harper,” said Hester. “He bought CBD oil because he was in pain. Then he failed a surprise drug test because of that CBD oil and was fired. Now he can’t even get his day in court to win back the job he shouldn’t have lost in the first place. No wonder he’s angry.”
June fixed Hester with a stern look. “He didn’t need to turn that anger on Celeste. He sent her a threatening postcard, and he was going to wreck her store. Why didn’t he go after the Wolfman? Or the folks who fired him? Why take out all his rage on a single woman?”
“I’m mad at him for messing with Celeste, but I’m with you, Hester,” said Estella. “Harper has gotten the short end of too many sticks. And what about his pain? The thing that started all of this. It’s probably worse than ever. I doubt he’d try another CBD product, so what’s he supposed to do? Meditate it away? Think good thoughts until he feels better?”
Nora knew the answer. “That’s why he’s drinking. To numb the pain.”
“And now he’s in jail with a hangover.” Estella gazed down at her hands. “Poor guy. This is probably his rock bottom. Right now. Today.”
The women silently contemplated how easily a life could be derailed. It didn’t take much. A couple of unexpected events and one’s train could fly off the track in a shower of sparks and the shriek of metal.
Hester gazed out the window over the sink. “What do we do now?”
June pointed at the laptop. “We need to know what Wolfman looks like. If he came to Miracle Springs to get that book, he’s probably still here.”
A current of fear passed through Nora. If this man had committed two murders and failed to discover the book’s location, then his risks had reaped zero rewards. Would he slink away empty-handed? Or would he take a step back and wait for the heat to die down before trying again? Wolf Beck was a resourceful man. He could pitch his tent in the mountains, subsisting on canned goods and wild game, until he was ready to return to Miracle Springs. To a place known for warmly welcoming all strangers.
Nora met June’s anxious gaze. “You’re right. We have to be able to pick him out of a crowd.”
“How about searching for art by the Maestro?” Estella suggested.
It was a good idea, and Nora gave it a try. Unfortunately, Maestro was a popular name among artists from around the globe. Adding the term “North Carolina” or “wolf” to the search produced no results.
Frustrated, Nora turned to Hester. “Did Sheriff McCabe run his name?”
“If Beck’s on the offender information database, Jasper will tell me. It’s public record. But I can’t ask him now. I’m not sure when I’ll talk to him next.”
She went on to describe how the sheriff’s department was completely overwhelmed. Over the past twenty-four hours, they’d been dealing with a suspicious death, a drunk driver, a minor committing vandalism, a protest, and a town so crowded with tourists that it had been impossible to enforce all the moving and parking violations. There’d also been two calls involving shoplifting, three calls about leash law violations, and a call from a woman looking for her misplaced purse.
“It’s been a long day for everybody,” said June.
The past ten hours had left their mark on Nora and her friends. Shadows bloomed under their eyes, and their shoulders drooped. Despite this, no one seemed interested in saying good night. They were all heartsick and weary, but they weren’t alone. Being together made the hard things easier to bear.
Estella wriggled out from under Nora’s feet and started loading damp towels, lotion, and Epsom salts into her tote bag.
Nora grabbed her hand. “I finally get why the whole washing feet thing is such a big deal in the Bible. Thank you for doing that.”
Estella wrapped a towel around her red hair and pinched the material together under her chin. “Just call me Mary Magdalene.”
“You should sign up for the Christmas pageant,” June teased. Estella took the towel off and held it against her chest. With her mussed hair and solemn expression, she looked like a little girl with a security blanket. “What will happen to Soothe? To Celeste’s gift baskets? Or her angel statue?”
Nora pictured the woman with the broken wing. Celeste had brought her to life. She’d chiseled and scraped and polished until the marble figure was her vision of Juliana, the inspiration for generations of Leopold women.
Juliana and Celeste belonged together.
“Celeste has to be buried with Bren,” Nora said. “Even if we have to organize a fundraiser to pay for it, we need to get that statue to the cemetery. She’s always been with Celeste.”
“She can watch over both of them now,” whispered Hester. “Mother and daughter.”
Knowing that Hester was probably thinking of her own daughter at this moment, a child she never knew but still mourned, Nora slipped her arm around her friend and kissed the top of her head. Hester’s golden curls smelled like honey.
June tapped the bakery box. “Time for your last dose of comfort before we go.”
Nora expected the box to contain a cinnamon raisin scone with a cream cheese glaze. Those were the flavors of comfort from her childhood. Whenever she was sick, sad, or injured, Nora’s mother would make her cinnamon raisin toast. After buttering the toast and covering it with a thin layer of cream cheese, she’d cut it into four squares that tasted like love.
Not long after they’d become friends, Hester had made Nora a comfort scone with the same flavors and feelings as her mother’s squares of cinnamon toast.
But this wasn’t the scone Hester had baked for her today. This one had ribbons of chocolate running through its golden pastry, and the dough contained hints of cream cheese and cocoa powder.
After a single bite, Nora was a college sophomore again. It was December, and she was moping in her dorm room because the major essay she’d worked on for weeks had been turned in late. Out of sheer bad luck, Nora had fallen on a patch of ice on her way to class and twisted her ankle. A maintenance worker had driven her to the infirmary, and by the time she’d been examined and treated, her class was over, and her professor had gone home.
Nora had thought all was lost. Even with a note from the infirmary, she believed her professor would grade her essay more stringently because of its tardiness. He hated tardiness and had made it clear that the only excuses he deemed acceptable were serious illness or death. A twisted ankle was neither.
Upon hearing her roommate’s sorry tale, Bobbie had gone out and bought two boxes of chocolate rugelach from her favorite bakery.
“Roo-ga-lah,” Bobbie had said, holding up a pastry that looked like a mini croissant. “Means ‘horn’ in Yiddish. They’re Professor Howard’s kryptonite. Swing by with a box during his office hours tomorrow, and he’ll accept your excuse with minimal grumbling.”
Bobbie’s prediction had been correct. Professor Howard had accepted the treats and Nora’s excuse. Brilliant, generous, wonderful Bobbie. How many times had she made Nora’s life better?
“You’re a million miles away,” June said, startling Nora from her reverie.
“I was back in college. With Roberta Rabinowitz.” Ashamed, Nora lowered her head. “When Bobbie showed up in Miracle Springs, it really knocked me for a loop. The old me—the me I never wanted to be again—came bubbling to the surface the second I saw her. F. Scott Fitzgerald was right. We’re all boats, borne back ceaselessly into the past. I was an idiot to think I could hide from it forever.”
She went on to tell her friends about her evening with Bobbie, including the fact that she and her college roommate had shared two bottles of wine.
“Did Bobbie know your ex-husband?” Estella asked.
Nora gave a little half shrug. “They only met twice, but she contacted him after I fell off the radar in hopes of finding me. I don’t know if they’re still in touch, and I don’t want to know. But I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you the truth about Bobbie before now.”
“Honey, you have nothing to be sorry about,” June
said with feeling. “And I want you to know something. The woman that Bobbie loved sounds just like the woman we love, so I guess you carried the best parts of you from one life to the next.”
Nora was about to tell her friends how much they meant to her when her phone lit up. It was in the middle of the table, which meant everyone could see that she’d just received a text. It was from Bobbie.
Hester pointed at the phone. “Does she know about Celeste?”
“No.” Nora opened the message. “She just got an email from someone interested in buying the Potion Page. He wants to see it in person and offered to bring cash to the meet. His username is Monkshood81. Bobbie recognized the name from her years working with herbals. They’re old books explaining how to use herbs in food and as cures. Oh, God.”
“What?” June demanded.
“Monkshood is another name for wolfsbane. That’s all Bobbie wrote. Estella, since you’re right there, can you look up wolfsbane on my laptop?”
Estella’s nails clicked over the keys. Suddenly, the color drained from her face. “Aconitum or aconite, also known as monkshood, wolfsbane, devil’s helmet, and the queen of poisons is a genus of flowering plants,” she said, her eyes locked on the computer screen. “In North Carolina, the plant is rare. It grows in the mountains, particularly in wooded thickets, damp slopes, and brook banks. It’s been spotted in thirteen counties, including ours. It looks like all the counties right around us have more than one species. Someone hiking the AT took this pic of a southern blue flower, and a gardening enthusiast spotted this trailing variety with white flowers while staying at the Bear Creek campground. That’s one town away.”
Estella turned the laptop around so that her friends could see the photos.
“The blue flower’s beautiful,” said Hester.
“Beautiful and deadly. This is the femme fatale of flowers.” Estella rotated the computer again. “If ingested, wolfsbane causes burning in the face and throat, vomiting, paralysis, slowed heart rate, and delirium. From that point, you either recover or you die. You’re not even supposed to touch this plant because the toxins from the roots might be absorbed through your skin.”
June looked at Estella. “Celeste said that her grow room was full of fresh herbs. She made her own soap, shampoo, and household cleaners. Does wolfsbane have a practical use?”
Estella’s eyes scanned over lines of text. After a few minutes, she said, “Some people use an ointment made from aconite. It’s supposed to help with joint pain, but it could also damage the heart. Doesn’t sound like it’s worth the risk. In the past, people used wolfsbane for hunting and warfare. I’d say the answer is no, it doesn’t have a practical use.”
Nora remembered Celeste’s pale, slack face. The spittle leaking from her mouth. Her dilated pupils and the feel of her limp hand. Her final words.
“She said ‘wolf.’ Before she died, Celeste said ‘wolf.’” Nora stared at Bobbie’s text message. “I was freaking out, and I asked too many questions at once. What happened? Who did this to you? Was it the same person who hurt Bren? And Celeste said ‘wolf.’ And then, she said it again. ‘Wolf’ and what sounded like ‘bay.’”
June’s face lit up. “Not bay. Bane. She was telling you that she’d been poisoned. With wolfsbane.”
“By Wolf Beck,” Hester added. Sounding a little breathless, she continued. “That’s why she said the word twice. She answered your questions, just not in the right order.”
Nora picked up her phone. “I’ll call the sheriff. If we’re right about wolfsbane being the cause of death, there’s going to be a target on Beck’s back the size of the Death Star.”
“Good,” said June. “I don’t condone the hunting of wolves. But if a wolf walks on two legs and murders women because they don’t give him what he wants, then I say bring him down.”
Nora acknowledged June’s anger with a nod. “To catch a wily predator, you need to bait a trap with something it can’t resist.”
“But the Potion Page is in New York, which means the sheriff doesn’t have the right bait,” said Estella.
“Beck wants more than a single page. He wants the whole book. Celeste’s book.” Nora pulled up McCabe’s contact card and held her finger over the call button. “And I think I know where it is.”
Chapter 16
Extraordinary things are always hiding in places people never thought to look.
—Jodi Picoult
The next morning, Nora wiped off her moped’s dew-covered seat and headed for the Pink Lady Grill.
The town was just starting to stir. The sun had barely cleared the mountains. Only the tallest peaks glowed with a lemonade light. Darkness still clung to the slopes and wooly shadows pooled around the trees. The air was nighttime cold.
It was a morning for sleeping in. A morning for soft slippers and heavy sweatshirts. Steaming cups of coffee and bowls of hot oatmeal drizzled with maple syrup. The crackle of wood in the fireplace. The sigh of newspaper pages.
Other than the occasional jogger or dog walker, Nora didn’t see many people on her way to the diner. She was having a breakfast meeting with Sheriff McCabe, and since he was short on time, she’d offered to pick up food and take it back to his office.
Jack Nakamura had her takeout order ready and waiting at the counter.
“I added two fruit cups, free of charge. Estella said you might need brain food. Blueberries and strawberries with orange slices will do the trick.” Jack tapped the side of his head and grinned. “I don’t need brain food. Why try to be the smartest guy in town when you’re already the luckiest?”
Though Jack had been in love with Estella for years, he never thought he stood a chance with her. Estella had always been very vocal about wanting to leave Miracle Springs, the town she’d lived in all of her life. She wanted to travel to distant cities and have flings with exotic strangers. She wanted to escape the ghosts of her childhood—to shuck off the memories of poverty and emotional abuse like a snake shedding its skin.
Year after year, Estella talked about the places she wanted to go, but she never packed her bags. As long as her father was incarcerated nearby, she wouldn’t leave. He’d killed a man to protect Estella, and she felt indebted to him for as long as he was behind bars.
In the past, Estella had a tendency to overshare the details of her love life with the other Secret, Book, and Scone Society members. But when it came to her relationship with Jack, she was close-lipped. The charismatic Japanese-American cook had won her heart, and, perhaps for the first time, Estella was in love.
Nora thanked Jack for the fruit and refused his offer to carry the beverage tray out to her moped. The diner was filling up, and he’d soon be needed in the kitchen. The other cooks were good, but they couldn’t replicate Jack’s airy pancakes or pillowy omelets.
After stowing the food bag in the moped’s seat compartment, Nora eased the coffee cups into the dual beverage holder clamped to her handlebars. She backed out of her parking spot and slowly accelerated, keeping an eye on the coffee cups as she drove. She didn’t want to spill a precious drop.
The lot behind the station should have been deserted this early on a Saturday morning, but it wasn’t. Assuming the cars belonged to people heading to the Highland Games, the Gingerbread House and the Pink Lady Grill were in for a busy morning.
Nora parked and engaged the kickstand. She was retrieving the takeout bag from her seat compartment when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.
Morris Knapp was getting out of a car two rows behind Nora’s.
He shut his door and pressed a button on his key fob, which made the headlights on his Subaru blink as if saying hello. He then slipped the fob into his pocket and started walking toward the station.
Nora put the takeout bag on the ground and secured her helmet to her seat. She then transferred the coffees to the beverage tray Jack had given her, picked up the bag, and looked around for Morris.
He’d stopped at the end of his row because a white miniva
n blocked his path. The minivan hadn’t been there when Nora drove into the lot, and its sudden appearance gave her pause.
Connie Knapp slid out of the driver’s seat and raised both arms in a gesture of disbelief. Her face was red and twisted with fury. She took two steps forward and began yelling at her husband.
The minivan’s idling engine masked her words, but not her tone. Connie was beyond angry. She’d graduated to the spitting, clawing, wounding level of contempt. She hurled words at Morris like spears, and he winced as they struck him. He didn’t reply or walk away. He withstood her assault with a stiff back and a pained but resolute expression.
Without warning, Connie’s rage gave out. As she pointed from the sheriff’s department to the minivan’s rear sliding door, her mouth stretched into an oval, and she began to keen.
The sound cut through all other sounds.
Nora didn’t like Connie. Not one bit. But she couldn’t listen to the raw, shrill notes of another woman’s suffering without being moved. Of course, there was nothing she could do to help. This was between man and wife. It was not for her to interfere.
All Nora could do was will Morris to reach out for Connie—to set his anger aside and find the mercy he surely mentioned in countless prayers and sermons.
Time seemed to freeze as Nora stared at Morris and Connie, and they stared at each other.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Connie sagged against the side of the minivan and lowered her head. Her body language signaled defeat and sorrow, and Nora didn’t think it was a ruse.
Morris raised his eyes to the station for a last, lingering glance before closing the distance between himself and his wife. Slipping his arms around Connie’s waist, he tried to lift her up, but she kept her arms pinned to her side. Her eyes were screwed closed and she kept shaking her head. But as Morris held her and murmured into her hair, she slowly raised her arms and returned his embrace.
Nora hurried away before either of the Knapps noticed her. The scene between husband and wife had left her flustered. She quickened her pace, hoping to make some sense of what she’d just witnessed.
