by Ellery Adams
Darkness had settled around the hills. The five women were seated under a wide arc of stars. The candle in the center of their table softly flickered. The din of the bistro diners was as gentle as the lull of a moving stream.
Hester asked Abilene about the education she’d received in her uncle’s house and Abilene explained that everything she’d learned came from books. When she was old enough, her uncle had taught her to repair clocks and watches. He brought home repairs and had her help with appraisals. Because she needed computer access to determine current market values, he showed her how to navigate the Internet. She could use the computer only under her uncle’s supervision.
“I liked the work, but I loved being in the kitchen. I could make magic there.” Abilene looked at Hester. “The things I created were mine. Cooking was my freedom.”
Hester’s experience had been eerily similar. She’d lived with a domineering aunt who was willing to let Hester borrow books from her extraordinary library in exchange for homemade baked goods. So Hester had learned to bake.
Abilene finished her drink and Estella immediately hailed the waiter.
After draining the last drops of her cocktail, Nora decided to ask a more crucial question than how Abilene had acquired an education. “Do you think your uncle wanted to hurt Amanda because she sheltered you?”
“All I can say is that she’d still be alive if it weren’t for me.” Abilene looked at Nora, her eyes plaintive and sad. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone else. You’ve all been so—”
“Hold that thought, love,” Estella interrupted. She’d been watching the waiter and he was now approaching their table.
“Ladies?” He directed his smile at Estella. “Another round?”
“We’ll switch to Winter Is Coming. We like our literary references,” Estella said. The waiter cleared away their highball glasses and returned to the bar. When he was out of earshot, Estella leaned forward. “Listen to me, Abilene. The only way everyone in this circle will be safe is for us to know what we’re dealing with. Your uncle is a special kind of crazy bastard. He breaks the mold. But he’s just a man. One man.”
June bobbed her head in agreement. “He’ll have to face five of us. Five badass women.”
“We could tell Jasper too, “Hester said. “He can track down your uncle and toss him in a cell. Hopefully, the tossing part will be especially rough.”
They all went quiet and Nora assumed her friends were wondering the same thing as her. Could the sheriff’s department really help?
“Can you prove that your uncle killed Amanda?” Nora asked Abilene.
She glanced around the garden as if the man might be hiding behind a potted tree or the row of bushes lining the gravel path. “No,” she whispered. “Probably not.”
The waiter reappeared carrying a tray of martini glasses.
“What’s this?” June asked Estella. “Milk and cookie time?”
“This is our most popular dessert cocktail,” the waiter answered. “Godiva white chocolate liqueur, vanilla vodka, white crème de cacao, half-and-half, and white sanding sugar. Rich and sweet.”
Estella reached for her glass. “Just how I like my men.”
The waiter didn’t know how to respond to this, so he smiled awkwardly and went to check on another table.
There was something ethereal about the white liquid and the sanding sugar sparkling from the rims of the martini glasses. The drinks looked like they were meant for a fairy queen, not for the odd assemblage that was the Secret, Book, and Scone Society and their young guest.
Nora looked at the stars and thought of how Abilene had ended up in a bookstore called Miracle Books.
She needs a miracle, Nora thought. She needs to be released from the prison she carries around with her.
When she lowered her gaze, her eyes met Abilene’s. “Do you want to tell us your real name?”
“It’s Hannah. Hannah Tupper.”
Nora stared at her. “Were you named after a book character?”
“Yes.” Abilene was clearly unhappy to admit this.
Nora couldn’t understand why Abilene was so wretched. “She’s a wonderful character. She’s smart and kind, a fan of kittens and blueberry cake, and—”
“A witch,” Abilene said.
Estella put her drink down and waved her hands. “Wait. What book are you talking about?”
“The Witch of Blackbird Pond,” Nora said. “And Hannah isn’t a witch. She’s different from the other villagers because she’s a Quaker. She’s also the scapegoat for any and all negative occurrences. She befriends a young girl, Kit, and teaches her that the true meaning of home is the love and friendship found within its walls.”
“I need to read that book,” June said. “I’ve been called a witch a time or two because of my cat parades.” She blew out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not like I’ve tried to charm those whiskered catnip addicts.”
Estella snorted. “Other women don’t call me a witch because of cats. But I don’t care. I’ve been called worse.”
“People use the word witch when they feel threatened by a woman who is strong, confident, and independent. A woman who’s comfortable in her own skin,” June said. “But would you prefer us to call you Abilene?”
“My parents picked Hannah,” she said. “They named me, but they didn’t raise me. They left me with a couple from their church and headed off to Africa so they could work at an orphanage. They made me an orphan. My church-loving parents left me with the Devil. I don’t want their name.”
Nora smiled. “It’s good to have a new name to complement your new life.”
Abilene glanced up at the star-speckled sky. “Can I do that? Can I get rid of Hannah? Like a snake shedding its skin?”
Hester touched her on the shoulder. “More like a butterfly shedding its cocoon. You’ve never been able to spread your wings. You weren’t even allowed to try. I think it’s time for that part of your life to be over. It’s time for you to fly.”
Her eyes locked on the glittering canopy overhead, Abilene took Hester’s hand and whispered a verse from an Emily Dickinson poem:
“‘A power of Butterfly must be—
The Aptitude to fly
Meadows of Majesty concedes
And easy Sweeps of Sky—’”
And then she picked up her glass and drank her entire cocktail without pausing for breath.
Chapter 13
My doctor told me to stop having intimate dinners for four. Unless there are three other people.
—Orson Welles
Abilene refused to speak with Deputy Andrews or anyone else from the sheriff’s department. Exhausted after so much talking, she asked to be driven straight back to her apartment.
Hester walked Abilene into her building. When she returned to the car, her face was tight with concern.
“We have to do something about that apartment,” she said. “Abilene didn’t want me to come in and I can see why. She has one towel, two dishes, and a few sets of plastic cutlery, no doubt taken from the salad bar at the grocery store. She still has nothing to wear. I’ve given her a couple of things, but they’re too big on her.”
Estella immediately came up with a plan. She’d invite Abilene to the Magnolia Spa for a complimentary shampoo, cut, and style. In the meantime, the other Secret, Book, and Scone Society members could scour the thrift shops for household items. Though none of them had much in the way of extra cash to spare, they all wanted to contribute.
“I’ll check my calendar,” said Estella as she alighted from June’s Bronco. “But I think I can fit Abilene in late Thursday. After five.”
Knowing Nora would be working until at least six, June and Hester suggested they go shopping without her. Otherwise, the thrift store would close before they could buy anything.
Nora was fine with this decision. She gave June some money and waved good-bye to her friends. She wasn’t thinking about pots and pans or bath towels. Her mind was completely focused on Ezekiel Cra
ne.
She continued to think about him the next day, despite how busy Miracle Books was that morning. Crane cast a pall over everything and Nora couldn’t stop wondering if he was in Miracle Springs right now. And had he killed Amanda Frye? What about Kenneth?
Just before lunch, with all her customers contentedly browsing, Nora called Ezekiel Crane’s clock and jewelry shop in Lubbock. She used her cell phone instead of the shop’s landline and blocked her number before placing the call.
Nora had no idea what she’d say if Crane picked up. She could pretend that she’d dialed the wrong number and hang up. If he did answer, she’d breathe much easier knowing that he was in Lubbock, which was a long way from Miracle Springs.
However, Crane didn’t pick up. After six unanswered rings, the voicemail message kicked in and a gravelly male voice announced that Master Humphrey’s was temporarily closed. The voice went on to say that customers with incomplete repairs would be contacted soon with a new pickup date.
Nora disconnected the call.
Without waiting to consult her friends, she dialed the sheriff’s department non-emergency number. After asking to speak with Sheriff McCabe, she was placed on a brief hold. When the sheriff picked up, he surprised Nora by saying, “Ms. Pennington. You got to me before I could get to you.”
Nora was confused. “Sorry?”
“We still need your statement on Mr. Frye,” the sheriff said.
Encouraged by his lack of criticism for her failure to provide a statement, Nora made the bold suggestion that he stop by Miracle Books after closing. When he didn’t reply, she hurriedly continued. “I need to speak with you privately. It might be related to your ongoing investigations, but I can’t go into details now and I can’t close my business to come to the station. I don’t have employees. It’s just me, and I need to stay open.”
The sheriff fell into a contemplative silence. After a moment, he said, “All right, Ms. Pennington. I’ll drop by this evening, though I don’t think your shop is exactly private. The second I park in your lot, people will wonder why I’m visiting after hours. Wouldn’t it be better if I picked you up and we drove a train stop or two away? We could grab a bite to eat while we talk. If that works for you.”
Unable to tell if McCabe had an ulterior motive for inviting her to dinner, Nora agreed to his plan.
Minutes later, the sleigh bells banged against the back of the door and she glanced up, ready to greet her next customer. There were actually two customers—a man and a woman who’d clearly been in the middle of an argument and weren’t prepared to stop just because they’d moved from street to store. They continued to exchange a flurry of angry whispers by the bookmark spinner until the woman abruptly turned to leave.
Nora heard her hiss, “Don’t buy anything unless you can ingest it. I’m serious, Monroe.”
Looking chastised, the man named Monroe nodded and the woman exited the store. Monroe watched the bells bang against the door in her wake and then ambled past the checkout counter. As he walked by, he gave Nora a shy smile and a soft hello.
She told him to make himself at home and that he could come find her if he needed any help.
“I wish you could help,” he said, sounding miserable. “But I think I’m beyond saving at this point.”
“No one is that far gone,” Nora said and beckoned him to follow her to the ticket agent’s window. Pointing at the menu, she suggested he order something and, after she’d prepared his drink, he could share his troubles with her.
Brightening a little, Monroe chose a Jack London and a chocolate book pocket.
When his order was ready, Nora didn’t place it on the sill. Instead, she served it to him where the Secret, Book, and Scone Society met. She then settled in a chair beside him.
“The woman you came in with. Is she . . . ?” Nora trailed off, waiting for Monroe to answer.
“My wife,” he said. “I love her to pieces, but no matter how hard I try, I keep disappointing her.” He took a sip of his drink and added, “I have an issue with stuff.”
Nora studied him. He wore jeans in a dark wash, red Converse sneakers, and a Cubs baseball shirt. He was clean shaven with an approachable face and a shy smile. A pair of glasses framed his sad eyes. Nora guessed that he was in his early thirties.
“What type of stuff?” she asked.
“You name it, I have it. Books of every kind, old magazines, baseball cards, action figures, record albums, trophies, and papers from work, school, and a million other sources. I have bills that I’ve paid but haven’t thrown away. I have coupons that expired years ago. That’s my issue. I don’t get rid of stuff. I just can’t. I just put them in piles and the piles multiply. My spaces in our house are a mess. My wife, Laurie, is a neat freak. She now has a room I’m not allowed to enter. She calls it her safe place.”
Nora made a sympathetic noise. “I can see how your different lifestyles might generate conflict.”
“That’s an understatement,” Monroe scoffed. “I’ve tried lots of different tactics to deal with my hoarding—God, I hate that word—and my stuff will be manageable for a while after I implement some new program. But then, I’ll get stressed about something and I’ll start collecting crap all over again. That crap makes me feel secure. My stuff is like a wall of comfort, even though I don’t really care about any of it. Even when I’m not stressed, I get stressed thinking about letting go of my stuff. My house isn’t a mess. I am.”
“What strategies have you tried?” Nora asked.
Monroe seemed reluctant to answer, but eventually, he did. “I saw a specialist for months. He recommended antianxiety meds. Medication might be an option for other people, but it isn’t for me. Let’s just say that when I was in my early twenties, I got hooked on an addictive product and I never want to go down that road again.”
“I understand.”
Nora sat back in her chair and allowed the comforting quiet of the bookstore to envelop them. Monroe sipped his coffee, looking more than a little self-conscious, while titles popped up in Nora’s mind. However, she remembered Laurie’s warning. Monroe was not supposed to buy anything he couldn’t ingest.
If Nora really wanted to help this couple, she’d have to be a little pushy. “May I ask you something personal? Bordering on rude?” she asked Monroe.
He responded with a nervous nod.
“During your time as an addict, did you have to live without some or all of your possessions?”
Monroe stared at Nora as if she knew his secret history in its entirety. “I don’t know how you guessed that, but I actually lived on the streets for a year or so. All my money went into pills. Booze too. I lost everything.”
Nora smiled at him. “Until you found your wife?”
He smiled back, his love for his wife making his face glow like a star. He suddenly looked years younger. And far more carefree. “Until I found Laurie,” he said. His smile faded. “I don’t want to keep screwing up with her. I’d trade everything I own to make her happy. I’d toss every scrap of stuff into the trash. But I don’t. I can’t let it go.”
“I believe you and Laurie can get through this together,” Nora said. “And I have a few books that may help. I’ll pull them from the shelves and put them at the checkout counter. When you’re ready, you can ask your wife to look at them. The key here is to tackle this issue as a team. The Monroe-and-Laurie team.”
Monroe thanked her and turned his attention to his book pocket. He wolfed the pastry down in four bites and licked dollops of chocolate off his fingers.
“Man, that was so good,” he said. “I need to get one for Laurie.”
His boyish enthusiasm was a delight to behold and Nora was glad that he’d found his way to Miracle Books.
“Tell you what,” she said. “You find your wife and I’ll pull titles and heat up another book pocket. By the time you come back, I’ll have everything ready.”
When the couple returned, Monroe led Laurie directly to the ticket agent’s window. Nor
a noticed that they were holding hands. This was a good sign.
Nora asked Laurie if she’d care for anything to drink. She ordered a Louisa May Alcott.
Nora had chosen Laurie’s mug with great care, and as she placed it on the counter, she watched the other woman read the message printed on the light blue ceramic.
The hush in the bookstore was abruptly broken by a bark of laughter.
“What it is?” Monroe asked, smiling in anticipation of sharing in the joke.
Showing the mug to her husband, Laurie said, “See where it says, PATIENCE. SUCH A WASTE OF TIME? I need this printed on a T-shirt.”
Monroe chuckled and Nora knew that she’d successfully broken the ice with Laurie. To make her even more amenable, she served her a chocolate book pocket.
“This is amazing!” Laurie exclaimed after one bite, and glanced at Monroe. “You’re right. This place is special.” She then turned to Nora. “My husband said that he talked to you about our situation. I don’t mean to sound doubtful, but we’ve tried books before and they didn’t work.”
When Nora asked her which books they’d tried, Laurie said that most of the titles had been suggested by therapists and dealt with anxiety.
“In other words, the focus was solely on your husband?”
Laurie considered this. “Yeah, I guess so. I never thought about it that way, but the books were meant to help him change his behavior.”
“What if you worked on this together? Saw it as a couple’s challenge instead of Monroe’s issue?” Nora asked. “People are usually more successful in making changes when they have the support of a loving partner. In this case, you could support each other. Together, you could build the life you want.”
Monroe reached for Laurie’s free hand and she slid hers into his. To Nora, she said, “I’d do anything to support my husband. That’s why we came to Miracle Springs. We’ve done lots of talking, but we’ve talked about this for years. I’m ready for action.”
“Patience,” Nora teased, and both Laurie and Monroe laughed. “I recommend reading these together.” She touched the top book on the short stack she’d placed on the coffee table. “Make the decisions together. Heal together. Change together. And know that nothing can happen overnight. Nor will it be easy. Take a look at these and let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be up front.”
