by Ellery Adams
“Then who pushed him onto the tracks?” June asked angrily. “And what kind of person could do such a thing?”
The two women looked expectantly at Nora. She, in turn, fixed her eyes on the bubbled scar on the back of her hand.
“Someone who couldn’t let Neil follow his conscience,” she said. “This person couldn’t allow Neil to rock the boat. Somehow, he or she must have known that Neil wanted to change.”
“The sheriff will have to investigate the Meadows from all angles now. That way, Neil won’t have died in vain,” Hester said, though she didn’t sound very confident in this outcome.
After two minutes in Sheriff Todd Hendricks’s company, Nora’s dislike for the corpulent local lawman made it difficult for her to picture him investigating anything that wasn’t deep-fried or covered in brown gravy. He made no attempt to disguise that he found her unattractive to look at, and he only listened to her statement with half an ear. Nora tested this theory by pausing mid-sentence now and again. The sheriff would grunt as if she’d completed her thought and he’d pretend to jot notes on the legal pad balanced on his expansive belly.
“All right, I think we’ve got the gist,” he said after Nora reached the part about Neil sacrificing his principles. “Thank you for your time.”
Though Nora was eager to leave, she didn’t care for how the sheriff appeared to be looking for evidence to support a single theory.
Standing tall, she gazed straight at the sheriff and said, “I don’t think this man committed suicide.”
Instead of looking at her, Sheriff Hendricks shot the grizzled deputy an amused glance. “Oh? Do you have a background in law enforcement that I’m unaware of”—he consulted his notes—“Ms. Pennington?”
“No, but I spoke with this man. He wasn’t without hope. He wasn’t ready to give up.”
“Is this your female intuition talking?” the sheriff asked with unmistakable contempt.
On another day, Nora might wonder what kind of injury had been inflicted upon the sheriff to turn him into such a prig, but she was too focused on the dead man to be distracted. “Maybe,” she said, knowing how lame that sounded. “But Hester and June will say that same thing.”
“Oh, good. Two more females with vibes. At least one of you knows her way around the kitchen. That’ll be all, Ms. Pennington. We’ll call if we need anything else.” The sheriff jerked his enormous head in the direction of the door, causing his multiple chins to jiggle.
Nora exited the office. She walked over to where Hester and June were waiting and whispered, “That toad is going to rule Neil’s death a suicide, which means no one will dig deeper into the company behind the Meadows.”
“We can’t let that happen,” Hester said, her cheeks flushing with indignation.
June spread her hands. “But what can we do?”
Nora suddenly felt an intense pins-and-needles sensation across every centimeter of her scarred skin.
“Come to the bookstore tonight,” she said, folding her bad arm under her good one. “At nine. I don’t know how to make this right, but we’ll have to find a way.”
“I’ll be there,” Hester said.
“So will I,” echoed June.
Nora left the station, feeling strangely electric and a little sick to her stomach all at once.
Chapter 3
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
—Maya Angelou
“What’s with all the cats?” Estella jerked her thumb toward the back door.
Nora had kept the front of the store dark, leaving only the single bulb over the rear entrance burning. She’d also taped a note just above the handle instructing Hester, June, and Estella to forgo ringing the bell.
The door is unlocked. Come in, she’d written, not wanting to explain that the delivery bell was broken and she didn’t feel like paying to have it fixed.
Hester, who’d arrived shortly before Estella, placed a pair of cookie tins on the mirrored coffee table that sat in the middle of five chairs. The soft lights from two table lamps reflected off the mirror’s surface, creating an ambiance of intimacy and hushed reverence. Hester must have felt it too, for she spoke in what Nora thought of as library volume. “I’ve seen that herd of cats several times. It’s the craziest thing, but they follow a man around town in the dead of night.”
“I’ve seen that phenomenon too,” Estella said. She tossed her beaded clutch onto a side table and dropped into a chair with a grateful sigh. “I guess I’m not the only person awake at all hours. The only difference is, I don’t wander the streets trailed by a mob of mewling felines.”
“Trust me, I’m not trying to draw attention to myself. Walking is the only thing that tires me out.”
Hester and Estella gaped at June as she stepped into the ring of lamplight.
“If I don’t get outside and move, I can’t go back to sleep,” June continued. “I try to exercise every day, but I don’t always find the time. Or the energy.”
“I’m sorry I thought you were a man. It must be the dark clothes and that baseball cap you always wear,” Estella said, still staring at June in astonishment. “What is the deal with the cats?”
Nora had no idea what the other women were talking about and said as much.
“Before I start explaining, would anyone else like a beer? I brought extra.” June gestured at the soft cooler she’d deposited on the coffee table. Nora and Hester politely declined while Estella said that she’d already had her fill of wine up at the lodge.
“Every now and then, I like a cold beer on a sweaty summer night. The rest of the year, I don’t touch the stuff,” June said, opening her can. There was a snap followed by a hiss of air. June smiled and took a quick sip before wriggling deeper into her chair. “The only reason I could afford my house is because the crazy cat lady who lived there before me had passed on and left it in a horrible state. I’m not using the term crazy lightly, either. We all have our problems, but this woman had lost it. She dug up all the grass in the backyard and replaced it with catnip. I did my best to get rid of it, but catnip is seriously invasive. Lord, but it spreads! And when I say spreads, I mean everywhere! In the vegetable garden, in between the fence slats, under the porch. I swear it grows around the mailbox and under my car tires while I’m asleep.”
Hester giggled. “Were the cats hanging around before you moved in?”
June nodded. “I didn’t realize at first because they didn’t show up until nightfall. Only a few are feral. I’ve alerted animal control a dozen times, and they keep promising to come out and trap the wild ones, but they never do. The rest of the cats wear collars. They like my house because they loved the former owner. Every Sunday, this lady fed an entire roasted chicken to the cats. She’d sit on the front steps and toss out pieces to whoever showed up for supper. So my backyard smells like catnip and my front yard smells like KFC.”
Now Estella was giggling too. “No wonder cats keep appearing. They’re hoping you’ll be the next crazy cat lady.”
“But why do they follow you when you walk?” Nora asked.
June shrugged. “My signature scent is probably catnip cologne. I swear the stuff is growing between the walls.”
“You’re like a reluctant Pied Piper,” Hester said.
Nora had to see this for herself. She walked to the back door and slowly cracked it open. The narrow lane behind the building, which faced the abandoned train tracks, was deserted.
“They’ve probably gone home,” said June when Nora returned to the circle of chairs. “But if you want to see the kitty parade, just get up between two and four. Chances are we’ll be out walking.”
“What keeps you from sleeping?” Nora asked and immediately regretted the question. She waved her hands as if she could erase her words. “Never mind. Let’s talk about why we’re here.”
Hester popped the lids off her cookie tins. “I brought snacks. Cheddar-cheese straws and peach-pie bites.”
Nora retrieved
napkins, a pitcher of lemonade, and a bowl of fresh blackberries from the ticket-agent’s office. She’d picked the berries after supper, washed them, and put them in a vintage milk glass bowl that had been on display on a shelf stuffed with gardening books. After tonight, the bowl would be cleaned and returned to its shelf for a future Miracle Books customer to find.
“If you want lemonade or water, help yourself to a coffee mug from the back,” Nora said.
When no one moved, Estella looked at Hester and June. “Nora told me about her interview with the sheriff. Did the two of you have a similar experience?”
“Yes,” Hester said. “It was obvious to me that they plan to rule Neil’s death a suicide.”
June smirked. “The sheriff was only interested in part of my statement. When I said that Neil seemed like a troubled soul, Hendricks immediately stopped listening. I had more to say, but he didn’t want to hear it.” Her jaw clenched in anger. “I don’t put up with rudeness, so I refused to budge from my chair. I calmly implored the sheriff not to judge the dead man so hastily, but Sheriff Toad turned nasty like that.” She snapped her fingers and turned to Hester. “You weren’t kidding when you said that he wasn’t fond of women.”
“Oh, he’s fond of them, all right,” said Estella scornfully. “But only if they’re naked and Photoshopped until they look like cartoon characters. He also pays for online sex chats. I knew the Toad was a prick even without hearing all this dirt about him from a client who has the misfortune of working for his department, but I never gave much thought about him as the leader of our law enforcement. It sounds like he’s opting for the easiest ruling out of sheer laziness.”
“It’s also the least controversial ruling because only someone close to Neil could protest,” Nora pointed out. “Could the sheriff be involved with the Meadows?”
June put down her beer and frowned. “As an investor or something along those lines?”
Since none of the group had an inkling about the sheriff’s financial dealings, Hester changed the subject. “Were you able to learn anything at the lodge this evening?” she asked Estella.
Estella loved being the center of attention. While the rest of the women waited for her reply, she uncrossed her legs, languidly stretched out her hand, helped herself to a cheese straw, and then sat back and recrossed her legs.
If she were a cat, she’d be purring right now, Nora thought.
“Neil Parrish is the full name of our dead guy,” Estella began. Seeing the looks of disapproval from her audience, she hastily amended her last remark. “Our victim. Sorry.” She took an embarrassed nibble from the end of the cheese straw. “He worked for a firm called Pine Ridge Properties. He was a money guy. I’d like to pretend to understand more of what I heard, but what I know about commercial real-estate investment could fit in a thimble.”
“Don’t sweat it, sugar. I bet you did just fine,” June said.
The smile Estella flashed June was so warm that Nora wondered if the town siren had any female friends. Judging from her reaction, she wasn’t used to expressions of kindness from other women.
“I’ll see what cyberspace says about Neil’s firm while you continue with your story,” Nora told Estella as she booted up her laptop. As a former librarian, Nora was adept at online research, but she’d never truly relied on technology until she’d opened Miracle Books. She now managed her inventory, balanced her budget, and showcased the store’s treasures on a website she designed and maintained. What she never did was venture onto social-media sites or search for people from her former life. In Nora’s mind, that woman was every bit as dead as Neil Parrish.
“Well, I stayed on the fringes of their group at the beginning,” Estella said, continuing her narrative. “There are four men and one woman—all very polished and smooth. Big-city folks. Fast talkers. Used to their drink. You know Bob Loman? The head bartender at the Oasis Bar?” Estella met blank stares all around. “You three don’t get out much, do you?”
“Do you have any idea how early bakers get up in the morning?” Hester asked.
Estella blinked. “No. What time?”
“I’m at the Gingerbread House by four-thirty. Except Sundays,” Hester said. “That’s a half day. Like Nora, I take Mondays off.”
Estella whistled. “I don’t see my first client until ten. I am not a morning person. Anyway, Bob has a way with people. He gets them to relax pretty quickly. And he’s a magician at small talk, but Neil’s partners barely acknowledged his existence. They took their drinks to a table and sat in these wonderful, high-back rattan chairs.” She stopped again. “Assuming none of you have been to the Oasis, there’s an L-shaped bar on one side of the room and small booths lining the wall on the other side. In the middle, you’ve got rattan chairs, brass and wooden-drum side tables, and potted palms. The black-and-white checked tile floor and the banana-leaf wallpaper add to the tropical atmosphere. Soft Cuban music plays in the background.”
“Sounds like a vacation spot,” June said.
“That’s the idea, but Neil’s partners weren’t relaxing at all. Not that I could blame them,” Estella added. “The train they rode in on flattened their coworker.” She held up her hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m not trying to be crass. I’m only trying to point out the obvious. Neil’s people should have been shocked and upset.”
Nora looked up from her laptop screen. “They weren’t?”
“During the first round of drinks, maybe. But as happy hour wore on, they acted more worried than upset.” Estella took another bite of her cheese straw and seemed to be reflecting as she chewed.
“Do you think they were worried about their company?” Hester asked.
Estella considered this. “It’s possible. I mean, two of the men had their smartphones out the whole time and were texting like crazy, but lots of people send texts after a tragedy.”
June snorted. “The millennial generation, maybe. I’m in my forties, and if my coworker had been run over by a train, my phone would be the last thing I’d reach for. I’d probably want to be alone. I’d go for a walk or something. Being outside always soothes me.”
“I’d be the same,” Hester said. “But I’m not like most thirty-five-year-olds.”
June plucked a mini–peach pie from the cookie tin and used it to salute Hester. “And for that, I sure am grateful!”
Now it was Hester’s turn to reward June with a radiant smile.
“You said you were going to try to cozy up to one of the Pine Ridge men. Was your subterfuge successful?” Nora hated to ruin the warm moment, but she wanted to see if Estella had anything else to share before the focus shifted to what was on her laptop screen.
Estella shot her a wry grin. “Subterfuge? Makes me sound like Mata Hari.”
Realizing that she sounded like she was plucking terms from novels, Nora blushed. The octopi scars on her cheek twitched.
“I take that as a compliment,” Estella said, seeing Nora’s discomfort. “And I felt like I was in a spy novel. Not a Tom Clancy or anything, but I did sit right behind their table. Only they couldn’t see me because of how high the chair backs are. Plus, there was a potted palm between us. I used my compact to steal glances at them.”
“Clever.” Hester poured three glasses of lemonade and offered one to Estella.
Estella stared at her glass as though consuming a mixture of lemon juice, sugar, and cold water was the most ridiculous thing in the world, and then downed the contents in several swallows. “I only heard hushed murmurs and eventually, the woman decided to go to her room. That left the tall, tan, suave drink of water—Mr. Hunk—and his twitchy, spidery-looking friend. I wanted to flirt with Mr. Hunk, of course, but I knew I’d get much further with . . .” She wiggled her index finger, her lips pursed in thought. Glancing at Nora, she asked, “Who was Dracula’s servant?”
“R.M. Renfield,” Nora said. “The one who ate the insects?”
June, who’d just taken a bite of her second mini–peach pie, groaned in protest
or disgust. Nora wasn’t sure which.
“Renfield!” Estella cried. “That’s exactly who the other guy reminded me of. He’s a birthday cake or two away from turning sixty and was the oldest of the group by far. He was also the most anxious. He kept dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, and he drank more than the others. So when Mr. Hunk headed to the restroom, I made my move on Renfield.”
“Why am I feeling nervous for you?” Hester was on the edge of her seat. “This has already happened, but it’s like I’m right there with you.”
“You’re a good storyteller,” Nora told Estella. “And you’re just getting to the best part, aren’t you?”
Estella looked uncertain. “Well, I didn’t have time to play it coy because Mr. Hunk wouldn’t be gone long, so I just plunked down next to Renfield and acted surprised and the tiniest bit offended that he’d started drinking without me.”
June barked out a hearty laugh. “Oh, Lordy, I wish I could have seen that man’s face.”
“He said, ‘Excuse me?’ and I pretended to be flustered. ‘Aren’t you my blind date?’ I whispered, scooting my chair closer to his. I let my hand rest on his forearm, which is when I noticed the writing on his cocktail napkin.”
Nora felt an inexplicable thrill of excitement. Finally: a clue.
“Don’t stop now, honey,” June commanded.
“The words didn’t make sense to me,” Estella admitted. “They might have been people’s initials or a place, and I really hope I remembered them correctly. I wrote them down as soon as I put some distance between myself and Renfield.” She opened her beaded clutch and removed a napkin embossed with a green palm tree and the words Relax, Escape, Enjoy in cursive font. Estella had written three words of her own along the bottom edge of the napkin. Unfortunately, the ink had gotten wet and was now smudged.
Hester pointed at the napkin. “Please tell me you can still read that.”
“Yeah, I can.” Estella squinted at the words. “DHCB was the first batch of abbreviations or initials or what-have-you. A.G. was second. The last was just one word. Buford.”
