The Secret, Book & Scone Society

by Ellery Adams

  Nora put her hand on the Bronco’s roof to keep her balance. As she did, Jed leaned in and whispered, “You smell like honeysuckle and blackberries. It’s nice.”

  Disarmed, Nora turned to him and mumbled her thanks. She expected his gaze to linger on her scars, but his eyes remained locked on hers.

  As he eased her into the passenger seat, he said, “You were the best part of my day.”

  And then, he shut the door and June drove off.

  “Who is that?” Hester asked from the backseat.

  “I don’t know, but I might have to injure myself at work tomorrow,” Estella said without much conviction. Her altercation with Fenton Greer had clearly taken its toll on her ability to constantly play the part of the town Jezebel.

  June frowned. “Shush, you two. I want to hear what happened to Nora.”

  Nora gave them a brief recap, omitting the part where she momentarily forgot about the pain in her ankle as she responded to Jed’s electric touch and the quiet intensity of his ocean-blue stare.

  “Will you be able to keep your appointment with Dawson Hendricks?” June asked. “I’ve seen my share of twisted ankles in my time. It’ll be days before you’re walking normally again.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make it to the bank tomorrow,” Nora said.

  Using the back of Nora’s seat, Hester pulled herself forward so that she could see Nora’s face. “How will you get there? You won’t be able to ride your bike.”

  “I’m going to walk softly and carry a big stick,” Nora said. She then leaned her head against the headrest and closed her eyes, making it clear that she was done talking.

  * * *

  Nora’s “big stick” was one of the first purchases she’d made after moving into Caboose Cottage. She’d spotted it at the flea market, having initially been drawn to the soft glow of the carved wooden ball on its top. When Nora had reached for the ball, it had felt at home against her palm. The wood was worn smooth from use and had a golden yellow patina. The shaft was a different story, however. In fact, it told a story. The woodcarver had created a vertical scene of a fox running through a field of flowers and butterflies. The fox ran from the bottom of the cane to the top. Here, he leaped over a stream of choppy water.

  Nora had no idea how long she’d held the cane, twisting it around and around in her hands as she watched the fox move, but the woman manning the stall had finally come from behind the table to ask, “Can you see the words hidin’ in the trees? They’re real small. No idea what they mean, but the piece is nicely carved.”

  Bringing the stick closer to her face, Nora spotted the word and inside a tree trunk. It was well camouflaged between the lines of bark created by the wood-carver’s knife. Having found one, the rest of the words suddenly jumped out at her. They were: my, now, secret, is, and here.

  “You and that stick seem to go together. You want it? I’ll knock five bucks off the price,” the vendor had said, impatient for Nora to make a decision.

  Nora had accepted the offer without additional bartering. As she settled up, the vendor asked, “Do you know what the words mean?”

  It was only when the stick was safely back in her hand that Nora had answered. “They’re from a book called The Little Prince. They say, And now here is my secret.”

  “I don’t get it,” the woman had said.

  “It’s part of a famous quote,” Nora had explained. Her fingers traced the head of the fox leaping over the river. “And now here is my secret, a simple secret: it is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

  The vendor’s frown had deepened.

  Noting the gold cross hanging around the woman’s neck, Nora said, “Take faith, for example. You can believe in it without seeing it.”

  This made the woman smile. “Or love. It’s somethin’ you feel in here.” She put her hand over her heart.

  Nora’s heart no longer worked as it had in the past. It was a damaged organ—the most scarred part of her body. It was fine for others to believe in the wondrous nature of love, but Nora wasn’t interested in the topic, so she’d simply nodded in agreement, thanked the woman for the walking stick, and left.

  She was very fond of her walking stick and never hiked without it. It had saved her from walking through cobwebs and stepping into hidden holes or startling slumbering copperheads. Nora didn’t think she could have made it through the day following her fall without her trusty stick.

  Luckily, she hobbled the short distance from her tiny house to Miracle Books before the rain came. It started as a timid drizzle, and she thought it might be one of those short rainfalls that barely had time to wet the ground before abruptly stopping. However, as the morning progressed and the skies darkened, Nora made extra pots of coffee. Rain always brought customers. They came into the bookstore seeking something hot to drink, a soft chair, and comfort. Nora had all three of these to offer, in addition to her wonderful books.

  At some point after lunch, the rain let up enough to allow the customers who’d had their fill of coffee to leave. Most of them had also purchased books, shelf enhancers, or both, so Nora was in high spirits. She’d even sold a copy of The Little Prince to a handsome out-of-towner who’d never heard of the book until he’d asked Nora about her walking stick.

  The man returned two hours later. Holding up the slim novel, he pointed at the yellow-haired boy on its cover and exclaimed, “This story—it’s awful! We never find out if the Little Prince makes it back to his rose. It was his one goal and we’re left hanging. I hate endings like that.”

  Nora smiled. She loved talking books with animated readers. Even disgruntled readers. Whenever she delved into the plot of a novel or dissected its characters, Nora forgot about her scars. The longer she spoke with a customer about a book, the more confident and animated she became.

  After inviting the man to sit, Nora and her new customer discussed some of the novel’s themes.

  “Exploration is an important motif,” Nora said at one point. “Do you have the opportunity to travel or does your job keep you in one place?”

  “Unless I’m on vacation, I stay in this part of the state,” the man replied. “I design and build new housing communities.”

  Nora’s heart skipped a beat. “Is the Meadows one of yours?”

  The man nodded. “That’s the latest gem in the Pine Ridge Properties crown.”

  Nora realized she was speaking with one of Neil Parrish’s partners and silently berated herself for not recognizing him from the website. True, the photos were small, but she still should have connected the man’s handsome face with the one she’d seen online during the inaugural meeting of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society.

  Subtly studying the man opposite her, Nora vowed to make the most of this opportunity. Fate had provided her with a chance to investigate without having to attempt Estella’s seduction methods. Even better was the fact that this suspect, which Nora silently labeled him, had come to her to talk about how he’d felt after reading The Little Prince. In Nora’s experience as a librarian and bookshop owner, people let their guard down when discussing books. Their reactions to fictional characters often revealed a great deal about their own personalities.

  “What a coincidence.” Nora infused her voice with enthusiasm. “I’m closing early this afternoon to meet with a loan officer at the community bank. I toured the model home at the Meadows and was really impressed.” She slumped a little and looked away. “Still, I don’t want to get my hopes up. This store costs an arm and a leg to run and even though I found the perfect house plan, I’m not sure I can afford it.”

  “You might be pleasantly surprised by what you hear at the bank,” the man said. He then extended his hand. “I’m Collin. Collin Stone.”

  With introductions done, Nora gestured at the copy of The Little Prince in Collin’s other hand. “Most people don’t finish a book in a day. Is your work on hold because of the accident?”

  Collin stared at her blank
ly for a moment before he understood. “No,” he hastily assured her. “Everything’s proceeding as planned. Neil would have wanted it that way. He was the epitome of a go-getter.” Opening the paperback to a random page, Collin shook his head. “He wouldn’t have liked this book, though. It doesn’t paint businessmen in the best light.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Nora agreed. “But that’s partially because the narrator loves children. He admires how they use their imagination. Adults can lose that ability. Do you think Saint-Exupéry uses the adult characters as a warning?”

  Collin grunted. “Maybe, but we can’t be like the prince. He has time to explore and philosophize. People like you and me need to earn money. We have bills. We have responsibilities. We can’t just hop on a train and take it anywhere because this author thinks we need to focus on enjoying the journey—that the destination doesn’t matter. Of course it matters.”

  Nora feigned a pensive expression. “Miracle Springs, as a destination, matters because of the Meadows. Is the development your metaphorical rose? Or has someone tamed you the way the prince tames the fox? That’s the only way to form an unbreakable bond, according to this book.”

  “Tamed?” Collin laughed with genuine humor. “Not a word I’d apply to myself.” He showed Nora his wedding band. “I might be married, but I’m still the same guy I was when I was single. The only difference is that I have to work harder now. I have two kids with a third on the way. My wife quit her job a year ago, which means I need to pick up the slack. I never have time to read anymore, but after I saw your stick, I decided to make a real effort to fit reading back into my schedule.”

  “I hope you’ll take a chance on another book,” Nora said, doing her best to remember that Collin may have been involved in Neil’s murder. He hadn’t pushed his partner in front of a train—not this debonair man in his pressed shirt and pants—but he might have hired someone else to do it. A husband and father who seemed genuinely interested in literature could still be a villain, but Nora sincerely hoped he wasn’t involved. She liked this man.

  With these conflicting thoughts swirling around in her mind, Nora stood and beckoned for Collin to follow her to a set of bookcases.

  As she scanned the colorful book spines, she asked, “Does your next book pick have to be short or will you have more time to read over the next few days?”

  Collin’s eyes roamed over the shelf. “Less. With Neil gone, all the partners have more to do. Still, it would just be nice not to have to think about . . . well, you know . . .”

  Recalling Estella’s description of the partners in the Oasis, Nora realized that Collin was likely a master at concealing his feelings. He didn’t grieve his partner’s loss, so what other deceptions had he spun for her today?

  “Whenever I want to take my mind off something serious, I opt for a mystery,” Nora quickly said and pulled down a book.

  “The Hound of the Baskervilles?” Collin sounded dubious.

  “It’ll make your blood race,” Nora said. “Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson set out to disprove a curse. The book is filled with Gothic imagery, suspense, and superstition. At its heart, it’s really a tale of good versus evil.”

  Collin flipped the book over and studied the blurb. “I always find the villains to be more interesting than the heroes. They seem more multidimensional. More realistic. I guess I can identify with the characters who make mistakes. What about you?”

  The burn scar on Nora’s arm tingled and she sensed that there was something leading in this seemingly innocuous question. “Life is never black-and-white,” she said. “The best villains are characters we can empathize with, even if we don’t condone their behavior. And you’re right. They’re often more complex than the heroes.”

  Though not in Sherlock Holmes’s case, she thought.

  A little grin played at the corners of Collin’s mouth. “I’ll give this a try, and maybe we can talk about it when I’m done. I feel like I’m back in my college days. I majored in business, but I minored in English so I could think about other things besides profit margins. It feels good to use that side of my brain for a change. The non-black-and-white part.” He rapped on his temple with his knuckles. “Until I see you again, good luck at the bank. I bet you’re a more attractive borrower than you realize.”

  Since Nora didn’t know how to take this remark, she politely thanked Collin for his vote of confidence and rang up his purchase.

  Later, after taping a note to the front door apologizing for closing early, Nora took a minute to stand on the sidewalk and gaze at the display window. She inhaled the rain-shower air, which held hints of cut grass and wet asphalt, and looked at the beach-read theme she’d designed. Multiple beach balls hung from the ceiling and a row of plastic buckets lined the ledge. Nora had stuffed each bucket with yellow or orange tissue paper and a book with a summery cover.

  Her eyes roamed over Mariah Stewart’s That Chesapeake Summer, Jess Walter’s Beautiful Ruins, Liane Moriarty’s The Hypnotist’s Love Story, Elin Hilderbrand’s The Rumor, Lorna Barrett’s Title Wave, David Szalay’s All That Man Is, Blake Crouch’s Pines, Judy Blume’s Blubber, Scott O’Dell’s Island of the Blue Dolphins, and more.

  “What would I do without you?” Nora whispered to the books before she limped toward Madison County Community Bank.

  * * *

  Dawson Hendricks was on the phone when Nora arrived for her appointment. The trip from Miracle Books to the bank had made her ankle sore and Nora knew that she should have iced and elevated the injured foot much more than she had throughout the day.

  When Dawson came out of his office to fetch her, he gave her face the typical once-over while Nora studied the physical similarities between Dawson and his brother, Sheriff Toad. They were clearly related, though Dawson was taller and slimmer than his younger brother and had more laugh lines. Nora took this as a good sign.

  “What a fine walking stick,” the loan officer said. “Do you hike?”

  “When I can,” Nora replied. “I don’t have any employees, so I spend most of my time working.”

  Dawson gestured for her to precede him into his office. “The life of a small-business owner isn’t easy. Am I right?”

  Nora nodded and waited for him to take his place behind his desk, but he hesitated. “You’re really favoring that foot. Put it up on the second chair if that helps.” He now sat behind his desk and reached for his computer mouse. “I’ve lost my balance on the trail a dozen times. Sometimes, I just forget to look down. I broke my left foot last year and I might still have an ice pack in the break room. Let me know if you need it.”

  Nora hadn’t expected Dawson to be so solicitous. Again, she wondered how his brother had developed such a powerful disdain for women.

  “I understand that you’re interested in a home in the Meadows,” Dawson said. “I talk to Annette frequently—she’s been sending lots of business my way—and she mentioned that you were taken with the Cambridge floor plan.”

  “Yes, I especially loved the kitchen,” Nora said. She pictured the stainless-steel appliances and knew that she could live in that house for her entire life without turning on the second wall oven.

  Dawson nodded. “I hear you. I was visualizing myself as the next Gordon Ramsay after I toured the model house.” He pulled out a stack of forms and folded his hands together. “Okay, let’s get down to brass tacks.”

  Nora steeled herself. Though she’d been through this process four years ago when she’d purchased the train depot, the circumstances had been different. Back then, she’d had the whole of her savings to offer as a down payment. She’d also used a bank in a neighboring town because they’d advertised the lowest interest rate.

  Now, she had to answer probing questions about her personal life and her finances. Despite Dawson’s easygoing manner, Nora didn’t like it. Her skin grew too warm and her burn scars itched. She willed her fingers not to stray to her cheek, but they wouldn’t obey. She rubbed the shell-smooth skin and wished she could escap
e the hum of the fluorescent lights and the subtle clicking of Dawson’s computer mouse.

  The more Dawson pried, the more Nora forgot this was a ruse. She reverted to the nervous buyer she’d been four years ago, and she hated recalling her intense feelings of fear and hope. When he asked another question, Nora had to fight to keep the defiance from her voice. “I’ve basically put everything I have into the bookstore.”

  “I’m ashamed to say that I’ve never been inside,” Dawson said, finally glancing away from his computer. “But I guess it’s important to you.”

  “It’s everything to me,” Nora said fervently. She’d caught something dismissive in Dawson’s last remark and it galled her. Why did so many bankers and businesspeople look down their noses at those who devoted their lives to anything related to the arts?

  Leaning forward in her chair, her eyes shining and her voice quivering with emotion, Nora said, “Virginia Woolf, an English novelist, perfectly describes how I feel about books and bookstores. She wrote, Books are everywhere; and always the same sense of adventure fills us . . . in this random miscellaneous company we may rub against some complete stranger who will, with luck, turn into the best friend we have in the world.”

  Dawson nodded, his eyes still fixed on Nora’s face. He seemed to be assessing her. Nora had entered the bank expecting to be judged, but there was something about the loan officer’s gaze that implied he wasn’t coming to a decision based on her previous answers.

  “Do you want this house as badly as you wanted that bookstore?” he asked softly.

  “I do,” Nora lied without hesitation.

  Smiling, Dawson stood up and closed his office door. When he resumed his seat, there was a glint in his eye that unsettled her. Tenting his hands, he said, “You won’t qualify for a loan at any other bank. But if you really want your dream house, I’ll make it happen for you.”

  Nora leaned forward in her chair. “How?”

  Dawson wriggled his fingers. “I’m going to work some magic for you. All you have to do is add your signature to a few forms. How does that sound?”