by Ellery Adams
“To secrets,” the women said in unison as they raised their glasses. “And to friends.”
Nora resumed her narrative of the day’s events by summarizing her meeting with Dawson Hendricks.
She finished by saying, “I can’t say for certain, but I felt like he was recruiting me. My reward for whatever I would be asked to do was the approval of my loan.”
Hester’s eyes lit with excitement. “Under normal circumstances, do you think you’d qualify?”
“No chance in hell,” Nora said. “I don’t have any equity. The only thing I own outright is Caboose Cottage and selling that wouldn’t give me a twenty-percent down payment on a new house in the Meadows. Plus, there’s the debt I have on the store. Trust me, I’m a seriously unattractive borrower. And I’m not referring to my scars.”
Estella glared at her. “People can see past them, you know.” When Nora averted her gaze in embarrassment, Estella pressed on. “Those scars don’t define you. I realize that you’d prefer to go back to your unblemished skin, but someone should tell you that those scars could never make you ugly. I don’t even notice them anymore.”
Surprise made Nora turn back to Estella. “Honestly?”
“Yes,” Hester said. “We just see you. Not your scars.”
Too moved to reply, Nora motioned for the waitress to bring the check.
* * *
After dinner, Nora had Estella drop her off at Miracle Books. She wanted to pull some titles for June and while she didn’t have much in stock on estranged adult children, she had at least one nonfiction book and several novels that she felt would put June on the road to healing.
Limping around the shop, Nora realized that she’d been given a dose of healing tonight as well. This idea that people could see her—not just her scars—was an incredible notion. Nora was ruminating over this when there was a loud knock on the front door.
Nora froze. Though she’d turned on a few lamps throughout the store, she hadn’t expected the light to attract any customers. Not at nine o’clock on a summer night. At this time, people were sitting on front porches or taking refuge from the humidity in dark, air-conditioned rooms.
Holding a paperback called Done With the Crying by Sheri McGregor in one hand, Nora hobbled to the end of a bookshelf and removed a pair of hardbacks, allowing her a glimpse of the front door. She could see the silhouette of a man, but that was all. He knocked again, louder this time. Nora tried to gauge whether the knock sounded threatening, impatient, or just insistent.
This is my shop, she reminded herself. If I don’t like what I see when I look outside, I’ll point at the CLOSED sign and wave the man away.
The man turned out to be Collin Stone.
“Shit,” Nora muttered under her breath. Hours ago, when the two of them had sat in the shop’s comfy chairs and had an impromptu book discussion, Nora hadn’t been uneasy. However, when Collin had made those cryptic remarks about Nora’s plans to apply for a home loan, she’d been reminded that he might have plotted Neil’s death.
And now he was here, smiling at her through the glass, as if it was completely normal for him to show up after business hours.
Nora unlocked the door and opened it, but not all the way. By blocking the space between the exterior and interior of the shop with her body, Nora made it clear that she wasn’t going to invite him inside.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Collin said, still wearing his charming smile. “I was in town having dinner when a little bird told me some good news. I saw lights on in your store and hoped to catch you before you left.”
Though Collin’s story seemed plausible enough, Nora had the distinct feeling that this was no chance encounter. Taking a firmer hold of her walking stick, Nora met Collin’s gaze. She did not return his smile.
“I’ve had a very long day,” she said. “Perhaps we could talk in the morning?”
A shadow surfaced in Collin’s eyes. Dislike. Or something even more hostile. Something like menace. “Wish I could, but I’m busy tomorrow. I won’t keep you. I just stopped by to tell you that your loan was approved. You’re going to be living in the Meadows by this time next year.”
He folded his arms over his chest and waited. Judging from his self-satisfied grin, he clearly expected an animated response from Nora.
What little bird? she wondered. Isn’t that information confidential?
In the seconds it took Nora to process these thoughts, Collin’s smile slipped. “I thought you’d be more excited.”
“I think I’m in shock,” she said, forcing a closed-mouth grin. “I never expected to qualify. Did you have something to do with this? I have a feeling I owe you.”
Instantly relaxing, Collin unfolded his arms and held them wide. Giving her a coy look, he said, “Other than put in a good word, there isn’t much I could do.”
“Well, if you were able to influence the bank’s decision, then I’m grateful.” Nora tried to widen her grin, but she found it a challenge to maintain the friendly pretense in the gloom-filled threshold. Though she hated to admit it, she felt vulnerable. The closest eatery was three blocks away and there wasn’t a single passerby on the sidewalk. It was so quiet that she and Collin could have been standing on the surface of the moon.
“After we talked today, I had a gut feeling that you were just the type of person we were looking for,” Collin said. He took two steps back and performed a rakish bow. “I hope you can still fall asleep after hearing your good news. I know that when I’m excited about a new project, I have trouble falling asleep at night.”
Now that there was more space between her and Collin, Nora released her white-knuckled grip on her walking stick. Had she misjudged Collin Stone? Could this man—a hardworking husband and father, an insightful reader, and someone who appeared to have championed Nora’s dream of buying a new house—really be involved in a murder plot?
“I have lots to think about,” she told Collin. “Thanks again for stopping by.”
He waved and turned away.
Nora closed and locked the front door, but continued watching Collin as he moved down the block. His stride was unhurried and he walked with his hands in his pockets. To Nora, he had the air of a man who’d checked an important item off his list.
“Was I the item?” she mumbled. Her exhalation, which fogged the door’s glass panel, resembled a deformed butterfly.
Nora wiped it away with her forearm.
* * *
That night, Nora’s dreams were riddled with fire. Not the car fire from the night of her accident. This fire lived in the Miracle Springs train tunnel. Like an animal waking from a long slumber, it sought to devour anything daring to enter its domain.
Nora stared at the tunnel mouth, paralyzed by horror, as the train engine burst forth into the daylight. Flames covered every inch of its surface. Tongues of yellow and orange licked the sky and lapped the ground. Behind the engine, every passenger car was ablaze. Smoke gushed from the windows, blackening the air. The train looked like a dragon that had gone insane and turned its fiery breath upon its own body.
Finally, as the train barreled closer and closer to where Nora stood, it screamed in agony and rage. The haunted, romantic whistle Nora loved was gone, and she knew that if she didn’t jump out of the way, the burning train would run her down.
The train shrieked again, but the noise had lost its ferocity. The fire images began to dissolve and the next time Nora heard the sound, she recognized it as a ringing phone.
She opened her eyes, completely disoriented.
Her cell phone was in the kitchen, ringing and ringing. Nora never bothered to mute it because she didn’t receive calls during off hours. Very few people had her number. That is, until recently. She’d given it to the members of the Secret, Book and Scone Society.
Through eyes blurred with sleep, Nora saw June’s name on the phone screen. She answered the call.
“Nora? I’m sorry to wake you so early,” June began.
Nora’s gaz
e drifted out the kitchen window. Filaments of light bled among the tree branches. “Are you okay?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk like I usually do,” June explained. There was a hollow echo to her voice. “And I saw two cars from the sheriff’s department parked in front of Estella’s house. The light bars were blazing like disco balls and I heard shouting inside. I tried to get closer, but Sheriff Toad’s douchebag deputy told me to get lost or I’d be arrested too.”
“They were arresting Estella?” Nora croaked, her words a dry riverbed. “For what?”
“Murder,” June said. “They’re saying she killed Fenton Greer.”
Hoping to shut out this new day and the terrible fear that had dawned along with it, Nora closed her eyes.
When she did, all she saw was fire.
Chapter 9
The worst part of holding memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it.
—Lois Lowry
“Nora? Are you there?” June asked.
Nora was and she wasn’t.
She was standing in the kitchen of her tiny house in Miracle Springs, but she was also kneeling on the side of a dark highway, cradling a little boy’s limp body in her arms.
The toddler’s clothes were burned and the places where the fire had licked his skin raw were peeping through the rents in his jeans. His face, arms, and torso were untouched, but Nora took no comfort in this. Even the light given off by the burning car, she couldn’t tell if the boy drew breath. His body felt warm in her arms, but Nora didn’t know if she was feeling his heat or the pain that was beginning to claw its way through the haze of shock in her brain.
After gingerly laying the boy down on the grassy shoulder, Nora began to perform CPR. She’d taken a lifesaving course at the library along with several other coworkers, and while she’d paid close attention to the instructions, she was terrified that she might be doing it wrong. However, his small lungs inflated with her exhalations and after two minutes of rescue breathing, she placed her cell phone by the boy’s cheek and called 911. She didn’t remember what she said or how the operator responded—some things from that night never did come back.
But the boy did.
When the paramedics arrived, he was breathing on his own.
Raspy, throat-full-of-pebbles breaths.
“Nora?” June repeated, louder this time.
“I’m sorry,” Nora said, speaking to June and to that little boy from her past. The hand holding the phone trembled, so she squeezed until the edges of the phone pressed into her flesh in a vain attempt to stop the shaking. “What else did you see?”
June sighed. In that sigh, Nora heard June’s relief. She didn’t have to bear the weight of worrying about Estella alone. Nora was willing to share the burden.
“Estella raised holy hell when they bundled her into the squad car, or whatever you call it. She screeched at those cops to get their heads examined. Even when Sheriff Todd warned her to watch her mouth, she kept on hollering. They’ll be calling all of us in for statements today, I imagine, because if that girl was smart, she’ll tell them that she was with us for most of the night.”
Nora didn’t respond right away. After filling her coffeemaker with water, she opened the canister where she kept her grounds. The rich roasted nut aroma permeated the air and Nora raised a heaping scoop directly under her nose and inhaled.
“Maybe I won’t wait for their call,” June went on. “Maybe I’ll just waltz into the station like I’m the Queen of Sheba and announce that I’m there to prove there’s no way my friend killed the wannabe rapist.”
“We can’t mention what happened between Estella and Fenton at the bathhouse,” Nora said as she dumped rounded spoonfuls of grounds into a brown-paper filter. “The sheriff will cite Fenton’s behavior as Estella’s motive for committing murder. Did you hear how he died?”
June made a noise that could have been a grunt or a growl. “All I heard was that it was in the pools. Which means I won’t be working today.”
“You should go in anyway,” Nora said. “Find out all you can. Every detail. Every bit of gossip. Who knows what will prove helpful to Estella?” She pushed the brew button on the coffeemaker. “Have you called Hester?”
“No. Just you.”
Nora listened to the coffeemaker’s comforting gurgle for several seconds. Finally, she couldn’t hold back any longer. “She might have done it, June. The four of us weren’t drawn to each other by accident. We’re damaged women. Not bad. Not evil. But broken. The darkness wriggles in through the cracks.”
“So does the light,” June countered. “Show me someone who hasn’t been on this earth for thirty-plus years without earning their share of scars and I’ll show you someone who’s spent their life in a bubble. Or on a tiny island. Or in Greenland. Anyway, Estella’s no killer. I might not have the longest list of marketable skills, but I can tell when a person is ready to snap. I’ve seen what that looks like.” She was talking so quickly that the words raced out of her mouth like horses from the starting gate, and Nora had to pay close attention to catch each one before it ran away.
“Where?” Nora asked in an attempt to slow June’s pace. “When you were working at Belle Shoal?”
“Yes,” June said. “Those folks might have been living inside old bodies, but their feelings were as powerful as floodwater. That was the hardest part of my job—knowing I couldn’t help them escape their heads. They were trapped in stuffy, depressing rooms with the TV droning on and on. No sunlight on their faces. No music. No flowers on their bedside tables. There were thousands of rules meant to keep them safe. What those rules actually did was crush the joy out of their final days. Some of the residents meekly submitted to their fate. Others grew angry and combative. They were usually drugged.”
The coffeemaker issued a series of loud belches and beeps, signaling that it had finished brewing. “That’s awful,” Nora said.
“People get a caged-animal look about them when they’re close to snapping,” June continued. “The anger builds as they review the injustices done to them over and over again until they have to act. If Estella was traumatized following Fenton’s assault, then she did an incredible job of hiding it.” She paused. “I’m not saying that she wasn’t shocked, scared, and pissed off. I think she was all of these and more. But plotting revenge by murdering Fenton? No way. She was the one who suggested we use what the bastard had done to her as ammunition against him and the rest of the Pine Ridge slimes to get justice for Neil. Remember?”
“I remember. For whatever reason, I needed to toss out the possibility and have you argue against it.” Nora filled the largest coffee mug she had. Unlike those she kept at the bookstore, all the mugs she used at home were handmade by a local potter. She loved how the curve of the handle was a perfect fit for her fingers or how cupping the mug in two hands sent warmth deep into her palms. It was as if the North Carolina clay and homemade glaze retained more heat than a coffee mug produced in some massive factory. Nora had mugs in four different glazes. Today, she’d chosen the cobalt.
To douse the fire, she thought.
“I need to think about how we can help Estella,” Nora said after taking a fortifying sip of coffee. “For now, why don’t you glean as much info as possible at the lodge? I’ll see if Hester can do the same at the bakery. The sheriff is a regular customer and she seems to have a way with him.”
“Estella needs a lawyer. A good one,” June said. “Someone from out of town. Somebody with perspective.”
Nora nodded, even though June couldn’t see the gesture. “Our best chance of securing her freedom is to discover the identity of the real killer. We’ll also have to gather enough evidence to convince a judge of Estella’s innocence. No attorney will do that. Besides, the defense attorneys we see on TV—those that brag about their ability to keep their clients out of jail—they come with a pretty steep price tag. None of us have the kind of money it takes to hire a lawyer who has his own team of investigators and
researchers. We’ll have to do the legwork. The three of us.”
“While keeping our jobs,” June said.
“And pretending not to be interested in Estella’s fate,” Nora added. “For now, our book and scone society needs to truly be secret. Otherwise, people might not open up to us.”
June grunted. “It’s a little late for secrecy. We’ve been to the Oasis. And we ate at the Pink Lady last night. As soon as Estella’s arrest goes public, all of Miracle Springs will be talking about how the book club for misfits drank strawberry shakes before the redhead killed an out-of-towner.”
“All the more reason for us to keep our heads down.”
Looking at her coffee mug, she knew that she couldn’t carry both the mug and her phone to her chair. She was ready to ice her injured ankle and when she shifted her weight, a sudden jolt of pain made her remember Jedediah’s instructions. She also recalled his wood-smoke voice, the feeling of his forearm pressed against the small of her back, and the scent of pine needles in his hair.
“June,” she said, trying to ignore the surge in her blood at the memory of Jed’s breath, warm on her neck, or his parting whisper. “See if you can find out which paramedics responded to the nine-one-one call at the lodge.”
“Aha!” June cried. “Because if one of them was the hottie from your spill in the lobby, you could call him for a coffee date. Right?”
“Something like that.” Heat rushed to Nora’s cheeks, neck, and breasts.
What kind of woman gets turned on at the same time her friend is being processed as a murder suspect? Nora thought with shame.
Luckily, June let the subject drop. After promising to contact Nora at the shop as soon as she had useful information to share, she ended the call.
Nora spent the next thirty minutes drinking coffee, elevating and icing her foot, and thinking. Every so often, she’d jot down a thought or a question on a notepad. Finally, she picked up her phone and prepared to ruin Hester’s day.
