The Secret, Book & Scone Society

by Ellery Adams

  “Sometimes,” Nora replied.

  Jed suddenly remembered the flowers in his hand. “I don’t normally go for roses, but these reminded me of the flower in The Little Prince”—he gestured at Nora’s walking stick—“so I asked my neighbor if I could cut some of hers. This variety is called William Shakespeare 2000. I have no idea why.”

  Nora accepted the flowers. “They’re beautiful. No one’s ever brought me wild roses.” She touched the edge of a velvety petal, admiring the deep crimson hue before she buried her nose in the bouquet. “They smell like raspberries and cream.”

  Nora invited Jed inside and told him to make himself at home while she put the flowers in water. Jed didn’t rush through his self-guided tour, but moved about Nora’s living area and kitchen with reverence, admiring details and asking an occasional question. Finally, he scratched his chin and said, “I don’t see wineglasses. Do you have them in a hidden storage compartment?”

  Turning away to hide her flushed cheeks, Nora fished out two glass tumblers from a cabinet and showed them to Jed. She didn’t want to explain why she didn’t own wineglasses or that she hadn’t touched alcohol for years until the night she’d hurt her ankle. “Most of my things serve double duty.”

  “Makes perfect sense,” Jed said. “Corkscrew?”

  Nora had no excuse for this one. “I lent mine to a friend,” she lied. “But I have one for sale in the store.”

  Jed shook his head. “No worries. I saw your bike out there, so I’m assuming you have a bike pump.”

  “I do.” She told him where it was. “Is that how you’re going to open the wine?”

  Grinning, Jed said, “Be right back.”

  Nora watched as Jed placed the bottle of red wine on the kitchen floor. He then pushed the bike-pump needle into the cork and began to pump. The muscles in his arms swelled under his skin like waves and he had a mole on his wrist exactly where a watch would sit. Nora imagined the mole with her finger, but her ruminations were cut short by the pop! of the cork.

  Freed from its glass prison, it burst out of the bottle like a rocket and struck the ceiling. Jed caught the cork on its way down to the floor and set it on the counter.

  Turning to Nora, he asked, “Would you prefer white wine? I guess I should have asked before I opened the red.”

  “Red’s fine.” Nora pulled out a plate of sliced cheese and dried apricots from her fridge. “Gouda and fruit. I also have this wonderful sliced bread from the Gingerbread House. It’s a combination of wheat and rye.”

  Nora led Jed back outside. They sat down and released synchronized sighs.

  Jed laughed and reached across the small café table to clink the rim of Nora’s glass with his own. “I guess we both had the same kind of day.”

  “Except mine didn’t start with a dead body and yours didn’t end with a friend spending the night behind bars,” Nora said crisply. She didn’t know why she’d immediately gone into combat mode, but it was too late to recall her words.

  Instead of responding, Jed sipped his wine and tilted his face skyward.

  “Since I saw you this morning, I learned that a bottle of potassium-chloride pills was found at the scene,” Nora continued in a milder tone. “Have you ever seen what a potassium-chloride fatality looks like?”

  “No,” Jed said.

  “What if Greer was poisoned by some other means? If too much potassium shows up in his system, the ME might rule a potassium overdose as the cause of death without looking for alternative causes.” Nora realized her argument sounded irrational and ridiculous.

  Jed shifted in his chair. “I doubt the ME will jump to any conclusions. He’ll run a whole panel of tests: blood, fluid, urine, tissue, glucose, and electrolytes. I assume so, anyway. If potassium isn’t the culprit, the real one will present itself as known when the tests come back.”

  “While he waits weeks for those test results, what will happen to Estella in the meantime?” Nora asked without expecting an answer. “She was with Greer the night before he died. Not the night of his death. I know because I was with her. We had dinner together at the Pink Lady. Afterward, Estella went home. If Greer was poisoned, then someone besides Estella did it.”

  Seeing that Jed’s glass was empty, Nora passed him the wine bottle. He refilled his glass and examined hers, but as she’d only taken a single sip, he put the bottle back on the table.

  “When you arrived at the pools this morning, could you tell how long Greer had been dead?” Nora asked.

  A veil fell over Jed’s features. “Look, Nora, I’m not a forensic investigator. I’ve taken a few forensics courses and I did an internship with the county coroner where I used to live, but I’m no expert. All I can say is that the body was very stiff, which typically occurs eight to twelve hours after death.”

  Nora picked up the cheese plate and proffered it to him. “You probably didn’t expect to be interrogated over Gouda and sliced bread, but this is really good bread.”

  After a brief hesitation, Jed took two pieces of cheese and a slice of bread. Nora waited for him to sample the food.

  “You’re right. It’s really good.” After polishing off the bread and cheese, Jed glanced over at Nora’s untouched wineglass. He put his own on the table and brushed a scattering of crumbs off his lap. “I should get going,” he said, not looking at her at all. “I’m expecting another long day tomorrow.”

  Nora thought of the flowers Jed had brought. Here was a man who not only recognized the quote from her walking stick, but had also searched for the perfect rose to represent the fictional flower from the Saint-Exupéry novel. A rare man indeed. And Nora had turned him off with incredible efficiency.

  She regretted it too.

  “Before you go,” she said, stretching out her good hand, but not making contact, “I have something for you.”

  Ducking inside her house, she grabbed a small pile of books from her bedroom and returned to the deck. “I hope these help.”

  Jed shifted through the books, which included Essential Oils for Dogs; Bad Dog (A Love Story); and New Choices in Natural Healing for Dogs & Cats. “These are great. How much do I owe you?”

  “I’m lending them to you,” Nora said. “That way, you can decide which ones you want to buy. Also, it’ll give me a chance to order a book on canine-acupressure therapy. Maybe the next time you drop by Miracle Books, Estella won’t be a murder suspect and we can talk about other things.”

  Jed got to his feet. He walked toward the steps and Nora wondered if he meant to leave without saying good-bye.

  At the edge of the deck, however, Jed stopped and looked back over his shoulder. Holding out the books, he said, “I want to help you. Honestly, I do. But it’s not that simple. I can’t do anything to jeopardize my job. I really need it. More than most people need their jobs.”

  A curtain had lifted from Jed’s features. He wore a plaintive expression and his ocean-blue eyes were entreating her to understand all that he couldn’t say.

  “I understand,” Nora said, even though she didn’t.

  Jed nodded and descended the steps. At the bottom, he paused and turned all the way around. Grabbing the metal rail, he looked back up at her like a forty-year-old Romeo on the verge of a heartfelt monologue. “Nora. There was something off about Mr. Greer’s body.”

  Though far from a lover’s plea, Jed’s phrase immediately drew Nora to the top of the stairs.

  “What do you mean?” she asked in a near-whisper.

  “You didn’t hear this from me, but I could tell that he’d been moved. Postmortem lividity—you probably know from reading crime novels—shows where the blood pools. Mr. Greer’s blood had pooled in the lower half of his body.”

  Nora was confused. “Why is that off? Wasn’t he found lying on the floor?”

  Jed pointed at his waist. “He was, but I’m referring to this lower half. From here to my feet. I don’t think Greer died on his back. He died in a seated position.”

  Chapter 11

  T
o live in prison is to live without mirrors. To live without mirrors is to live without the self.

  —Margaret Atwood

  After Jed left, Nora called June to tell her what he’d said about the possibility that Greer’s body had been moved after his death.

  “That fact doesn’t identify the real killer, but it supports Estella’s innocence,” Nora said. “After all, Estella couldn’t have dragged Greer over that tile floor, even if he’d been dipped in butter. He was way too heavy.” Nora recalled Greer’s naked body all too well. Clearing her mind of the unpleasant image, she went on: “I also want you to know that I’m going to see Estella before I open the shop tomorrow morning. If they’ll let me see her.”

  The slam of a screen door echoed down the phone line. Based on the chorus of the mewling of cats in the background, Nora concluded that June had stepped outside. She liked the idea that the two of them were staring up at the same stars and taking comfort from their distant, but dependable light.

  “I’m worried,” June said. “You, me, Estella, and Hester are smart women. We’re tenacious women. But we’re still just four women—three now—going up against a killer capable of pushing a man in front of a train.”

  “Not just a killer,” Nora cut in. “This isn’t an individual working alone.”

  June made a noise of dismay. “Neil’s murder was bad enough. But what does Greer’s death mean? Is the group turning on itself?”

  “I don’t know. I’m so tired that I can’t think straight. Will you fill Hester in for me?”

  “Of course.” A cat screeched and June yelled, “Shoo!” and sighed. “This big orange tom goes out of his way to dart right in front of me when I walk. Speaking of toms, how’d your date go?”

  A cloud skittered across the collective of stars above Nora, blotting out their light. “Don’t ask,” she said, and ended the call.

  * * *

  Deputy Crowder, the lickspittle who’d hovered behind the sheriff’s chair the day Nora had given her statement on Neil Parrish, was more than happy to inform her that Estella wasn’t free to receive visitors.

  “You can’t hold her indefinitely,” Nora said. “I know the law. You have to charge her or let her go.”

  “Oh, we’re charging her.” Crowder’s mouth curved into a smug grin. “Which is why you can’t see her right now. She’s meeting with her legal counsel. Who do you think is more important to her? Visiting with the used-book girl or the public defender?”

  Nora refused to be goaded. “There are perks to owning a bookstore,” she said pleasantly. “For example, I’m never bored. I’ll sit and read until Estella’s meeting is done.”

  The deputy shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat. You can take your smutty Harlequin novel to the lobby. Or is it a vampire story? You girls love your hot, young vampires, don’t you?”

  Nora didn’t know what angered her more—being repeatedly called a girl or Crowder’s assumption that women only read romance novels.

  Pasting on her brightest smile, she said, “Vampires are alluring for many reasons. They exhibit an appreciation for art and literature. They also display a code of chivalry rarely shown by contemporary men. The vampires’ supernatural beauty, charismatic personality, ability to manipulate weaker minds, and superior lovemaking skills render them utterly spellbinding.”

  Crowder’s mouth hung open. “Huh?”

  “Perhaps your wife can explain the phenomenon better than I can. I believe she’s a diehard Anne Rice fan,” Nora said as she pulled Alice Hoffman’s Faithful from her handbag. “I’ll be in the lobby. Reading my smutty vampire novel.”

  Crowder’s confusion was amplified by the absence of a half-naked babe or a bare-chested vampire on the book cover.

  Nora’s satisfaction over having one-upped the deputy was short-lived, for as much as she loved Hoffman’s writing, it was impossible to focus on her exquisite prose. Nora’s thoughts were caught on an endless loop between the shock of learning that Estella had been formally charged and that she was currently meeting with a public defender.

  Back when she’d been a librarian, Nora had carried a notepad in her pants pocket. She used it to jot down work-related tasks, to write grocery and errand lists, and to add to her ever-expanding TBR pile. While she’d left many behaviors and habits from her old life behind, she still liked to keep a notepad handy. She took it out now and, using her open book as a shield, wrote the following list of questions:

  How could the medical examiner determine the cause of death so quickly?

  What evidence does the sheriff have on Estella to satisfy the three Ms? Means, motive, method.

  Is the public defender capable?

  Is the public defender honest?

  If the sheriff is in bed with Pine Ridge, what evidence will we need to present to a higher authority to exonerate Estella?

  Is something off on my loan application?

  Nora nodded to herself. This last question was an excellent starting place. No other bank would risk lending her several hundred thousand dollars. If Miracle Books folded, she’d have no means of paying her debt. Nora had been completely transparent about her finances. She’d told Dawson Hendricks that she was barely squeaking by. He’d examined her records, so he knew exactly how things stood.

  Where would we plead our case? Nora added to her list of questions. To the feds? Which department?

  Nora decided it would be unwise to conduct Internet searches on mortgage fraud while sitting in the sheriff’s department, so she used her phone to send a group text to Hester and June. She hated to deliver bad news to her friends while they were at work, but she had no choice.

  “Ms. Pennington?” Nora was relieved to find Deputy Andrews standing before her. Andrews was preferable to Deputy Crowder any day of the week. “You’re waiting to see Ms. Sadler?”

  Nora shot to her feet. “I am.”

  “Follow me, please.”

  Andrews had Nora fill out the visitor’s log. She then presented her driver’s license and surrendered her phone to the clerk.

  After she followed Andrews through a warren of hallways, they reached an area marked with the signage: INMATE VISITATION.

  “The sheriff would have put Ms. Sadler behind the glass and made the two of you talk using the phones, but seeing as she just finished meeting with her lawyer, I figured she might as well stay here,” Andrews said. As if regretting the wisdom of his choice, he added, “Don’t make me be sorry I let you two meet like this. No touching. Not even a hug. Got it?”

  “We got it.” Estella’s voice, which rang out like a song in the big, empty room, seemed incongruent with her bedraggled appearance. Her flame-red hair hung in limp strands and her face, free of makeup, was milk-pale. Nora stared into Estella’s bloodshot eyes and saw a single emotion residing there. It was rage. It sparkled like winter stars on a frozen lake. Beautiful, cold, and dangerous.

  Nora waited until Andrews took up his sentry post by the door before saying, “Jesus, Estella. How the hell did this happen?”

  Estella barked out a dry laugh. “Damned if I know! I went from feeling pretty good about the world—what with the four of us having our bonding time at the Pink Lady followed by two episodes of Outlander on Netflix—to being jarred out of a lovely dream about a group of men in kilts bathing in a stream. They—”

  “Honestly?” Nora put out her hand in protest, torn between annoyance and amusement. “Tell me, Estella. Did you go to the lodge the night before last? Maybe for a drink before bed?”

  “No,” Estella said before lowering her gaze. “I wasn’t feeling lonely. Loneliness is what always lands me on one of Bob’s bar stools. But I’d just been with my friends. You gals filled the void that night. Can you believe that?”

  Nora studied Estella. She could believe it. After all, it had taken over four years for loneliness to coax her into lowering her guard. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be sitting across from a woman in an orange jumpsuit right now. And her eyes wouldn’t be reflecting Estella’s rag
e.

  “You’re being framed,” Nora said. “June and Hester think so too. June was out walking when the sheriff’s men loaded you into their cruiser. She heard you yelling.” Nora glanced over to where Andrews stood before lowering her voice to a whisper. “What did you say when you were questioned?”

  “I told the sheriff what I could,” Estella said. “That I’d been on a date with Fenton, but not on the night he died. I said that Bob and Julia, an Oasis waitress, would corroborate my story. I didn’t mention the three of you because I didn’t want to get you involved.”

  Nora nodded. “We’ve been trying to keep our distance in order to help you, but my cover is definitely blown. Probably June’s too. I think she called here twelve times yesterday, asking when you’d be released or allowed visitors.”

  “General June.” Estella smiled for the first time since Nora’s arrival. The smile served as a buffer against her anger. “Anyway, during the questioning part, Sheriff Toad said that he didn’t need a hairdresser telling him how police work was done. He also said that he had proof I’d been with Fenton last night at the pools and that I’d poisoned him.”

  “What proof?”

  “Don’t you think I asked him?” Estella snapped, and then immediately raised her hands in apology. “Sorry, but I’m terrified that prison orange is going to be my only color for the next twenty years and it’s not a flattering shade. Besides, I do not plan on following in my daddy’s footsteps. Two Sadlers in prison? It’s a good thing my mama isn’t alive to see this.” Unsure of what to do with her hands, she tucked them under her armpits. The gesture made her look like a frightened child. “I never went to Fenton’s room, so what kind of proof could they have? And what poison did I supposedly give him? Acetone? Nail-polish remover? I have plenty of potent chemicals at the salon, unfortunately.”

  Nora put her finger over her lips. “Don’t give them any ideas. And in answer to your question, Jedediah Craig told me that Andrews found a bottle of potassium-chloride pills under a lounge chair. Poolside. That’s the murder weapon.”