by Ellery Adams
After repeating what June had said about the medication, Nora added, “Hester overheard another deputy mentioning Greer’s phone. Did you let him take photos the night the two of you were down there?”
Estella rolled her eyes. “Yeah. It was all part of the game. They were sexy, but tasteful.”
“I doubt Greer’s wife would agree,” Nora said.
“Okay, Mother Teresa. This isn’t helping.” Estella jerked her head at the clock. “They’re only going to give us so much time. What else can you tell me?”
Whispering so softly that Estella had to lean forward to hear her, Nora shared what Jed had said about Greer’s body having been moved.
“Well, I couldn’t budge that lard-ass,” Estella whispered back. “And if he was sitting up, wouldn’t he also have to be tied to something? You wouldn’t let someone shove a bunch of pills down your throat without putting up a fight. The lounge chairs at the bathhouse wouldn’t work unless someone wrapped ropes around his whole torso. What was he wearing when he was found?”
It was a good question, and one Nora hadn’t thought to ask Jed. Had Greer been found fully clothed? In a swimsuit? In the nude? If his wrists had been exposed, then Jed would have noticed marks on the skin. However, if he’d been dressed for dinner in a suit and tie . . .
“Time’s up, ladies,” Andrews announced, and began to approach their table. “Say your good-byes.”
Nora looked at Estella. “Do you need anything? What about your lawyer? Is he trustworthy?”
“My lawyer is a she. And yes, I can trust her, though I’m not sure how much she can do for me. I doubt I’ll make bail.”
Andrews waved impatiently at Nora. “If you want to help Ms. Sadler, you can add money to her commissary account. She’ll need to buy things since it looks like she’ll be with us for a while.”
Though there’d been no emotion behind this statement, Nora wanted to slap the deputy in the face. How could every person in the sheriff’s department blindly follow such corruption?
Crowder appeared to take Estella back to her cell.
“They allow computer calls here,” Estella blurted as she passed Nora. “Get in touch with me soon, okay?”
“I will,” Nora said. “I promise.”
Nora followed Andrews through the same maze of corridors, but to her, they seemed even gloomier than before.
He took her all the way to the main entrance, and Nora assumed that he intended to see that she left the building. To her surprise, he not only held open the door leading outside, he stepped out into the summer sunshine with her.
Shielding his eyes against the glare, he spoke to Nora while keeping his gaze on the sidewalk in front of them. “You were right about the book,” he said. “Ender’s Game. It’s good.”
This was so unexpected that Nora stopped and stared at him. “What?”
“It’s way better than the movie.” Almost shyly, Andrews added, “Thank you for getting me to read it. I’m going to buy another Orson Scott Card novel, if you have one.”
Nora felt like she was in an alternate universe. And yet she couldn’t help but wonder if Andrews had mentioned the book as a way of telling her that he wasn’t like Sheriff Toad.
“I do,” Nora said quietly. “Listen, Deputy, what’s happening around here is wrong. Estella didn’t kill Fenton Greer. Please don’t stand by and let an innocent woman be framed for a crime she didn’t commit. You swore an oath, and I believe your word means something. I believe you’re an honorable man.”
Andrews acted as though she hadn’t spoken. Glancing at his watch, he said, “Have a nice day, ma’am.”
“Wait!” Nora cried softly. She decided to gamble on the assumption that the ME’s report included postmortem lividity results. “Just check the coroner’s report! See if it matches what you found at the scene. You’re a smart man, Deputy Andrews. You’ll spot the discrepancy. And when you do, you’ll know that Estella Sadler shouldn’t be in that cell.”
Nora hurried away before the deputy could fully process her words. She’d taken a serious risk, she knew. He could have detained her—dragged her in front of the sheriff—but he didn’t. Nora took hope from his lack of action. At this point, she’d draw hope from any source.
* * *
Entering Miracle Books was like diving into the waters of a mountain lake after walking for miles across barren desert.
Nora ran her fingertips over the spines of book after book, inhaling the familiar scents of old leather and paper. The sheer presence of so many books was a balm, and by the time the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the shop and wooed customers into dropping into the closest chair or sofa, Nora was ready to face the rest of her day.
Considering the thermal pools had reopened, Nora was surprised by how many out-of-towners came into Miracle Books that morning. Unlike yesterday, they were subdued. The murder of a fellow guest was no longer a source of excitement. One woman told Nora she’d barely slept and had been plagued by horrible nightmares.
“I’m an anxious person anyway,” she admitted. “I came to Miracle Springs looking for peace. Instead, I feel more rattled than ever.”
After serving her a cup of chamomile tea, Nora led her to the section where the meditation books were shelved. The woman was immediately drawn to the display of mala beads.
“These are beautiful,” she said. “What are they?”
“Malas have been around for a long time.” Nora removed one of the necklaces from the display. Though the beads were displayed in double loops to save space, Nora stretched out the mala to show her customer its full length. “They’re also called Buddhist prayer beads. A traditional Tibetan mala consists of one hundred and eight beads. There are all kinds of ways to use these beads, but I couldn’t tell you a thing about Buddhist mantras or prostrations.”
The woman seemed discouraged. “Prostrations?”
“My understanding is that you’re supposed to turn each bead as you whisper a prayer or a single word. Some people prefer to do this silently. And it doesn’t have to be a prayer. It could be a thought you’re trying to focus on. There really aren’t any rules to prayer or meditation, are there? Whatever works for one person might not work for the next. What I love about malas is that every bead has a meaning. See this chart?” Nora pointed at a laminated printout affixed to the display. “This explains what each bead is and its meaning. For example, the mala I’m holding includes rosewood beads. These beads are meant to help you, and those around you, find healing. Over time, the oils from your skin will change the appearance of the beads. This represents the changes you’re making as you wear your mala—a visible sign of transformation.”
“So I can wear it as a necklace?” the woman asked.
“Or as a bracelet.” Nora demonstrated how to loop the beads around her own wrist. She then removed the mala and proffered it to her eager customer.
The woman stroked the beads with her fingertips. “I love these. The beads have different colors and textures.”
Nora nodded. “A woman in Virginia makes them. She cleanses every mala she creates in a Tibetan singing bowl before she ships them to me. She’ll cleanse any mala you purchase before you use it because your mala should only hold your energy—no one else’s. She also includes an instruction card and an individual bead chart so you’ll know exactly what the beads in your mala mean.”
“I am buying one for my best friend and my sister,” the woman gushed. “I feel so much better just holding these.” She turned to the bookshelf by her elbow. “Do you carry books on meditating with malas?”
Nora showed her what she had in stock before heading to the ticket booth to make two Jack Londons and serve another customer an Agatha ChrisTEA.
“Do you serve food too?” one of the men who’d ordered a Jack London wanted to know.
Nora directed them to the Gingerbread House and then made a mental note to get copies of Hester’s menu to put on display for peckish customers.
Maybe I could sel
l a few of Hester’s pastries here, Nora thought. Something unique to the bookstore. Something she doesn’t offer at the bakery. We could split the profits.
Nora wrote this idea in her notepad to bring up with Hester another time. Today was not a day to discuss pastry. Today was a day to be figuring out who murdered Neil Parrish and Fenton Greer.
At noon, Nora did something she rarely did. She flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED. Instead of eating a salad or soup in the ticket-agent’s office, she limped down to the Madison County Community Bank and asked to see Dawson Hendricks.
“He’s on his lunch break,” said a perky little woman with glittery nails and platinum-blond hair styled into a pineapple-shaped puff. “May I help you?”
“I sure hope so,” Nora said. Having seen Dawson’s desk calendar when she’d met with him, Nora knew that he took lunch break every day from noon until one. “Mr. Dawson was kind enough to tell me that I qualified for a loan, so I’ve stopped by to get copies of my paperwork. I’m eager to start building my dream home at the Meadows.”
The blonde mimicked a golf clap. “Good for you, sugar! I wish I could move up there, but a teller’s salary isn’t gonna get me one of those fancy houses. Still, I’m glad our town is growin’!” She smiled at Nora. “You own the bookstore, right?”
Nora nodded and the blonde clapped her hands for real this time. “I haven’t been in since Christmas, but I did some serious damage to my savings account when I was there, yes, ma’am! My family has a long-standin’ tradition of exchangin’ children’s books for Christmas and I found some real treasures on your shelves.”
“Thank you.” Nora instantly warmed toward the woman. “Yours is a lovely tradition.”
“I’m Melodie. Have a seat, and I’ll see if I can rustle up your paperwork.”
Nora sat on a deep sofa next to an elderly man who appeared to have fallen asleep. When Melodie returned bearing a file folder in her hands, she smiled at the man. “Mrs. Clark is in the vault.” She pointed to where the safety-deposit boxes were located. “She comes every week and takes her sweet time back there, but Mr. Clark doesn’t seem to mind. He loves that sofa. Falls asleep almost as soon as he sits down. He says that he has trouble getting his eight hours at night because he hears cats crying outside his bedroom window. Mrs. Clark says it’s all in his head.”
Glancing at Mr. Clark, Nora wondered if he and June were neighbors. However, the thought was fleeting, since she was far more interested in the folder Melodie held. “Were you able to find a copy of my loan?”
“Welllll,” Melodie drew out the word so that it sounded like a musical note. “I found some of your paperwork, but not all of it. I’m real sorry. I know it can’t be easy to get down here, what with your hurt foot and all.”
Nora hid her disappointment behind a phony smile. “Would it be okay to take what you have? Mr. Hendricks could fax me the rest when it’s convenient. I might not even need anything else right now.”
“I don’t see why not. Hold on a sec.” Melodie bustled off to a room behind the counter and returned a few minutes later with several sheets of paper, still warm from the copy machine.
“I hope you don’t wait until Christmastime to come back to Miracle Books,” Nora said. “Maybe you could start a whole new tradition—one just for you. You could buy books about feisty, independent women for the Fourth of July. Or how about reading about really cold, snowy places during those awful August days? When the air is so thick it just hangs over the town like a wet sponge.”
Melodie’s fingers strayed to her hair. “I hate those days. I can’t go from my air-conditioned car to an air-conditioned store without lookin’ like somethin’ the cat threw up.” She laughed at her own joke and Nora politely joined in. “My trouble is that I’ve never been a good reader. Long books put me off. I like stories. And I love the colorful pictures in kids’ books. I buy them for myself—not for the kids. Plus, they always have happy endings.”
“Lots of adults read and collect children’s books,” Nora said. “I love them too. And the reason you like them makes me think you’d also enjoy manga books. Did you like reading the comics in the newspaper when you were a kid?”
“I did then and I still do,” Melodie said. “What’s manga?”
Nora explained that manga was a Japanese comic book with a specific style. Judging from Melodie’s dubious expression—especially when she heard that the books were to be read from right to left and not from left to right—Nora realized that her sales pitch could use some tweaking. However, Nora thought of how Deputy Andrews had been hooked by Ender’s Game and decided that she might convert Melodie into becoming a full-time reader of graphic novels by presenting her with a free manga book.
After taking out her notepad and writing herself a reminder to pull out the first book in the series, Nora told the bubbly teller to drop by Miracle Books the next time she had the opportunity. “Because you’ve been so helpful, I’d like to give you a manga book. If it’s not your thing, you can return it to me and I’ll put it back on the shelf. No harm done. I want you to read a book about a girl who thinks she’s fated for an ordinary life until a talking cat named Luna tells her that she’s really Sailor Moon, and it’s her job to defend the just and fight evil. She has blond hair and blue eyes, just like you.”
“Oh, I like the sound of this story already!” Melodie cried. “I’ll be over when the five o’clock whistle blows!”
Pleased that she’d retrieved her loan paperwork and, hopefully, acquired a new customer, Nora left the bank to return to Miracle Books.
She unlocked the door, flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN, and limped back to the ticket-agent’s office to examine her paperwork while eating an egg-salad sandwich. It didn’t take long before Nora knew that she didn’t have enough to go on. Her HUD statement was missing and she would need that piece of paper if she had any hope of proving that there was a corruption scandal involving Pine Ridge Properties, Dawson Hendricks, the sheriff, and whoever had killed Neil Parrish and Fenton Greer.
Since I’m officially approved, should I continue pursuing my building project? Nora wondered. Or will I end up in a financial entanglement I won’t be able to wriggle out of if I take this ruse too far?
Nora looked down at her half-eaten sandwich and thought of Estella. What kind of food would she be served in the county jail?
This is the risk of having friends. There’s a price to pay for making yourself vulnerable.
Having decided she was willing to pay that price, Nora picked up her cell phone and dialed Annette Goldsmith’s number.
“You were on my list of people to call,” Annette said after Nora had identified herself. “I heard the fabulous news that your loan was approved. Congratulations! Are you ready to move ahead on that dream house?”
Nora decided it wouldn’t hurt to string the Realtor along for a few days. After all, if Nora could avoid signing a legally binding contract stating that it was her intention to purchase a new house at the Meadows, or putting down a deposit, then she might be able to keep her hands clean.
“I think so,” she said after a pregnant pause. “I don’t mean to sound flaky, but this is a big decision and I want to make sure I’m doing the right thing. Can I walk through the model home again and take a second look at the available lots?”
“Of course,” Annette said so pleasantly that Nora was certain she meant quite the opposite. “But I just want you to know that two of the premium lots were sold since you were here last. I’m not telling you that to pressure you. I just don’t want you to miss out on the lot you liked the most. When will you be coming by?”
Oh, she’s good, Nora thought with a wry smile. She heard the sleigh bells bang against the door and decided to wrap things up with Annette. “It’ll have to be after business hours. Are you ever there past five?”
“Not usually,” Annette said. “I have to drive back to Asheville every day, but I could stay open for fifteen minutes or so to accommodate you.”
“
No, no. I’ll figure something out. Maybe I can ask a friend to watch the shop for an hour tomorrow. Let me make a few calls and get back to you.”
A familiar figure appeared in the window of the ticket booth. It was Collin Stone. Nora managed to smile at him and signal that she’d be with him in a minute. In response, he gave her a thumbs-up and walked off.
“Sorry,” Nora said to Annette, who’d started talking. “A customer came in and I didn’t catch what you said just then.”
“I was advising you not to wait too long. Good things don’t always come to those who wait.”
Though Nora longed to tell the real-estate agent that she should dial it back a notch when it came to aggressive salesmanship, she refrained. She wanted Annette to view her as meek and unthreatening. That way, no one would suspect her of breaking into the Meadows model home.
Nora thanked Annette for her advice and hung up.
She spent a moment in the sanctuary of the ticket-agent’s office, shaking off the previous conversation in preparation for the next. She also decided to finish her lunch, which took less than two minutes. When she was done, she searched for Collin.
But Collin was no longer in the bookstore.
Nora didn’t see how this was possible, but he was gone. She meandered around the stacks until she returned to the checkout counter. Collin was nowhere to be found.
I didn’t hear the sleigh bells.
The thought chilled Nora and she took another turn around the store.
She’d just turned the corner of the mystery bookshelf when a woman entered the shop and asked for books on overcoming insomnia.
Happy for the distraction, Nora helped the woman select half-a-dozen titles and then invited her to peruse them at her leisure. It didn’t take long before the woman was ready to check out. She put three books and a brass music box that played the title theme from Love Story on the counter.
The woman was digging in a voluminous handbag for her wallet while Nora moved behind the counter, so she didn’t see the shock on Nora’s face when she discovered the single rose placed on a diagonal across her cash register.
