by Ellery Adams
Jed’s eyes smiled in amusement. “There’s nothing dull about you. You are, by far, the most exciting bookselling cyclist I’ve ever met.”
Nora laughed. “You’ve met many of us?”
“Dozens. I’m a very cosmopolitan paramedic.” A sports car zoomed past, and Jed seemed to suddenly remember that they were parked on the side of a winding road. “Time to go.”
Despite Jed’s protests, Nora insisted on joining him up front. “You’ve already rescued me,” she said. “I’m not going to sit in the back and let you play chauffeur.”
“I’m learning that it’s fruitless to argue with you, Nora Pennington.”
As Jed pulled away from the shoulder, Nora examined her torn blouse and shredded jeans.
“You have some minor lacerations,” Jed said. “You’ll need to clean them when we get back. It’s a good thing you were wearing long sleeves and pants. They saved you from a serious road rash.”
“An added bonus of having burn scars,” Nora said acerbically. “Protective clothing shields me from both sun exposure and road rash after a homicidal maniac tries to run me off the side of the mountain.”
Jed shot her a worried glance. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about this? I’m a good listener. You can ask any one of the grandmothers I’ve transported through the years. I listen raptly to everything they say about their grandkids, cats, craft projects, aches, pains, and cruises. But my favorite thing to ask the ladies is if they could go back in time and do it all again, who would they most want to kiss?”
Nora turned to him in surprise. “Seriously? That’s what you talk about when they’ve broken a hip?”
He shrugged. “It takes their mind off their pain. And the ladies always have a name for me. Always. Sometimes, it’s a man who died in a war. Or a boy they never had the guts to speak to. Every now and then, they say they married that guy and never regretted a moment. And once in a blue moon, they whisper that it’s not a guy at all, but a girl.”
Realizing that Jed had just successfully distracted her from both her pain and her distress over being targeted by a driver trying to run her off the road, Nora smiled.
The smile didn’t last though. For as much as she’d like to listen to more of his anecdotes, she couldn’t have Jed hanging out at Miracle Books all day. Not only would it be difficult to concentrate on regular tasks, but she also couldn’t make a Facetime call to Estella knowing that he might overhear their conversation.
However, Jed made it clear that he wouldn’t be chased off. After unloading her bike, he followed Nora into Miracle Books and began turning on lights.
“Do you want to go home and change clothes?” he asked. “I can’t operate the register, but I can say hello to people and brew a mean pot of coffee.”
Nora glanced down at her shirt and jeans. “I don’t know. I might sell more books in this outfit. People might feel sorry for me.”
Jed started to laugh, but Nora didn’t stick around long enough to hear the sound of his merriment drift into the stacks. Deciding that it would be prudent to clean out the dirt and dust from her road rash while it was still fresh, Nora hurried to Caboose Cottage, stripped off her ruined outfit, and examined her injuries in the bathroom mirror.
She saw a large area of raw, red flesh on her thigh and two smaller patches on her arm. It looked like someone had rubbed her with sandpaper. The skin was tender to the touch, but Nora suspected it would heal completely in a week or so.
You’re lovelier than ever, she thought sardonically, and went into her bedroom to retrieve another long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans.
The loss of an outfit she couldn’t afford to replace, along with the outrage over having nearly been killed, had Nora in a foul mood by the time she returned to Miracle Books. At least Jed had made good on his promise to make coffee and several customers had already entered the shop.
An elderly gentleman asked Nora for help finding books on alleviating joint pain. However, after she showed him to the section, she had a feeling that his rheumatoid arthritis wasn’t the only thing troubling him.
Nora exchanged small talk with the man, whose name was Roger. When she felt he was sufficiently at ease, she asked him why he’d come to Miracle Springs.
“There’s more to it than your RA, right?” she prodded in a gentle voice. “Maybe I can help.”
Roger hesitated. “My daughter has cancer, and I don’t know how to handle it. She does. She can handle anything. But we’ve never been close.” He glanced down at the book he’d selected on joint pain. “I worked too much when she was growing up, so I never really got to know her. And now, when she needs me, I don’t know how to talk to her. I don’t know what it means to be a good father.”
Nora knew how difficult this admission had been for Roger and thanked him for trusting her enough to share it with her.
“Come with me.” She led Roger to the circle of chairs near the ticket-agent office and suggested he choose a drink from the menu. “While you’re relaxing, I’ll find what you need.”
Roger ordered an Ernest Hemingway, which Jed volunteered to pour, leaving Nora free to peruse the fiction section. After much deliberation, as well as having to stop twice to assist other customers, Nora returned to Roger’s side carrying Empire Falls, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, Little House on the Prairie, and America’s First Daughter: A Novel.
“Do I read all of these?” he asked.
Nora nodded. “If you do, I think you’ll be ready to talk to your daughter the way you’ve always wanted to talk to her. These authors will help you find the right words.”
Roger wiped a solitary tear from his left eye. “Thank you. I’ll write you and let you know how things go.”
“I’d like that,” Nora said.
She left Roger to enjoy his coffee and examine his books in peace. Jed was waiting for her in the ticket-agent’s office. The gaze he turned on Nora was filled with unspoken questions.
“That sounded a bit like therapy.” His tone wasn’t judgmental. Merely inquisitive.
Nora was reluctant to explain her role of self-trained bibliotherapist, but since Jed had already told her that he was open to nontraditional forms of medicine, she said, “Sometimes, I recommend certain titles to help people find healing.”
Jed mulled this over. “But you gave that customer a stack of novels. How does fiction heal?”
“Not all injuries are physical,” Nora said, and moved off to ring up a customer waiting at the front counter.
Later, she taught Jed how to use the espresso machine and gave him a quick lesson on spotting and reshelving stray books.
“Where do you find all the cool antiques and vintage knickknacks?” Jed pointed between a cast-iron castle doorstop and a Raggedy Ann penny bank.
As Nora described the local flea markets and auctions, Jed’s eyes lit up. “My mother used to work for an auction gallery,” he said. “When I was a kid, I had unique toys. I used to want all the new stuff I saw on TV, but that was before I realized how much better my antique metal soldiers were than the mass-produced plastic ones. Even when other kids teased me, I knew my shit was cooler than their shit.”
“So is your mom retired now?” Nora asked, and saw the light in Jed’s eyes snap out.
“You could say that.” He turned away, but not before Nora caught the brief grimace.
There’s a story behind that twist of his mouth, Nora thought. A painful one. A story involving his mother.
But Nora wouldn’t dream of prying. Not all secrets were meant to be shared.
For lunch, Nora treated Jed to takeout from the Pink Lady, insisting that he accept a meal in exchange for giving up his day at the lake. He agreed, but only if she’d take a pain reliever for her headache.
“How did you know I had a headache?” she had asked in surprise.
“You’ve touched your temple multiple times. I’m an observant guy.”
Nora had swallowed some Bayer and called in their
lunch order.
By day’s end, Nora had to admit that she’d enjoyed Jed’s company. More importantly, she’d felt comfortable with him for a long period of time. He’d unobtrusively fallen in the flow of Miracle Books. When the shop was filled with customers, he made coffee or directed them to certain areas of the store. During slow times, he read or examined Nora’s shelf enhancers with such delight that she almost considered inviting him to join her the next time she went treasure hunting. She didn’t, however. Because although Jed’s presence had been the highlight of Nora’s week, it had also prevented her from contacting Estella or working out what to do next to prove her friend’s innocence.
Walking Jed to the front door, Nora thanked him with as much warmth as she was capable of, which meant she met his gaze and handed him a book wrapped in brown paper.
“What’s this? You already treated me to lunch.”
“And you coerced every other customer into buying a coffee or a shelf enhancer in addition to at least one book. You were very good for business.”
Jed puffed out his chest. “That’s the best compliment I’ve gotten in ages. Usually, the most I can hope for is, ‘You found my vein with your first stick. You might actually know what you’re doing.’”
Nora smiled and said, “Coming from someone with lots of experience being stuck with needles, it’s a relief when a person slides that needle in nice and smooth on the first go-round.”
“Keep turning me on with that medspeak and I’ll be back tomorrow.” Jed’s mouth curved into a rakish grin, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Seriously, Nora. Call me if you feel any dizziness or nausea.” He hesitated. “Or if you want to talk about why I found you on the side of the road in the first place. If someone deliberately hit you with a car, you shouldn’t be alone tonight. Or at all.”
“I agree,” Nora said.
Jed searched her face, clearly nonplussed by her answer, but Nora didn’t say anything else. She was ready for him to leave so she could contact the other members of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society.
Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Jed gave Nora a parting smile—one that didn’t reach his eyes—and left.
* * *
Hester’s house reminded Nora of a tea cake. A pale pink Victorian cottage with icing-white trim, it was surrounded by hydrangea bushes bearing plump, white flowers and flower beds overflowing with daisies, marigolds, and impatiens.
It was clear that Hester’s kitchen was the heart of her house. Every inch of space was covered with cast-iron molds, tin cookie cutters, and reproduction advertising signs.
June sat beneath a tin Hershey’s sign and Hester gestured for Nora to take the chair under the Royal Baking Powder sign.
Hester looked like a fifties housewife in a polka-dot apron with a matching headband.
“What is that amazing smell?” Nora asked. She inhaled deeply and immediately began to relax. The warmth of the kitchen, combined with the scent of baking dough and the presence of her friends, gave Nora a sense of homecoming. It was a feeling of comfort she hadn’t experienced since she was a child.
Hester ignored the question and pointed at Nora’s hand. “Are those for us?”
Nora looked down. She’d entered Hester’s house carrying a bag of food and three tiny keys affixed to three aubergine-colored ribbons. “I figured we couldn’t truly be a society of secret keepers if only one of us had access to the secrets. So here.” She flattened her palm, inviting June and Hester to take a bookmark. The lone bookmark on her hand was a grim reminder of their missing society member.
“Thank you,” said June. “We’ll come to every meeting with these tucked into the pages of our current books.”
Nora got to her feet. “Let’s go into the living room and connect with Estella. I set this up with the powers-that-be at the jail after work. You can’t just call inmates on a whim, unfortunately, as an outside company actually handles the communication and requires that you create an account and put a credit card on file. Also, we’ll have to watch what we say to Estella until we know who’s listening in on her end of the conversation.”
June and Hester responded with somber nods and Nora figured out how to make her inaugural phone call using her laptop. Surprisingly, the call went through smoothly and within five minutes, Estella’s face filled Nora’s screen.
Nora had placed the laptop on Hester’s coffee table, which was actually a large steamer trunk, and taken a seat on the sofa at a slight distance from the screen. This way, Hester and June could sit on either side of her, allowing Estella a view of all three of them.
“It’s so good to see you!” Estella cried. “I was worried you’d forgotten about me. Or worse. That they’d somehow scared you off. Or shut you up.”
“No one’s going to stop us,” Nora said. “And I’m sorry that we left you hanging for so long. I just wish I had better news. How close is your audience?”
Estella glanced over her shoulder. “Not too bad,” she said before lowering her voice. “Keep it down for the juicy bits.”
Nora choked out a laugh. “It’s all juicy, though that’s not the word I would choose to describe what’s happened since I last saw you.”
She managed to summarize her morning visit to the Meadows as if it were a trip to the grocery store and Estella adopted a bland expression throughout. Only her eyes betrayed her shock over hearing how Nora was run off the road.
June and Hester weren’t as passive in their reactions, however. Both shouted expletives.
“You must have found something,” Estella said after Nora had shushed Hester and June. “Otherwise, why else would they be motivated to give you a lethal nudge?”
Nora shook her head and spoke in a near whisper. “If we did, we’re all stumped as to what it was. I qualify for a home loan based on a special incentive from the bank. And yet Dawson Hendricks has seen my financial statements. He knows I can’t cough up the down payment without selling Caboose Cottage first, but I still got the distinct impression from Annette that Pine Ridge Properties would allow me to sign a contract based on the fact that I was preapproved at the bank. It makes no sense. Doesn’t Collin Stone need capital to build these houses?”
“How many homes have actually been completed?” Estella asked. “I haven’t been up to the Meadows since they broke ground on the model home.”
“None are finished.” Nora turned to June and Hester. “How many would you say have been started?”
Hester tapped her chin. “Four. Maybe five.”
“No other lots have been cleared. And my guess is that only three houses have been framed. The development isn’t very far along,” June said.
“Especially in light of how many lots have been sold.” Nora described the site map in Annette’s office. “Either that map is bogus, or a rash of contracts were signed within a short time period.”
Estella made a pensive noise. “That puts a ton of pressure on Collin.” Checking to see if the guard was overtly listening, she added, “He might be an ass, but I’d still like to see him working out in the sun. Shirtless and sweaty.”
“It’s more than a personality flaw, Estella. We’re talking about murder,” Nora pointed out sternly. “This is a Scott Turow, Presumed Innocent, kill-your-colleague type of murder.”
June shook her head in disagreement. “Nah. It’s more like Patrick Bateman of American Psycho, murdering his coworker.”
“Bateman didn’t care about money, his reputation, or other human beings,” Nora argued. “I think Collin Stone cares about at least two of those. We have no idea how he feels about Annette. Is Collin in love with her or is he using her?”
Estella made a time-out gesture. “Wait a sec! Is your builder a bad boy?”
“Yeah,” Hester said. “And from what we saw in the model house, it looks like the badness happens regularly.”
“Saw?” Estella leaned closer to the screen. “Was it hot?”
Nora was tempted to slam her laptop lid shut. “Do you want
to get out of there, Estella?”
“Nora,” Hester scolded. “Be nice.”
But Hester hadn’t been pushed off her bike. Collin hadn’t left a rose on Hester’s cash register. And Hester didn’t understand why Nora didn’t feel like entertaining Estella by describing the lurid details of a married man’s affair.
Glancing sideways at her friend, Nora snapped, “Sorry, Mom.”
She started to turn away, but Hester’s hand clamped down on her shoulder like a vise. “Don’t call me that.”
June, who was on Nora’s other side, peeked behind Nora’s back to get a look at Hester’s face. “Honey, what’s wrong with you? You sounded just like that when I called you sweet pea.”
Nora pried Hester’s fingers loose. Even in midair, her hand was curled inward like a talon.
“Hester?” Estella pleaded from a stark room across town. “Talk to us. Is it . . . does this have something to do with your secret?”
After a lengthy pause, Hester whispered, “Once, I was your average high school girl. I studied hard, hung out with my friends, and played the flute. My dad called me sweet pea.” She swallowed and then spoke a little louder. “In the winter of my junior year, I got pregnant, and I was sent off to live with an aunt in Michigan until the baby was born. I wasn’t allowed to leave her house for any reason. Around Halloween, I gave birth to a little girl. I never saw her. I never held her. She was taken away while she was still crying. My parents said that if I breathed a word about what had happened, they’d never speak to me again.”
“Jesus,” Estella murmured.
There was a banging noise off-screen and a man’s voice announced, “Ten minutes. You’re only getting this long because I want to finish this article.”
“Thank you, Officer.” Estella gave him a winsome smile. “You’re such a gentleman.” She continued staring in his direction for several seconds before she was able to focus on her friends again. “Hester, plenty of young women have had to give a child up for adoption. You don’t have to be ashamed, darling.”
Now, Nora understood why Hester’s personality vacillated between old soul and naïve innocent. She’d been through a traumatic ordeal. Instead of helping her recover, Hester’s parents had forced her to remain silent. They’d forced her to pretend that her pregnancy hadn’t occurred. They’d told her to suppress her memories and feelings.
