The Book of Candlelight

by Ellery Adams

  What pain brought Sheldon here?

  He’d mentioned chronic pain, but Nora suspected that there was more to his suffering than that. She sensed his loneliness. It was probably why she was drawn to him.

  She began crossing the bridge, sticking close to the side to avoid being splashed by passing cars. When she reached the middle, she stopped to peer over the railing.

  Broken planks of wood from the footbridge smacked against the base of the bridge Nora stood on. Chunks of trash churned in the angry water. There was plastic sheeting, fast food bags, soda cans and bottles, rectangles of cardboard, and thin pieces of wire.

  There was another object in the flotsam. Something that didn’t belong there.

  The shape was familiar, as was the red-and-black flannel fabric. Nora stared at it, trying to remember where she’d seen it before.

  And then, it came to her.

  Danny had been wearing a red-and-black shirt yesterday.

  Nora started down at the buoy of swollen flesh until she understood exactly what was floating among the wreckage.

  It was a body.

  Chapter 3

  Oh, my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger.

  —T. S. Eliot

  Nora wiped water from her eyes and prayed that she wasn’t staring at a dead man.

  But nothing else in the water looked human. The building materials had hard edges. The man did not. The garbage was soft and somewhat colorful, but it didn’t have limbs. Or skin. Or black hair that fanned out in the rippling water.

  Nora covered her mouth with her hand, fighting a wave of nausea.

  She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose. In. Out. In. Out.

  She remembered Danny’s pretty wife. She remembered the way she’d teased him yesterday. How he’d teased her back. The smiles they’d exchanged. The ease between them. They’d made a good team.

  The rain kept coming.

  It didn’t care about the man in the river. It struck against him, hitting him while he was already down.

  Nora’s shock gave way to anger. She was angry at the rain. Angry at the broken bridge. Angry at the chipped pot. Most of all, she was angry that a man—a kind, young man—was bobbing in the river like a dead fish. She was angry at all the water. The water pushing Danny’s body around. The water filling his lungs. The water covering his eyes.

  Nora screamed into the rain.

  Hearing her own voice was somehow calming. She had control of that, at least.

  Taking out her cell phone, she held it under the brim of her baseball cap and called Sheriff Grant McCabe.

  “I hope you’re in the mood for chicken and waffles,” the sheriff said when he picked up. “I could really use a change of scenery.”

  Nora and the sheriff were friends. Not close friends. Theirs was a friendship where Nora recommended books, the sheriff recommended recipes, and they shared the occasional meal. McCabe was fairly new to Miracle Springs and enjoyed trying a different restaurant every week. He’d taken over for the previous sheriff, a corrupted misogynist now serving what Nora hoped would be a very long jail sentence. McCabe had been in their little town for only three weeks when a local woman was found dead. He’d handled the case with a dogged professionalism, impressing everyone in Miracle Springs.

  McCabe and Nora had crossed paths during the investigation of the local woman’s death and found that they enjoyed each other’s company. They especially liked driving to Pearl’s, a soul food restaurant three stops down the railroad line. When the sheriff crossed the county line, he could leave his badge at home and just be Grant. He could split a basket of the best hush puppies in North Carolina with a beautiful woman whose hazel eyes lit up whenever she talked about books.

  “Sorry,” Nora now told the sheriff. She wasn’t sorry for letting McCabe down. She was sorry because Danny would never have a restaurant meal with his wife again. They’d never try each other’s food or figure out the server’s tip. They’d never clink glasses or hold hands until their meals came. They’d never talk about their day or smile at each other across the table.

  “I’m standing on the bridge over the river,” Nora said, her voice flat with sorrow. “I’m looking down at a body. I think it’s Cherokee Danny.”

  “Is he dead?” the sheriff asked.

  Nora looked down at her feet. Water pooled around her boots. “Yes.”

  “Sit tight. I’ll be there in five minutes,” the sheriff said.

  Nora slid her phone back into the zippered pocket of her raincoat and wheeled her bike under the awning of the hardware store. She stood there, shivering and waiting.

  She saw the sheriff’s department cars approaching but didn’t leave her shelter. The closer the cars got, the more she wondered if she’d really seen a body in the river. What if she just thought she saw a body? What if her mind had leapt to a conclusion because it seemed logical?

  Danny’s down there. Floating.

  Sheriff McCabe put his car in park and jumped out into the rain. Within seconds, water was streaming off the brim of his hat and landing on the shoulders of his electric yellow raincoat. He glanced to the right and, not finding Nora, looked to his left. When he spotted her, he signaled for her to wait and walked to the railing, Deputies Andrews and Fuentes followed close behind.

  The three men leaned over the metal rail and looked down. Nora couldn’t see their faces clearly—the rain continued to blur details—but she saw them shake their heads in a universal sign of regret.

  The sheriff spoke to his deputies. They listened, nodded in understanding, and returned to their cars. Fuentes slid into the passenger seat of the first car and raised a walkie to his lips. Nora guessed that he was calling for backup. The fire department’s water rescue team would have to fish Danny out of the river—a dangerous job with the rain, the flooding, and the shifting debris in the water.

  When he was done talking, McCabe walked to Nora, his head lowered against the battering rain. Safely under the awning, he removed his hat and gave it several violent shakes.

  “Goddamn rain,” he muttered. Nora appreciated his anger. She felt the same anger over the flooding, the fallen bridge, the car accidents, and now, the death of a young man. It was an anger born of powerlessness. There was nothing they could do against nature’s willfulness.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, giving his hat a final shake.

  “Yes.” Nora touched the bulge in her backpack and said, “I’d been to the flea market to see him. Danny. I wanted to ask him to fix a chip in a bowl I bought from him. He’s a potter. His booth was empty, and I was so disappointed because I wanted to get that chip fixed. A goddamn chip. And all the time, he was down there.”

  The sheriff turned to follow her gaze. On any other day, it would be difficult to see the river from where they stood, but it was so swollen that its bubbling, muddy water was easily visible.

  “Fire and Rescue are on their way,” McCabe said, turning back to Nora. His eyes, dark and intelligent, studied her in concern. “You should go home. Dry off. We can get your statement later.” He was about to walk away when he added, “I really wish you’d called about chicken and waffles. It would have been the only good call from today.”

  Nora thought of Jed and his partner rushing off to respond to a car accident. She thought of how tired both men had looked. They’d already been to the scenes of multiple accidents that morning, which meant the sheriff’s department had too.

  And I went out to fix a broken pot, she thought, marveling over the disparity between her life and that of the first responders.

  “Whenever you want to stop by for a coffee, it’s on the house,” Nora told the sheriff.

  “Thanks,” he said. He gave her a weary smile and donned his hat.

  Nora mounted her bike and paused. This was her day off. Her day to replenish her shelf enhancers, to hike on the Appalachian Trail, or to spend a luxurious afternoon reading. She pictured her bare refrigerator, the hamper stuffed with dirty laundry, and th
e mess that was her bookshop. She should go grocery shopping, clean her house, and straighten her store, but she’d just discovered a dead man in the river. She needed a distraction. She needed light and noise. And people. Not to talk to. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to sit among warm and vibrant bodies, anonymously sharing their company.

  The best place in town to find comfort food was the Pink Lady Grill. It would probably be mobbed with churchgoers, but Nora didn’t care. She’d be glad to see neighbors in their Sunday finest, sleepy tourists venturing out for brunch, and waitresses in their bubblegum-pink uniforms. She wanted sound and color. Anything to lighten the endless grayness of the sky. Anything to replace the image of Danny’s floating corpse.

  Stepping into the diner, Nora was hit by a wave of warm, grease-scented air. And noise. Talking, laughing, the clink of silverware. Every booth was occupied. Even the counter was full.

  Nora looked around for the owner, Jack Nakamura. Jack was a Japanese-American transplant from Alabama who cooked traditional Southern comfort food as if his family had been making biscuits, fried chicken, grits, and ham steak for generations. The Pink Lady’s name and color scheme were a tribute to his late mother. After breast cancer claimed her life, Jack became a passionate advocate of breast cancer prevention. Letters and photographs from women who’d battled the disease were displayed on the diner’s pink walls, and Jack paid for early detection screenings for area women who were either uninsured or needed a little financial help.

  Jack was working the grill. He had blueberry pancakes cooking on one side and an order of fried eggs on the other. Nora watched him line up three strips of bacon next to the eggs before expertly flipping the pancakes.

  “Looks like there’s no room at the inn,” said a voice from behind Nora. She turned to find Sheldon Vega smiling at her. “You look like a character from Les Mis. Come with me. You need something hot to drink and a plateful of carbs.”

  So much for sitting among people without interacting, Nora thought.

  But she was happy to see Sheldon. He was exactly the sort of distraction she needed. Unfortunately, he wasn’t dining alone.

  “You make friends fast,” she said.

  “What can I say? People fly to me. Like little moths.” His smile wavered. “It’s not easy to be my friend. When I hurt, I’m not a nice man. After working at the bookshop, I was sure I’d wake up on the wrong side of the coffin, but I was okay. It was a nice surprise.”

  Nora studied him in concern. “I hope you didn’t overdo it helping me.”

  Sheldon dismissed this with a flick of his wrist. “Honey, I’m a big boy. And before you ask, I’m here with the lovely ladies who’ve given me shelter. At a reduced rate, no less.”

  Nora decided that it would be interesting to meet the proprietors of the Inn of Mist and Roses. Ever since she’d seen the sign, she’d wanted to know the origin of the inn’s name. It sounded like something out of a gothic novel.

  “I hope they don’t mind your picking up a stray,” she said.

  “These ladies are angels. And they seem to like strays.”

  Sheldon led the way to a booth at the far end of the diner where a pair of sixty-something women sat together. Both had reading glasses perched on their heads. The first woman had glasses with bright red frames, which stood out against her silvery hair. The second woman had purple glasses. These were nearly lost in a sea of blue and purple curls.

  “Nora Pennington, these are my hostesses with the most-esses.” Sheldon gestured at the woman with the red glasses first. “This is Louisa Simmons. She might let you call her Lou if you ask her nicely.”

  The woman laughed, causing fine lines to spring out from the corner of her eyes. “Don’t listen to him. Everyone calls me Lou.”

  Next, Sheldon indicated the woman with the colorful hair. “This mermaid is Patricia Meacham.”

  “Call me Patty,” she said, shaking hands with Nora.

  “We ordered more coffee,” said Lou. “We’re on our second pot, but it’s that kind of day.”

  Sheldon tapped the rim of his mug. “All I can say for this stuff is that it’s hot. Sometimes, it’s best to just shut up and count your blessings.”

  “Sheldon is a walking cross-stitch pillow,” Patty said, her mouth curving into a smile.

  When their waitress arrived with a fresh pot of coffee, Nora ordered Jack’s famous breakfast sandwich. She’d already eaten a bowl of grits that morning and wasn’t particularly hungry, but the idea of fried egg and melted cheese sandwiched between two pieces of buttery toast might warm her up from the inside. And she needed warming.

  “How many people have you taken in because of the rain?” Nora asked the women.

  Lou replied while pouring Nora the last of the coffee in the carafe. “We have four guests right now. Sheldon, a young hiker named Micah Foster, and the Gentrys, a couple from Toledo.”

  “The Gentrys are keeping busy by going on short car trips,” Patty added. “Their car is a muddy mess. Good thing it’s a rental. Micah came on foot because he just started hiking the Trail. He doesn’t have money to spare, so he’s lending a hand with some of our DIY projects. As for Sheldon, it feels like he’s a family member, not a guest. He told us about your shop. I’m sorry that we haven’t been in yet, but we’re up to our eyeballs in work.”

  “How are the renovations going?” Nora asked.

  Lou added a splash of milk to her coffee. “The major stuff was done while we were still in Pennsylvania. The roof, the gutters, a whole new kitchen. That left us with the rest of the public spaces, the guest rooms, and the carriage house where Patty and I will eventually live.”

  “A brand-new kitchen, eh? And where are we having breakfast?” Sheldon arched a brow.

  “Everyone needs a break, you tyrant.” Patty tossed a wadded straw wrapper at him.

  The waitress returned carrying Nora’s food in one hand and a coffeepot in the other. She topped off everyone’s cups before moving on to the next table.

  “It’s been a challenging process,” Lou continued to answer Nora’s question. “We just found out that the library chimney needs to be rebuilt. Of course, the crew can’t start with this rain.”

  “And we’re stuck inside, stripping wallpaper,” Patty said. “I think the previous owners put the stuff on with Krazy Glue.”

  Lou shook her head in dismay. “Actually, I think it might be contact paper.”

  “That makes it vintage,” said Sheldon. “Give it to Nora. She can sell it at Miracle Books.”

  Patty asked where Nora searched for her treasures. Apparently, she and Lou wanted to decorate the inn with vintage pieces.

  Nora hesitated. She’d prefer to sell the items to Lou and Patty instead of sharing her trade secrets. However, she didn’t know how to avoid answering without sounding like a shrew.

  They invited you to join them, she reminded herself, and told the B&B owners how she visited area garage sales, the flea market, and occasionally bought items online. At the mention of the flea market, an image of Danny’s body rose up in her mind. She tried to push it away. She’d come to the diner to forget about what she’d seen. If only for a little while.

  “I guess all the garage sales were canceled yesterday,” Patty said. She’d been looking out the window and hadn’t noticed Nora’s stricken expression.

  Lou had, though. She paid the bill and then asked Nora if she’d ever been inside their inn.

  “No,” Nora replied. “I never met the previous owners. They kept to themselves.”

  “Well, we plan to be very neighborly. We like people. We’d better since we’re going to be sharing our home with a bunch of strangers.” Patty suddenly brightened. “I have an idea. Let’s have an impromptu potluck supper tonight. What do you guys think?”

  Lou and Sheldon immediately agreed. Patty turned to Nora with an expectant smile.

  Nora hesitated. She wasn’t good at small talk unless it revolved around books. In the shop, the books spoke for themselves. Their cov
er art, back cover blurbs, catchy titles, and colorful spines made them irresistible to readers.

  Nora was always friendly to her customers. She did her best to match them with the perfect books or to give them space to browse. Until she’d become close to the women of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society, she’d avoided lengthy conversations because polite chitchat was exhausting. Now that she had June, Estella, and Hester, she didn’t feel like she needed anyone else.

  She didn’t want to widen her circle. She liked her small, intimate circle just the way it was.

  “I think she’s hesitating because she gets around on a bike. How would she get a dish to the inn in the rain?” Sheldon gave Nora’s arm a pat. “Don’t worry. I have a car, and I know where you live. I’ll pick you up at six.”

  Since it was too late to object, Nora thanked Patty for the invitation. She wasn’t ready to leave yet, so she said that she was going to stay for another coffee.

  She didn’t really want coffee. Her belly was full, and she felt warm and drowsy. She wasn’t in a rush to step back into the wet and dismal world outside the diner.

  Everyone seemed to be lingering. People ate slowly, sipped from their coffee cups, and chatted. They visited other tables to catch up with acquaintances, filling the room with noise and movement. Nora watched them until she was distracted by a streak of red passing outside the window.

  A fire truck drove by, followed by an ambulance. Close behind these vehicles was the fire department’s pickup. The truck pulled a trailer bearing the water rescue raft.

  Danny, Nora thought.

  All the warmth inside the diner vanished. The pleasant din faded too far into the background. Nora felt cold and alone.

  She gazed at the road long after the emergency vehicles were out of sight, which is why she saw another flash of movement on the deserted sidewalk. At the mouth of the alleyway separating the insurance agency and the florist, she saw a man. A man in a white T-shirt.