The Book of Candlelight Read online

  Seeing Nora’s quizzical look, Hester beckoned her to the front of the store.

  Nora gazed at the display cases in astonishment. They held baked apple roses, tulip cake pops, daisy lemon tarts, sunflower cupcakes, pansy sandwich cookies, and more. Every muffin, roll, and loaf of bread was shaped like a flower or embellished with a floral design.

  “This is right out of The Secret Garden. Except the flowers are edible. Amazing,” Nora said. Then she sighed. “I need to change my window display, but who has the time? I’m running back and forth between the checkout counter and the ticket agent’s office like a madwoman. Last night, I was too tired to eat dinner. On Thursday night, I fell asleep in my clothes.”

  Hester plucked at her shirt. “This is my last clean T-shirt. And it wasn’t like I was on top of things before the rain came. I can’t remember when I last changed my sheets or washed my towels. My house smells like a high school locker room.”

  Nora understood. At home, she’d been using the same plate, fork, and glass for days. She’d wash them and leave them on the counter to dry. She didn’t bother putting things in cabinets or drawers. That required too much energy.

  “Are you thinking about running another ad?” she asked, returning to her roll.

  Hester frowned. “Ever since the Meadows was bought, a bunch of the people who lost their jobs after the community bank scandal have gone back to work. Now, no one is interested in my part-time gig. Especially since I’m not offering any benefits. Unless you count free food.”

  The Meadows was a planned housing development on the outskirts of town. No houses had been built because the investment firm heading the project was run by scumbags. These scumbags colluded with more scumbags from the Madison County Community Bank to commit major mortgage fraud. The crooks had been caught, partially due to the efforts of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society, and the bank had gone belly-up. The recent purchase of the development by a legitimate firm meant homes and jobs for many of the fraud victims.

  Nora put on her raincoat. “My applicants were a high school kid who wouldn’t work weekends, an empty nester who wanted a higher wage than I make, and a chain-smoker who couldn’t name the last book she’d read.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Whoever works with me has to be a book lover. That’s non-negotiable.” Nora reached for the door handle and paused. “Speaking of books, should I grab my book pockets while I’m here?”

  Hester slapped the counter with her oven mitt. “I totally forgot! I’ll bake them right now and ask Jasper to drive them over. Otherwise, they’ll be water-logged.”

  Nora grinned at the image of Hester’s boyfriend, Deputy Andrews, transporting pastries in his sheriff’s department cruiser.

  “Good idea. Besides, I want to ask him if he finished Ready Player One yet.”

  Hester filled a measuring cup with flour and said, “Not everyone devours books like we do. Some people savor every page.”

  “I need books like I need oxygen.” Nora glanced out at the rain. “A little sunlight would be nice too.”

  * * *

  Inside the dry and cozy haven that was Miracle Books, Nora set the coffeemaker to brew and inspected the contents of her backpack.

  The results were depressing.

  The inkwell of the hammered copper desk set was dented, the butterfly paperweight was chipped, and the Bakelite clock was cracked. A vintage leather canteen had also been flattened. The only survivors of her fall were a Russian nesting doll and a silver plate bowl.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, stuffing a screwdriver into the canteen to push out a few dents.

  The coffeemaker beeped, and Nora checked her watch. It was almost ten and both she and the shop were completely disheveled.

  Nora looked at the hole in her pants. She didn’t have time to change. Instead, she turned on lights, straightened throw pillows, and ran a rag over the dustiest shelves. With one minute to go, she switched on some music and ran a brush through her hair. As she fought with a knot at the nape of her neck, she thought, I need to clean this cut on my leg. I need to change the window display. I need to open boxes. I need to restock the shelves.

  Her mental list scrolled on as she put the old brass skeleton key in the front door and unlocked it.

  The door immediately swung open, and the sleigh bells dangling from its hinges clamored.

  “Don’t you get tired of that noise?” asked a doppelganger for Colonel Sanders. He removed a gray fedora and shook it out, his gaze moving from Nora’s face to her torn pants. “Honey, you’re a hot mess. What can Sheldon do to help you?”

  Normally, Nora would have delivered a terse reply and gone about her business, but genuine kindness radiated from the man’s dark eyes. She liked his fedora and his pink bowtie. She liked how his sweater vest seemed to hold his belly in check.

  Before she could say a word, the man looped his arm through hers. “I smell coffee. Let’s go to where the coffeepot lives, and you can tell me everything. I’m an excellent listener.”

  Minutes later, to Nora’s surprise, the short, round, bearded stranger was in the ticket agent’s office, making coffee for them both.

  “So many mugs! I love them,” Sheldon declared. “Especially the snarky ones.”

  Nora watched him. She was so tired that it was a relief to sit back and let him take over.

  Sheldon handed her a mug emblazoned with the text TALK DARCY TO ME, and said, “There’s no problem that a Cuban coffee and a heart-to-heart can’t fix. Go on. Take a load off.”

  Nora sat. “Cuban?”

  “No talkie before coffee.” Sheldon motioned for her to take a sip.

  Nora was immediately smitten with the strong, sweet brew. “Magical.”

  “Not magical. Cuban. I’m only half-magic because I’m half-Cuban,” he said. “Sheldon Silverstein Vega, at your service.”

  “As in, Shel Silverstein the poet?”

  Sheldon spread his hands. “Mom was a school librarian who wanted her son to love words. And I do. My Cuban papa wanted me to love food.” He rubbed his belly. “And I do.”

  Studying her guest, Nora realized that Sheldon was too handsome to be compared with Colonel Sanders. Sheldon’s skin held a hint of bronze and his white hair was mixed with a generous dose of silver.

  The sleigh bells clanged. Nora called out a hello before turning to Sheldon. “Thanks for the coffee. I’d better get to work.” She held out her hand. “Nora Pennington, by the way.”

  He took her hand as if she were a queen and he, her courtier. “Lady Nora, I’ve been in town for three days, and I’m terrifically bored. The inn where I’m staying is being renovated, and I didn’t emerge from the thermal pools to find my chronic pain miraculously gone. I don’t do yoga, I have a therapist back home, and I can’t stand kale. So when I saw your shop—this glorious den of books and trinkets—I thought, here’s the place for me. I can arrange the bric-a-brac, I can shelve books, I can make Cuban coffee. Whatever you need. Give my day some purpose. Please.”

  A middle-aged couple appeared from around the corner of the fiction shelves and Nora asked if she could help them with anything. The man wanted a coffee and the woman wanted a vegan cookbook. Nora promised to make the man’s coffee after showing his wife the cookbook section, but she never got the chance. By the time she returned to the ticket agent’s office, the man was settled in the purple velvet chair, contentedly sipping coffee out of a Dilbert mug.

  “Do you want a job?” Nora asked Sheldon. She was only half teasing.

  “I might,” he said. “But I’m a complicated man. I come with baggage.”

  Nora smiled at him. “Don’t we all?”

  With Sheldon handling beverages, Nora was able to load a shelving cart with inventory from the stockroom. She even managed to put out some of the new books in between making recommendations and ringing up sales.

  When Deputy Andrews arrived carrying two boxes of book-shaped pastries, Nora asked if he had time to look for a new book.

&nb
sp; “I’ve gotta go.” He jerked his thumb out the window. “Multiple fender benders.”

  The mention of car accidents reminded Nora that she’d forgotten to examine the pottery bowl she’d bought for Jed.

  Later, after bagging Goodnight Moon, Harold and the Purple Crayon, and Maisy’s Bedtime for a woman who’d be babysitting her rambunctious grandson at the end of the month, Nora decided to check on both the bowl and Sheldon.

  Sheldon had tidied the ticket agent’s office from top to bottom. The coffee machine sparkled. The counters gleamed. He’d also lit one of the scented candles from the display in the Home & Garden section.

  “You’ll sell more candles if people can sample their smell,” Sheldon said. “I mean, I had no clue what to expect from a candle called Beach Reads. It could smell like cocoa butter and sweat for all I know.”

  Nora grinned. “Thanks for cleaning up back here. I’ve been meaning to do it, but the rain has kept me super busy.”

  Sheldon pointed at a cardboard box. “I put your broken stuff in there. I’m guessing that the hole in your jeans and your busted antiques happened at the same time.”

  “I fell off my bike,” Nora said as she reached for the plastic bag in the sink. She peeled off the layers of newspapers and released a heavy sigh. The rim of the bowl was chipped. Red clay peeked out from a dime-sized area where a chunk of brown glaze was missing.

  Seeing her stricken look, Sheldon came up behind her and asked, “Have you ever heard the story of the cracked pot?”

  Nora shook her head. She was in no mood for a story.

  “It’s about a water bearer who has to walk a long way to fetch water for his master. He carries a pot in each hand. One pot is flawless. The other is cracked. Every day, when the water bearer returns to his master’s house, the perfect pot is full of water. The cracked one is half-full.”

  As Sheldon spoke, Nora searched through the newspaper for the glaze chip. She hoped to ask Danny to repair the bowl. She’d see him at the flea market tomorrow.

  Sheldon continued his story. “The cracked water pot was ashamed that he couldn’t carry as much water as the flawless pot. One day, he apologized to the water bearer.”

  “The pot speaks?” Nora asked wryly.

  “Yes. Now, listen. This is the important part. The water bearer told the pot to pay careful attention to the flowers they passed on the way home. The pot did, and he saw that they were beautiful. There were flowers of every shape and color. They filled the air with a lovely perfume and brought joy to all the people on the road. The flowers existed because one day, the water bearer dropped seeds on the dirt along the side of the road. He then watered the seeds with the water leaking out of the cracked pot. The water bearer told the pot that he had no reason to feel shame. After all, it was his flaw that had created so much beauty.”

  Nora looked at Sheldon. He was a curious man. A quirky and capable man. She didn’t know him, but she liked him.

  Sheldon tapped his temple. “I know what you’re thinking. Who is this marvelous Mr. Miyagi? This glam Gandalf? This winsome Obi-Wan? This dreamy Dumbledore?”

  The moment had come for Nora to learn more about Sheldon Vega. Gesturing at the circle of chairs on the other side of the ticket agent’s office, she said, “I’m thinking that I lucked out when you showed up today. You’re like a fairy godmother.” She gestured at the circle of chairs. “I always thought fairy godmothers were too good to be true. They never had any visible flaws, which made me distrust them. Why don’t you tell me about some of yours?”

  “Some of my flaws?” Sheldon rolled his eyes and released a theatrical sigh. “Honey, we do not have that kind of time.

  Chapter 2

  The air moves like a river and carries the clouds with it; just as running water carries all the things that float upon it.

  —Leonardo da Vinci

  “You let him take care of your customers?” Hester asked Nora in astonishment. “Just like that?”

  June pointed at the ticket agent’s office. “A total stranger? Back there, making drinks?”

  “I’d like to meet this man. He sounds like a force to be reckoned with,” Estella said, coquettishly twirling a strand of crimson hair around her index finger.

  Nora smiled at her. “I don’t think he leans in your direction.”

  “I don’t want to seduce him. I just want to meet him.” Estella crossed her shapely legs and leaned back in her chair. “It’s so out of character for you to trust a stranger.”

  “The rain is making Nora a little crazy,” June said in a stage whisper. “Shit, it’s making everyone a little crazy. You gals know that I don’t sleep well. You know that when I wake up at two in the morning and can’t get back to sleep, I throw on a cap and go for a walk.”

  Hester grinned. “With your army of cats.”

  “They’re not my cats.”

  Though June refused to accept kinship with the cats, half the town had seen her in the dead of night, walking through the quiet shopping district. They’d seen her in her hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap. With her dark skin and dark clothes, June practically melted into the night, but there was no mistaking the herd of cats trailing after her. No matter what the weather, the cats accompanied June. Sometimes, they mewled or growled as they moved around her, orbiting her like planets around the sun. June wasn’t even fond of cats, but they were uncannily fond of her.

  “Anyway,” June said, casting a glare at Hester. “My nocturnal strolls have been especially miserable these days. My shoes are soaked through before I reach my own mailbox. Last night, when I walked by that little inn on Chestnut Street—the one that’s being renovated—I saw a light on in a second-floor window. It was half past two.”

  “Another night owl,” said Nora.

  “It was your barista.” June took a cookie from the platter on the coffee table. “As soon as you described his looks, I knew he was the same the guy.”

  Estella leaned forward, eager for a tidbit of harmless gossip to dole out to her customers as she colored their hair or painted their nails.

  “He was sitting on the window seat, reading,” June said. “He must have sensed me out there because he waved. Actually, he stared at the cats for a few seconds. Then, he waved.”

  Hester exhaled in relief. “For a second there, I thought you were going to go all Stephen King on us and say that he had red, glowing eyes or that he didn’t cast a shadow.”

  June bit into her flower-shaped cookie. Hester had made cherry blossom sugar cookies decorated with pink, cherry-flavored buttercream. The soft, fruity, sweet cookies made Nora forget about the rain.

  “Speaking of Mr. King, are we ready to discuss his hair-raising novel?” Nora asked. “Or do you all want to keep talking about Sheldon Vega?”

  “Don’t get prickly,” June scolded. “Sheldon is an outsider. The book we read is called The Outsider. I don’t think we could find a better segue. What makes someone an outsider?”

  Estella tapped a manicured fingernail against her plate. “Let’s not deal with boogeymen and blood without our King of Horror cocktails. I made a pitcher of Red Rum punch. Prime yourselves for a killer blend of rum, lime juice, simple syrup, and muddled blackberries.”

  June rubbed her palms together with glee. “Oh, that sounds good! I wish I could give you some of the Dom Pérignon from Misery, but I couldn’t find any coupons for champagne in the paper. So I made Green Mile appletinis instead.” She hurried into the ticket agent’s office and returned with a glass decanter. “Check out this shade of green.”

  “Whoa. Freaky. It makes me think of Pet Sematary. Or, wait a minute, what’s that book? Yeah, Cat’s Eye,” Hester said, winking at June.

  Estella and Nora laughed while June hurled a throw pillow embroidered with the words CARPE LIBRUM at Hester. “Respect your elders, girlie.”

  “Elders? You have, like, ten years on me,” Hester said, which wasn’t strictly true. At thirty-five, Hester was the youngest member. Estella had just turned forty and
Nora was in her mid-forties. June was almost twenty years older than Hester, but it didn’t matter. The two women were thick as thieves.

  “All right, ladies. I am ready to get my drink on.” Estella got to her feet. “It has been a very long week. Hester? What did you whip up in that magical kitchen of yours?”

  “Cookies,” said Hester. “I tried making a cocktail, but I’m a crappy mixologist. Really crappy. What about you, Nora?”

  Nora pointed at the ticket agent’s office. “In honor of the first Stephen King novel I ever read, I made Firestarter mocktails with OJ and grenadine. I was a freshman in high school when I randomly picked up the paperback, and I finished it in two days. I went on a Stephen King binge after that. Next up was Carrie. Then Salem’s Lot. That one messed with my sleep. I kept hearing vampires scratching at my bedroom window with their long nails.”

  “Mocktails?” Estella gave Nora a puzzled look. “It’s Saturday night. No one’s working tomorrow.”

  Nora didn’t want to confess that she was trying to avoid alcohol. She liked its numbing power far too much, and she was tired of being numb. She was ready to feel again.

  When she’d first moved to Miracle Springs, she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to join clubs, churches, charitable organizations, or political parties. Even though she was a small business owner in a small town, she hadn’t sponsored the Little League team or invited Girl Scouts to sell cookies under the Miracle Books awning.

  However, Nora had reluctantly opened herself up to the women in this room. Over the past nine months, the four of them had told one another their deepest, darkest secrets. In the telling, they’d learned to trust again.

  Despite this, Nora wasn’t ready to tell them that she might be an alcoholic. She had yet to look in the mirror and admit that fact to herself.

  “I have tequila if you want to turn it into the real deal,” Nora said as she walked into the ticket agent’s office. She felt Estella’s gaze on her. “I just thought I’d give everyone a choice.”

  Hester raised a hand. “I’ll take a mocktail. I’m not in the mood for booze. The rain makes me drowsy as it is.”