The Secret, Book & Scone Society Read online

  Nora gave a brief shake of her head, refusing to allow her mind to dwell on Estella’s detailed imagery. “Why are people saying that he was pushed?”

  Estella turned away from the window. “It’s a lovely summer afternoon. It hasn’t rained in days. The grass leading to the drop-off is dry. The concrete slab is dry. That means your man either crept through the hole in the fence and jumped in front of the incoming train because he couldn’t face the future, or someone followed him down to the ledge and gave him a shove that sent him flying. Either way, his troubles are over.”

  And what were those troubles? Nora wondered, recalling their conversation on the park bench and how the man had admitted to having compromised his principles. He’d also mentioned that his partners were arriving on the afternoon train and that he wanted to set things straight before then.

  Did he see suicide as his only solution? Was that his way of making things right?

  More than most, Nora understood the allure of surrendering to an endless sleep. She’d spent countless nights in a burn unit longing for just that, but even though her spirit had given up, her body refused to follow. And eventually, an Icelandic nurse and a stack of books had shown her a way out. A way through. The stories had shown her that the only way to escape the pain was to pull it closer. To let it burn her like a second fire.

  The sleigh bells rang, startling her out of her reverie, and another woman entered the shop. Unlike Estella, whose movements were languid and catlike, this woman, who had frizzy blond hair and freckled skin, practically hummed with frenetic energy.

  It was Hester Winthrop of the Gingerbread House.

  “That man! Neil.” She pointed in the direction of the tunnel. “I just made him a comfort scone. And now he’s dead!”

  Hester still wore her apron. Rorschach flour shapes covered the cranberry-colored fabric and her hand trembled. Under normal circumstances, Nora would offer a sympathetic murmur before finding an excuse to disappear deeper into the bookshop, but she shocked herself by saying, “Would you like some coffee?” She included Estella in the invitation with a glance. “We could sit in the chairs by the ticket-agent’s office.”

  “That would be nice,” Hester said, tucking a flour-crusted curl behind her ear.

  Estella arched her brows and asked, “Got any whiskey back there? Or a jar of white lightning tucked behind the encyclopedias?”

  It took Nora a second to understand the reference. Though she’d seen her fair share of locals on front porches, sipping the clear liquor out of mason jars on sticky summer evenings, Nora had never tasted the stuff.

  “I don’t have any booze,” Nora said, walking ahead of the other women. “But my coffee is strong.”

  In the ticket-agent’s office, she filled two mugs and placed them on the counter.

  Hester reached for the mug with the chocolate-chip cookie on the front and the text COME TO THE DARK SIDE. WE HAVE COOKIES on the back. She chuckled. “That’s cute.” She watched Estella pick up the second mug. “What does yours say?”

  “ONLY TWO PERCENT OF THE WORLD HAS RED HAIR, SO I’M BASICALLY A MAJESTIC UNICORN.” Estella nodded in approval. “I like it.”

  “How many mugs do you have?” Hester peered through the ticket window.

  “Over a hundred. There’s a whole pegboard. See?” Nora moved to the side to allow Hester an unobstructed view. “One row is just for kids. For their hot chocolate. Superman, Grumpy Cat, and Snoopy are their favorites.”

  A shadow flitted through Hester’s eyes—a darting fish that spoke of a painful memory she hadn’t wanted to surface. However, it disappeared when Estella asked Nora if she set aside a special mug for herself.

  “No.” Nora added a splash of cream to her I LOVE HOBBITS mug. “But I never buy a mug I wouldn’t want to use. I hold each one to be sure it feels comfortable in my hand.”

  “Speaking of comfort, the way you give everyone a unique coffee mug is a bit like my scones,” Hester said once they’d all settled in the circle of chairs next to the ticket booth. “I use a basic scone recipe and add fruit, nuts, and spices after meeting and speaking with my customer.”

  Estella was too interested to drink her coffee. “How does that work? You don’t know these out-of-towners at all, yet they talk about how your scones can awaken old memories. I don’t understand how you do it.”

  “I get a feeling from each person. Some people can see certain colors or energy around other people. Me? I read scents and flavors. I can only do it in my shop, though,” Hester explained. “And it doesn’t always work. Plenty of customers have been disappointed by my scones. Instead of finding a comforting memory, they’re transported to a moment in time they’d rather forget.”

  “There’s no such thing as forgetting,” Nora murmured, and absently touched part of the jellyfish scar on her arm. “But what of the man? Neil. Tell me about the scone you made for him.”

  As Hester took a sip of coffee, her gaze turned distant. “Even though he ordered a comfort scone, I sensed that he didn’t think he was worthy of comfort. He seemed weighed down by guilt. When people with an untroubled conscience enter my bakery, their faces light up like a Christmas-tree star. If they’ve come to Miracle Springs to seek relief from cancer or arthritis pain or what-have-you, they still glow with that firefly light when the aroma of fresh-baked bread envelops them. That scent speaks of coming home.”

  “I had no idea you were a baker and a poet!” Estella exclaimed playfully.

  “Isn’t there more to all of us than what people see?” Hester asked by way of reply. She paused for another sip of coffee. “Anyway, he reluctantly ordered a comfort scone to-go and told me he was planning to take it with him to Miracle Books. I guessed he was having a session with you. Was he?”

  Nora inclined her head.

  “So I started in on the usual small talk. I asked where he was from, how long he’d been in town, etcetera.” Hester touched her lower lip. “I’m used to folks being on the quiet side, but this guy’s lips were practically zippered closed. I decided it would take a powerful flavor combination to coax a good memory to the surface, so I went out on a limb and chose a wintery recipe: Peppermint mocha.”

  Estella moaned. “Oh, that sounds really good.”

  Hester smiled at her. “Thanks. Anyway, I added dark chocolate, chocolate chips, and cold coffee to the base batter. It took about fifteen minutes for the scone to bake and another five to cool. During that time, I learned that Neil worked for a property-management firm, whatever that means. After more gentle prodding, he explained that his company is responsible for the Meadows—that housing development everyone’s been so riled up over.”

  Nora had read about the development in the Miracle Springs Free Press. It didn’t matter to her whether or not some cookie-cutter subdivision was built on a ten-acre tract of pastoral farmland. As long as her tax bill wasn’t raised and there was a chance that her regular customer base might expand, she was fine with the project. Other locals were anything but fine with it. And though Nora wasn’t interested in gossip, the development was the most popular topic among the locals. Nora couldn’t buy a bunch of bananas without hearing a barrage of impassioned complaints.

  “I’m not upset about that project,” Estella said. “More people means more clients for me. For all the local businesses. Does it bother either of you?”

  Nora shook her head, but Hester frowned. “I’m fine with Miracle Springs growing, but I don’t like the idea of rows upon rows of houses crammed together like sardines in a can. I saw the rendering for the Meadows. It’s an appropriate name, seeing as there won’t be a tree left in this so-called neighborhood.” She splayed her hands. “There was almost no green space. And the houses are too big for their narrow plots. It’ll become our town’s ten-acre eyesore.”

  To Nora, this was discouraging news. One of her favorite things about Miracle Springs was its bucolic setting. Tucked between mountains in western North Carolina, the tiny town was gifted with the best of every season
. It featured an incredible foliage show in the autumn, several inches of pristine snow in the winter, and an explosion of blooming flowers during the spring and summer months. The tree-lined streets bordered lovely gardens, gracing modest houses and charming cottages. There was a clear pride of place about Miracle Springs, which was reflected in the number of house tours and garden shows.

  “Did you learn anything else about . . . Neil?” Nora felt strange speaking his name. To her, he was still the man from the park bench. She thought they’d have plenty of time for introductions when he came to Miracle Books.

  “Not much,” Hester said. “I had other customers to serve. When his scone was cool, I drizzled it with peppermint buttercream icing and boxed it for him. The moment he took the box, his expression changed. He could smell the chocolate and peppermint. He tried to hand the box back, saying that he didn’t deserve it.”

  Estella grunted. “That’s kind of rude. You’d just spent twenty minutes making him a custom scone.”

  “It was his guilt talking,” Hester said. “I’ve seen the reaction before, so I pushed the box back and gave him a dash of Maya Angelou advice. I told him, ‘As long as you’re breathing, it’s never too late to do some good.’”

  “Since he’s now stopped breathing, I’d say it is too late for him,” Estella declared with finality.

  Hester turned to Estella. “Maybe not. Maybe we can help him find some peace.”

  Nora didn’t like Hester’s choice of pronoun, but before she had a chance to respond, the sleigh bells clanged and a voice boomed out, “Ms. Pennington! Are you back there? The sheriff wants to see you.”

  Instead of shouting, Nora made her way to the front of the store. Estella and Hester put down their coffee cups and trailed after her.

  “What’s this about?” Nora asked the man in the brown and khaki uniform.

  The deputy, whose face was flushed with heat, excitement, and self-importance, removed his hat and wiped his brow with his forearm. “An out-of-towner has been killed and the sheriff needs to talk to you. Pronto. You too, ma’am,” he said, including Hester in the summons.

  Estella, who was unaccustomed to being ignored by a member of the opposite sex, thrust out her lower lip. “What about me?”

  The deputy, who was in his mid-thirties, stood a fraction taller and flashed her a boyish smile. “You don’t want any part of this mess, ma’am. It’s mighty ugly.”

  “Call me Estella. Save your ‘ma’ams’ for the grannies and the church ladies. I’m single and a very devoted sinner.” Estella winked at the deputy before whispering to Nora, “After my last appointment of the day, which is to give Chelsea Phillips her regular Jennifer Aniston color and haircut, I’ll put on one of my slinkiest outfits and head up to the lodge to check out Neil’s partners. They’re bound to be drowning their sorrows at the bar and I’m sure one of them would like a pretty shoulder to cry on. I’ll let you know if I learn anything.”

  Estella tossed her hair over her shoulder, releasing a tendril of jasmine scent into the air, and left the shop. The deputy, whose name badge identified him as Andrews, paused to watch her walk away. He then grabbed the door before it could fully close.

  “Do you need to lock up?” he asked Nora.

  She shook her head. “I just put a sign up next to the register. Most of my sales are by credit card, but the honor system works whenever I have to run a quick errand.”

  Andrews took in his surroundings for the first time. “I don’t have the attention span for books,” he said. “I figure if the story’s really good, someone will turn it into a movie. Movies are more my speed.”

  “The book is always better than the movie,” Hester said, voicing Nora’s thoughts at the moment.

  When she finished taping her sign to the register, Nora handed Andrews a used paperback of Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game. “Did you see this film?”

  “Yeah.” Andrews held the book as though he didn’t know what to do with it. “It was okay.”

  Nora pointed at the dog-eared paperback. “I challenge you to read fifty pages and return it to me without reading another page.”

  “No problem,” Andrews said, giving the book a dismissive smack against his thigh. “I’ve never met a book I managed to finish.”

  * * *

  When Deputy Andrews led Nora and Hester into the small, masculine antechamber just outside Sheriff Hendricks’s office, another local woman was already seated in one of the metal chairs.

  The woman had café au lait skin, almond-shaped eyes, and close-cropped black hair. She wore the stark white scrubs identifying her as an employee of Miracle Springs Thermal Pools. Nora immediately recognized her as a bookstore customer even though she couldn’t recall her name.

  “Lord, but isn’t this an awful thing?” the woman muttered upon seeing Nora and Hester.

  “It is,” Hester agreed, sinking into a chair. “I’ve seen you in the bakery. You like raisin bread, right? And when you need a special treat, you order a bear claw.”

  The woman smiled. “Guilty as charged.” She briefly covered her mouth with her hand. “Not the best expression for this setting. My name’s June Dixon, and since I look like the Good Humor Man, you can probably tell that I work at the pools. And I know you two because I frequent both of your businesses. One of these days, you should pay me a visit at the thermal pools. I can’t say whether the water performs miracles or not, but it definitely eases aches and pains.”

  “That sounds like heaven,” Hester said. “I don’t think I’ve relaxed in five years. I can’t even remember the last time I had a nice, hot bubble bath.”

  Nora, who’d had enough heat for one lifetime, suppressed a frown. After all, June was merely being polite by inviting her to submerge her damaged skin in one of the pools fed by the thermal springs.

  She was on the verge of politely declining when the door to the sheriff’s office opened and a second deputy poked his head out. This officer was far older and more grizzled looking than Andrews. Ignoring the women, he crooked a finger at the younger deputy. “Sheriff wants to see you. ASAP.”

  Andrews scurried into the office. As soon as the door shut behind him, June giggled. “He’s like a boy being called into the principal’s office.”

  “Have you ever met Sheriff Todd Hendricks?” Hester asked her in a low voice. “Folks don’t call him Sheriff Toad behind his back for nothing.”

  “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” June said.

  Hester snorted. “I have. He doesn’t like women. Or at least, any woman who’s dared to leave the 1950s behind. Every time he comes in the bakery, I cringe. He never fails to comment on how he thinks all women should be wearing aprons.”

  “Why don’t you burn his bun next time?” Nora asked.

  Hester shook her head. “I can’t mess up a perfectly edible bun on purpose. It goes against my baker’s code. Can’t you give him a book to make him change his opinion on women?”

  “I don’t think a man like that will read Gloria Steinem without a gun to his head,” Nora said. She looked at June. “I recognize you from your book purchases. You like almost every genre, but you’re a binge genre reader. When you’re on a science-fiction kick, you stay with sci-fi for weeks. Then, all of a sudden, you’ll drop that genre and turn to historical fiction.” She paused for breath. “Are you the one who told Neil about me?”

  June spread her hands. “I didn’t know if I was right to send him your way, but it felt right. Once, I overheard you work your special kind of healing. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, mind you. What I was trying to do was trim down the stack of books I’d picked out from a dozen to half a dozen. My budget can’t match my desires.” She shrugged. “While I was sitting in my chair, making my tough choices, you spoke with a woman who couldn’t get over the loss of her mother. Her mama had been gone for a year, but this poor girl was stuck. I heard her tell you what she’d been going through. I heard you give her books to help get her unstuck.”

  “So you though
t I could do the same for Neil. Get him unstuck,” Nora said. “And did he tell you what was troubling him?”

  “He only dropped hints, but I got a sense that something shady was going on with the Meadows and Neil regretted his part in the shadiness.” June made clicking noises with her tongue. “I believe he planned on making amends, but he needed inspiration. He came to Miracle Springs days ahead of his partners in search of healing. That’s what he called it. But I think he was looking for something else.”

  Hester cocked her head. “Courage?”

  “It’s not easy to face your demons,” June said, her gaze falling to her lap.

  Nora saw that June was including herself in that statement, and when she glanced at Hester, it was clear that June’s comment had affected her too.

  Outsiders flock to Miracle Springs in hopes of being made whole, but how many of its residents are hiding wounds that have never healed? Nora thought.

  In the silence, which was more reflective than uncomfortable, Nora felt a fragile connection with Hester and June. It was a feeling she recalled from her previous life—a tentative warmth that could be kindled into a real friendship.

  You can’t do the friend thing. Friends share their secrets, Nora reminded herself. Still, the three of them were sitting here now because a man had spoken to them. He was now dead, but he’d been on his way to Miracle Books. Therefore, Nora’s only tie to the dead man was now Hester and June.

  “I think you’re right,” Nora said to June. “I think Neil made decisions he couldn’t live with any longer. He wanted to make amends. He didn’t strike me as a man on the verge of suicide. If I had to guess, I’d say he took those long hikes and meditated because he was trying to figure out a way to undo whatever damage he, or his company, had caused. He did say we more than once.”

  “That means he wasn’t solely responsible for the wrongdoing weighing him down with guilt. One or more of his partners must have been involved,” Hester pointed out. “However, if the rest of his partners were on that three o’clock train—”