The Secret, Book & Scone Society Read online

  “Ah!” she murmured, reaching for the small keys.

  Unfortunately, her triumph was short-lived. The keys didn’t open the lock. They belonged to another lock altogether.

  Nora glanced around the room, which contained no other furniture other than a pair of guest chairs facing Annette’s desk. Her eyes fell on the double doors on the opposite wall.

  What skeleton is in your closet? she thought, and immediately chided herself for the clichéd language. You’re no Angela Lansbury, she continued to berate herself as she moved to the closet.

  Behind the double doors, she found that a file cabinet occupied most of the closet. She tugged on the topmost drawer, but it wouldn’t budge, so she tried the keys again. This time, she met with success.

  As Nora hurriedly read the carefully printed labels, it appeared that the hanging files contained run-of-the-mill Realtor paperwork. There were separate files on the Meadows house plans, black-and-white maps showing the numbered lots, lists of available upgrades, blank contracts, HUD statements, and more. It wasn’t until Nora opened the second drawer that she discovered a connection to Neil Parrish.

  Behind a file folder marked CALLBACKS was a folder labeled NP CLIENTS.

  Just as Nora shoved the rest of the folders back in order to peek into Neil’s file, she heard a squawk of dismay followed by a nervous giggle coming from the front hall.

  Annette was finished with her watering.

  Nora dug her cell phone out of her pocket, snapped a photo of the document in Neil’s folder without really looking at it, replaced the file, and closed and locked the cabinet. She barely had time to shut the closet doors, return the key to Annette’s desk, and push Annette’s chair back into place before Hester barreled into the room.

  “I am such a klutz!” she exclaimed. “I dropped this and every single paper fell out. Guess I haven’t had enough caffeine yet.”

  Annette entered the office wearing her saleswoman smile. “We have a Keurig in the kitchen. Would you both like a cup of coffee? We can get to know each other a little.”

  “All right,” Nora said after the slightest pause. She didn’t want to seem too eager.

  In the kitchen, which was easily four times the size of Nora’s, Annette showed Nora and Hester the selection of Keurig pods. “There’s sugar and artificial sweetener on the tray next to the machine and skim milk and half-and-half are in the fridge,” she said. “Help yourselves. I’m going to grab some literature from my desk.”

  Nora felt a prick of unease. Would Annette notice anything amiss in her office? Had Nora accidentally moved the penholder or keyboard? She didn’t think so, but doubt wormed its way into her mind.

  “Any luck?” Hester whispered.

  “I’m not sure,” Nora replied in a low voice. “We’ll listen to her pitch as planned, but we need to slip Neil’s name in when she doesn’t expect it and gauge her reaction.”

  The two women finished preparing their coffee and had carried their mugs to the kitchen table by the time Annette returned.

  “Sorry!” she said, waving with her cell phone. “One of my clients has been going back and forth between two lots and finally made a decision. He wanted to tell me right away, but I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

  “Not at all,” Hester assured her. “I haven’t even had the chance to try my Fog Chaser blend.”

  Annette adopted a chastened expression. “Please enjoy your coffee. While you ladies are relaxing, I’ll tell you a bit more about the Meadows and the kind of community we’re building here in beautiful Miracle Springs.”

  Hester studied Annette over the rim of her mug. “Do you live in the area? I don’t think I’ve seen you in my bakery. I own the Gingerbread House.”

  “I drive up from Asheville every day. That’s my home base,” Annette said as she turned a map of the Meadows to face Hester and Nora. “But you probably wouldn’t bump into me even if I didn’t live over forty-five minutes away because I’ve followed the Paleo Diet. And since I avoid eating wheat or sugar, I don’t go to bakeries. However, I’ve heard lots of people talk about your delicious treats since I started working here, so you must be really good at what you do.”

  This time, when Annette flashed her trademark smile, Hester didn’t echo the expression. “No wheat or sugar? Ever?” She shook her head. “If I were told that I could never again eat a slice of homemade bread—still warm from the oven—I wouldn’t see a reason to go on living.”

  “Well, you’d have plenty of room to bake bread in a kitchen of this size,” Nora said, hoping to gain favor with Annette by giving her an opening to launch her pitch.

  The real-estate agent proudly glanced around the room as though she’d built it herself. “You certainly would! You could even upgrade to a commercial-grade oven. That’s the beauty of working with the builder one-on-one. You’d end up with the house of your dreams.” She paused. “Are you thinking about building your dream home, Hester?”

  “I’m mostly curious about the cost,” Hester said. “I don’t think I need more space than I already have. Nora, on the other hand, lives in a train car. It’s super-cute, but it’s small.”

  Annette couldn’t conceal her astonishment. “A train car?”

  “A refurbished caboose,” Nora said, feeling the need to defend her home. “It’s part of the tiny-house movement.”

  “Ooooh.” Annette drew out the word like a singer holding a note. Though momentarily taken aback, she swiftly recovered. “Well, if it’s more space you need, we can give it to you. How many bedrooms are you looking for?”

  And so Nora found herself dictating a list of false desires to Annette, who nodded encouragingly while jotting notes on a legal pad.

  “I think the Cambridge plan might be right up your alley,” she said when Nora was done. After opening the brochure showing an artist’s rendering of a brick Cape Cod featuring all the contemporary amenities, Annette gave Nora and Hester several seconds to examine the attractive drawing before pointing out how the floor plan would provide Nora with all the space she needed. She then described which lots best suited the Cambridge plan and asked her guests if they’d like to tour the lots via golf cart.

  Since Nora had yet to slip Neil’s name into the conversation, she agreed, and Annette produced a set of keys from the pocket of her suit jacket. “Great! We can talk more as we drive.”

  The golf cart was parked in the model home’s garage next to what Nora presumed was Annette’s black BMW SUV. The BMW looked new, sleek, and expensive, and Nora wondered what Annette made in commission on each house sale. For a woman in her early thirties, she seemed to be doing quite well—at least, judging by her clothes and car. Nora decided to find out a bit more.

  “Do you live in a Pine Ridge house?” she asked as Annette started up the golf cart.

  “No,” Annette replied airily. “Pine Ridge doesn’t have communities in downtown Asheville. That’s where I shop and work out. I also wanted maintenance-free living because I’m away from home all the time, so I bought a condo. It was a recent purchase, which is a plus because I can identify with the questions and concerns my customers have when buying a new home.”

  Nora made an appreciative noise and Annette proceeded to drive along the main road, pointing out certain lots that were ideal for the Cambridge plan.

  “This is really exciting,” Nora said after Annette paused to show them a corner lot. “But I don’t know if I can afford to build, especially after seeing the base price on the brochure.”

  Annette was unfazed by Nora’s apprehension. She’d succeeded in creating interest, which was her goal. The money matters were up to someone else. “We have a terrific partnership with Madison County Community Bank. If you call Dawson Hendricks, I bet he can show you that building a custom home in the Meadows is a very real possibility. And a home crafted by Pine Ridge is a great investment.”

  “What about the building schedule?” Hester piped up from the backseat. “Won’t things run behind after that horrible a
ccident with your associate—I’m sorry, I forgot his name.”

  Clever Hester, Annette thought. She’s making me say his name.

  Without warning, Annette’s foot came off the accelerator and the golf cart lurched to an abrupt halt. Nora instinctively pressed both hands to the dash while Hester grabbed Nora’s seat and let out a soft cry of surprise.

  “I’m so sorry!” Annette turned to each of her guests in concern. “Are you okay?”

  Nora and Hester both nodded.

  After an audible exhalation, Annette resumed driving. “Neil Parrish was the Pine Ridge partner who died so tragically. What happened to him was a terrible blow to our entire team.”

  Though Nora took note of Annette’s pinched expression and the doleful look in her eyes, she didn’t believe the Realtor felt an ounce of genuine grief over Neil’s death.

  “I should be the one apologizing,” Hester said, putting a hand on Annette’s shoulder. “It must have been really traumatizing to hear how he passed. At least you weren’t on the train with the rest of your colleagues. If I were them, I’m not sure how I’d ever get that moment out of my head.”

  Annette started driving again. “To answer your original question, we’ll have no issues honoring the closing dates listed in our current or future contracts.” Her saleswoman posture and false smile were back in place. “Those dates are set by our builder, and Collin Stone is a true professional. Mr. Parrish was more involved in the investment side of things. Mr. Stone runs Stone Construction, and he always tells his clients that having his name on the company letterhead doesn’t mean that he spends all day in an office. He’ll be out here, making sure your house is built just the way you want it.”

  For the first time, it struck Nora that the Meadows was rather quiet for a construction site. “Where are all the workers?” she blurted.

  “Mr. Parrish’s partners decided it would be in poor taste to have a normal workday after what happened,” Annette said. “Construction will resume shortly.”

  Annette pulled the golf cart into the driveway of the model home. Nora immediately thrust out her hand and thanked the Realtor for her assistance.

  “I guess my next step will be a phone call to Dawson Hendricks.”

  “That’s great to hear!” Annette’s smile blazed even brighter in the morning sun. “I’ll give him a heads-up that you’ll be contacting him about the Cambridge.” She pressed a blue folder into Nora’s hands. “Everything you need is in here, including my card. Call me if you have any questions.” She then gave Hester a folder. “Just in case you want to have another look on your own. Or if you have other friends in the market for a new house, tell them to come see me.”

  Nora and Hester mounted their bicycles and rode in silence until they reached the sign welcoming visitors to downtown Miracle Springs.

  “Come into the bakery,” Hester said. “I’ll fix us some lunch.”

  Sitting on a stool at the island in Hester’s kitchen, Nora watched, entranced, as Hester made two fried green tomato grilled-cheese sandwiches.

  “I don’t think Annette was too broken up over Neil’s death,” Hester said. She deftly flipped the sandwiches in her frying pan, revealing perfectly toasted bread, gooey melted cheese, and a glimpse of green tomato.

  “Neither do I,” Nora agreed.

  Hester plated the two sandwiches and filled two glasses with cold water. She then pulled another stool across from Nora and invited her to start eating. Picking up a half of her own sandwich, she paused before taking a bite. “Unless you found something incriminating in Annette’s office, it seems like our venture was a massive waste of time.”

  “Her computer was password protected and I wasn’t able to look through the file cabinet. I could only catch a glimpse inside the folder marked with Neil’s name. There were a bunch of similar documents in there, so I took a photo of one in hopes of making sense of it later.”

  Nora took out her phone and put it where both she and Hester could see its screen.

  “Looks like a HUD statement.” Hester pointed at the photo. “The top’s cut off, but I remember mine from when I bought my house. They’re hard to forget when you have to read over that whopping list of fees. I don’t think anyone who’s endured the process of applying for a mortgage can forget what this document looks like.”

  To avoid responding, Nora bit into her sandwich. The blend of buttery bread, fried tomatoes, gooey cheese, and a hint of paprika was heavenly. As she chewed, Nora felt infused by warmth and comfort. The feelings allowed her to put aside the memory of how she’d never seen paperwork when she and her husband had bought their home. Nora’s husband had used money bequeathed by a relative for the down payment and had handled the loan process without consulting her or asking her to be present at the time of its signing. Nora hadn’t been listed as a co-borrower, and it wasn’t until the night of her accident that she learned that there were very few things in her life she could truly call her own.

  As it turned out, neither her house, nor her husband, numbered among them.

  The first time Nora had seen a HUD statement was when she’d bought the old train depot. She’d paid for the caboose and its tiny plot with cash, but there wasn’t enough left to purchase a building large enough to house thousands of books, let alone the inventory to fill it.

  Nora remembered meeting with the loan officer from a big-name bank in the neighboring town. Fear and hope tumbled around inside her belly like a washing machine stuck on the spin cycle, but she’d left the bank that day with her fresh start.

  Hester got up from her stool and grabbed the salt-and-pepper shakers from her spice rack. She peeled back the upper lid of her sandwich and sprinkled salt on the bed of yellow cheese. “Want some?” she asked Nora.

  Nora was staring at the S on the saltshaker.

  Hester waved her hand in front of Nora’s face. “Hey? Where are you?”

  “We didn’t waste our time this morning,” Nora said, digging a pen out of her purse. Using the paper towel Hester had given her, she wrote the letters DHCB on one corner.

  “That was one of the abbreviations written on Renfield’s Oasis Bar napkin,” Hester said. “What of it?”

  A small smile tickled the corner of Nora’s mouth. “I think I know what it is. Or more precisely, who it is.” As she spoke, Nora touched each letter with the point of the pen. “I think DHCB is Dawson Hendricks of the Community Bank.”

  Hester inhaled sharply. “You know what this means?”

  “Yes,” Nora said, already feeling the weight of her decision. “I have to make an appointment with him and continue this pretense of buying a house I’d never live in. However, if Dawson Hendricks is anything like his brother, Sheriff Toad, it’s going to be a very tense meeting.”

  Chapter 5

  And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter—they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.

  —Sylvia Plath

  Dawson Hendricks wasn’t available until Thursday afternoon, so Nora took his last appointment of the day, which was five o’clock. This was suboptimal, as Nora stayed open until six. She kept business hours of ten to six because she often netted sales from out-of-towners strolling through the shopping district before dining at the Pink Lady Grill or one of Miracle Springs’s eclectic bistros. However, Estella, Hester, and June wanted to reconvene Wednesday night to share any information they’d gleaned on Neil Parrish and his suspicious death.

  Nora, who wasn’t used to social events, wrestled with the notion that she was getting together with the same group of women twice in one week. Not only that, but she was also looking forward to seeing them.

  You told them the only way to gain trust was by sharing your stories, she thought as she rang up a young couple’s purchase. Your secrets were safe. But here you are, offering up your past on a silver tray. Why?

  Nora glanced down at the bo
oks she was about to slide into a bag. The man had chosen Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend. His pretty, fresh-faced wife had picked The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Loneliness and isolation were themes in both novels, and anyone else might find the books odd choices for a couple who were likely still in the honeymoon phase of marriage.

  But Nora knew all too well that it was possible for two lonely people to meet, believe they’d fallen in love, and marry, only to discover—years later—that their loneliness remained.

  It was these feelings of loneliness and isolation that made Nora suddenly willing to open herself to the other women. Meeting with Hester, Estella, and June had stirred up memories of the times when Nora’s life had been filled with social events. She’d been a member of two book clubs, volunteered at the church charity thrift shop, and had lunches, brunches, and dinners out with girlfriends. There’d also been plenty of work functions to attend, which Nora always enjoyed. Being in the library—among books and bibliophiles—was like spending quality time with family. The library was where Nora felt most at home. She’d never truly felt that way in her stately house, and no matter how hard she’d tried, she was never able to find a home in her husband’s heart.

  “I love this store,” the young wife said as she accepted the bag from Nora. She only met Nora’s eyes for a moment. This didn’t bother Nora, since she was used to people looking everywhere but at her scarred face.

  “If I lived in Miracle Springs, I’d come here every day,” the woman went on. “I’d lose myself in this labyrinth of books and lovely knickknacks and soft chairs. Oh, and the coffee’s amazing too. This is my idea of heaven.”

  “It’s mine as well,” Nora said.

  The husband took the bag from his wife. “We’d better leave before you move in,” he joked without much warmth.

  “If I do, I’ll bring my cat.” This time, the woman looked directly at Nora. “His name is Mr. Mistoffelees.”

  “From the T.S. Eliot poem?” Nora guessed.

  The woman smiled and nodded. Her husband started moving toward the door. Over his shoulder, he called out, “Come on, babe. I’m hungry.”