“You sell rare books, right? So do you know anyone—another bookseller or collector—who could identify this if you sent them an image?”
Nora hesitated. She didn’t have a connection through Miracle Books, mostly because the most expensive books in her inventory were first editions signed by popular contemporary authors or unusual vintage novels. However, she’d once been very close with the woman who now ran Columbia University’s Rare Book and Manuscript Library. But that woman was a part of Nora’s former life. Her married, suburbanite librarian life. The life she’d renounced.
Six years ago, after being discharged from a burn unit in Atlanta, Nora had moved to Miracle Springs. In all that time, she’d never gone online to see if her ex-husband had married his pregnant mistress. She’d never reached out to old friends or family members. Those people shared a past with the woman who drove drunk and struck a car carrying a mother and her young son. Nora wasn’t that woman anymore. The fire had made her someone new.
“I don’t sell books this old,” Nora told Wiggins. “This could be a museum-quality document. If it belonged to Bren, her mom might be able to identify it.”
“What makes you think it belonged to Bren?”
Nora didn’t mention the tattoo below Bren’s hairline. The ME would see it soon enough, and Nora didn’t want to admit that she’d been examining Bren’s body. Besides, she wasn’t altogether sure that the symbols tattooed on Bren’s neck matched the markings on the paper. She wished Wiggins would leave so she could open the image on her phone before she forgot what the tattoos looked like.
“I just assumed she put it there,” Nora said. “Then again, maybe it was the man Bren was with in the park. The tattoos on his arm remind me of these symbols.”
After taking a final sip of coffee, Wiggins picked up the plastic bag and said that she’d probably have more questions later. For now, though, Nora should rest.
But Nora had other ideas. “As far as I know, Celeste is all alone, and she’s about to go through the worst night of her life. She’ll have to identify her daughter’s body, right?” Wiggins nodded, and Nora continued. “I’d like to be there with her.”
“We’ll get a social worker too, but that would be good of you. I’ll let you know when to come in.”
“Where should I go?” Nora asked.
After providing the details, Wiggins left.
Nora sat at her kitchen table and studied the image she’d taken of the strange piece of paper. Though larger than the pages in a contemporary novel, it looked like a book page. Only one of Bren’s tattoos matched a symbol on the page, and Nora had no idea what it meant. If Celeste couldn’t identify the document, the sheriff’s department would have to consult a linguistics specialist or a rare book and document expert.
“What are you up to?” Nora asked the robed figures.
Based on the bowl, the snake, and the two small plants she hadn’t noticed before, it seemed like the figures were getting ready to mix certain ingredients. But was their product a medicinal cure? Or the opposite? Was it a recipe for poison?
Nora wanted to open her laptop. She wanted to lose herself in research—to click on website after website featuring old manuscripts and documents. But she knew her feelings would catch up to her eventually, and it was better not to run from them.
If Jed was around, she’d call him. But his mom was sick, and Nora didn’t want to add to his burdens. Hester would probably be with Jasper, and Nora didn’t want to interrupt them. Nor did she want to disturb Estella and Jack. That left June.
June answered her phone by saying, “You never call this late. Are you all right?”
Nora mumbled “no” and began to cry.
It took June no time at all to throw on some clothes and drive to Nora’s house.
She and Nora stood on the deck, watching two men carry the stretcher with Bren’s body to the parking lot. When the doors to the coroner’s van slammed shut, June flinched.
“Should we go now?” she whispered.
Nora glanced down at her phone, saw the message from Wiggins, and nodded.
Ten minutes later, she and June sat in molded plastic chairs in the morgue’s dim hallway. When they heard a woman’s heart-piercing scream from the direction of the exam rooms, they reached for each other’s hands.
“Thank you for going through this with me,” Nora whispered to June.
June’s bottom lip quivered. She was trying to hold it together. She was a mother, and she felt the agony in Celeste’s scream. What Celeste was going through right now was June’s worst nightmare. It was too easy for her to picture her son’s body on that metal table. Tyson was an addict, which is why his mother would never stop fearing for his life.