Hummingbird Lane was a ten-minute drive from downtown. The houses on the gravel road were small and private. Dense trees and long driveways made it hard to see the homes from the road, but Nora caught flashes of woodpiles, outbuildings, chain link dog fences, and chicken pens.
Bren’s house was grasshopper green with a white trim that had yellowed with age. A cracked wall sconce burned next to the front door, attracting a cloud of gnats. Vinyl blinds hung from the two front windows. Paint peeled from every surface. There were cobwebs in most corners. The stoop was dark with mold.
“We needed a place with double ovens. This was all I could afford,” Celeste said, patting her pocket.
She pushed her key into the lock, but the door swung inward before she had the chance to turn it.
She froze.
Nora was right behind Celeste, and when she stiffened with fear, so did Nora. The feeling was contagious.
But Nora also felt protective of Celeste, so she gently pushed her out of the way and gave the door a shove. It swung open, hinges creaking until it stopped moving.
Nora fumbled along the inside wall for a light switch. When her fingers found the hard plastic, she flicked two switches, illuminating the living room of Bren’s house.
“Oh, no,” she breathed.
She stepped into the room, seeing nothing but destruction. Celeste shot past her, heading down a short hallway. Nora raced after her, only to halt in the doorway of a bedroom. Estella, June, and Hester crowded around her, and they all stared at the chaotic scene.
Someone had turned Bren’s bedroom inside out. Clothes were strewn everywhere. The bedding had been stripped and tossed into a corner. The pillows and mattress had been slashed in multiple places. The furniture—plastic drawers and a table—was crushed. The closet doors were open, revealing a suitcase with slits in its lining, a black ankle boot, and a broken lamp.
Celeste sank to the floor. Pulling her knees to her chest, she began to rock back and forth.
Nora was beside her in an instant. She put her arm around Celeste’s shoulders and tried to calm her. But Celeste wouldn’t stop rocking. Her eyes had taken on that faraway look again.
“Do you know who did this?” Nora whispered to her. “Was it the man with the tattooed arm?” She glanced back at her friends and was relieved to see that Hester had her phone pressed to her ear. She was calling Andrews. Good. Help would soon be on the way.
Nora rubbed Celeste’s back and told her that it would be okay. But as she took in the carnage that was Bren’s bedroom, she wondered how anything could ever be okay for Celeste again.
Because someone had broken into Bren’s house. Someone had torn Bren’s belongings to shreds.
Had that person found what they’d been looking for? Nora didn’t think so. From the look of things, that person had tracked down Bren instead.
Had she failed to provide the item’s location? And had that failure cost her her life?
Staring at the gutted remains of a teddy bear, Nora was afraid to discover the answer to that question.
The rage that created this carnage was still present in the house. It lingered like a foul odor or a bad memory. Nora could see a knife slicing through the suitcase lining and sofa cushions. She could imagine hands ripping and smashing. She could hear glass breaking and wood splintering.
This was no ordinary anger. This wasn’t a teenage prank or an ex-boyfriend seeking revenge. This was a unique kind of rage.
A killer’s rage.
Chapter 8
Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art . . .
It has no survival value; rather it is one of those
things that give value to survival.
—CS Lewis
Nora was among the first customers at a multi-house yard sale that Sunday. There were great finds at the sale, and she came away with two boxloads of vintage books. It was a random assortment. There were nursery rhymes, literary classics, detective novels, and obscure children’s titles, but every book was illustrated and in fine condition. Nora also bought two coffee table books on Scottish tartans and clans, which would end up on the display table she’d organize in time for next weekend’s festival, the Highland Games.
Not only did Nora get lucky with her purchases, but one of her regular customers was also at the yard sale. Wyatt, a fan of historical mysteries, contemporary thrillers, and graphic novels, offered to cart Nora’s books back to town.
“I can leave them on your deck,” he said, pointing up at the sky. “There’s talk of rain, but I don’t think it’ll hit until this afternoon.”
After gratefully accepting his offer, Nora made a mental note to give Wyatt a free copy of The Silent Patient the next time he stopped by Miracle Books.