“I’m worried about Celeste, but I’m worried about you too.”
Nora shrugged. “I keep telling myself that once I turned that book page over to McCabe, I was no longer in the equation, but I don’t really believe that. Why was it under my mat in the first place? Why do I feel like I’ve been marked?”
Embarrassed by the Old Testament theatricality of that last line, Nora averted her eyes.
When she glanced over at Sheldon again, his mouth was pinched with worry. “For whatever reason, you’re in the center of two storms. Connie Knapp has decreed you a bad influence on our youth, and she’ll wage war against you as long as she has command over her Mama Bear soldiers. As for the second target, that’s your penalty for showing an interest in Bren.”
Nora started to protest, but Sheldon shushed her. “You home in on certain people. People with a need. So do June, Hester, and Estella. You’re the magical women of this town, and you need to use your powers to get Celeste to talk. The cork has to come out that bottle, though it might take a bottle or two to get the words flowing.”
“I don’t like the idea of using booze to coerce her.”
Sheldon looped his index finger through the handles of their empty coffee mugs and stood up. “You know what they say about extraordinary circumstances.”
“They call for extraordinary measures?”
Sheldon spread his hands. “Where I come from, that’s called tequila.”
*
Nora sent a group text to the members of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society detailing her plan to visit Celeste. She then asked what evening would work best. After a brief flurry of messages, the group settled on Thursday.
Nora was just penciling the event on her desk calendar when Hester sent another text.
We can’t show up with food and expect C to talk. It’s too much pressure. We need a distraction. It’s not a Pictionary or card game kind of night.
Nora thought about the various books she had on grieving. Some of the workbooks included activities like journaling, writing letters to loved ones, creating memory boards, or filling a box with special objects.
One of my books will have the answer, she replied. I’ll find something.
And then Estella typed. It’s gonna be awkward. Should we bring wine?
June and Hester sent thumbs-up emojis.
Nora refused to use emoticons, so she just typed, Yes.
She put her phone away and glanced out the window in time to see the trolley from the lodge pass by. The morning rush was about to begin.
Nora carried a broom outside and swept the sidewalk in front of the shop. The painted pumpkin from last week’s festival was still in the planter, but without the farm-to-table context, its food quote had lost its charm. Nora decided to replace it with a plain pumpkin.
After relocating the black pumpkin to the stockroom, she jogged up the street to the hardware store where she bought a tall pumpkin with a twisty stem, a flowering kale, and a creeping Jennie. She planted the kale and the creeping Jennie in the front half of her container and deposited the pumpkin in the back.
She was watering the plants when a couple approached the display window. Nora saw them out of the corner of her eye, but the woman spoke before she had the chance to turn and say hello.
“Didn’t our guide tell us to skip this store?”
“Yep,” answered the man.
“Well, I’m not going to listen to her. I like bookstores. Don’t you, Hank?”
“Yep.”
Nora stepped aside to give the couple a wide berth. She didn’t follow them into the shop. Instead, she glanced up and down the sidewalk, searching for other lodge visitors. They were easy to pick out of a crowd because every guest received a turquoise shopping tote with the lodge logo upon checkin.
Nora saw two women carrying the telltale totes pause in front of a clothing boutique. After briefly examining a piece of paper, they entered the shop. What was written on that piece of paper? A list of shops to visit? Or a list of shops to skip?
A vision of Connie’s face surfaced in Nora’s mind.
“I’ll kill her,” she muttered, and marched into the bookstore.
For once, she didn’t notice the rainbow-colored book spines or smell the sweet perfume of coffee, leather, and paper. She didn’t hear the companionable creak of pine boards under her feet or the delightful sigh of pages being turned. The only thing that got through the hornet’s nest of anger in her head was the hiss of the espresso machine’s steam wand.
Nora felt like the milk Sheldon was heating. She was a whirlpool of air bubbles on the brink of scalding, and only one thing could cool her down. She needed to pair the right book with the right reader. If she could make a bookish match, she could stop her world from tilting for a little while.