Nora went limp in relief. “I really needed some good news. Thank you, June. I hope you don’t pay a price for getting involved.”
“If I do, it won’t be at work because that concierge was told not to report for today’s shift. Or any other shift.” June sounded smug. “You won’t be surprised to hear that she runs with Connie’s pack.”
Estella said, “Maybe today’s paper will put an end to their witch hunt. Talk to you later.”
Nora hung up and got ready for work. As she unlocked Miracle Books, she wondered if Bobbie was already at the station, arguing her case in front of Sheriff McCabe.
Would he give her the book page now that Bren’s death had been ruled an accident? He had no reason to hold on to it. It wasn’t evidence in a murder investigation. It was just a piece of paper that someone had put under Nora’s doormat the night Bren had died.
Sheldon sent a text saying that he’d had a rough night and would be coming in late, so Nora put thoughts of Bobbie aside and hurried to finish the opening tasks.
“Why didn’t Celeste say something about Bren’s allergy?” Nora muttered as she brewed coffee. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the machine. “Maybe she didn’t know.”
It was possible. Bren had been diagnosed two years ago. She’d been eighteen. A legal adult. Had she gotten sick and gone to the hospital without her mother’s knowledge? Whatever the details, Bren’s diagnosis would have resulted in an abrupt dietary change. But would anyone be surprised when a young woman living in a secluded community suddenly announced that she was giving up red meat? Nora doubted it.
What Nora kept thinking about was how Bren had dropped to the sidewalk the Friday night before her death. She’d been sick to her stomach. Violently sick. Had something triggered her allergy? Would Celeste remember what her daughter had eaten that day?
I’ll have to ask her.
Sheldon arrived an hour late, looking as haggard as Nora. Though pain had plagued him throughout the night, staying in bed this morning had given him the boost he needed to make it through the workday. He explained this to Nora as he put the box of book pockets on the counter and opened the lid. While he washed his hands, the scent of warm, buttery dough drifted through the store, luring customers back to the ticket agent’s office.
Seeing their approach, Sheldon waved at Nora. “Tell me quick. Why are you and June so worked up because the powers-that-be are calling Bren’s death an accident? Isn’t that an easier thing for a mother to accept than a suspicious death or a murder ? What’s done is done. Can’t you let Celeste bury her girl and try to move forward?”
“It’s not that simple,” said Nora.
“I thought you understood suffering. I guess I was wrong,” said Sheldon. Before Nora could reply, he turned away to serve his first customer.
Customers needed Nora’s help too, so she wasn’t able to explain herself until much later. She and Sheldon were in the YA section, restocking titles. After shelving books for several minutes, Nora broke the silence.
“Do you think Voltaire understood suffering?” she asked.
Sheldon looked wary. “He could hardly be called a champion of the poor, downtrodden, and unjustly persecuted if he didn’t.”
“‘To the living we owe respect, but to the dead we owe only truth.’ Those are his words.” Nora passed Sheldon two Leigh Bardugo books. “I believe that too. I respect Celeste. I feel terrible for her. But someone owes Bren the truth.”
Sheldon arched a brow. “And why should that someone be you?”
“That’s a fair question,” Nora said, moving toward the Fantasy section. “I guess it’s because she died near my house. Or because I found her. I offered her a place to go if she needed one, and I think she needed one.”
“And you ended up with a book page full of scribbles.”
Nora tried to shove a second copy of Anansi Boys into the Neil Gaiman row, but it wouldn’t fit. After sliding Stardust into the space, she reached for another book and grabbed two by accident. They both slid out of her grasp and fell to the floor.
Before Nora could bend down to retrieve them, Bobbie scooped them up. She examined the covers, nodded in approval, and shelved them.
“Thanks,” said Nora. “But I’m supposed to be helping you, not the other way around.”
“I’m easy. I want everything.” Bobbie laughed. “I visit bookstores like other people visit major league baseball stadiums. I don’t take selfies. I take pictures of book covers. When I go on vacation, I plan my itinerary around book settings.”