A table piled with books separated each portal, and people gathered around the books like bees attracted to bright, fragrant flowers. People of all ages, genders, and colors—locals and visitors—swarmed the tables and streamed in and out of the bookshop.
Nora smiled. Not because Connie’s efforts to chase people away from Miracle Books had failed. She smiled because so many books were being chosen. So many books were finding readers. Everywhere she looked, she saw people holding books. Hugging them to their chests as if they’d already fallen in love. To Nora, there was no more beautiful sight.
Pulling out her phone, she took a photo of the scene. After sending it to Hester, June, and Estella, she decided to take a second image just for Bobbie. Her plan was to zoom out to capture more of the crowd, but she accidentally hit the reverse button. Her face and a few of the protestors appeared on her screen. One of the protestors was a boy in jeans and a black hoodie.
“Deputy!” Nora swiveled to point at the boy. “That kid in that black hoodie! He’s the one I saw spray-painting Celeste’s door!”
Fuentes reached the boy’s side in a matter of seconds. After issuing some terse commands to the startled teen, he spoke into his radio.
Nora glanced back at the bookstore. Sheldon was undoubtedly in desperate need of help, but Nora had to know why the boy had targeted Celeste, so she edged closer to where he and Fuentes stood.
“She was basically a drug dealer,” the boy spat. “Ask my mom. Ask any of these people!”
The deputy eyed him coldly. “How old are you, son?”
“Sixteen. And I’m not your son.”
A man wearing a flannel shirt and a clerical collar suddenly appeared behind the boy. “Deputy? I’m Morris Knapp. This is my son, Greg. May I ask what’s happened?”
This was Nora’s first view of Connie’s husband, the assistant pastor. He looked just like Vicky, except for his hair. While Vicky’s was a warm shade of brown, her father’s was much darker, like rain-soaked soil.
Fuentes’s gaze softened. “Sir, your son was seen vandalizing private property this morning, and we need to question him about the incident. Deputy Wiggins will be taking him in. As he’s a minor, we’d like you to accompany him.”
Morris stared at his son in disbelief. “Is this true?”
Greg didn’t meet his father’s eyes. Instead, he looked past him and shrugged. “I painted the witch’s door. So what? She’ll be gone soon. Like Mom says, bad influences don’t belong in this town.”
“Like Mom says?” For a moment, Morris was too astonished to continue. Then, he took a deep breath and fixed his son with a stern gaze. “We all answer to a higher authority—your mother included—and no one is worthy of sitting in judgment of their fellow man. Or woman. You’ve committed a crime, Greg. You lashed out at a woman who did nothing to deserve your anger. This goes against everything you’ve been taught. Everything we believe.”
“That you believe. You have no idea what I believe. Or Mom,” Greg cried. “I eavesdropped on her meetings. At first, I thought they’d be lame, but they’re not. She wants to do something to change the world. All you do is talk, talk, talk.”
Morris looked at his son as if he were a stranger.
Deputy Wiggins arrived just as Connie appeared in front of her husband and son.
“What in heaven’s name is happening here? Don’t you lay hands on my son! Don’t you dare!” she shrieked at Wiggins.
In the background, the protestors fell silent, too captivated by the scene to continue shouting.
Ignoring Connie, Wiggins took Greg by the arm and led him to her car.
As Wiggins helped Greg into the back seat, Morris held out a warning finger to his wife. Very calmly, but in a tone that brooked no argument, he said, “You need to go home, Connie. Go home and think about your actions. We’ll talk later, but I can tell you right now that Greg won’t be the only one facing repercussions.”
“Don’t you preach to me about reaping and sowing!” Connie shouted. “I know all about the seed you planted!”
Morris turned his back on her.
As did Nora.
Connie Knapp had just lost the right to run a women’s group focusing on morality. Her supporters had watched Deputy Wiggins haul off her son. They’d also heard Morris Knapp, a respected man of the cloth, admonish his wife for her behavior.
The protestors began to lower their signs. Because they’d followed Connie’s lead, they now shared in her shame and embarrassment. And since they didn’t want their children to end up like the Knapp boy, they made an unspoken decision to disband. The decision was made clear when a woman dumped her sign in the recycling bin. Another woman immediately followed suit.