The women silently contemplated how easily a life could be derailed. It didn’t take much. A couple of unexpected events and one’s train could fly off the track in a shower of sparks and the shriek of metal.
Hester gazed out the window over the sink. “What do we do now?”
June pointed at the laptop. “We need to know what Wolfman looks like. If he came to Miracle Springs to get that book, he’s probably still here.”
A current of fear passed through Nora. If this man had committed two murders and failed to discover the book’s location, then his risks had reaped zero rewards. Would he slink away empty-handed? Or would he take a step back and wait for the heat to die down before trying again? Wolf Beck was a resourceful man. He could pitch his tent in the mountains, subsisting on canned goods and wild game, until he was ready to return to Miracle Springs. To a place known for warmly welcoming all strangers.
Nora met June’s anxious gaze. “You’re right. We have to be able to pick him out of a crowd.”
“How about searching for art by the Maestro?” Estella suggested.
It was a good idea, and Nora gave it a try. Unfortunately, Maestro was a popular name among artists from around the globe. Adding the term “North Carolina” or “wolf” to the search produced no results.
Frustrated, Nora turned to Hester. “Did Sheriff McCabe run his name?”
“If Beck’s on the offender information database, Jasper will tell me. It’s public record. But I can’t ask him now. I’m not sure when I’ll talk to him next.”
She went on to describe how the sheriff’s department was completely overwhelmed. Over the past twenty-four hours, they’d been dealing with a suspicious death, a drunk driver, a minor committing vandalism, a protest, and a town so crowded with tourists that it had been impossible to enforce all the moving and parking violations. There’d also been two calls involving shoplifting, three calls about leash law violations, and a call from a woman looking for her misplaced purse.
“It’s been a long day for everybody,” said June.
The past ten hours had left their mark on Nora and her friends. Shadows bloomed under their eyes, and their shoulders drooped. Despite this, no one seemed interested in saying good night. They were all heartsick and weary, but they weren’t alone. Being together made the hard things easier to bear.
Estella wriggled out from under Nora’s feet and started loading damp towels, lotion, and Epsom salts into her tote bag.
Nora grabbed her hand. “I finally get why the whole washing feet thing is such a big deal in the Bible. Thank you for doing that.”
Estella wrapped a towel around her red hair and pinched the material together under her chin. “Just call me Mary Magdalene.”
“You should sign up for the Christmas pageant,” June teased. Estella took the towel off and held it against her chest. With her mussed hair and solemn expression, she looked like a little girl with a security blanket. “What will happen to Soothe? To Celeste’s gift baskets? Or her angel statue?”
Nora pictured the woman with the broken wing. Celeste had brought her to life. She’d chiseled and scraped and polished until the marble figure was her vision of Juliana, the inspiration for generations of Leopold women.
Juliana and Celeste belonged together.
“Celeste has to be buried with Bren,” Nora said. “Even if we have to organize a fundraiser to pay for it, we need to get that statue to the cemetery. She’s always been with Celeste.”
“She can watch over both of them now,” whispered Hester. “Mother and daughter.”
Knowing that Hester was probably thinking of her own daughter at this moment, a child she never knew but still mourned, Nora slipped her arm around her friend and kissed the top of her head. Hester’s golden curls smelled like honey.
June tapped the bakery box. “Time for your last dose of comfort before we go.”
Nora expected the box to contain a cinnamon raisin scone with a cream cheese glaze. Those were the flavors of comfort from her childhood. Whenever she was sick, sad, or injured, Nora’s mother would make her cinnamon raisin toast. After buttering the toast and covering it with a thin layer of cream cheese, she’d cut it into four squares that tasted like love.
Not long after they’d become friends, Hester had made Nora a comfort scone with the same flavors and feelings as her mother’s squares of cinnamon toast.
But this wasn’t the scone Hester had baked for her today. This one had ribbons of chocolate running through its golden pastry, and the dough contained hints of cream cheese and cocoa powder.