All Nora could do was nod. If she spoke, the torrent of emotions trapped inside her would come hurtling out.
Looking for a distraction, she gathered up the remains of their breakfast, stuffed it into the takeout bag, and dropped the bag into the wastebasket in the far corner of the office. She didn’t return to her seat.
McCabe stood up, crossed the room, and grabbed his hat from the hook on the back of the door. “Let’s get that book.”
*
Nora’s heart thundered in her chest as she climbed the stairs to Celeste’s apartment. She knew she would soon be assaulted by memories of Celeste’s death. The sights and smells were going to bring back every terrible detail, and Nora was dreading it.
McCabe used a penknife to cut through the sheriff’s department seal that stretched from the surface of the door above the lock to the frame.
He pushed the door inward, and the landfill stench of rotting food rushed forward to greet them. Nora followed McCabe into the kitchen, waiting in the threshold as he picked his way over the debris-strewn floor to the opposite wall. Light flooded the room, and Nora could see that someone had used clear plastic sheeting to make a pathway. This kept investigators from tracking milk, wine, raw eggs, jam, and other bits of food into the rest of the apartment.
As she moved through the kitchen, Nora noticed evidence markers and the crushed bodies of plants.
Joining McCabe in the living room, she bent down next to the large fern Celeste had handled with such tenderness during their potluck dinner. The plant was now stretched out on the floor. Some of its fronds were torn. Others were folded at odd angles. Half of its roots were still covered in soil, but the exposed roots hung like limp hair in desperate need of a wash.
“I hate leaving them like this,” Nora whispered. She touched one of the fern’s feathery fronds and knew what Celeste would want her to do. “Can we save some of these plants?”
“We can’t remove anything from the apartment. Not yet. As far as repotting plants? We can make that happen, but it’s not a top priority.” McCabe gave her a worried look. “Are you okay?”
“It’s just hard to see this,” she said.
McCabe touched Nora’s shoulder in sympathy before leading her to the grow room.
Unlike the rest of the apartment, the indoor garden smelled like a farmer’s market stall on a summer’s day. As Nora moved between two rows of plants, she detected unique pockets of scent. The oregano, mint, and rosemary were the strongest, but all the scents were undercut by the loamy perfume of fertilized soil.
The mushroom table and coordinating stools Celeste had made for Bren were wedged into a corner near the window. In the photograph, the set had looked like a gray blob. Now it looked like a children’s theater prop or inspiration for a storybook scene. Nora could picture forest animals having tea at the mushroom cap table. A fox could serve the cakes while a raccoon filled the cups. They’d both wear daisy crowns, just as Bren and Celeste had done.
McCabe squatted down next to the table to examine the ribbing under the cap. “Reminds me of the mushrooms that pop up in my yard after a hard rain. I’ve always thought there was something magical about that—the way they seem to grow out of raindrops and dew.”
“Your grass was full of fairy umbrellas,” said Nora.
After admiring Celeste’s workmanship for another minute, McCabe stood up and moved the two stools to the opposite corner. He then eased the table away from the wall. “I really hope we don’t have to break this thing apart.”
“Me too.” Nora grabbed hold of the tabletop and helped McCabe lower it to the floor.
Though there was plenty of light in the room, McCabe switched on his flashlight and ran the beam over the circular base. The dolphin-gray concrete looked like the rest of the table.
Nora heard the sheriff’s grunt of disappointment and felt a stab of doubt. Celeste’s final words had been fragmented. They’d been a train with missing cars, and Nora didn’t know if she’d chosen the right cars to couple in their place.
“There’s a toolbox in the coat closet. I’ll grab it.”
After McCabe left the room, Nora ran her palm over the concrete. It had the rough texture of sandpaper. Except at the very center. That surface was smoother than the rest.
When McCabe returned, Nora asked him to hammer the tip of a screwdriver into the center of the circular base.
“If Celeste put the book inside from the bottom and resealed it with cement, we should be able to get it out without ruining the whole table.”