“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You did great,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Sorry about the scare. When we saw Beck heading for the front door, we were already on the move. Andrews and Wiggins were going to block his exit, and the sheriff and I planned to come at him from behind. But then Beck shook the bells to make you think he’d left and took a flask out of his pocket. He soaked that cloth with whatever was in his flask. Perkins told us what was happening, so we fell back just far enough to catch him before he went at you.”
Nora’s gaze landed on the evidence bag. “Poison is no longer a woman’s weapon.”
“Nope,” Fuentes agreed. “Most convicted poisoners are men, and in the majority of those cases, the victims were women. But you’re nobody’s victim, Ms. Pennington. Because of you, that scumbag will never hurt another lady.”
“Are you sure?” Nora asked.
“We’ve got work to do, yeah, but the charges will stick. You’ll see. You can rest easy now. Go home and pour yourself a drink. You did good tonight.”
After giving her a pat on the arm, Fuentes collected the evidence bag and left the ticket agent’s office.
Go home and pour yourself a drink.
Fuentes’s words rolled around in Nora’s head as she walked out to the readers’ circle. She stood in front of a chair, unsure of what to do next. She felt like she’d stepped outside of herself. Only part of her was really there. The rest was as insubstantial as mist.
And then, just as he’d done in Celeste’s bedroom, McCabe came over and slid his arm around Nora’s waist. He coaxed her into a chair and pulled a second chair close to hers.
“I owe you an apology,” he said as he sat down. “I never meant for you to feel unsafe tonight, but when I heard that Beck was saturating a rag, I knew he meant to knock you out. Catching him in the act would add weight to our case. It was my call to put you in such a vulnerable position, and it was made in a split-second. I hope it was the right one. If it had been someone else, I might not have taken the chance. But I know you. You’re made of tough stuff.”
“I don’t feel very tough, but it was the right call.”
McCabe took her hand. “You’re the strongest, smartest, prettiest woman I’ve ever met. Why else do you think I let you steal my hush puppies whenever we go to Pearl’s?” His smile had the same restorative powers as one of Sheldon’s bear hugs, and Nora began to feel more like herself.
“Are you ready to lock up and get out of here?” McCabe asked. “I’ve got a perp to process, and you need to go home and watch mindless TV until you fall asleep.”
“What about my statement?”
“It can wait until tomorrow. You’ve done enough for today.”
Nora locked the front door and turned off the rest of the lights. The bookshop felt sleepy and peaceful. Nothing of Beck lingered behind. There wasn’t even a trace of malice.
Because it doesn’t belong in a bookstore. Bookstores wash away worries. They cocoon people in coziness. They’re a place where friends gather, readers curl up in soft chairs, and books wait to be chosen. Bookstores are where dreams come to roost.
Outside, Nora inhaled deep gulps of nighttime air. For once, she welcomed its sharpness. It turned her nose and cheeks red and made her shiver, but it also smelled of pine and woodsmoke. The sky was star-filled, and the new moon bathed the mountains in a gentle glow.
“Should I walk you home?” McCabe asked.
Nora didn’t reply. Her attention had been caught by the figure of a man moving in the shadows behind McCabe’s car.
“I could do that, if it’s all right with the lady,” the man said. He waited at a polite distance, his eyes fixed on Nora.
McCabe glanced at Nora. “You okay?”
Nora squeezed his hand and said, “I am.”
The sheriff got in his car and shut the door. Seconds later, the engine roared to life and two beams of light cut through the darkness.
As McCabe drove off, Nora turned to Jed and smiled. “I’m ready to go home.”
Chapter 19
I think hell is something you carry around with you, not somewhere you go.
—Neil Gaiman
Nora didn’t invite Jed in. She was happy to see him—to know that he was back and that he’d come to see her—but she needed to be alone. The adrenaline that had kept her dancing on a knife’s edge for the past hour was gone. Her limbs were heavy. Her head hurt and her eyes stung.