Paper Cuts, page 15
Nora shook her head.
“Have you ever been?”
“Once, a long time ago. It didn’t work out.”
Justine put both hands on the counter and leaned closer to Nora. “If you could go back in time, would you do whatever you could to stay married?”
Eager to put an end to the conversation, Nora simply said no before randomly selecting one of the books on the counter and showing it to the younger woman. “I think you should give this a try.”
“I don’t,” Justine scoffed. “Books didn’t work for you, so why should I waste my time on them? This place”—her pretty mouth twisted in derision as she waved a hand at the stacks—“is for people like you. Old people. My generation is all about action. If I want something, I buy it online. If I’m hungry, I have food delivered. And if I want to avoid ending up like you, I’ll read threads on Reddit and focus on my self-care. Your coffee’s good, but it’s not good enough to make you relevant. Even coffee couldn’t have saved Blockbuster.”
The sleigh bells rang, signaling the arrival of a fresh batch of visitors.
Justine sauntered out of the shop, leaving Nora fuming behind the checkout counter.
Several hours and dozens of lucrative sales later, Justine’s comments still rang in Nora’s ear. As she locked the store, she spoke to the rude young woman as if she was there, but no matter how much she wanted to tell Justine off, she’d missed her chance.
On her way home, she called June to complain. “She said she didn’t want to waste time, but she was fine with wasting my time.”
“Honey, I smile at people I’d like to smack at least ten times a day. My mama used to say, ‘Don’t let anybody with dirty feet walk around in your head.’ Take her advice and kick that girl out of your nogg. Think about something else. Like that book collection. Want to tell me about it, or are you saving the story for tomorrow night?”
Nora was all too glad to tell June about the love-themed books. In the process, Justine’s remarks lost their bite. Nora knew the younger woman was wrong. There would always be a need for bookstores, just as there would always be a need for books. Both were necessary if mankind was to continue evolving.
Later, after dinner, Nora ignored her current read and combed over the books she kept at home. She wanted to flip through the pages of Jack London’s The Sea-Wolf and tap into the feeling of nautical hardships experienced by generations of seamen. Despite the debunking of their romantic nature, she was still fascinated by sailors’ valentines and wanted to lose herself in their world for the evening.
Her fingers were curling around the top of the book’s spine when someone pounded on her door.
“Now what?” Nora growled.
She reached the door in three strides and peered through the little square window. Deputies Andrews and Hollowell stood on her deck.
Hollowell was about to knock again when Nora whipped the door open. Looking directly at Andrews, she said, “I take it this isn’t a social visit?”
“We need you to come with us,” Hollowell demanded.
Pointedly ignoring her, Nora said, “What’s this about, Andrews?”
Hollowell sucked in a breath and was undoubtedly going to bark orders at Nora, but Andrews didn’t give her the chance.
“There was a break-in at the Walsh place this afternoon. The thief had very specific interests.”
Nora paled. “Not the books.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Hollowell’s eyes gleamed. “We dusted every inch of that office for prints. I have a feeling we’re going to find all ten of yours there.” She paused to shoot a disgusted glance at Nora’s pinkie and then added, “Oh, right. All nine.”
Chapter 11
We are bees then; our honey is language.
—Robert Bly
Nora told the officers to wait outside while she grabbed her purse and a sweatshirt. If she was going to end up in that chilly interview room again, she wanted to be prepared. She also wanted to call Davis Godwin from the privacy of her bedroom.
When he picked up, she said, “There’s been a robbery at the Walsh place and officers are waiting outside my house to take me to the station. I don’t know if I need a lawyer—”
“You do. Don’t say a word to anyone about anything. Tell them you’re not talking without your attorney present.”
Oh, my God. I have an attorney.
In novels, people needed lawyers because they’d committed a crime, been falsely accused, or were trying to right a terrible wrong. But none of the characters in those novels were like Nora. She was a middle-aged book nerd whose greatest vices were wine and carbs.
Still, she was relieved to have someone in her corner. Davis wouldn’t be intimidated by Hollowell, or anyone else for that matter. His knowledge of the law and confident manner would guide Nora through this ordeal.
How much will his services cost?
Again, Nora thought about book characters. She pictured Mickey Haller, aka “The Lincoln Lawyer,” in his custom suits and chauffeured Lincoln Town Car and wondered how much Davis charged an hour.
Guess I won’t be buying a car.
The unfairness of her situation made her angry, but she didn’t tamp down the feeling. She embraced it. It was better to be angry than scared.
Someone pounded on her front door and Nora hurried back to the living room. If it had just been Hollowell, Nora might have let her stand outside and fume a little longer, but since Andrews was there too, she opened the door and said, “I’m ready.”
The short ride to the station was marked by awkward silence. Nora and Andrews had always gotten along. They could talk about books, food, movies and the people they knew, so it was strange to be looking out the window while he stared fixedly ahead. The only noise was a brief exchange between the dispatcher and a deputy on patrol.
“That’s the third coyote report this week,” Andrews murmured.
“They’re hungry. People with indoor/outdoor cats better wise up or Fluffy’s going to end up as someone’s dinner.” Hollowell sounded pleased by the idea. “Do you have any pets, Andrews?”
Andrews shook his head.
“You seem like a dog man to me. A guy with a truck who can’t wait to drive to the lake for some fishing or head to the woods to camp. Just you, the great outdoors, a stocked cooler, and your dog.”
You deliberately left Hester out of the picture, didn’t you? Nora thought.
A grin appeared on Andrews’s face. “I had a chocolate Lab when I was a kid. His name was Bear. He was the best fishing dog ever. I swear, he was part alligator. And he never got tired.”
“See? You should get a dog. I know a bunch of breeders. I could introduce you and help you train your puppy too.”
Nora rolled her eyes.
Andrews pulled up to the back door of the sheriff’s department building and Hollowell leaped out. Nora exited the car before Hollowell could touch her. When Hollowell reached for her arm, Nora jerked it away and said, “I can walk without assistance.”
Hollowell opened her mouth to argue but shut it again when she saw Davis Godwin waiting on the other side of the glass doors. He held a briefcase in one hand and a phone in the other, but his eyes were on Nora. As were McCabe’s.
Here we go, Nora thought.
Davis gave McCabe a curt nod before marching forward to meet his client.
After politely acknowledging Hollowell with an “Evening, Deputy,” he put a hand on Nora’s arm. She instinctively moved closer to him.
“They’re going to ask you some questions, but don’t worry,” Davis murmured into her ear. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Davis turned to Hollowell. “My client will cooperate, but tomorrow’s a big day for area merchants. I don’t want her here a minute longer than is strictly necessary. So, what do you need from us?”
“We need her prints,” was all Hollowell had to say.
Hollowell led Nora and Davis to the conference room down the hall from McCabe’s office.
Andrews and Hollowell sat across the table from Nora and Davis.
McCabe entered the room, nodded at Davis, and settled in a chair behind his deputies. He leaned back, crossed an ankle over his knee, and placed a legal pad on his leg.
Nora felt a twinge of indignation. Couldn’t he muster a congenial glance? A dip of the chin or a quick wink? Couldn’t he find some way of telling her not to be afraid? That he believed in her innocence? That he loved her?
The interview began with Andrews saying, “Tell us how you came to be at the Walsh residence yesterday.”
Relieved to be speaking with Andrews instead of Hollowell, Nora replied to his questions with clear, concise answers. Davis listened carefully and interjected only to request that a question be clarified or rephrased. He sat upright in his chair, his head moving back and forth like he was watching a tennis match. His sharp gaze never faltered, and Nora was comforted by his proximity.
Andrews moved through his initial questions quickly. He took a brief pause before asking, “Did you leave the store during business hours today?”
“No. Kirk made lunch for me and Sheldon, so I didn’t need to go out for food. We were busy all day. I didn’t even have time to water the plants out front.”
Hollowell drummed her thumb against the table. “What about your employee, Sheldon Vega? Did you tell him about the book collection?”
“Yes.”
“What time did he clock out?”
Though Nora sensed danger in this line of questioning, she had to respond. “Around 3:20.”
Hollowell arched her brows and said, “How does Mr. Vega get home from work?”
“He usually walks. If the weather’s bad, his housemate will pick him up at the store when she gets off.”
“Did he walk home today?”
Nora had marched right into her trap. “Yes.”
Hollowell looked a question at McCabe. He dipped his chin once and her eyes flashed with triumph.
Poor Sheldon, Nora thought. She wished she’d never told him about the books.
“After leaving the Walsh residence, you said that you went home and started researching how much the books were worth,” Hollowell continued. “Why the rush?”
“Two reasons. I wanted to help Tucker and I was curious.”
Hollowell nodded encouragingly. “How long did it take you to realize that the books were worth a lot of money?”
“By the time I got to the end of the first page of the inventory list, I knew the collection could be very valuable. I couldn’t confirm this without seeing the books first. Condition is really important. Here. I brought the list with me.” Nora pushed the thin stack of paper across the table. “I wrote down the prices I found.”
Andrews put the list where he and Hollowell could look at it at the same time. They both studied it for a minute.
When Hollowell glanced at Nora, her mouth was turned down at the corners. “How was this partnership supposed to work? Were you going to take all the books, sell them, and give Mr. Walsh the money? Did you two sign a contract?”
“No. I went to his house this morning to take a quick look at the condition of some of the books. When I saw that they were as good as that list said they were, I told Kirk that I wasn’t the person to sell the collection. A rare book dealer or auction house would net a higher profit. I told him I could recommend a few names.”
Hollowell cocked her head. “Would you get a commission or a finder’s fee for hooking him up with one of these businesses?”
“No.”
“So, let me get this straight. After seeing this incredibly valuable collection of books, you told Mr. Walsh that you couldn’t sell them for him. Did you also warn him to move the collection to a secure location?”
Nora sensed another trap, but since that’s exactly what happened, she said, “Yes.”
“Ms. Pennington, how long have you been saving money to buy a car?”
Davis held up his hand. “My client’s finances aren’t up for discussion. Unless you have specific questions about my client’s movements or her opinions on Mr. Walsh’s book collection, we’re done here. Sheriff? Can we wrap this up? My client has a long day ahead of her tomorrow.”
Addressing his deputies, McCabe said, “Get her prints and let her go. I’ll speak with Mr. Vega.”
He stood up and moved to the door while Andrews announced the termination of the interview and turned off the recording device.
Nora got to her feet and spoke to McCabe. “Sheldon will be in bed by now. With his conditions—sleep is so important.”
“He doesn’t need to come in. I’ll go to him,” McCabe said. In a softer tone, he added, “Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow.”
With those words, Nora knew that all was well between them.
After she’d been fingerprinted, Davis offered to drive her home.
When they were alone in the car, he loosened his tie and relaxed his shoulders. “They’re going to find your prints all over those plastic bins. As long as they don’t find them on the back door, which is how the thief got in, they can’t pin this on you.”
Hearing this, Nora’s fear evaporated. “I never went near the back door.”
“Good.”
Nora let out a sigh. “I’m relieved for myself, but not for Tucker. Without the money from that collection, his future isn’t nearly as bright. Did the thief take everything?”
“At this point, it’s unclear what’s missing. Someone tossed a rock through the glass in the back door, got inside, and unwrapped every single book. Until Kirk compares what’s there to what’s on the inventory sheet, he won’t know what was taken. The room’s a mess.”
“On the night Kelly died, a woman came to their house. It was late, and this woman talked to Kelly from a distance—in the backyard. Maybe she was there because she wanted something from the collection. Maybe Kelly was killed because she didn’t hand it over.”
Davis pulled in front of Nora’s house and put his car in park. “That’s for the sheriff to find out. My job is to look after you. And your job is to stay away from the Walshes. You’re already tied to an open murder investigation, a B and E, and probably larceny too. You’ve got to be smart, Nora.”
“I’ll keep my distance. I promise.”
* * *
Later, when she climbed into bed, she examined the inventory list of Virginia Love’s books. She’d taken photos of the list in case she needed to send it to a book dealer or auction house, but now, she might be able to use it to identify the thief.
However, no title stood head and shoulders above the rest. Some were worth more than others, but not by a staggering amount.
Too tired to think clearly, Nora turned off the light and rolled onto her side.
Was something hidden in the pages of a book? A treasure inside a treasure?
This was her last lucid thought before sleep carried her away.
* * *
Nora dressed in the yellow T-shirt she’d received from the Miracle Springs Chamber of Commerce. The shirt featured a cartoon bee hovering over the word HAPPY. Sheldon’s bee smiled over the word KIND.
“What if I don’t feel kind or positive?” he grumbled as he scooped coffee grounds into the brew basket. “I vote for an alternative text. How about BEE QUIET? Or BUZZ OFF?”
Smiling wryly, Nora said, “Or BEE-WARE: I’M UNDERCAF-FEINATED.”
Sheldon slipped his apron on. “I get to cover mine up. You have to be happy all day.”
“After last night, that’s going to take a double espresso and a shit-ton of book sales.”
“And sugar. Thank gawd for Hester. She gave us a few of her mistakes.” He pointed at a small bakery box. “Honey-glazed donut holes. I may or may not have eaten a solid dozen already.”
Nora reached for a donut. “How’d you manage that while carrying the bakery boxes?”
“Ever seen a horse feedbag?”
Nora dropped the donut back in the box, and despite Sheldon protesting that he was only kidding, she ate a peach muffin instead.
Despite last night’s trip to the sheriff’s department, Nora was energized. She looked forward to a hectic day of putting books into readers’ hands.
She breezed through the Children’s Corner, straightening the waterfall display of board books about honey, and repositioning the wooden chest filled with Winnie the Pooh plush toys. Honeybee, ladybug, and butterfly puppets occupied every branch of the puppet tree and boxes of a game called Honey Bee Tree were stacked in between the bookcases.
Satisfied by what she saw, Nora walked to the front of the store. The yellow and black book table was done, as was a large waterfall display of fiction, which contained titles like The Secret Life of Bees, Bee Season, The Beekeeper of Aleppo, A Taste for Honey, and The Honey Bus.
Nora spent the next hour rearranging the Romance endcaps with books with yellow covers or references to honey. It was harder to find mystery novels to display, but she managed to find several cozy mystery titles as well as Laurie R. King’s The Language of Bees and J. A. Jance’s Kiss of the Bees.
The YA section contained a whole row of Kathe Koja’s Kissing the Bee and Mobi Warren’s The Bee Maker. Nora stood in front of Warren’s book, which featured a group of origami bees on a blue background. She’d ordered the title weeks before meeting Tucker, but she couldn’t look at the book without thinking of him.
Brushing her fingertips over the cover, she whispered, “Poor kid.”
Turning away from the display, she pulled a few books about the healing power of plants as well as a cookbook with over a hundred honey-based recipes and slid them into acrylic book holders on top of one of the low bookcases. After distributing an assortment of bee-print book sleeves between the display books, she stood back and admired the effect.
“We’re ready,” she told Sheldon as she returned to the ticket agent’s booth to collect her espresso. “Except for tunes. What music goes with today’s festival?”
“We could put ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’ on repeat.”
“I’d kill someone by ten thirty.”
Sheldon pointed at her shirt. “I’ll find some happy music. You drink your magical elixir and get ready to sell all the books.”
