Paper Cuts, page 9
“Since I’m up,” she said, reaching for the berries.
An hour later, the air inside her tiny house was filled by the scent of baking muffins. Nora had filled the muffin tins to the top, yielding two-dozen oversized muffins. After sprinkling their golden domes with sanding sugar, she packed them in a box and set off for the shop.
Outside, the weather couldn’t have been more Monday-ish. An early morning downpour had painted shadows on the ground and left the sky a dull battleship gray. The birds were quiet, and the parking lot was mostly empty.
Entering the store, Nora switched lights on but opted for silence instead of music. She walked among the books, straightened shelves, and carried strays to their proper places.
Her life was messy right now, and there wasn’t much she could do about that. She could restore order in her store, however, and it was incredibly therapeutic to alphabetize, fill inventory holes, and line up spines.
Touching the book covers suddenly reminded her of one of her elementary school teachers. Mrs. Preston used to pat the head of each student as they entered her classroom. She’d smile, look every boy or girl in the eye, and wish them a good morning. At the time, it seemed like such a small, insignificant thing, but Nora remembered how special it had made her feel. She touched the books with the same tenderness and warmth.
Sheldon arrived at ten to find the coffee brewed and the pastry case loaded with muffins.
He dropped two loaves of his homemade Cuban bread on the counter and opened his arms. “Come here, mi reina.”
Nora moved into his embrace and breathed in his familiar scent of aftershave and peppermint gum. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.
When he released her, he said, “Your man didn’t make it all better, did he?”
“Not yet, but he will.”
Sheldon chucked her under the chin. “That’s right. In the meantime, be a busy bee. You can start by showing me the flea market goodies.”
Unlike most people, Sheldon loved Mondays. Only the worst flare-ups could prevent him from coming in to clean, price, and arrange the shelf enhancers Nora found at the flea market or from area tag sales. He loved pricing the items and had a decorator’s eye when it came to displaying them with certain books. The idea was to lure a customer over to the shelf enhancer while simultaneously drawing their attention to a new hardcover, a stack of vintage paperbacks, or one of the rare editions Nora kept on a high shelf behind the checkout counter. She’d recently started carrying books with sprayed or stenciled edges, and they’d been so popular with the young adult crowd that Sheldon wanted her to order more.
After pouring coffee into a mug with a cartoon Ruth Bader Ginsburg face and the text, THE NOTORIOUS RBG, Nora went through her emails. There were several newsletters from publishers announcing upcoming releases, and Nora was inspired to order several titles. Next, she took care of special orders and phoned customers to let them know that the book they’d wanted was available for pickup.
Nora rarely finished a task without interruption, but such was the nature of retail. From the moment she unlocked the front door, people entered the store. Nora was always happy to hear the sleigh bells ring because she was always happy to have customers. She’d much rather put a good book in someone’s hand than focus on computer work.
“Your muffins are going fast,” Sheldon told her as she washed her coffee mug. “Will this be a new Monday thing?”
“Maybe. I only made them because I got up too early.”
Sheldon poured milk into the frothing pitcher. “We’re all insomniacs. I watch bad TV, June knits and goes on long romantic walks with a herd of stray cats, and now, you’re going to bake muffins. We’re such multitaskers.”
“A new breed of zombies.”
As Sheldon poured the steamed milk, he created a heart in the latte foam. When he was done, he whispered, “Take this to the couple in the Readers’ Circle. She has a cute pixie cut and is wearing a purple top. Her hubby is going for hobo chic. Without the chic. He’s been out of work for six months and she thought he might find a book or two to help get him back in the saddle. But he won’t even put his phone down.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Nora popped two muffins on a plate and picked up the mug. She served the latte to the woman in purple, who smiled in delight at the sight of the heart. Her husband was dressed in a tan T-shirt peppered with holes in the sleeves and light-wash jeans with frayed hems. He was overdue for a shave and a haircut, but those were easy fixes. His flat gaze and listless expression were more concerning.
“I was wondering if you’d be willing to sample a muffin,” Nora said, perching on the edge of the chair next to the man. “I’m thinking of serving them on Mondays when the bakery’s closed, but I’m not sure if they’re good enough. I could use an honest opinion.”
Seeing the muffin, the man showed a tiny spark of life. “Sure.”
“What a nice treat,” said the woman.
When Nora asked them if they lived in the area, the woman explained that they were from Asheville but were housesitting for a relative.
“My sister has a lovely house with a big deck and a hot tub, so it feels like we’re on a mini vacation.”
“Because we can’t afford a real vacation, you mean,” the man grumbled.
The woman shook her head. “That’s not what I meant, Wyatt. A change of scenery is a good thing, and I’ve always loved this town.”
“I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation,” Nora said, addressing Wyatt. “Trips are expensive.”
He stared at his half-eaten muffin. “Especially when you don’t have a job to pay for them.”
“That makes it hard to enjoy lots of things,” she agreed. “How long have you been looking for work?”
“Over six months.”
Nora nodded. “There’ve been plenty of layoffs around here. So many, in fact, that a career coach gave a talk in the community center a few weeks ago. A friend of mine went and took notes. Would you like to hear some of the key points?”
The woman watched her husband with a mix of apprehension and hope. When he muttered, “I don’t know,” she visibly sagged.
“Why don’t you walk with me to the stockroom? You can eat your muffin while I talk. I have a feeling you’re a good listener.”
“Go on, Wyatt,” the woman prodded.
He sighed. “If it’ll make you happy, Carol, I’ll go.”
Nora led Wyatt to the stockroom and told him to pull up a stool. She started unpacking books from boxes marked with the HarperCollins logo.
Without looking at Wyatt, she said, “It’s got to wear you down. Not just the job search but worrying about your finances and wondering about your future too.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Wyatt nod.
“People are funny. We can get stuck feeling a certain way, even when we don’t want to. We forget how to be anything other than down and defeated because feeling like that becomes a habit. Habits are hard to break. Something has to come along and kick us in the ass.”
She shot a glance at Wyatt. He was chewing his muffin and staring at the bookcase on the back wall, but she could tell that he was listening.
“One of the things I love about books is how they make us feel less alone. Plenty of people have been fired, quit, changed careers, or spent too many years doing a job they hate, and I guarantee you that someone has a story like yours. It might help you to read other stories—to see what choices they made or how they learned from their mistakes.”
Wyatt grunted.
“I have a list of titles for you to look over. I know you probably don’t want to drop a hundred dollars on books, but I have used copies of most of them. Or you could just read them here. You can stay and read for as long as you’d like.”
She winked at Wyatt before turning her attention to another box.
“What kind of books are they? Self-help mumbo-jumbo?”
“They’re a mix of fiction and nonfiction. One’s actually a graphic novel.”
Wyatt looked suspicious. “What’s that?”
“It’s like a comic book for grown-ups. The title is The Adventures of Unemployed Man. It’ll make you laugh.”
“O-kay. What else?”
Nora stopped what she was doing and faced him. “One of the nonfiction books is called Knock ’Em Dead Job Interview: How to Turn Job Interviews into Job Offers.”
A glimmer of interest appeared in Wyatt’s eyes. “I’d look at that one.”
“Excellent. I’ll bring you back to Carol and round up the books for you.”
Wyatt stood up and said, “This muffin’s good. You should keep making them.”
Nora smiled and led him out of the stockroom.
Other than a brief break for lunch, Wyatt spent most of the day in the bookstore. Carol left before noon and returned to collect her husband around four. When she walked in, the shop was full of high school kids and Nora was busy making drinks and Nutella on toast.
Carol apologized to the kid at the front of the line and then stepped inside the ticket agent’s booth to present Nora with a bouquet of pink peonies.
“I just wanted to say thank you. For the first time in months, Wyatt feels hopeful. Neither of us expect anything to change overnight, but it’s a start.”
Later, when the line died down, Nora put the peonies in a white pitcher and placed the flowers on the checkout counter. As she looked at them, she thought about Estella and her father and wondered how they were doing.
Estella had been preparing for her father’s release for weeks. She’d cleaned out the guest room and painted the walls a soothing shade of pale green. She’d bought new bedding and a small TV. Jack had stocked her freezer with meals, Hester had baked fresh bread and a cinnamon coffee cake, June had knitted a throw blanket, and Nora had provided a Miracle Books gift card so that Gus could pursue his love of reading.
When six o’clock rolled around, two people were still browsing. Nora never rushed her customers, but today, she wanted them to hurry up and leave. Now that the day was over and she was no longer busy, yesterday’s stress had returned with a vengeance.
Finally, one of the customers approached the counter carrying Michael Connelly’s The Concrete Blonde and said, “A friend of mine told me this was good. Have you read it?”
“I’ve read the whole series. Harry Bosch is one of my favorite detectives.”
Satisfied, the woman paid for the book and headed for the door. As she reached for the handle, a man in a Nile blue suit opened the door from the outside and held it for her.
“Good evening,” he said, flashing her a brilliant smile. He waited for her to exit before closing the door and smiling at Nora.
“Ms. Pennington? I’m Davis Godwin. June told me to see you before you left for the night, so here I am.” He gestured at the stacks. “Any more customers back there?”
Before Nora could answer, the last customer rounded the corner of the Fiction section, a phone pressed to his ear, and hurried out of the shop.
Nora flipped the window sign from OPEN to CLOSED and turned to Davis. She tried not to stare, but he was so good-looking that it was hard not to. He was powerfully built with the shoulders and hands of a football player. His skin was the color of brown cashmere, and he wore his black hair in a low fade with a part to one side. Nora didn’t think she’d ever seen such a well-tailored suit.
“Did June tell you what happened?” she asked.
“All she said was that you might be in trouble. Are you?”
Nora said, “I don’t know. Would you like to sit down while I explain?”
“I would.”
Unsure of how to start, Nora waited until they were seated before saying, “A woman died yesterday. On Saturday night, she and I had—I don’t know what to call it—an argument? A heated encounter? Anyway, the sheriff’s department questioned me, and after they were done, I learned that I’m a person of interest in their investigation.”
“You’d better start from the beginning,” Davis said, settling deeper into his chair.
Once again, Nora repeated her story. When she was finished, Davis studied her carefully.
“Is that everything? Do I now know all there is to know?”
“From my point of view, yes.” Nora searched his face. “Am I in trouble?”
Davis looked thoughtful. “Legally? Not yet. I need to find out how Ms. Walsh died. Once I know that, I’ll have a better idea of how to advise you. Until then, stay clear of her family. You might be tempted to stop by with a casserole and a condolence card, but don’t. Give me your number. I’ll call when I have more information.”
He typed his passcode into his phone and handed it to her.
Nora hesitated. “I don’t know if I can afford an attorney.”
“Let’s see if you need one first. Tonight, we’re just two people talking, and that won’t cost you a cent.” He smiled. “I’ll show myself out. Talk soon.”
After Davis left, Nora locked the door and thought of how he’d told her to stay away from Kelly’s family. She wanted to tell them how sorry she was but didn’t know how. A food offering would fall way short, they didn’t need flowers, and she couldn’t show up at Tea Flowers in person. All she could do was write a note—something honest and heartfelt—but even that felt insufficient.
What comfort could her words give them? A few sentences on paper would hardly lessen their grief. In fact, a message from Nora might make them feel worse. She would always be the woman who’d pushed Kelly the night she died. She was the woman who’d yelled at her. Who’d refused to listen to her.
Feeling miserable, Nora completed her closing duties and trudged home. When she reached her moped, she stopped to take the origami flower out of the cargo compartment. Relieved to find the lily and the little bee hiding under its petals unharmed, she carried her treasure into her house and placed it on her nightstand.
When she got in bed to read later that night, she felt the quiet presence of the paper sculpture.
Later, after switching off the lamp, she stared at the delicate flower and thought of the little boy who’d made it. She imagined his fingers folding the paper, again and again—turning and flipping and creasing until the flat, lifeless sheet became art. What Tucker did was a kind of magic.
Nora wished she could perform magic too. If she could, she’d wave a wand and give Tucker the thing he wanted most.
She would give him his mother.
Chapter 7
Time lost can never be recovered . . . and this should be written in flaming letters everywhere.
—Erik Larson
The next morning, Nora walked to the Gingerbread House and knocked three times on the back door.
After Hester had opened the door and pulled Nora inside, she whispered, “Estella and her dad are here. I told them you’d be stopping by to get your pastries, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
The unmistakable aroma of cinnamon buns wafted through the air and Nora inhaled a greedy lungful. Though she’d had no appetite at breakfast time, she was suddenly hungry, and her stomach betrayed the fact with a loud gurgle.
“I heard that!” Hester giggled. “Good thing I overcooked a whole tray of cinnamon buns. You can eat one here and bring a few extras to work for Sheldon.”
Nora trailed Hester into the kitchen, where Estella and a bald man with a neatly trimmed white beard were perched on stools facing the prep table. Seeing Nora, Estella hopped down from her stool and put her arms around her friend.
“June and Hester told me everything. I’m so sorry,” she murmured into Nora’s ear. “I wish I’d come outside that night. If I’d been there, I could’ve told McCabe what really happened.”
Nora didn’t want to talk about Kelly in front of Estella’s father, so she gently detached herself and said, “It’s okay. Really. McCabe will straighten it out.”
Estella gestured at her father. “Dad, this is Nora.”
Gus Sadler got to his feet and shook Nora’s outstretched hand. “I’ve heard so much about you. I feel like I’ve known you, June, and this little lady for years.”
He gave Hester a shy grin before returning to his seat.
Gus had a low, husky voice. He looked a bit like Patrick Stewart but with a thicker neck and darker brows and lashes. His skin spoke of a hard life. His forehead was etched with deep lines and his cheeks and hands were marred by a dozen small scars. His arms, sinewy and strong, were covered with tattoos.
Nora’s eyes took in the Alice in Wonderland tattoo sleeve on his right arm. It began at the wrist with an elaborate pocket watch surrounded by flowers. His biceps featured Alice perched on a mushroom cap. Alice bore a striking resemblance to a younger Estella, and she smiled happily as she stroked a sleeping Cheshire cat. Cursive writing curled around Alice’s head and disappeared under the sleeve of Gus’s shirt.
Seeing Nora’s interest, Gus said, “You can’t see all of the letters because of my shirt, but it says, ‘You might do something better with the time.’”
“Is that from the book?”
Gus nodded. “It’s a reminder to me to never waste a minute. That’s why the pocket watch doesn’t have an hour hand. It’s all about the minutes. Each one matters.”
That’s how Kelly must have felt. She had so little time left. Every moment was a treasure.
“Whoever tattooed this was really talented,” she told Gus.
“Yes, he was. His other talent was robbing convenience stores.”
Estella tapped her stool and said, “Take my seat, Nora. Hester already stuffed us with cinnamon rolls, so it’s your turn. After you eat, I was hoping we could come with you to the bookstore. The gift card you gave Dad is burning a hole in his pocket.”
As always, Nora was happy to steer the conversation to books.
“What do you like to read, Mr. Sadler?”
“Call me Gus. Only lawyers and judges call me Mr. Sadler.” He gave Nora the same reserved, bashful smile he’d given Hester earlier. It was as if the expression didn’t come naturally, which this didn’t surprise Nora. A smile in prison was probably a rare thing.
