Chapter 4
When you know you are of worth, you don’t have to raise your voice, you don’t have to become rude, you don’t have to become vulgar; you just are.
—Maya Angelou
“I don’t like this,” Sheldon said after reading Lucille’s note. “This feels like a goodbye to me. Do you think she knew she was sick? Maybe she was in pain. Or terribly dizzy. So she asked for help, but then . . . just let herself fall?”
Nora shook her head. “No one in their right mind would end things like that. She might’ve broken her hip or back and lain there in agony for hours.”
“She answered the phone when you called and she asked for help, so no matter what this letter says, it must’ve been an accident.” Sheldon folded the piece of paper in half, as if hiding Lucille’s handwriting could dispel the uneasiness her words had evoked.
Though Nora could leave it at that, she needed to give voice to her fears, and she knew it was safe to share them with Sheldon. “What if someone else was in the house?”
To Sheldon’s credit, he gave this serious consideration before responding.
“Mija, I know you’ve seen things. I know violence has left its mark on you, and I’m not just talking about these.” He brushed the burn scars on her right arm. “For whatever reason, you seem to get caught in the gravitational pull of way too many criminal investigations. It’s something you can’t help, but that amount of exposure to violence makes you more suspicious, don’t you think?”
Nora sighed heavily. “I’m not looking for drama, Sheldon. I don’t want this to be anything but an accident. Still, my gut says that Lucille was trying to tell me something in the letter. And by giving me that book. Because of those, I can’t shake a sense of doubt.”
Sheldon gestured toward the front of the store. “Then go get your Google on. Things are pretty quiet, and I can steer the ship until Davis comes in. He wants to have a coffee and a chat. About what? I don’t know, nor do I care. As long as I get to sit there and stare at his beautiful face, he can talk about tax law and I’d be happy.”
“You might want to find a nook with some privacy,” Nora cautioned. “He’s only come out to a few people, and you know how many women in this town want him to swipe right on their dating profiles or fix him up with their sister, daughter, or BFF.”
“You don’t need to tell me about those women! Half of the ladies in June’s knitting circle still think they can reverse my asexuality by showing me pics of some honey in a teeny, tiny bikini. I can’t get them to understand that being sex-repulsed means that I’ll never be tempted to get it on with another human being, no matter how hot they are.”
Nora cocked her head. “Not even Davis?”
Sheldon knew Nora was teasing, but he answered, anyway. “Davis is beautiful inside and out. He’s a smart and successful lawyer. He’s funny. He’s generous. He has tons of hobbies. I haven’t had a romantic relationship in fifteen years, and that was with a woman, but I could fall in love with Davis Godwin.” Sheldon held out a finger. “I’m not going to fall in love with him, because he needs more than I can give, but a boy can dream.”
Nora left Sheldon to his fantasies as she helped a customer find a copy of Daniel Mason’s North Woods. After that, she took up her position behind the checkout counter, leaving the other customers to wander through the shop at their leisure.
Miracle Books had the perfect layout for wandering. The shelves were laid out with labyrinthine corridors and dead ends. Nearly every genre had its own cozy space, complete with special displays and reading chairs. Fairy lights illuminated the darker corners. Colorful mobiles hung from the ceiling.
There was always so much to see in the stacks. The books, of course, were paramount, but the shelves also held decorative objects Nora dubbed “shelf enhancers.” These were not the plastic figurines so prevalent at other bookstores, but rather eclectic, vintage items Nora found at the flea market and local estate sales.
Nora priced the shelf enhancers to sell quickly, which kept the store feeling fresh and exciting. Her last trip to the flea market had yielded a brass compass in a display case, cast iron bookends shaped like angelfish, a porcelain ginger jar, a set of appetizer dishes with fruit designs, a copper teapot, a glass elephant, and framed silhouettes of a family of six, including their dog and cats.
It was only Thursday, and half of these items were already gone. Nora wanted to hit the road after the flea market on Sunday and go thrifting in Asheville, and she was hoping McCabe would come along. They could spend the afternoon visiting antiques malls and consignment shops and then eat at one of Asheville’s excellent restaurants. It had been decades since she’d had Ethiopian food, but she remembered the platters of kitfo and doro key w’at she’d shared with her college roommate as if it were yesterday. She was eager to savor the unique spices and throat-warming heat of those dishes again and to share the experience with McCabe.
Pulling out her phone, she sent him a quick text, asking if she should make reservations for Sunday evening.
Three dots surfaced on her screen. As she waited for McCabe’s reply, Nora opened her laptop and typed Hugo Wynter into Google’s search box. When she glanced back at her phone, the three dots had disappeared.
“That doesn’t bode well,” she grumbled.
She didn’t fixate on McCabe’s silence for long. The moment she began reading about Hugo Wynter, she became completely absorbed.
Hugo was born in the small town of Clyde, North Carolina, in 1899. His father, who worked in the paper mill in a nearby town, groomed Hugo from an early age to follow in his footsteps. However, the onset of the Great War changed Hugo’s future. He joined the army and was sent to France. A year later, injuries from an exploding artillery shell cost him his right foot, and he was sent home.
With the shortage of qualified workers at the paper mill, Hugo’s head for numbers and leadership skills landed him a management position. He stayed at the mill until the Great Depression shuttered its doors for good.
Hugo didn’t want a new career, so when the economy bounced back, he took out a loan and opened his own mill a stone’s throw from Miracle Springs. He named it Pisgah Mill after the Pisgah Forest. Hugo married a debutante from a well-to-do family in Asheville and built Wynter House as a wedding gift for Helena, his bride.
Hugo and Helena had two daughters, Lucille and Lynette. The girls grew up in the house their father designed, and Lucille remained there after her marriage to Frederick Vandercamp, her father’s right-hand man at the mill. Not long after her marriage, Hugo retired.
The name Vandercamp gave Nora pause. It was uncommon for women to retain their maiden name back then, so why was Lucille known as Lucille Wynter and not Lucille Vandercamp? Nora wondered if the couple had gone through a nasty divorce or if Frederick Vandercamp had been a bad egg. That would explain why Clem went by his mother’s maiden name.
Nora pushed these questions aside and continued reading about Hugo Wynter.
She learned that the passion Lucille’s father felt for paper didn’t diminish upon his retirement. A lifelong book collector, Hugh purchased several printing presses and started to publish beautiful books in his own basement.
Each book had a very small, very costly print run. Hugo used the best paper on the market and Helena designed intricate engravings to accompany each collection of poetry or children’s storybook. Hugo was fifty-five when he suffered a fatal heart attack. His wife found him bent over one of his beloved printing presses.
Cancer claimed Helena two months later.
Returning to the search results, Nora saw a hit with the headline THE PISGAH PAPER MILL SCANDAL.
She clicked on the link and was shocked to learn that Hugo Wynter had been accused of embezzling a large sum of cash from the mill. Though he was never arrested, and the money was never recovered, he immediately retired from the mill and from public life. Three years later, Hugo and Helena were both dead.
Lucille was probably in her early to mid-twenties when she lost her parents and became mistress of Wynter House, Nora thought. All that, and a scandal. Poor Lucille.
The sleigh bells rang, jerking Nora back to reality. She glanced up to see Davis Godwin enter the store. He flashed his thousand-kilowatt smile and tapped the brim of an imaginary hat.
“Afternoon, Nora.”
“Hey, Davis. Nice to see you.”
And it was. Not only was Davis one of the best-looking men in Miracle Springs, but he was one of the best-looking men Nora had ever met. At forty, Davis looked just like Denzel Washington’s son John David Washington. Davis was the town’s top defense attorney, but he had the charisma and killer smile of an A-list actor.
Nora had gotten to know him when she’d found herself unexpectedly needing his services. He wasn’t much of a reader, but he joined Sheldon’s Blind Date Book Club to widen his social circle. In no time at all, he and Sheldon had become close friends.
“Sheldon’s in his lair,” she told him.
“Before I get my coffee on, I wanted to get your feedback on an idea that’s been bouncing around in my head for a while.” Hearing the bells, he swung around to see who’d entered the shop and gave a friendly wave to a pair of teenage girls. They giggled and clung to each other as they disappeared around the corner of the stacks.
Davis grinned. “We were like that once, long, long ago. Awkward and confused. Our bodies changing and our futures looming. It’s a tough time. This summer, I had a string of clients who didn’t look old enough to shave. Money’s tight for many of their families, and the kids think they can make things better by boosting a car or dealing dope. They’re looking for quick fixes—something to keep the wolf from the door—but then they get arrested, and it all just piles on. Most of these kids will go to juvie, which is where they stop being kids. It’s where they lose hope. They get hard and angry. I’m not naïve. I can’t help all of these kids, but I can help some of them.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I want to start a book group. I want to go in once or twice a month and talk about a certain book—something that these kids can relate to. I want them to know they’re not alone.” Davis splayed his hands. “I’ll buy the books, of course. There’s no way the state will fork over any money for this, but I don’t care. I’ll need your help figuring out which books to pick. I can’t go in there with twenty copies of Invisible Man or Native Son, or I’ll scare every one of them off, but I can’t go in with a picture book either.”
“What about a graphic novel? I can make you a list.”
Davis snapped his fingers. “Yes! Yes! That’s perfect. I knew you’d have the answer.”
The sleigh bells jingled again, and Davis turned toward the sound. A young woman with hazelnut skin and a head full of copper-colored braids hesitantly stepped into the shop. She drew her shoulders inward as she carefully closed the door.
“Batrice!” Davis called out. “What’s going on, girl?”
The young woman smiled shyly. “Nothing much. How ’bout you?”
Davis put a hand on Nora’s shoulder. “Having a tongue wag with my friend. I’m about to go back and have the best iced decaf latte this town has to offer. Can I get you one?”
Batrice nodded and followed Davis into the fiction section.
Nora spent the next thirty minutes flitting between the espresso machine and the checkout counter. Because it was after three, Sheldon was officially off the clock, but he interrupted his conversation with Davis and Batrice to serve the last book pocket to the teenage girls who’d emerged from the YA section, carrying an armload of fantasy titles. While Sheldon chatted with the girls about their favorite books, Nora helped a harried mother of three find a cookbook featuring quick and easy recipes, bagged an older gentleman’s special order of Horatio Hornblower novels, and introduced a nine-year-old to Nancy Drew.
At four o’clock, the high school students trickled in. They loved hanging out in the Readers’ Circle and were disappointed to find it occupied by three adults. To placate them, Nora cut up the rest of the peach-and-basil muffins and offered free samples. They disappeared in a matter of minutes.
Eventually Batrice left her seat to wander deeper into the stacks and Davis headed back to the office. Sheldon crooked his finger at Nora, beckoning her to follow him to the ticket agent’s office.
“I know I’ve said this before, but I need you to hear me,” he began. “It’s time to hire someone. It’s four o’clock and this place is jumping. Look at all these kids. I bet one of them would love to work here after school. You can’t keep flapping around like a flustered chicken. You’ll wear yourself out. Worse, you’ll lose sales. That girl, Batrice, needs your help. She’s going to walk out any minute now, but you’ll be too busy to notice.”
Nora leaned against the fridge and sighed. She didn’t want anyone to leave her store feeling unseen or unheard. “I’ll put a sign in the window before I close tonight.”
“Good. And keep an eye on the YA section. There are too many books scattered on the floor and too many backpacks for them to disappear into. That section has been hit the hardest by our ‘freetail therapist.’ ”
Anyone who ran a retail business faced shrinkage, but the losses to Nora’s inventory because of theft had always been relatively small. Until recently.
When Nora closed Miracle Books in July to do a thorough inventory, she’d been shocked by how many books were unaccounted for. The number of damaged books hadn’t changed. Most of these were children’s books, but there were also a few that arrived from the publisher with dented or torn covers. This was usually a result of poor packaging.
Nora could recoup her losses on items damaged during shipment, but kids’ books riddled with bite marks, torn pages, or mystery stains found their way into the used-book section and were sold at a loss.
Shrinkage due to theft was hard to take because every stolen book bit into the store’s profits. It had never been a serious problem until July, and by the middle of August, it was clear that the booknapper was still active.
When Nora griped about the situation to McCabe, he recommended security cameras.
“Even if they’re not turned on, their presence is a deterrent.”
Nora had immediately rejected the idea. “Security cameras would ruin the vibe of Miracle Books. It’s a place to escape the outside world and relax. No one wants to feel watched while they’re trying to find a little peace. Some customers are nervous about buying certain self-help books or study guides. They feel ashamed or embarrassed. If they know they’re on camera, they’ll probably buy those books online. They need to feel safe in my store. They need to trust me, which means I need to trust them too.”
After mulling this over, McCabe had said, “What would you do if you saw someone steal a book?”
“I’d confront them in a casual way. I’d say something like, ‘Oh, it looks like you forgot to pay for the book in your bag. I get it. I did the same thing at the flea market. I popped a candle in my purse to free up my hands. I grabbed two more, and by the time I went to pay, I’d totally forgotten about the candle in my bag.’ ”
“That’s a solid approach,” McCabe said. “What if they deny it?”
Nora had frowned. “In a different town, I’d suggest they go to the library and borrow books, but since we don’t have a library, I’d recommend they check out the used section next if the new books are too pricey.”
“It’s going to be tough to identify your thieves. You have kids who come in with backpacks, the Monday mom groups carry giant purses, the parents have diaper bags, and every day, you get tourists from the Lodge carrying their teal tote bags. Unless you start asking people to leave their bags behind the counter, you’ll have to catch shoplifters in the act.”
“I am not going to ask customers to check their bags,” she said emphatically. “I need to figure out what’s motivating the thief. Are they selling the books online? Is there a shoplifting trend on TikTok? Is someone doing it compulsively? Sheldon and I just need to keep our eyes open.”
But when the shop was teeming with customers, two pairs of eyes weren’t enough. Even though Nora wandered throughout the store, showing people books, reshelving strays, and completing the checkout process, Sheldon was usually stuck in the ticket agent’s office. His view from there was limited, and the store had plenty of nooks with just enough privacy to make stealing all too easy.
Sheldon’s right. I need to hire someone.
Ignoring the mound of dirty coffee cups in the sink, Nora headed into the stacks in search of Batrice.
She found her in the self-help section, looking defeated.
Nora had been in business long enough to know that Batrice wasn’t ready to ask for assistance, so she simply said, “I hope you didn’t feel like you had to give up your chair. The high schoolers are way too territorial when it comes to the Readers’ Circle.”
Batrice smiled. “I can see why. That purple chair is so soft. I could’ve taken a nap there.” Her smile wobbled as she added, “It’s been a long week and I still have one more day to go. I’m not lying when I say I live for the weekend.”
“Work getting you down?”
“Kinda. It’s not the job. That’s okay. It’s some of the people I work with.”
Nora pointed to a book with Toxic People in its very long title. “Are they like that?”
“Yeah, I guess. It’s not really people, though. It’s just one person. A woman.” Batrice folded her arms across her chest. “We used to be close. When I first started the job, I saw her as an ally. We’re the only two Black women in the company, and we have so much in common. We went to the same high school, we love podcasts, and we’re both into photography. We used to hang out at lunch and grab drinks after work. That was before we both went after the same promotion.”
“That’s when things changed?”
Anger flared in Batrice’s honey-brown eyes. “Yep. The bi—” Batrice stopped herself, took a breath, and started again. “This woman started a rumor that I had an alcohol problem. I never have more than one glass of wine, while her Gucci bag jingles like Christmas bells because of all the mini bottles of vodka she carries around. She didn’t stop there either. A coworker asked me if I had something going on with my previous boss. Something romantic.” She shook her head in disgust. “The man’s old enough to be my granddaddy! Guess who put that idea in his head?”
“Did you ask him?”
“He said he couldn’t remember. He hasn’t talked to me since.” Tears beaded Batrice’s long lashes. “I can’t file a complaint about her without proof that she’s behind the rumors, but if she gets the promotion, she’ll make my life a living hell. I don’t even know if I want to stay at this job. I feel like my life is a total mess, and I don’t know how it happened.”
Nora touched Batrice’s arm. “Can I show you something?”
Nora led Batrice to the fiction section and pulled a book off the shelf. It was Wahala by Nikki May. “Have you heard this word before?”
“No.”
“It’s Nigerian for ‘trouble,’ and one of the women in this book is nothing but. She acts like a friend, but it’s just an act. There’s something broken in her that makes her create chaos. She is wahala. She reminds me of your coworker.”
Batrice was already reaching for the book. “Does she get run over by a bus? Because I will read this tonight if she does.”
Nora laughed. “The other women in her sphere figure out how to handle her. Why don’t you have a seat and read a few pages? See what you think. While you’re doing that, I’ll grab a few other titles. If any of them resonate with you, you can take them home. Or you can read them here anytime you want.”
Leaving Batrice to select a chair in one of the reading nooks, Nora moved purposefully around the stacks. She deposited Jessica George’s Maame and two nonfiction books about toxic personalities on the table next to Batrice and returned to the ticket agent’s office to serve another customer.
Batrice bought three of the five books. Handing Nora her credit card, she said, “I know Davis from church. When he told me to tell you what’s been going on, I thought he was crazy. I didn’t think you’d understand, but I’m glad I came. I like the vibe here.”
“Good luck with everything,” Nora said as another customer lined up behind Batrice.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Business was steady enough to keep Nora occupied from the moment Sheldon left until closing time.
Usually, Nora watched the last customer leave before locking the door and flipping the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED, but she was still in the YA section, trying to figure out if there were too many holes on the shelves compared to the number of YA titles sold that day, when the sleigh bells indicated that the last customer had just walked out.
Nora didn’t want to move until she straightened the three shelves with the most holes, so she squatted down and tried to figure out which books were missing. All the books in T.J. Klune’s The Extraordinaries series were gone, but that was okay because Nora remembered selling them to a high schooler with green hair. However, the hardcover copies of Rebecca Yarros’s Fourth Wing and Iron Flame were gone, and Nora definitely hadn’t sold those books in the past twenty-four hours.
Moving through the stacks toward the Readers’ Circle, Nora was dismayed to see large holes in the contemporary romance section too. She knew she’d bagged one or two Colleen Hoover titles over the course of the day, but at least six of her books were missing from the shelves.
“What is wrong with people?” Nora muttered angrily.
She stomped behind the checkout counter to print a sales report. Tomorrow she’d come in early and take inventory of all the titles written by the authors who’d been so popular today.
“I need to catch this scumbag,” she muttered angrily.
A shadow darkened the doorway and Nora hurried out from behind the counter to stop the potential customer from coming inside.
She wasn’t fast enough, and a slim woman in a white sundress opened the door.
The woman took two steps inside and slapped a hand over the sleigh bells, instantly silencing them. “Are you Nora Pennington?” she demanded.
Nora had never seen the woman before. She was in her early fifties and obviously took good care of herself. Her long hair, which was the color of corn silk, fell over her tan shoulders in soft waves. She wore a full face of makeup and gold jewelry. Nora recognized Chanel’s trademark double Cs on her earrings and necklace. Diamond rings sparkled on her fingers and from the crystal face of her gold watch. Her handbag cost more than Nora’s truck.
A rich woman from out of town, Nora thought, hoping the woman would make a quick purchase and leave. It had been a long day and she was ready to go home, pour a glass of wine, and flop on the couch with her current read.
“I’m Nora. Can I help you with something? We’re closed right now, but if you’re looking for a specific title, I can see if I have it in stock.”
The woman’s mouth puckered in disgust. “I’m not here to get a book. I hate books. I’m here because you’re the last person my mother talked to before she died.” Squaring her shoulders, she pointed an acrylic nail at Nora’s chest. “I want to know exactly what she said, and I’m not leaving until you tell me.”