The Book of Candlelight

Book 3: Secret, Book, and Scone Society Novel

by Ellery Adams

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

As the owner of Miracle Books, Nora Pennington figures all the wet weather this spring is at least good for business. The local inns are packed with stranded travelers, and among them Nora finds both new customers and a new friend, the 60-something Sheldon, who starts helping out at the store.

Since a little rain never hurt anyone, Nora rides her bike over to the flea market one sodden day and buys a bowl from Danny, a Cherokee potter. It’ll make a great present for Nora’s EMT boyfriend, but the next day, a little rain turns into a lot of rain, and the Miracle River overflows its banks. Amid the wreckage of a collapsed footbridge, a body lies within the churning water.

Nora and the sheriff both doubt the ruling of accidental drowning, and Nora decides it’s time for the Secret, Book, and Scone Society to spring into action. When another body turns up, it becomes clearer that Danny’s death can’t be blamed on a natural disaster. A crucial clue may lie within the stone walls of the Inn of Mist and Roses: a diary, over a century old and spattered with candle wax, that leads Nora and her friends through a maze of intrigue—and onto the trail of a murderer....

Release date: January 28, 2020

Publisher: Kensington Cozies

Print pages: 322

Sample

Nora Pennington had no idea how much the rain would change her life.

According to the saying, spring was supposed to come in like a lion. And so it did.

It plodded into the little western North Carolina town like a wet cat looking for a comfortable place to nap. Having settled in, it was in no rush to leave.

The rain began on a Monday in early April. It was tentative at first. Gentle. The kind of rain that coaxed people into slowing their pace and speaking in softer voices. It was chilly. Thick cardigans, already packed away in anticipation of balmier weather, were unpacked. Extra cups of coffee were brewed. People craved soup and homemade bread for supper.

It rained all day. The roads glistened. The soil turned dark. The vegetation was weighed down by fat water droplets. When the storm tapered off late in the evening, the townsfolk assumed that Tuesday would bring a change. A little sunshine. A rise in temperatures.

The next morning revealed another gray sky. By lunchtime, it was raining again.

The rain fell every day that week. As the consecutive days of wet weather drove the locals and the tourists indoors, Nora’s bookstore became a sanctuary for book lovers and for those searching for a cozy place to wait out the rain.

Miracle Books had never seen such a steady stream of paying customers. They bought books and hot drinks—one after the other—until Nora feared she’d run out of coffee beans or tea bags. She’d never had to stock so much milk before. By Friday, she was down to her last twenty sugar packets.

Her coffee bar supplies weren’t the only things being depleted. Her stock of shelf enhancers was also thin. Shelf enhancers were what Nora called the antique and vintage items decorating her bookshelves. As beautiful as books were on their own, Nora felt they shined even brighter when surrounded by interesting objets d’art like an etched cranberry glass vase, a Steiff fox terrier, a hand-painted wooden rooster, chintzware candleholders, cut-glass powder boxes with silver lids, a singing bird toy in a brass cage, and, because Easter was around the corner, a selection of vintage plush bunnies, windup chicks, alabaster eggs, and handwoven baskets in every color of the rainbow.

Nora couldn’t complain about the rapid disappearance of her inventory. She was selling stacks of books and a dozen shelf enhancers a day. In addition to these sales, she was taking in a tidy profit from the coffee bar, which included the sale of the book pastries made by Hester Winthrop of the Gingerbread House bakery. In short, Miracle Books was having a banner week.

By Friday, the bookshop was a mess. Not an eclectic jumble. Not charming dishevelment. A flat-out mess.

Due to gaps on the shelves, books leaned against one another like tired children. The Holistic Medicine section needed a good dusting, as did the shelves in Romance. Nora noticed that the display of vintage teacups she’d lined up in front of Victoria Holt’s novels were no longer quaint but pathetic looking. A few days ago, the ten floral teacups had been filled with sprigs of dried lavender and rosebuds. Since then, eight of the cups had been sold and someone had removed the posies from the remaining two cups.

I can’t blame them, Nora thought, listening to the steady drumbeat of the rain outside her window. Everyone is desperate for a little color. A bit of cheer.

After hanging the CLOSED sign that evening, Nora did some tidying up and then rode to the grocery store on her bicycle. By the time she returned to her tiny house located behind the bookstore, she was drenched. Leaving her bike on the deck, she entered what had once been a working train car. The locals called Nora’s house Caboose Cottage, and as she peeled off her wet clothes, she wished she could push it onto the tracks and ride to a place awash in sunshine.

Too tired to return the phone calls or texts she’d received from Jedediah Craig, the handsome, charismatic paramedic she was dating, or any of her Secret, Book, and Scone Society friends, Nora dropped on her bed and fell into a deep sleep. Neither the rumbles of thunder nor cracks of lightning could wake her.

The next morning, there was finally a break in the rain.

Buoyed by the sight of a pale sun fighting its way through the haze, Nora rode to the old tobacco barn where the flea market was held every weekend.

Hoping to find a treasure trove of new shelf enhancers inside, she shopped the booths of her favorite sellers first. These were the people who treated her like a human instead of a burn victim. They were the people who’d look into her hazel eyes before letting their gazes stray to the octopi-shaped burn scars on her neck or the jellyfish bubbles swimming up her right arm. Eventually, they’d find the space above her pinkie knuckle. A space created by hungry flames.

Nora had been an attractive woman before the fire had marked her. She didn’t regret her scars. She regretted the event that had caused them. Her recklessness had almost cost a mother and her young son their lives, which was why Nora refused to allow the plastic surgeon who’d operated on her face a few months back to repair the skin on her neck, arm, or hand.

“You already worked a miracle on my face,” she’d told him during one of her follow-up visits. “If I wear the right makeup, you can hardly tell that I was burned.”

She chose not to use the makeup, preferring to let her skin breathe, to let the thin scars show along her hairline where Dr. Patel had worked his magic. Nora didn’t want to erase the evidence of her car accident, the fire, or the months in a burn unit. The married, suburbanite librarian she used to be had died that night, and the woman who’d left the hospital to start a new life in Miracle Springs was a better person. She was uglier, poorer, stronger, and more compassionate than the woman who’d sped along that dark highway, fueled by rage and alcohol.

“You want me to take off three bucks because of that tiny wrinkle?” a vendor named Beatrice asked Nora. “You want my six kids to starve?”

Beatrice loved to haggle. Her eyes were already glimmering at the prospect of a good back-and-forth session with Nora.

“Six? Last week, it was five,” Nora said, holding back a smile. “And you know how fussy my customers are. They won’t focus on the blue butterfly inside this paperweight. They’ll focus on the crack.”

“That’s no crack. It’s a dimple,” Beatrice objected.

Nora put the paperweight aside and held up a vintage Bakelite alarm clock. Its yellow hue reminded her of a ripe lemon.

“What about this? If I buy both of these, will you knock five bucks off the total?”

“Five?” Beatrice acted affronted. “There’s not a damn thing wrong with that clock.”

The haggling continued for several minutes. When it was over, Nora left the booth with the paperweight and clock as well as a hammered copper inkwell and blotter.

She moved around the flea market, asking for discounts from every vendor. Though it had been a record-breaking week for Miracle Books, there was no telling what would happen next week. Life in retail was filled with uncertainty.

An hour later, Nora’s backpack was stuffed with treasures wrapped in newspaper. Deciding to return for more on Sunday, she headed for the exit and ran into her friend June.

June Dixon managed the thermal pools for the Miracle Springs Lodge, the biggest hotel in town. June was in her fifties but looked a decade younger. Her café au lait skin glowed with health and her close-cropped, black curls accentuated her high cheekbones and drew attention to her best feature: her golden-brown eyes.

“Are you coming or going?” June asked Nora.

“Going. You?”

June frowned. “I stopped by to find out about booth rental. I want to sell my socks here, but it’s too pricey. I’d have to knit around the clock to pay for the privilege of sitting on my ass all weekend. No, thanks.”

“I told you I’d sell your socks in my shop.”

“And you wouldn’t burn me like the folks who run the gift shop at the lodge, but that experience made me realize that I don’t want to owe anybody anything. I want to sell my stuff my way.”

The two friends ambled over to the last booth in the row. Situated close to the door, the booth belonged to an artisan known to the locals as Cherokee Danny. Every weekend, he and his wife arranged their wares on tables covered with handwoven blankets. Danny was a potter and his wife was a basket maker. The couple had been at the same spot since Nora had moved to Miracle Springs, but she’d never purchased anything from them.

Living in a tiny house meant that Nora only had space for items she used on a daily basis. Other than her favorite books and a few antiques, she bought collectibles for resale only. No matter how wonderful the item, it was priced and put on a bookstore shelf.

Nora looked at the wares in Danny’s booth and remembered telling Jed that he could jazz up his spartan kitchen by buying a few pieces of pottery. She now knew that most of his salary went toward his mother’s medical expenses, so he couldn’t afford pottery. He didn’t even own a couch. He lived like a monk so that his mom could receive the very best care. Jed was a good man.

As Nora admired a bowl glazed a rich, walnut brown and stamped with swirls, she realized that she and Jed weren’t the kind of couple that exchanged gifts. She wasn’t sure what kind of couple they were, but she felt like buying him a gift anyway.

“Are you looking for yourself or for someone special?” asked Danny’s wife. Nora didn’t know her name.

Nora wasn’t sure what to call Jed. She was in her forties, and it seemed silly to say that she had a boyfriend. The term sounded juvenile. Significant other was no good and Nora wasn’t the type to use idioms like partner in crime or my better half.

“A friend,” she said. “He could use a bowl like this for pasta. Or salad. If he ate salad.”

The other woman laughed. “The only way I can get Danny to eat veggies is by drowning them in butter.”

“Hello, I’m sitting right here,” said Danny.

“I know,” his wife retorted playfully. “I wasn’t trying to be quiet.”

There was a smile in Danny’s voice as he said, “Like you’ve ever been quiet a day in your life.” To Nora, he said, “If you’ve got any questions about my work, let me know.”

“Can your pieces withstand everyday use? Like microwaving or dishwashing?” she asked.

“Not all,” he said. “That bowl you and my girl were talking about can handle high heat, though.”

Nora picked up the pot and saw the price sticker affixed to the bottom. “I’ll take it.”

While Danny’s wife wrapped the bowl in newspaper and chatted with June about her baskets, Nora and Danny griped about the rain.

“We live thirty minutes away,” said Danny. “Our house is right on the mountain, and I don’t know how much longer it’ll stand if the rain doesn’t let up. If we get another week of this, our place will slide down the mountain like a sled.”

He made a downward motion with his hand.

Wanting to offer him a little hope, Nora said that the upcoming forecast called for two days of partly cloudy weather.

Danny shook his head. “That’s wrong. More rain is coming. I’ve seen the signs. It’s coming today, and it won’t budge until it’s made us even more miserable.”

After thanking Nora for her purchase, Danny moved off to help another customer. His wife handed Nora the bowl, now cocooned in white paper. “May this humble pot bring many blessings to the home it enters.”

Nora didn’t know how to respond to the woman’s words or to her warm fingers lingering on the back of Nora’s scarred hand. The touch itself felt like a blessing. She managed a quick “thanks,” before she and June made for the exit.

Just outside the doors, the two friends parted. June headed for her car and Nora walked to the bike racks. As she put the paper-wrapped bowl in her bike basket, it began to rain.

Cursing under her breath, Nora pulled the hood of her raincoat over her head and donned her helmet. A few hours of weak sunlight weren’t enough to dry the muddy parking lot, which meant Nora had to maneuver around dozens of deep puddles. The shoulder of the main road was just as bad. In a matter of minutes, Nora’s sneakers, socks, and pant legs were completely saturated with muddy water.

She rode across the bridge and entered the downtown shopping district, surprised by the number of cars on the road. Seeing a line of red taillights ahead, Nora decided to cut through the park.

This seemed like a brilliant idea until she came upon a tree branch in the middle of the sidewalk. She tried to swerve around it, but her tires slipped out from under her and she went down hard.

She’d fallen before, but not directly onto her hip and elbow. Pain tore through her entire left side as water splashed over her pinched face. It took her a few seconds to sit upright.

Her jeans were torn at the knee. Blood soaked the frayed denim around the hole, turning the blue fabric purple.

Nora heard the sound of boots in the water. Someone put a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

It was Hester, looking adorable in a red-and-white polka-dot raincoat.

“Yeah.” Nora got to her feet. “But I don’t think I can say the same for my flea market finds.”

Shoving a tendril of frizzy blond hair out of her face, Hester said, “Come into the bakery. I’ll make you some tea.”

Hester carried Nora’s backpack and the bag with the pottery bowl into her warm kitchen.

“Have you ever thought about buying a car?” she asked once they’d shucked off their raincoats. The aromas of melted butter, baking bread, and cinnamon wafted through the space, settling around Nora’s shoulders like a cashmere shawl. Spilled flour, halos of powdered sugar, and bits of dried dough covered every surface.

“I don’t need a car. I don’t go anywhere,” said Nora. She gestured around the kitchen. “What happened? It looks like a spice rack exploded.”

After pulling a tray of dinner rolls out of the oven, Hester slid one onto a plate. She cut the roll in half, buttered it, and pressed the halves together. Putting the plate in front of Nora, she said, “I can’t keep up with the work. I thought the rain would slow things down. Nope. People want my food more than ever. My cash box is stuffed, but I’m running on empty.”

Nora took a bite of the roll and moaned. “No wonder they line up for your stuff. This tastes like the feeling of putting on PJs at the end of a long day.”

Hester smiled. “Thanks, but the bakery’s popularity might also have something to do with my over-the-top April Flowers theme.”

Seeing Nora’s quizzical look, Hester beckoned her to the front of the store.

Nora gazed at the display cases in astonishment. They held baked apple roses, tulip cake pops, daisy lemon tarts, sunflower cupcakes, pansy sandwich cookies, and more. Every muffin, roll, and loaf of bread was shaped like a flower or embellished with a floral design.

“This is right out of The Secret Garden. Except the flowers are edible. Amazing,” Nora said. Then she sighed. “I need to change my window display, but who has the time? I’m running back and forth between the checkout counter and the ticket agent’s office like a madwoman. Last night, I was too tired to eat dinner. On Thursday night, I fell asleep in my clothes.”

Hester plucked at her shirt. “This is my last clean T-shirt. And it wasn’t like I was on top of things before the rain came. I can’t remember when I last changed my sheets or washed my towels. My house smells like a high school locker room.”

Nora understood. At home, she’d been using the same plate, fork, and glass for days. She’d wash them and leave them on the counter to dry. She didn’t bother putting things in cabinets or drawers. That required too much energy.

“Are you thinking about running another ad?” she asked, returning to her roll.

Hester frowned. “Ever since the Meadows was bought, a bunch of the people who lost their jobs after the community bank scandal have gone back to work. Now, no one is interested in my part-time gig. Especially since I’m not offering any benefits. Unless you count free food.”

The Meadows was a planned housing development on the outskirts of town. No houses had been built because the investment firm heading the project was run by scumbags. These scumbags colluded with more scumbags from the Madison County Community Bank to commit major mortgage fraud. The crooks had been caught, partially due to the efforts of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society, and the bank had gone belly-up. The recent purchase of the development by a legitimate firm meant homes and jobs for many of the fraud victims.

Nora put on her raincoat. “My applicants were a high school kid who wouldn’t work weekends, an empty nester who wanted a higher wage than I make, and a chain-smoker who couldn’t name the last book she’d read.”

“Ouch.”

“Whoever works with me has to be a book lover. That’s non-negotiable.” Nora reached for the door handle and paused. “Speaking of books, should I grab my book pockets while I’m here?”

Hester slapped the counter with her oven mitt. “I totally forgot! I’ll bake them right now and ask Jasper to drive them over. Otherwise, they’ll be water-logged.”

Nora grinned at the image of Hester’s boyfriend, Deputy Andrews, transporting pastries in his sheriff’s department cruiser.

“Good idea. Besides, I want to ask him if he finished Ready Player One yet.”

Hester filled a measuring cup with flour and said, “Not everyone devours books like we do. Some people savor every page.”

“I need books like I need oxygen.” Nora glanced out at the rain. “A little sunlight would be nice too.”

Inside the dry and cozy haven that was Miracle Books, Nora set the coffeemaker to brew and inspected the contents of her backpack.

The results were depressing.

The inkwell of the hammered copper desk set was dented, the butterfly paperweight was chipped, and the Bakelite clock was cracked. A vintage leather canteen had also been flattened. The only survivors of her fall were a Russian nesting doll and a silver plate bowl.

“Damn it,” she muttered, stuffing a screwdriver into the canteen to push out a few dents.

The coffeemaker beeped, and Nora checked her watch. It was almost ten and both she and the shop were completely disheveled.

Nora looked at the hole in her pants. She didn’t have time to change. Instead, she turned on lights, straightened throw pillows, and ran a rag over the dustiest shelves. With one minute to go, she switched on some music and ran a brush through her hair. As she fought with a knot at the nape of her neck, she thought, I need to clean this cut on my leg. I need to change the window display. I need to open boxes. I need to restock the shelves.

Her mental list scrolled on as she put the old brass skeleton key in the front door and unlocked it.

The door immediately swung open, and the sleigh bells dangling from its hinges clamored.

“Don’t you get tired of that noise?” asked a doppelganger for Colonel Sanders. He removed a gray fedora and shook it out, his gaze moving from Nora’s face to her torn pants. “Honey, you’re a hot mess. What can Sheldon do to help you?”

Normally, Nora would have delivered a terse reply and gone about her business, but genuine kindness radiated from the man’s dark eyes. She liked his fedora and his pink bowtie. She liked how his sweater vest seemed to hold his belly in check.

Before she could say a word, the man looped his arm through hers. “I smell coffee. Let’s go to where the coffeepot lives, and you can tell me everything. I’m an excellent listener.”

Minutes later, to Nora’s surprise, the short, round, bearded stranger was in the ticket agent’s office, making coffee for them both.

“So many mugs! I love them,” Sheldon declared. “Especially the snarky ones.”

Nora watched him. She was so tired that it was a relief to sit back and let him take over.

Sheldon handed her a mug emblazoned with the text TALK DARCY TO ME, and said, “There’s no problem that a Cuban coffee and a heart-to-heart can’t fix. Go on. Take a load off.”

Nora sat. “Cuban?”

“No talkie before coffee.” Sheldon motioned for her to take a sip.

Nora was immediately smitten with the strong, sweet brew. “Magical.”

“Not magical. Cuban. I’m only half-magic because I’m half-Cuban,” he said. “Sheldon Silverstein Vega, at your service.”

“As in, Shel Silverstein the poet?”

Sheldon spread his hands. “Mom was a school librarian who wanted her son to love words. And I do. My Cuban papa wanted me to love food.” He rubbed his belly. “And I do.”

Studying her guest, Nora realized that Sheldon was too handsome to be compared with Colonel Sanders. Sheldon’s skin held a hint of bronze and his white hair was mixed with a generous dose of silver.

The sleigh bells clanged. Nora called out a hello before turning to Sheldon. “Thanks for the coffee. I’d better get to work.” She held out her hand. “Nora Pennington, by the way.”

He took her hand as if she were a queen and he, her courtier. “Lady Nora, I’ve been in town for three days, and I’m terrifically bored. The inn where I’m staying is being renovated, and I didn’t emerge from the thermal pools to find my chronic pain miraculously gone. I don’t do yoga, I have a therapist back home, and I can’t stand kale. So when I saw your shop—this glorious den of books and trinkets—I thought, here’s the place for me. I can arrange the bric-a-brac, I can shelve books, I can make Cuban coffee. Whatever you need. Give my day some purpose. Please.”

A middle-aged couple appeared from around the corner of the fiction shelves and Nora asked if she could help them with anything. The man wanted a coffee and the woman wanted a vegan cookbook. Nora promised to make the man’s coffee after showing his wife the cookbook section, but she never got the chance. By the time she returned to the ticket agent’s office, the man was settled in the purple velvet chair, contentedly sipping coffee out of a Dilbert mug.

“Do you want a job?” Nora asked Sheldon. She was only half teasing.

“I might,” he said. “But I’m a complicated man. I come with baggage.”

Nora smiled at him. “Don’t we all?”

With Sheldon handling beverages, Nora was able to load a shelving cart with inventory from the stockroom. She even managed to put out some of the new books in between making recommendations and ringing up sales.

When Deputy Andrews arrived carrying two boxes of book-shaped pastries, Nora asked if he had time to look for a new book.

“I’ve gotta go.” He jerked his thumb out the window. “Multiple fender benders.”

The mention of car accidents reminded Nora that she’d forgotten to examine the pottery bowl she’d bought for Jed.

Later, after bagging Goodnight Moon, Harold and the Purple Crayon, and Maisy’s Bedtime for a woman who’d be babysitting her rambunctious grandson at the end of the month, Nora decided to check on both the bowl and Sheldon.

Sheldon had tidied the ticket agent’s office from top to bottom. The coffee machine sparkled. The counters gleamed. He’d also lit one of the scented candles from the display in the Home & Garden section.

“You’ll sell more candles if people can sample their smell,” Sheldon said. “I mean, I had no clue what to expect from a candle called Beach Reads. It could smell like cocoa butter and sweat for all I know.”

Nora grinned. “Thanks for cleaning up back here. I’ve been meaning to do it, but the rain has kept me super busy.”

Sheldon pointed at a cardboard box. “I put your broken stuff in there. I’m guessing that the hole in your jeans and your busted antiques happened at the same time.”

“I fell off my bike,” Nora said as she reached for the plastic bag in the sink. She peeled off the layers of newspapers and released a heavy sigh. The rim of the bowl was chipped. Red clay peeked out from a dime-sized area where a chunk of brown glaze was missing.

Seeing her stricken look, Sheldon came up behind her and asked, “Have you ever heard the story of the cracked pot?”

Nor. . .