The Secret, Book & Scone Society

by Ellery Adams

  But memories and feelings don’t disappear like a bad dream. Nora knew this. They’d twist Hester’s future into knots, possibly preventing her from ever forming a healthy relationship with a man. Or with anyone.

  Nora guessed that Hester’s shame had eventually morphed into anger and that she’d come to Miracle Springs to seek the independence she desperately craved.

  “Did you become a book lover then?” she asked Hester in a soft voice. “During your time at your aunt’s house?”

  “I’d always been a reader,” Hester said. “But books were all I had when I was with my aunt. She was a horrible woman and she called me terrible names. I don’t know how such a bitch could have such beautiful books.” Hester closed her eyes and shook her head at the memory. “She had a whole room lined with books, but I had to do a chore just to borrow one of them. I would have done anything, though, because those stories took me away from my thoughts and her nasty words.” She blinked back tears. “They saved my life.”

  June reached across Nora’s lap and took Hester’s hand. “Is that where you learned to bake too?”

  Hester’s mouth formed a wobbly smile. “Yes. My aunt couldn’t defrost a bag of frozen peas, but she owned dozens and dozens of gorgeous cookbooks. I begged her to let me try a recipe. Just one. I was dying of boredom.”

  “What was it?” Estella asked. “The very first thing you made?”

  A torso in a sheriff’s-department uniform blouse appeared behind Estella’s head. “Time’s up, Ms. Sadler. Say good-bye now.”

  “Wait!” Estella protested. “What was it, Hester?”

  Hester’s gaze had turned dreamy. Distant. “Can’t you guess?” A tiny smile flitted at the corners of her mouth. “The very first thing I baked was a scone.”

  Chapter 15

  It’s always that way when you’re looking at books. An hour goes by in a minute: you don’t know where the hell the time went.

  —John Dunning

  When the connection with Estella was terminated, Hester began to cry.

  “I shouldn’t have taken up her time,” she said, sniffling. “That was so selfish of me. She’s sitting there, waiting for our call—waiting for us to get her out of there—and I talk about my stupid past.”

  Nora grabbed a box of tissues from the side table and handed them to Hester. “Estella will understand and she won’t hold this against you. June and I understand too. Sometimes, things happen in the present that trigger our most painful memories. Sometimes, we can’t stop them from breaking through. They’re like floodwaters and we’re powerless to stop the flow.”

  “It’s better to let it all out,” June added. “Here, where you’re safe. Here, in this wonderful, cozy house. With your friends.”

  Hester wiped her tears and blew her nose. She stuck the tissue in her apron pocket and made a visible effort to gain control over her emotions.

  “Are you still in contact with your parents?” June asked.

  Hester’s shoulders rose in a semblance of a shrug. “I call every Monday and tell them about the bakery. They talk about my brother and his family, their dog, and the trips they have planned. I always wait until nighttime so I can have a glass of wine before I dial their number. I have another glass after we’re done talking.” She tried to smile but failed. “We never say anything real. We’ve been strangers since they shipped me off to my aunt’s.”

  Nora now searched June’s face. Was it difficult for her to hear the child’s point of view in a case of familial estrangement? There was hurt in June’s eyes, but there was sympathy too. And because June had such a generous heart, she was able to focus on Hester’s pain instead of her own.

  “Hester.” June walked around to Hester’s side of the sofa and knelt in front of her like a suitor. “There isn’t a teenager on God’s green earth who hasn’t made a mistake. Big ones. Small ones. Mistakes that hurt others. Mistakes that hurt themselves. The whole point of your teenage years is to figure out what sort of adult you’re going to be, and you can’t do that without screwing up along the way. It’s just like that saying about omelets and breaking eggs.” She laid her hands on Hester’s knees. “Your family made you feel like a bad person because you got pregnant. You boarded the shame train at seventeen and never got off. Am I right?”

  “It’s not just the pregnancy,” Hester said in a small voice. “It’s the baby. I had a baby. A daughter.” She jerked her head toward the window. “Somewhere, out there, I have a daughter.”

  Nora recognized the true cause of Hester’s shame. “You never tried to find her.”

  Hester lowered her gaze and remained silent.

  “Do you want to find her?” Nora asked. “After we conquer our current mountain, June, Estella, and me will help you however we can.”

  “Thanks.” Hester sounded withdrawn. Almost shy. But Nora understood her friend’s behavior. She’d seen it dozens of times at Miracle Books. After her customers confided in her, they always went quiet. Often, they’d have her ring up their purchases right away so they could flee the store, but Nora knew that no matter where they were headed, they would end up finding a place to stop and read one of the books she’d recommended.

  “I think we should start our uphill climb with a meal,” June said, smiling up at Hester. “I always think better on a full belly and Hester, you need to get something warm in yours. Your hands are like ice and it’s summertime in the South!”

  Hester examined the gooseflesh on her arms. “It’s because I put on air-conditioning for you two. I don’t use it. I prefer open windows and ceiling fans. I also love being barefoot, so I’m probably cold because my feet are cold.”

  “Well!” June exclaimed with a delight that seemed at odds with the conversation. “I can fix that.”

  Getting to her feet, she performed a little jig en route to her purse. She was humming as she dug around inside the voluminous tote. Eventually, she withdrew a pair of mango-colored socks and carried them back to Hester.

  “This is the first decent pair I’ve made. Put them on and see if they fit.”

  Hester raised the socks to her cheek, caressing her skin with the soft wool. “They smell really nice. What’s that scent?”

  “I use essential oils at home for lots of things,” June said while motioning for Hester to hurry up. “I thought I’d add a few drops of rose oil to these.”

  Hester released a long, slow sigh of contentment once her feet were covered with her new socks. “Thank you, June.” She smiled, looking more like her sunny self. “Okay, ladies. Let’s move into the kitchen and figure out what Nora did to worry someone to the point where they’d push you off a cliff.”

  Over a meal of cucumber salad and white chicken enchiladas, the three friends reviewed Nora’s activities immediately following Neil’s death. Not one of them could determine where she’d aroused the suspicion of the murderer or the people involved in the killings of both Neil Parrish and Fenton Greer.

  “It isn’t only me,” Nora said as she carried her dirty plate to the sink. “They went after Estella first, remember? She was arrested immediately after Fenton Greer’s body was found. As though the whole event had been carefully prearranged.”

  Hester went pale. “With Estella out of the way, the puppet master painted a target on your back next. But why? Because the killer somehow knows that the four of us are looking for him? Or her?”

  “That’s the feeling I’m getting,” Nora said. “And I believe the puppet master might be Collin Stone.”

  Though reluctant to do so, she told June and Hester about the rose left on her cash register following Collin’s visit to Miracle Books.

  “Why are you just sharing this with us now?” June was angry. She tossed her flatware in the sink and put her hands on her hips. “We’re supposed to trust each other! What else have you not told us? We can’t figure this out if we aren’t seeing the whole picture.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve gotten so used to keeping my distance that I’m no good at the give-and-take
relationships require.” Nora touched the burn scar on her right forearm. “I’m still holding on to my secret. I know damned well that until the three of you hear it, I’ll continue hiding parts of myself.”

  Hester walked over to the oven and turned off the timer. She picked up a pair of oven mitts and looked at Nora. “Are you ready to tell us?”

  Nora nodded. “But Estella has to be with us. In person. Not as a face on my laptop screen.”

  “I agree,” Hester said. She opened the oven door and a current of peanut-butter-and-chocolate-scented air flowed through the kitchen.

  Nora and June watched as Hester removed a tray of golden scones from the oven to the cooktop.

  “If that’s our dessert, then I’m mighty glad that you’re my friend.” June inched toward the hot tray. After inhaling deeply, she moaned and said, “Your aunt must have been as round as a Thanksgiving turkey by the time you left her house.”

  Hester giggled. “She was! After those first scones, she was totally hooked on my cooking. I knew she had a sweet tooth, but I had no idea how much it would control our lives. It got so bad that she started rejecting any dish that wasn’t a baked good. If I didn’t plan on baking a cookie, pie, cake, muffin, bread, scone, cobbler, bagel, éclair, cream puff, macaroon—well, you get the picture—then I wasn’t allowed to cook.”

  At Hester’s request, Nora and June resumed their seats at the kitchen table while Hester made preparations to plate their scones. Unlike Nora, who owned a total of eight white dishes, Hester’s cabinets were stuffed with plates of all shapes and sizes. She deliberated for several minutes before choosing porcelain bread-and-butter plates with a pale yellow border and delicate pink and yellow flowers. After sliding a scone onto each plate, she gave two plastic condiment bottles a shake and created zigzags of chocolate and peanut-butter sauce on top of the pastry. Observing her at work had a hypnotizing effect on Nora. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed.

  “Dessert is a peanut-butter cup scone,” Hester said. “It’s my comfort scone, because the last kindness I received before I left for my aunt’s came from my younger brother. He didn’t know why I was leaving. He was only told that I’d done something unforgivable and that I was being sent away as a punishment.” She paused, shook her head in anger, and continued. “My brother snuck in my room that morning—against my parents’ wishes—and hugged me. He also slipped a peanut-butter cup into my coat pocket in case I got hungry. When I ate it that night at my aunt’s house, I swore I’d repay him for that gesture one day.”

  “And now?” June asked while cutting off the corner of her scone. “Are you and your brother close?”

  “No,” Hester said sadly. “It must have been so hard on him with me gone. My parents put all their eggs in one basket, you know? The pressure got to him and for years, he couldn’t seem to hold down a job. I used to send him money, but things are better for him these days. That’s what my parents say, anyway. My brother and I don’t talk much.”

  Nora popped a bite of scone into her mouth, reveling in the smooth, rich blend of melted chocolate and peanut butter and the springy texture of the dough. The warmth traveled down her throat, spread through her chest, and stretched to the tips of her fingers.

  “You were born to do this,” she told Hester. “To make food that seems so simple, but has an incredible complexity of taste and an ability to stir the heart? That’s a gift.”

  Beaming with pleasure, Hester spoke of how her aunt had died relatively young and had surprised the whole family by leaving Hester a significant chunk of change under the provision that she would use it to first attend culinary school and, after graduating, to open her own bakery.

  “The mean aunt?” June was astonished. “Didn’t you say that she was a shrew?”

  Hester gave a hapless shrug. “There was no explanation. My parents resented the gift, of course. They made snide comments about it the whole time I was in school and for months after I hung my Gingerbread House shingle. But by then, they no longer had the power to hurt me as much.”

  Nora chewed, considering what Hester had just said. “That phrase—the power to hurt—makes me think of Neil and Fenton. Those two men were capable of hurting our killer or the people who orchestrated the murders. Judging by their positions in Pine Ridge Properties, these crimes are motivated by money.”

  June put down her fork. She had yet to finish her scone, but she’d clearly been struck by a thought. “Put that theory together with the number of sold lots and what I assume is a pile of home loans doled out by Dawson Hendricks down at Madison Community Bank, and I’d agree with you. So let’s make a list of all the people who could possibly benefit from this real-estate scheme and then try to work through how they set it up and how Neil could have unraveled the whole scheme.”

  Hester grabbed pen and paper. Together, the women came up with a list of names including Sheriff Hendricks, Dawson Hendricks, Collin Stone, Vanessa MacCavity, and Annette Goldsmith.

  Nora tapped Vanessa’s name with her index finger. “She’s been remarkably invisible. Other than the night Estella saw her at the bar with the rest of the Pine Ridge gang and the day I saw her at the model home, what has Vanessa been doing?”

  “If I’m remembering correctly from your website research, Vanessa handles the firm’s PR,” June said to Nora. “I’m not sure what that entails when it comes to real-estate development, but I picture her walking around with a phone stuck to her ear.”

  “She certainly hasn’t done much in the way of advertising.” Hester still had last Sunday’s newspaper folded on her countertop. She brought it over and turned to the real-estate section. There, under the HOMES FOR SALE heading, was a modest ad for the Meadows. “This is the only ad I’ve seen.”

  June frowned. “So what is the woman doing all day?” She looked at Nora. “Didn’t Neil say that his partners were coming in for a group meeting? Why leave their home base in Asheville in the first place?”

  Nora nodded absently. Though the question of how Vanessa had been spending her time in Miracle Springs was worth investigating, she was also concerned that more names needed to be added to their current list.

  “There are other possibilities,” she said, returning her attention to the paper. “The title agent. Closing attorneys. Other members of the sheriff’s department. And what if other people who applied for loans were like me? They knew they couldn’t afford a house at the Meadows but signed a contract anyway, even though something feels off about it, because that’s how badly they want to improve their station in life?”

  A weighted silence followed Nora’s words. She wondered if June and Hester felt like she did—that this problem was too big for three women to tackle.

  But when she glanced first at June and then at Hester, Nora reconsidered her initial feeling of defeat. Her friends were survivors. Not only had they risen above their painful experiences, but they’d also gained a level of kindness, generosity of spirit, and a deep compassion that many people wouldn’t come to know should they live three lifetimes. Nora knew that every member of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society possessed the inner strength to see this thing through to the end.

  “I’ll talk to Bob tomorrow. Ask him to find out what Vanessa’s been doing,” June said.

  Hester raised her fork and spun it around so that it caught the light. “I’m going to work some magic on Deputy Andrews. I’m a terrible flirt. My dating experience is limited and my track record with men isn’t good. But I think he likes me and I’m going to use that to our advantage. Have either of you ever read M.F.K. Fisher’s The Art of Eating?”

  “Never heard of it,” June said.

  “Fisher was a well-known food writer,” Hester explained. “She once said that ‘sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.’” Pointing at the remains of June’s scone, Hester said, “I’m going to bake something special for Andrews to try. In the Gingerbread House. After closing. That’s as intima
te as I’m willing to be.”

  Nora’s thoughts strayed to her day at Miracle Books with Jed. Though she was undeniably attracted to the paramedic, she couldn’t seduce him in exchange for his help. To begin with, she wasn’t convinced that Jed would respond. Not only that, but Nora didn’t think she was ready to be intimate with a man. She might never be ready. On any level.

  As if she’d read Nora’s thoughts, June pursed her lips. “What about your Jedediah? We’re going to need him if Deputy Andrews ignored your request to check out the coroner’s report. Jed’s the one who brought up the notion that Fenton’s body had been moved. How can he turn a blind eye to an inaccurate ruling? EMTs take an oath. I don’t know exactly what it says, but if he’s a decent man—and my gut tells me that he is—then we should remind him of his oath.”

  Hester collected the dessert dishes and carried them to the sink. “What does the oath say?”

  Nora retrieved her laptop. It took her less than a minute to pull up the oath. She read it first before passing the computer to Hester.

  “This line might be a problem,” Hester said. “The one that discusses entering homes and never revealing what I see or hear in the lives of men unless required by law.”

  June stared at the screen with a pensive expression. “I don’t think that line can trump this one: I shall also share my medical knowledge with those who may benefit from what I have learned.” She glanced between Hester and Nora. “Maybe Jed doesn’t think his medical knowledge was relevant once he’d delivered his patient to the morgue, but I beg to differ.”

  “He likes you, Nora. There’s no way he’d volunteer to be your unpaid employee if he didn’t. Possible concussion or not.” Hester gave Nora a coy grin. “Could you call him up and tell him that you have another book recommendation? Have him swing by during closing time and, I don’t know, take him to a secluded reading nook and see if you can guilt him into paying a visit to the medical examiner?”