The Book of Candlelight

by Ellery Adams

  Nora stared at the cans. She thought of the brand-new kitchen behind her with its gleaming appliances and soapstone countertops. She pictured the finished library, book-lined and cozy. She saw a roaring fire in the hearth and plump reading chairs. She thought of the freshly painted hall. Of the wide, welcoming front porch. She thought of the flowers Micah had planted.

  And then, she saw all of it being devoured by flames. She saw the charred carcass of the house that had been home to Rose, to her daughter, and to many daughters after that.

  The house where Rose had hidden her diary—where Chea Sequah’s bird had been walled over—might have been smoke and ash by dawn. All the history. All the memories. Gone.

  “Thank God you were here,” Nora murmured. “You stopped it.”

  “Luckily, yes,” said McCabe.

  Nora heard Sheldon’s laughter down the hall. “They would have killed Sheldon too.”

  “They couldn’t leave witnesses or evidence. They hoped the fire would erase all traces of their crime. Except the arson, of course. But they’d be in Tennessee by the time our investigation was in full swing. Or South Carolina. Or Virginia. It doesn’t take long to cross into another state from here. They’d drive back to Ohio, and by the time we had the Toledo police speak with them, they’d have a tidy story ready to share. They’d already checked out, so they couldn’t be responsible for the fire. Confronting Mrs. Gentry with her family tree wouldn’t prove anything either. People could suspect her, but she and her husband could still go to court and sue for the land rights.”

  Nora felt a tidal wave of hatred for the Gentrys. It flowed through her with such force that she actually looked around for a place to release it.

  “Hey,” the sheriff said, reaching out a supportive hand.

  She ignored it. With a snarl of fury, she said, “There’s no guarantee they’d end up with the land. Yet they were willing to gamble all these lives for their day in court. Danny’s baby will never know her father because of the Gentrys. Micah’s parents will never see the man he’d grow into because of the Gentrys.” Her eyes bored into McCabe’s. “Tell me you’ll make them pay.”

  The sheriff put a hand on Nora’s back and steered her to a chair.

  “I get angry too. I do. But you can’t let the rage win. The best thing we can do right now is to keep clear heads. We gather evidence. We interview the suspects. We search their car. We—”

  “Find the nails to drive into their coffins.”

  Sheldon chose this moment to reenter the kitchen. “Sheriff, I know you’re on duty, so no grape juice for you. Nora? You look like you could use a nip.”

  Nora considered how lovely a glass of wine would be right now. She could practically feel her fingers curl around the narrow stem of the glass. She saw the wide bowl filled with burgundy liquid and smelled the fruity, woodsy bouquet. She exhaled and said, “No, thanks.”

  Sheldon settled into the chair next to Nora’s. “I’m too wired to go to sleep. So tell me. How did you know who the bad guys were?”

  “I saw a luggage tag sticking out of the trunk of the Gentrys’ rental car. The trunk was open, and I didn’t want the tag to be crushed when Bo shut the trunk, so I pushed it out of harm’s way. The monogram on the tag was E. G. G., which made me assume that Georgia was going by her middle name. When I mentioned this to the sheriff, he told me that Georgia’s first name was Elizabeth. After a little more research, he discovered that she was a Lattimer. And Lou’s cousin. Elizabeth Georgia Lattimer Gentry.”

  Sheldon whistled. “This is some Days of Our Lives–sized drama.”

  Seeing that Sheldon was settling in for a chat, McCabe gestured toward the hall. “Deputies are working in the bedroom the Gentrys used. We’re done with the dining room, but we have to process the mudroom and other areas. It would be best if you saved your chat for the morning.”

  Nora looked at the sheriff. His message was clear. There was work to be done. Important work.

  “Now that I’ve seen Lou and Patty, I can probably sleep,” she said. “You should too, Sheldon. Tomorrow, it’s back to books and coffee for us.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Nora paused to hug Sheldon. He smelled like wool and oranges.

  Lou and Patty came out of the dining room to wish him a good night.

  “Before you go, I thought you might like to see this,” Lou said to Nora, and led her into the library.

  Unlike the other rooms, the library was deserted.

  With no furniture and the floor and mantel covered in protective sheeting, there was a stillness to the space that was immediately calming.

  “This is where Rose was photographed,” Lou said, pointing at the wall across from the windows. “I think she was looking at Chea Sequah or at the hidden panel that led to her room. Either way, I think he was the source of that secretive smile.”

  Nora thought of the beautiful young woman in the white dress. “When I first saw the tintype, I thought she was holding a rock in her hand. I now know that it was a stone pipe. A Cherokee pipe shaped like a bird. Marie has it. She’s your family too. So is the child she’s carrying.”

  Lou’s face glowed as she whispered, “A baby.”

  Her delight made Nora smile.

  “That child can be a fresh start for all of us. Rose and Chea Sequah’s children.” Lou clasped her hands. “I have so many ideas. I need to talk to Patty about them.” Her joyful optimism was infectious. “I am never going to sleep tonight, but I hope you do. Thank you for saving us. And our dream.”

  Lou gave Nora a quick hug and left the room.

  Nora turned to face the wall once covered by bookshelves. The wood was scarred and scratched. Toward the middle, there was a dark recess in the wood. The opening to the narrow passage leading to a ladder.

  Using her cell phone as a light, Nora turned sideways and entered the niche.

  The light bloomed over the interior wall, and she saw the bird. She traced its simple but graceful lines with her fingertips. It was a love letter etched into wood, a tattooed invitation to share a life. A family tree had grown from their secret love. One of their descendants still lived in their house, and she was ready to fill it with new memories.

  “It’s over, Rose,” Nora whispered. “Lou’s safe. Danny’s family is safe. The house is safe.” She put her hand flat against the wall. “You can rest easy now.”

  Nora half expected to hear a creak of wood or the subtle moan of the foundation settling, but the room was completely silent.

  After waiting a few more seconds, Nora walked down the hallway and outside. She was ready to find Jed and go home.

  When she stepped onto the porch, she was met by the sound of gentle rainfall.

  The rain smelled like roses.

  * * *

  Micah’s parents stopped by Miracle Books on their way of out of town.

  After taking them to the circle of chairs by the ticket agent’s office, Nora asked Sheldon to make three coffees.

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss,” she said. “I wish I’d gotten to know your son while he was here. Would you tell me about him?”

  The Fosters were more than happy to. They sat in Nora’s book-filled haven, sipped their Cuban coffee, and talked about Micah. They spoke of how he’d been a nature lover since he could walk. That he’d always been a quiet, sweet boy who would have grown into a quiet, sweet man.

  Tragically, Micah had noticed red paint on Georgia’s index finger. He could have ignored it, but he was concerned that she would accidentally stain her shirt or get paint on her bedspread, so he brought it to her attention. His thoughtfulness sealed his fate, and days later, the Gentrys invited him to join them on a sunrise hike to a famous landmark. After being stuck indoors for a week, Micah jumped at the chance.

  According to his parents, he didn’t know that their destination was Cherokee Rock. He didn’t know that Danny had also met Bo and Georgia there. At the sign of the red bird. He only knew to expect clear skies and a memorable view, which is what
he wrote his mother and father in his final email.

  Micah hadn’t known that he was being driven to his death. Like Danny, he had no idea that the ancient rock was to be his gravestone, forever marking the place where he’d taken his last breath.

  The sheriff learned that Danny had been struck on the head and tossed in the river.

  As for Micah, he’d been given a fatal dose of GHB on the ride from Miracle Springs and Cherokee Rock. The drug had been mixed into a thermos of herbal tea. Bo and Georgia dragged him into the woods and left him there to die.

  The Gentrys were back at the Inn of Mist and Roses before anyone knew they’d left.

  They’d murdered two innocent young men.

  All for the chance at wealth.

  Not a sure thing. Just a chance.

  After nearly an hour of talking, Micah’s mother put down her cup and gestured at the bookshelves, which surrounded them like protective walls. Each wall was filled with colorful books. Books of all shapes and sizes. Books made of the unwavering power of the written word.

  “Sheldon told us about your bibliotherapy, and we were hoping you could help us. We’re not looking for books on grief. Not today. Today, we want to find books to honor our son’s memory through his love of nature. We want to send copies of these books to every college library in our state. It would make him happy to know that kids like him could read the books that touched him in here.” She put a hand over her heart. “After the great outdoors, he loved books most.”

  “We’ve already decided on Walden and Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods,” Micah’s father added. “Those were two of his favorites, but we’d like a few more titles.”

  Nora was glad to have something to offer the grieving parents. “I can help with that. Just give me a few minutes.”

  After whispering to Sheldon to plate complementary book pockets for the Fosters, Nora began pulling titles from the Nature section. When she was done, she carried the stack to the checkout counter.

  By this time, Micah’s parents had finished their pastries and were ready to be on their way. They examined the books Nora had set out for them: Coyote America : A Natural and Supernatural History by Dan Flores, The Lost Art of Reading Nature’s Signs by Tristan Gooley, Michael Pollan’s The Botany of Desire, Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer, and The Thing with Feathers by Noah Strycker.

  “Please accept these as a gift,” Nora said when they approved of her choices. “I’d like to honor Micah’s memory too, and the best way for me to do that is by sending you out the door with a bagful of books.”

  Mrs. Foster was too choked up to reply. She managed a nod. Her eyes glistened with gratitude and grief.

  “We’ll see you again,” Mr. Foster told Nora as he held the door open for his wife. “This is the place where our son left this world, so we’ll be back to visit him.”

  Sheldon joined Nora behind the checkout counter. Sliding an arm around her waist, he gave her a quick squeeze and said, “How about we tackle this pathetic window display, eh, boss?”

  Nora turned to the window. “About that. I have an idea.”

  * * *

  People went out of their way to stand in front of Miracle Books. They tended to congregate in the early morning or as day was giving way to night. The light was perfect at those times. It fell upon the window in soft, golden waves. It made everything more enchanting than it already was.

  What most people saw first were the trees. Their trunks sprouted from piles of green crinkle paper and rose toward the ceiling. Books roosted on cardboard branches. The branches were surrounded by yellow, gold, and green paper leaves and tissue paper cardinals. The treetops were strung with twinkling fairy lights.

  As the bystanders’ gazes traveled down from the leafy canopy of books and lights, they noticed the reeds lining the foil paper river. Handmade baskets sat among the reeds. Each basket held a book on arts and crafts. Battery-powered lanterns nestled in between the baskets, casting a gentle, flickering light onto the blue and silver foil river. The longer people stared, the more it looked like the river was alive. Rippling.

  The river wound behind the baskets until it reached the other corner of the window. There, it transformed into a muddy bog made of flour, water, cocoa powder, and bronze glitter. Beautiful pieces of pottery rose out of the shimmering mud, and because they sat on clear plastic platforms, they seemed to float in midair. The piece that rose the highest was a nut-brown pottery bowl. A tissue paper cardinal perched on its rim, right on top of a tiny chip. Books on making and collecting pottery were lined up on a faux rock outcropping.

  The window did more than showcase nature. It showed the connection between man and nature. It highlighted nature’s beauty and its bounty. It was alive with creativity, color, and words.

  It was Danny’s window.

  It was Micah’s window.

  It was Marie’s window.

  It belonged to all those known as Red Bird.

  The onlookers had no idea that the window had been designed with these people in mind. But they felt the significance of it. They stood on the sidewalk and felt something stir in their hearts. They felt their ancestors calling to them. They felt the need to walk in the woods. The desire to make something with their hands. And they felt the all-encompassing magic of books.

  They waited until the bookshop was open for business.

  They waited in front of the window.

  And when Nora unlocked the door and they went inside, they found exactly what they’d been looking for.

  Chapter 20

  There is no friend as loyal as a book.

  —Ernest Hemingway

  Spring had come in like a raging lion. It tried to go out like a lamb but never got the chance because summer came along like a ravenous python and swallowed it whole.

  Mild days and nights were instantly replaced by humid air and relentless sunshine.

  The locals didn’t complain. They thought back on the April rains and the havoc they’d wrought. They thought of their flooded shops and houses. And they remembered the fallen footbridge. And a man they’d known only as Cherokee Danny.

  They no longer called him by that name. Everyone in Miracle Springs now knew who Danny was. And Micah Foster too.

  They also knew the names Georgia and Bo Gentry. The people of Miracle Springs devoured every detail about the couple that had committed two murders and planned on committing three more. They knew the Gentrys had been denied bail. That they’d pled guilty to a laundry list of charges after it was discovered that Bo had told a Toledo physician that he suffered from narcolepsy. The physician recommended a polysomno-gram and a multiple sleep latency test. Bo refused both and declared that he’d find his own solution. After all, he was only interested in getting a prescription for GHB.

  Between the physician’s statement and evidence found on the Gentrys’ home computer showing the purchase and receipt of a GHB kit from the Netherlands, the couple’s fate was sealed. Hoping for a reduced sentence, they became very cooperative.

  They told the authorities how they’d gotten Danny’s cell phone number from a note in the inn’s kitchen. They used a burner phone to send Danny a text message. Pretending to be Lou, they requested Danny meet at Cherokee Rock at six in the morning. Apologizing for the hour, the fake Lou explained that she needed to be back at the inn by seven to serve breakfast to the guests. She added that she’d buy whatever pottery he brought at whatever price he requested. She would pay cash. It was an offer Danny couldn’t refuse.

  The fake Lou told Danny to wait at the red bird painted on the rock. He complied, and when Georgia approached him, explaining that Lou had sent her to complete the deal, Bo snuck up behind Danny and hit him on the head with a rock. The couple dragged Danny’s body to the river and threw him in. The torrential rain and the collapsed footbridge helped to disguise their crime.

  The Gentrys didn’t need the GHB to kill Danny, but they needed it to get rid of Micah. They’d disposed of the thermos that had been filled w
ith the fatal rose tea, but the woman who ran the tea shop remembered them well.

  “They were such a nice couple,” she told a local reporter. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard what they did. They even told me about the young man they were getting the tea for. They said he loved being outdoors and went out of his way to be helpful. That couple used my lovely tea to kill him. Tea is supposed to make people feel good. It’s not supposed to be a weapon. This world has enough weapons.”

  After reading about her in the paper, Patty had contacted the teashop proprietor and said, “We’re trying to fix all the things the Gentrys tried to ruin, which is why I’m asking if you’d like to sell your tea in our gift shop. It’s not open yet, but we’re lining up local artisans now.”

  Marie had told Nora about the gift shop several weeks ago. Her smile had been electric as she shared the big news.

  “I’m going to be the manager of Red Bird Gallery and Gifts. We’ll sell my baskets, pottery, quilts, blankets, June’s socks, candles, woodcrafts, glassware, jewelry, and homemade food. We’ll also have candy, honey, soup, herbal tea, and different types of jerky.”

  Nora had been thrilled by the announcement, but she’d been even more delighted to see Marie’s smile. She didn’t smile often. The hole left by Danny’s loss was too deep for that, but she was trying.

  Sheriff McCabe had barely locked up the Gentrys when Lou and Patty reached out to Marie. They wanted her to share ownership of the inn, but Marie wasn’t interested in their dream. She wanted to chase her own by establishing the area’s first local artisan gallery. Lou and Patty loved the idea. The rose garden project was put on the back burner and the renovation of the carriage house was given top priority. The shop would be on the first floor and the second-floor apartment would be the future home of Marie and her baby. Lou and Patty would live in what was once the gardener’s cottage.

  The activity at the inn seemed contagious. Suddenly, merchants all over town were refreshing façades with fresh coats of paint or adding new signage. Drought-resistant summer plants burst from pots lining the sidewalk. Newly washed windows gleamed in the sunlight.