Ink and Shadows(Secret, Book, & Scone Society #4)(24)

The mark was a line of tiny tattoos. Symbols. Just like those written on the piece of paper tucked under Nora’s doormat.

“What the hell?” she whispered, her fear returning.

She scooched away from Bren’s body, casting wild glances in every direction.

The sirens were deafeningly loud. Help had arrived.

Within minutes, multiple beams of light cut through the darkness. Deputy Fuentes knelt next to Nora and draped a blanket around her shoulders. She didn’t remember what he said, but somehow, he got her to stand and walk with him to her house.

“You know that girl?” he asked once Nora was sitting on her sofa. The blanket was still around her shoulders and a glass of water was within reach.

“Her name’s Brenna. She’s Celeste Leopold’s daughter. They’re new to town. They run Soothe together.”

Fuentes exchanged glances with Wiggins, the female deputy who trained the K-9 officers.

Wiggins consulted her notepad. “Andrews was at the store earlier tonight.”

“Right. The mask and pitchfork,” Fuentes said.

“The devil stuff didn’t bother Celeste,” Nora butted in. “But she told Andrews that she was worried about her daughter. She said that Bren left the shop at lunchtime and didn’t come back. She didn’t reply to texts or calls, and her mom thought that she might be in trouble. I don’t know what she meant by that.”

The man in the shadows. The joint. The tattoos.

Fuentes signaled to Wiggins to write everything down. Focusing on Nora again, he said, “I need to get back out there. You gonna be okay?”

Nora nodded. When Fuentes opened the door to leave, she added, “Be gentle with her.”

Solemnly, he said, “We will.”

Alone with Wiggins, Nora asked if she could brew coffee while they talked. The truth was she needed to do something besides sit and moving around her kitchen helped her regain a measure of control.

While the coffeemaker spluttered, Nora repeated the conversation she’d had with Bren earlier that night. She then went on to recount everything she knew about the young woman, which wasn’t much.

Naturally, Wiggins was interested in the man from the park, and Nora wished she could provide more of a description than a forearm covered with tattoos and an impression that he had a wiry build and long, thin fingers.

As Wiggins took notes, Nora realized that she’d yet to mention the piece of paper she’d found under her doormat. It now sat on the counter, next to the fridge.

She was about to raise the subject when two things happened. First, the coffeemaker beeped, signaling the end of the brew cycle. Second, Wiggins got a call on her radio that was too garbled for Nora to understand. It must have been significant to the deputy, however, because she said that she needed to step outside for a minute.

Nora didn’t care why the deputy needed privacy. She was anxious to have a few moments to herself. Not only did it give her a break from talking, but she could also photograph the old piece of paper.

It would have to be collected as evidence, she knew, but she still wanted to study it. There was a reason someone had left a book or manuscript page under Nora’s mat, and she wanted to know who had left it there and why. Was it Bren? Had she placed the page under the mat before stumbling behind Nora’s house to be sick? If so, what message had she been trying to convey with these symbols?

I told her where I lived. In case she needed a friend.

She hadn’t expected Bren to take her up on the offer. But if she hadn’t come to confide in Nora, then why else would she be lying dead on the hill behind Nora’s house?

Wiggins returned, interrupting Nora’s thoughts while casting a hopeful glance at the coffeepot. Nora poured coffee into mugs and pointed at a sugar bowl and a carton of half-and-half.

“I’ll let you doctor your own,” she said.

Wiggins added a splash of cream to hers. “Thanks. It’s going to be a long night.”

Nora gave Wiggins time to drink half a cup before telling her about the page of symbols.

“I figured you’d be taking it, so I put it in a plastic baggie.”

Wiggins peered at the symbols through the plastic and then turned to Nora. “What am I looking at?”

“Based on the size and texture of the paper, this could be a page from a very old book or manuscript,” Nora said. “The robes the figures are wearing look medieval to me. But they could be monk’s robes too. As for the symbols, I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“You sell rare books, right? So do you know anyone—another bookseller or collector—who could identify this if you sent them an image?”

Nora hesitated. She didn’t have a connection through Miracle Books, mostly because the most expensive books in her inventory were first editions signed by popular contemporary authors or unusual vintage novels. However, she’d once been very close with the woman who now ran Columbia University’s Rare Book and Manuscript Library. But that woman was a part of Nora’s former life. Her married, suburbanite librarian life. The life she’d renounced.

Six years ago, after being discharged from a burn unit in Atlanta, Nora had moved to Miracle Springs. In all that time, she’d never gone online to see if her ex-husband had married his pregnant mistress. She’d never reached out to old friends or family members. Those people shared a past with the woman who drove drunk and struck a car carrying a mother and her young son. Nora wasn’t that woman anymore. The fire had made her someone new.