Pages and Premonitions, page 7
“Remembered? What does that mean?” Shelby repeated in wonder.
“Only she knows why she lingers.”
Shelby knew the bookshop had changed hands many times before she took ownership, but she never thought to investigate who originally established the shop almost a hundred years ago.
Shelby closed her eyes, picturing the quiet, lovely ghost. In life, she must have tended this place and its patrons with care. She and Emily were like kindred souls tied together across the many years that separated them by their dreams of owning a shop.
When she opened her eyes, Shelby recalled something. She stood and crossed briskly to the back shelves of the storeroom that held boxes of things from the shop’s past. Rifling through the memorabilia, she soon found what she remembered seeing when she first bought the place - a black and white photograph of the front interior from decades ago.
A pretty young woman stood behind the checkout counter, her smile bright and engaging. The woman had the same delicate features and wavy blonde hair as the ghost.
Shelby gently set the photo on the mantel. “You’re home, Emily,” she whispered. “We’ll remember you.”
She lingered before the image of the past - Emily immortalized in her prime, in her lovely shop.
With a smile, Shelby moved slowly about the shop turning off the lights and the lamps, and then went to check that she’d locked the front door where she paused to press her palm against its sturdy wood. So many hands had touched that wood. So many people had spent time in the shop. She could almost feel the steady rhythm binding the past and the present.
Beside her, the cat asked, “Ready to head upstairs?”
Shelby smiled down at her faithful companion. “Let’s get some rest. We have lots to do tomorrow.”
Harper purred and looked up at Shelby with what almost looked like a smile.
9
Shelby hummed along to the holiday music playing softly in the background as she inventoried the new shipment of books. The cozy bookshop was still and peaceful this early on a wintry morning. Harper dozed in a patch of sunlight near the front window, guarding the entrance against intruders.
The cheerful jangling of bells announced the arrival of Patrice Nelson, another member of the shop's staff. Shelby smiled warmly at the petite older woman who removed her winter coat and gloves.
"Welcome back, Patrice. We missed you. How was your visit to Tucson to see your son and your grandkids?"
"It was absolutely wonderful. The weather was beautiful. My son and daughter-in-law took me to a few museums, we went hiking, and had some delicious meals." Patrice leaned over to give Shelby an affectionate hug. "The little ones have grown so much. We were so happy to spend time with them, but it's always nice to be back home."
Shelby nodded understandingly. Except for her college years, she had never lived anywhere but Hamlet, surrounded by history and family. The charming town was in her blood.
While Patrice bustled behind the front counter, stowing away her coat and purse, Harper jumped up on the counter to greet the woman. "And how is this beautiful cat? I missed seeing you.” She patted Harper’s luxurious fur. “Anything exciting happen while I was away?" The woman paused and looked at Shelby. “You know, we saw two police cars at James Peacock’s house last night when we drove into the neighborhood after landing in Boston.”
Shelby quickly filled in her co-worker on the shocking mistaken identity surrounding Mr. Peacock and the tragic fire victim found at the Harris Estate. Patrice's blue eyes widened behind her stylish glasses.
"Good heavens. What a dreadful mix-up. I'm so relieved James is all right, but that poor man who was killed." She shook her head sorrowfully. "Did they determine who the victim was?"
"Not yet." Shelby kept her voice low, conscious of early customers browsing the shelves. "I bet the police were just doing routine follow-ups when they visited Mr. Peacock again last night. I bet that’s all it was.” Despite her reassuring words, she felt a chill of worry slip over her skin. She was concerned that investigators had discovered a new threat, but she didn't want to alarm Patrice. She needed to know more and there was no point in speculating.
Patrice clucked sympathetically as she straightened a display of holiday-themed fiction books. "It's no wonder Jim might attract danger, considering his career. So many criminals saw him as the enemy."
Shelby perked up. Because Patrice and her husband Ron were long-time friends of Mr. Peacock's, the woman might have insights into his legal career and any enemies he might have acquired over the years.
Casually resuming her task of unpacking books, Shelby asked, "Did Mr. Peacock ever mention anyone in particular who held a grudge against him? Maybe a former defendant out for revenge?"
Patrice looked thoughtful as she efficiently processed new inventory into the computer system. "You know, there were a few defendants whose behavior seemed dangerously unhinged at trial. One man screamed threats at Jim in the courtroom after being sentenced." She shook her head. "But that was years ago, and I'm nearly certain that awful man is still behind bars. Jim would remember better than I do who might wish him harm."
Shelby nodded, disappointed not to gain any solid leads but glad Mr. Peacock hadn't shared concerns about being targeted over old professional grudges. Maybe the danger came from a more recent source.
The conversation was put on hold as Patrice helped a customer find the books on their wish list and Shelby returned to cataloging inventory. Watching the woman greet patrons with warm familiarity, Shelby felt a rush of affection for her little shop's tight-knit community. As she worked, her thoughts circled back to worries over Mr. Peacock's safety. Shelby couldn't suppress the creeping unease that the killer would return. She hoped Detective Whitely would update her on the reason the police made another visit to the man's home last night.
Near noon, Shelby was restocking cookbooks when the front door burst open, the bell overhead rattling. Detective Whitely strode in looking grim, and his gaze landed on Shelby.
"I need to speak with you about James Peacock. There was an incident at his home last night."
Shelby paled. "Is he all right?"
Travis hesitated for a second before replying quietly, "He's fine. Some unusual activity was reported in his backyard late last night. He thought he saw someone walking back there. He called the police to report it, and the officers found footprints in the fresh snow near his porch. We’re concerned that the killer learned Mr. Peacock was alive and may have returned to the house last night.”
Shelby's breath caught. She shared a tense look with Travis. It seemed the killer hadn't given up on his quest.
“We kept a police car outside the house for the rest of the night,” the detective told her, “but we don’t have the resources to do that every night.”
Patrice heard what the detective had said and gripped the checkout counter tightly. "How awful. That poor man, having to live in fear." She turned to the detective with worried eyes. "What can be done to keep Jim safe?"
"We've increased patrols in his neighborhood. I know you and your husband are some of his closest friends, so please call me if you notice anything suspicious that could be relevant."
Patrice nodded and went to get her phone. “I’m going to call my husband to tell him what’s going on.”
“Has the dead man been identified yet?” Shelby asked the detective.
“Not yet, but I’m expecting the information to come in sometime today. Knowing who the victim is might help us to identify some suspects.”
“Why would the killer take the body to the Harris estate?” Shelby asked. “Why didn’t he just set Mr. Peacock’s house on fire with the body in it? Why take the risk of moving the body to the estate especially with the winter holiday festival going on?”
The detective let out a long sigh. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”
With butterflies swirling in her stomach, Shelby stepped out of the bookshop into the frosty late afternoon air, leaving the shop in Patrice’s capable hands. After the unsettling visit from Detective Whitely, she felt she needed to seek guidance from the one person who would understand her concerns – Fiona, the psychic.
With Harper trotting loyally beside her, Shelby hurried down the slushy sidewalks along the cobblestone main street to the witch's popular boutique. Shelby peered into the windows as she approached, reassured to see the lights on.
The door's bells tinkled as Shelby entered the pretty store. As always, the cozy space soothed her worries with its soft music, colorful artwork, and beautiful clothes and jewelry.
Fiona came out from behind the curtained doorway, looking every bit the mystic in flowing layers of purple and silver, and her auburn hair tumbling wildly about her shoulders. Her wise eyes were warm and welcoming.
"Shelby, my friend. This is a pleasant surprise." Fiona studied the young woman closely. "I sense heavy thoughts are weighing on you. Please, come to my office and sit by the fire."
In a few minutes, Shelby settled in a soft velvet armchair, clutching a delicate teacup as she gathered her swirling thoughts. Harper nestled comfortably on Fiona's lap, eyes drifting contentedly half-shut under the witch's gentle strokes.
As Shelby spoke, her words were hesitant. "When I first came to see you, you said my abilities might one day help guide lost souls and protect the innocent." She raised her eyes to the woman. "Someone is in danger, and I feel powerless to help."
Fiona regarded the young woman solemnly, waiting for Shelby to continue.
Taking a fortifying sip of the fragrant tea, Shelby described the latest developments - the stalker at Mr. Peacock's home and the murderer still on the loose.
"I want to keep people safe, but I don't know how to use these skills for more than vague premonitions," Shelby concluded helplessly. She shook her head, frustration welling. "You help me understand my gifts. How can I master them enough to do some real good? How do I protect Mr. Peacock and help find the killer?”
Fiona considered her words before responding. "Your desire to protect is admirable, but don’t let urgency make you act rashly." She held Shelby's gaze intently. "Developing your talents requires time, patience, and care. The path ahead remains clouded - you must let it unfold in its own time. You can’t push skill development. Every skill takes time and experience to improve."
Shelby bit her lip, tamping down the desperation swelling in her chest. As much as she wanted concrete answers, she respected the witch's wisdom.
Fiona continued gently, "I know you seek to understand your purpose, but the way is seldom clear at first. Nurture the seeds of skill I helped you plant. Growth emerges slowly but surely when the conditions are right."
Closing her eyes, Shelby ran her finger over her pendant and focused on taking slow, calming breaths, willing her frazzled thoughts to settle. She felt the truth of Fiona's guidance. Demanding answers immediately would only lead her astray. The path would show the way when she was ready.
Opening her eyes, she managed a tremulous smile. "You're right. I can't force this. But please, if you sense anything that could help..."
Fiona patted her hand reassuringly. "You have a unique gift and a kind soul. I have faith that your purpose and skills will grow." She tilted her head, considering Shelby thoughtfully. "In the meantime, you may find additional allies to guide your way. Let them help. And remember that when your mind is twirling and racing, it’s impossible to use your skills to their full potential. Practice calm, even in chaotic situations. A calm mind creates a powerful mind, and a powerful mind creates powerful skills."
Harper trilled her approval.
Shelby nodded, feeling less alone in her bewildering predicament. If wise Fiona believed help would come, she would try to be patient and watchful for those meant to join her.
“There are many people in town who care about Mr. Peacock,” Fiona pointed out. “You’re not alone in your desire to help him.”
After a few more moments of companionable silence, Shelby nodded, set down her emptied teacup, and stood reluctantly. "Thank you for your guidance. I know I need to let all of this unfold in its own way and time."
Fiona walked her to the curtained doorway with Harper trailing behind them. "Keep hope, dear one. The clouds will part to reveal the sun."
Stepping back out into the deepening winter dusk, Shelby felt her earlier panic turn into a quiet determination. Answers waited in the shadows. She would move forward cautiously, trusting her senses to light the path as she navigated this strange new world.
Harper glanced at Shelby as they headed home. “Take heart. You have good friends,” the cat told her.
Shelby smiled and reached down to stroke the cat’s silky fur.
Nearing the Spellbound Bookshop, she was surprised to see Lucy about to enter the shop with a bakery box in hand. Shelby quickened her pace, waving when her friend glanced up.
"Hey! I was hoping I'd catch you," Lucy said, holding the door open. A rush of cozy warmth enveloped the two friends as they stepped inside. "I come bearing sugary sustenance."
Soon the two were tucked side-by-side on the sofa near the fireplace, mugs of cocoa and a plate of pastries on the coffee table before them. Shelby closed her eyes blissfully as she bit into a flaky croissant, the buttery layers melting on her tongue.
Lucy grinned at her obvious enjoyment. "I thought you could use a pick-me-up with everything that’s going on. Oh, and I brought some catnip cookies for Harper, too," she added, tossing one to the waiting feline.
Shelby smiled gratefully at her thoughtful friend. Lucy's happy spirit never failed to lift her own. "Thank you. This is just what I needed."
As they ate, Shelby confided her frustration at being unable to tap into her psychic senses to help Mr. Peacock. Lucy listened, absently stroking Harper where the cat was curled up between them.
"Fiona gave you good advice. Be patient with yourself," Lucy advised gently when Shelby had finished venting. "From what I've seen, your abilities are growing stronger. This is all new to you. It's just a matter of time before things click into place."
Lucy gave her friend an encouraging nudge with her shoulder. "For now, do what you can and trust it's enough. You've got this."
Shelby's eyes misted at her friend’s unwavering faith. However confusing her path was, Lucy's support would help her move forward. “Thanks for being my friend.”
After warm hugs and making plans to meet tomorrow, Lucy headed home, and Shelby moved slowly about the shadowy shop tidying up. Despite lingering worries, the familiar space calmed her. She paused to trail her fingers over the spines of the books lining the shelves - each one a way to discover knew things and lift the spirit.
With a small, determined smile, Shelby flipped the sign on the front entrance to "Closed." Answers about the crime waited somewhere in the dark – and she would try to help find them, one step at a time. She headed upstairs to her cozy apartment with Harper padding ahead of her on the landing.
It was time to rest.
10
Shelby glanced up from sorting a box of new releases as the bell above the bookshop door announced a new arrival. She blinked in surprise as Detective Whitely strode in looking imposing in his long black, wool coat.
"Detective Whitely," she greeted him cautiously. Whatever news had brought him to the bookshop, she was afraid it wouldn't be anything good.
The man gave her a faint smile as he approached the counter. "Please, call me Travis. No need to be formal."
"Right, okay ... Travis." Shelby hoped her cheeks weren't as pink as they felt under his intent gaze. His informal request reminded her how little she really knew the man behind the badge.
An awkward pause stretched before Travis broke it, clearing his throat. "I have an update on the case I thought you should know about. We got an ID back on the male victim."
Shelby perked up, thoughts instantly refocusing. "You found out who the man at the estate was?"
Travis nodded. "His name was Allen Jones, a petty criminal known to the police in both Silver Cove and Sweet Cove. He had a history of burglaries and theft in those towns. I guess he was spreading his net a little wider and decided to try the town of Hamlet."
He watched Shelby closely as he continued. "It seems Jones broke into two other homes in Hamlet the same night he hit up Peacock's place. It was the wrong house at the wrong time, unfortunately for him."
Shelby absorbed the news, her mind churning. "So, this Jones fellow accidentally stumbled onto the killer lying in wait for Peacock." She shivered, once again imagining the tragic sequence of events.
"That's our working theory," Travis confirmed. "Since Jones was in Mr. Peacock’s home and had Peacock's wallet on him when he died, the murderer clearly mistook him for the intended target."
Pacing behind the counter, Shelby struggled to fit this new information into the puzzle. "Do you think Jones and the killer might have known each other? Were they robbing people’s homes together? But if Jones was just a petty thief, I suppose he wouldn’t work with a partner.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “If the killer murdered the thief thinking it was Mr. Peacock, why would he dump the body at the Harris Estate? And why light the fire afterward?"
Travis spread his hands. "Your guess is as good as mine. Another of our theories is that after murdering the thief, the killer realized his mistake and decided to remove the body from the home so as not to tip off the police or Mr. Peacock. We're also looking into any connection between Jones and Peacock's legal career that might explain why Jones decided to rob that house, but I don’t think there’s a connection between Jones and Peacock. I believe the killer has a link to Peacock. As for the fire..." He frowned. "Once he realized his mistake, it seems the fire was meant to obscure the victim’s identity.”
