Pages and Premonitions, page 9
Shelby turned to Lucy, who was similarly awed by the lavish atmosphere. "Can you believe how gorgeous they made this place look? I'm glad I bought a new dress."
Ross Billings, Lucy’s casual boyfriend said, “This place looks fantastic.” Ross’s father and mother owned the inn where Lucy was employed as the baker.
Lucy grinned at her friend. "I love your dress. You look beautiful. And being here gives us a chance to mingle with some of Hamlet's well-connected citizens." The young woman nodded discreetly toward a group of well-dressed men and women who Shelby recognized as important business owners and town officials.
Self-consciously, Shelby smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her dark green velvet dress. Lucy was right - tonight provided access to influential people who might have insights to help the investigation.
As the friends threaded their way through the growing crowd exchanging holiday greetings, Shelby's nerves began to fade. Despite the formal setting, the atmosphere remained relaxed and jovial and was filled with familiar faces.
Her gaze was drawn to a tall man standing ramrod straight near the orchestra. Detective Travis Whitely cut an impressive figure in a crisp black suit.
Shelby realized she was staring and quickly shifted her focus, hoping no one had noticed, but when she glanced back a moment later, Travis’s dark eyes were watching her through the crowd.
Her face warming, she deliberately turned away to study a display of antique photographs and paintings of the town hanging along one wall. She could almost feel the weight of Travis's gaze still lingering on her back. Strange, unsettled excitement simmered in her veins.
"Oh good, here's Patrice and her husband," Lucy said.
Shelby turned with a genuine smile as their friends approached.
"You both look so nice," Shelby told the older couple warmly.
Patrice smiled, patting her husband Ron's arm.
"I wanted to dress up. It's so nice to have an occasion to wear a pretty dress." Her bright tone faltered slightly. "We nearly didn't attend, after ... everything that’s gone on. But I convinced Ron that staying home would feel too much like giving in to fear."
Shelby nodded somberly, not needing to ask what the woman meant. The shadow cast by Mr. Peacock's close call still lingered for all of them.
As if hearing her thoughts, a familiar lanky figure appeared at Patrice's side. "Good evening, ladies!" Mr. Peacock greeted them jovially. "Don't the decorations look wonderful?"
Despite the heavy security in place, seeing the gentleman out and about set Shelby’s mind at ease. Mr. Peacock seemed determined not to hide away from community life, staring down fear with resilience. Shelby admired his courage.
“It’s nice to see you.” She squeezed the man’s hand. “We weren’t sure if you’d come.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Peacock leaned closer. “I’m probably safer in a big group of people than I am sitting in my house alone.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you.” Shelby smiled.
"The historical society president asked me to give a short reading from my most recent book about the history of Hamlet.” Mr. Peacock chuckled. "I agreed to share a brief bit of history about the town. Hopefully, I won't put everyone straight to sleep." His eyes twinkled merrily behind his spectacles.
“I’m sure it will be very interesting,” Lucy told him.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Ross told the man.
The chatter lulled as the president of the historical society took the stage to welcome them. As introductions and acknowledgments droned on, Shelby's gaze was once more drawn magnetically across the room to where Travis stood listening intently.
When the speech ended, the lights dimmed further and music swelled as couples drifted onto the dancefloor. Shelby was content to watch the twirling guests from her seat at their table, sneaking glances at Travis moving gracefully with an elegant older woman she thought might be his mother.
"Would you care to dance, my dear?" Mr. Peacock appeared at her side, gallantly extending a hand. Beaming, Shelby let him lead her into the swaying crowd.
Her eyes shone brightly as they spun across the polished floor to the upbeat orchestra music. Mr. Peacock expertly guided them through intricate steps before walking her back to the table where he executed an exaggerated bow that made Shelby laugh out loud.
After dancing a lively fox trot with Ron, Patrice joined Lucy and Shelby in a quiet nook near the bar to chat and catch her breath. Shelby sipped champagne, enjoying the celebratory mood and the chance to speak casually with the townsfolk in attendance.
When the mayor wandered over to discuss a potential book signing at Spellbound Books by a local author, Lucy and Patrice went back to the table. Once the mayor finished talking to her, Shelby noticed Travis standing several yards away looking like he was at loose ends now that the dancing had ended.
When her heart fluttered, Shelby reminded herself he was simply a professional contact who she was occasionally assisting with an investigation, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from his striking profile, appreciating how the formal wear highlighted his athletic frame.
Steeling her courage, she stepped closer. "Hello, Detective."
The man turned, eyebrows lifting in that subtly amused way she was coming to know. "I thought we agreed you'd call me Travis." His smile made her glad she'd approached.
"Oh, right, I just wasn't sure..." Shelby trailed off, feeling suddenly shy.
He looked at her intently and she hoped the low lighting hid her flushed cheeks.
"You look really nice," he said simply. Before she could come up with an intelligible response, he added lightly, "Are you enjoying the party?"
Shelby released a shaky exhale. Soon they were chatting comfortably about holiday traditions and favorite seasonal foods. She found Travis surprisingly easy to talk to when she could tamp down her distracting awareness of his nearness.
Across the room, Lucy caught her eye and gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. Mortified, Shelby angled herself to block Travis's view but suspected he had noticed her friend's antics when she saw his little smile.
Thankfully, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead he nodded to where Mr. Peacock stood preparing to give his reading. "Should we take our seats to listen?"
He walked with Shelby to her table, and then went to sit with his companions. As Mr. Peacock was being introduced, she leaned over to whisper to Lucy, "I’ll get back at you for embarrassing me in front of Travis. Just you wait."
Looking gleeful, her friend just grinned before turning an innocent gaze on Shelby. "What do you mean? I'm just happy to see you enjoying yourself."
Shelby huffed, but a small smile slipped over her lips as she settled in to listen to the excerpt Mr. Peacock had chosen to read from his most recent historical book. His pleasant voice transported them into the past, bringing characters and details to life.
Too soon, he was closing the book’s cover to enthusiastic applause. Shelby clapped eagerly as the man returned to their table where he gave a little seated bow of acknowledgment that made her laugh.
As dinner was served, Mr. Peacock regaled the people at the table with theatrical reenactments from his speaking days in courtrooms. Shelby threw back her head, laughing until tears prickled when he impersonated a pompous judge.
It showed the man’s many qualities - keenly insightful, whimsical, and quick-witted. Shelby hoped the case would be solved soon so the shadow of worry hanging over him would pass.
Over dessert, she leaned forward to ask Mr. Peacock a question that had been on her mind lately. "Did you know much about the history of the Spellbound Books building before I took ownership? I've been trying to research more on the building's past."
Mr. Peacock launched eagerly into lecture mode, delighted by the subject. "Why yes, as a matter of fact. The building was built in 1805 and a young woman named Emily Harris ran a shop there. I understand Emily was quite the business pioneer for her time."
He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Now, this next part is mere rumor, but intriguing nonetheless." After a moment, he continued, "Word was, Emily had amassed quite a valuable stamp collection from her worldwide correspondence for the bookshop. A man desperate to obtain the collection pursued her tirelessly, certain she was hiding rare finds."
Mr. Peacock shook his head regretfully. "When Emily refused to sell to this aggressive fellow, he resorted to violence to seize the stamps. One night he broke in and attacked the poor woman. She perished from her injuries."
Shelby shivered at the chilling tale. A dangerous obsession had cut short an innocent life. She made a mental note to research public records for more on Emily's tragic end.
The band struck up a lively tune that drew couples back to the dance floor before Shelby could ask anything further. Watching the swirling dresses and graceful steps, she found herself wishing she could dance with Travis, but then shook her head at such a silly idea. Their relationship was all business.
The evening wound toward a close with more dancing and socializing. Shelby left the party after extracting Lucy and Ross from an increasingly tipsy group of revelers near the bar. She was quiet and thoughtful during the ride home.
Later tossing restlessly in bed, thoughts of Emily Harris's violent demise at the hands of a killer refused to let go of her mind. Had the man simply wanted the stamp collection or was there something more behind the murder? Was he angry at Emily for some reason? Was he jealous that a woman owned her own shop? Had they not gotten along? Maybe the killer had fallen in love with the young woman, but she didn’t share his feelings and rebuffed him.
With a frustrated sigh, Shelby turned her pillow over and closed her eyes willing herself to fall asleep.
13
Shelby sank onto the overstuffed armchair with a contented sigh, savoring the cozy quiet of her apartment. Gentle snowflakes drifted past the frost-lined windows as evening darkness covered the sleepy town. It was a perfect night to be inside, safe and warm.
Harper leapt lightly onto Shelby's lap, settling into a purring ball. Absently stroking the sleek fur, Shelby let her thoughts roam over the eventful days since her world had tilted on its axis. So much had changed. She hardly recognized herself and who she was becoming - open to things beyond ordinary perception, her senses were expanding in ways both frightening and exciting.
Yet for all the upheaval, the upstairs apartment was still her sanctuary. Shelby smiled softly, gazing around at the cherished books piled on the side tables and on the bookshelves lining the walls, the trailing ivy she'd rescued from neglect, and the quilt draped over the sofa that her grandmother had stitched.
The cozy apartment above the shop had felt like home the moment she’d walked into it, but now she understood she shared the dwelling with a kindred spirit who loved it just as much - the gentle ghost Emily, who in life had filled the shop with her hopes and dreams.
Emily didn’t reveal herself often. The ghost seemed content to dwell peacefully in the shadows of the shop full of her memories. Instead of being unnerved by the presence of the spirit, Shelby thought of the ghost as a watchful guardian.
"Harper, you’ve spoken with our resident ghost?" Shelby asked on impulse. The cat's wide green eyes blinked up at her.
“On occasion. I'm aware of her energy. Emily means no harm; she just wants to stay close to the place she loved in life.”
Shelby nodded slowly, looking off across the room at nothing. "Emily met a violent end, murdered by someone who wanted what was hers." She refocused her attention back on Harper. "Do you know anything about what happened to her?"
The cat's plumed tail flicked thoughtfully. “She’s private about her murder and hesitant to revisit such pain. But if she ever wants to share her story, I’ll listen to the terrible tale.”
Shelby reached over to scratch Harper's chin. “I’d like to talk to her about her life. Of course, Emily deserves compassion and distance from the awful death she experienced.” Her instincts told her the long-ago crime that cut Emily's future short could hold meaning for the present troubles in Hamlet. “I wonder if Emily could help us find some clues about the person who wants to hurt Mr. Peacock. I wonder if she could help point to a suspect.” Shelby knew she couldn’t push the ghost to interact with her. She had to treat the spirit with kindness and patience.
She stood and moved to the too-full bookshelf lining one wall. After a few minutes scanning the haphazard titles, she pulled down a thin, leather-bound volume - a genealogy of Hamlet's founding families commissioned by the historical society in the 1970s.
Flipping carefully through the pages, Shelby soon found the entry for Emily Harris, born in 1890 to parents George and Catherine. Catherine came from a family of prosperous merchants and was the sole heir to significant assets and George ran a shop for men’s and women’s clothing and accessories on the main street of town. They welcomed their daughter Emily late in life.
Skimming the details of Emily's early years, Shelby pieced together a picture of a sheltered but willful only child. Catherine succumbed to fever when Emily was fourteen, leaving her alone with her devoted father. By all accounts, it had been an idyllic upbringing filled with music, books, and some travel. Emily had a good mind for business and helped her father with the shops and land investments.
Things changed abruptly when George also passed unexpectedly from heart failure just after Emily's twenty-first birthday. Inheriting her mother's fortune, Emily became one of the wealthiest young women in town - and suddenly completely independent.
Rather than sell the small shop George had built, Emily invested in expanding it into a two-story building and she added books and gifts to the shop’s inventory. In an age when women rarely participated in business, Emily defiantly took charge, personally corresponding with book dealers and merchants to stock the shelves of the store.
Under her careful stewardship, the store thrived, but Emily remained unmarried, refusing several eligible local suitors. Although she always worried that men were only interested in her because of her money, Emily appeared to have been content in her self-sufficient life surrounded by friends and community … until her tragic end at just twenty-six-years old.
Shelby closed the genealogy softly. Reading the book, she’d glimpsed flashes of the spirited woman Emily had been - intelligent, creative, yearning for meaning and connection, and protective of her autonomy.
Laying a hand gently on the book's cover, Shelby whispered, "I hope you found some happiness here pursuing your life’s interests.”
Rousing herself from the melancholy musings, she shelved the volume and headed downstairs to the bookshop with Harper padding behind her. Shelby left the lights off, moving confidently through the darkness of her store, and sat on the comfortable sofa. She patted the cushion next to her in invitation, and Harper jumped up and circled twice before settling with her chin resting lightly atop Shelby's knee.
Closing her eyes, Shelby focused on taking deep even breaths, allowing her sensitivity to expand and unfold like a flower turning toward the sun. Under Fiona's watchful guidance, she had been practicing sending her energy out into the world. Anchored by Harper's solid presence, Shelby tried to send her thoughts drifting through the still air.
Emily? Please don't be afraid of me. I’d like to talk to you.
Silence.
“She won’t talk to you directly,” Harper explained. “Ask her to tell me her words so I can relay them to you.”
“Emily, could you tell Harper what you’d like to say to me? Then Harper can speak to my mind.”
A nearly imperceptible whisper brushed by Shelby.
Harper nodded. “She says some stories are too painful to be retold. Let the dead keep their secrets.”
Shelby shivered as goosebumps rippled down her arms and pressed on tenderly but persistently to communicate with the ghost.
“You endured something terrible, but you don't have to carry it alone. We only want to help you cross over … to be free, if that’s what you wish to do.”
Something vibrated through the atmosphere, like particles of energy swirling in agitation. When Emily's strained reply came, Shelby had to fight not to recoil from the awful sadness in what she said.
Harper said, “This is Emily’s reply … Free? This place alone is my freedom. Why resurrect the horror I cannot outrun, even in death? Please, leave the past in the past. My soul is too scarred by cruel hands. Leave my body in its grave and allow my spirit to remain here in this place.”
As the faint presence receded, Shelby closed her eyes for a moment as her emotions churned. She would respect Emily's wishes. She wouldn’t encourage the spirit to cross over, but she wanted to be friends with the ghost. She would have to take her time. She would have to win Emily’s trust.
“You’re welcome to remain here in the Spellbound Bookshop for as long as you like.” Shelby stroked Harper's back. “Thanks for helping me communicate with Emily,” she told the cat.
The next morning, Shelby felt exhausted and mechanically went through the motions of getting ready for the day. A fresh dusting of snow glittered under the rising sun, erasing all tracks and frozen slush into a clean blanket of white.
A knock on her apartment door announced Lucy's arrival and tugged Shelby from her thoughts. She mustered a smile for her friend who came inside carrying a grocery bag.
"I thought I'd take a detour over here before I head to the inn. I brought supplies for a nice breakfast," Lucy explained, already unpacking eggs and bread onto the kitchen counter. "You look like you could use some comfort food and girl talk."
Soon cinnamon-spiced oatmeal with generous drizzles of maple syrup lifted Shelby's spirits. Seated across from Lucy, she recounted her strange interaction with Emily the night before.
Her friend listened thoughtfully, petting Harper on her lap. "That's tough." Lucy blew out a sigh once Shelby had finished explaining her dilemma. "You want to help Emily, but not at the cost of retraumatizing her."
