Tattered Legacy (A Nora Abbott Mystery) by Shannon Baker Page B

a goner. No one, ever, in a million years, would think of him as Charles. No one, that is, except her mother.
    Charlie locked eyes with Nora, shrugged, and gave her a little grin.
    Darrell shook Charlie’s hand. “Were you friends with Lisa?”
    Abigail’s mouth tightened. “What a lively spirit. I can’t believe it’s been snuffed out. How did you know Lisa?”
    Nora tuned out while Darrell explained. She looked around the bookstore. All the guests had disappeared, leaving only their little group and Rachel.
    Charlie nudged Nora and tilted his head toward Rachel. Rachel stood alone, her eyes unfocused.
    She should go speak to Rachel. Nora understood how confused and alone a person felt, how you quit thinking and doing ordinary things when your spouse dies. When Scott died, Charlie and Abigail had helped Nora.
    Nora took a tentative step toward Rachel, then another, and soon stood directly in front of her. She opened her mouth to ask about the film but couldn’t do it. “Can I drive you home?”
    Rachel’s head snapped up and her eyes focused. The sorrow turned hard. “You … ”
    Abigail appeared and took Rachel’s hand. “It looks like everyone has gone. Charles is bringing the car around. We’ll take you home.”
    Rachel gave Abigail a tired smile. “Thank you.”
    Abigail linked her arm with Rachel’s and they started for the door. Abigail looked back at Nora. She raised her eyebrows, indicated the box on the table and Nora, and gave her head a “come-on” wag. Translation: Bring the box to Rachel’s house.
    Great idea. It sounded like Rachel blamed Nora for Lisa’s death. The last thing she needed was for Nora to traipse into her home uninvited.
    And yet, there sat Lisa. Since Nora had brought her from the creek, it seemed like her responsibility to look out for her the way Lisa had always looked out for everyone.
    Nora remembered the first week of their freshman year at CU. She’d been in the communal bathroom on their dorm floor, brushing her teeth. Someone was taking a shower. A pale girl from several doors down crept into the bathroom. She slipped into a stall. Within seconds, the sound of sobbing wafted over the stall walls.
    Nora didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard the poor girl’s misery, but knocking on the stall door seemed inappropriate. She stood, paralyzed by indecision.
    Water turned off in the shower and the curtain swished aside. A petite girl with dark hair that curled despite the weight of the water drenching it wrapped a towel around herself. She strode to the closed stall door. “My name is Lisa. What is it, honey?”
    “Please. Go away.” The girl’s voice barely carried in the echo chamber of the tiled bathroom.
    It was as if Lisa broke a barrier and Nora was able to act. She joined Lisa at the stall door. Together they talked the girl out of the stall and coaxed her to talk.
    Charlotte came from rural southern Colorado and trusted everyone. The attention of an older guy thrilled and flattered her. Until the creep got himself invited to her dorm room, didn’t understand the word no, and nearly raped her.
    As soon as Lisa got the story, she stomped from the bathroom, not bothering to dress. Nora bounded after her, and they burst into Charlotte’s room in time to confront the weasel.
    It still tickled Nora remembering Lisa, with the towel barely covering her, giving the shocked creep what-for.
    Nora and Lisa had been friends ever since.

    Curtains concealing a passage at the back of the bookstore parted and a tall woman peered out. She scanned the store, eyes resting briefly on Nora and dismissing her. She flowed out of the back room and into the store. She appeared to be around fifty and had the face of someone used to being outdoors: weathered and wrinkled, browned by the sun. Her gray hair was shorn short enough that it spiked at the top of her head, and the large hooped earrings she wore dangled nearly to her shoulders. She wore a long