Kate Carlisle - One Book In The Grave

When I mentioned that Mom and I had gone to Solomon’s classroom, Derek’s eyes turned dark with fury.

“We were in the back,” I said. “He couldn’t see me. And we only stayed a few seconds.” But I knew that was a lie, and gazing at Derek’s face, I could tell he didn’t quite believe me, either.

Derek reported he was looking into Bennie’s criminal record and was also checking into the weapons-arsenal issue. Specifically, he was interested in the buying and selling of guns in the area. If there were more criminals among the Ogunites and other survivalists living in the Hollow, Derek would track them down.

I studied Derek as he spoke and realized he looked exhausted. “Are you all right?”

“You mean besides my irritation with you and your mother for taking chances with your lives?” I gulped as he shook his head and turned to Max. “I apologize for being distracted. We’ve been having a bit of trouble with a new client. Everyone in the office is in a foul mood, and there’s no end in sight.”

That was the problem with having extremely wealthy clients who were used to getting their own way. But this was the first I’d heard of a troublesome client. I guess we’d all been distracted lately.

“That’s okay,” Max said. “I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

Gabriel spoke up from the speakerphone. “I managed to track down Angelica’s apartment. It was still listed under an old roommate’s name from almost five years ago.”

“Good work,” Derek said.

“Did you get inside?” I asked. “Was she there?”

“Did you find a gun?” Max asked.

Gabriel chuckled. “Thanks. Yes. No. No.”

“Sorry,” I said, sitting back in the chair. “Tell us everything.”

“Her apartment was spotless,” he said. “There was no mail piled up or food in the sink. She doesn’t use the place much.”

“Makes sense if she’s living with Solomon,” Derek said.

“But did you get the sense that she uses the place to meet other men?” I asked.

“Hard to say for sure,” Gabriel said. “But I’m leaning toward no.”

“Why?”

“Just a vibe. I’ll check back there in a few days, just to see if I get the same vibe.”

I could almost see his self-deprecating smile. He was the least “vibey” guy I knew.

Later, in bed, I apologized to Derek for going to see Solomon.

“We’ve had this conversation before,” he said, turning onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “I worry about you. I should simply get used to it, or…”

My stomach dropped. What is he saying? I sat up and forced myself to ask. “Or what, Derek?”

He stared at me for a long moment. “Or I should hire a bodyguard for you when I’m not around.”

“Oh.” I sighed with profound relief. For a minute there, I was afraid he would leave me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been insecure after all these months of our living together, but sometimes I couldn’t help it. I still occasionally wondered what he saw in me. I’d made so many mistakes in the past. Love made me neurotic, I guess, but I was ready to snap out of it.

He sat up and brushed my hair away from my face in a tender gesture. “Darling, I might have to do a bit of traveling over the next few months.”

“Because of your new client?”

“Yes. One of the partners has reached the end of his rope and I might have to take over for him.”

“Oh. Can you tell me anything about the case?”

He shifted in bed and pulled me closer. “Not yet. There are security risks right now, but I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can.”

“All right.”

He kissed me then and we forgot all about annoying clients and everything else but each other.

Over the next few days, we settled into a routine. Gabriel called twice a day, not at the four-hour increments I’d insisted on, but often enough to keep me from freaking out too much. Derek would drive off to his office each morning, even on the weekend, and that’s when Max and I would go to our separate spaces within the apartment and get started on whatever project we’d planned to work on that day.

One morning, I spent some time rearranging chairs and turned a corner of my living room into a reading nook. I’d been wanting some new bookshelves and now I had a full wall crying out for them, so I ordered a set online. The company guaranteed they’d be delivered within a week.

Clyde and I had bonded nicely. I decided I loved cats and was almost convinced they loved me, too.

It was all so normal, so domestic, I began to wonder if we really had overreacted. Yes, Joe was dead, but maybe his death had been a fluke or a mistake or completely unrelated to Max. Maybe the killer had shown up at Joe’s bookstore and something got out of hand. He hadn’t really meant to kill Joe. It was just a horrible accident. Maybe.

And maybe I’d sprout wings and fly off to Fiji for the day.

It was good to get back to my workshop and start on one of the big jobs I had waiting for me. I’d received the reference for this commission from my neighbor, Suzie Stein. Her aunt Grace was a book lover (a book hoarder , according to Suzie’s roommate, Vinnie, but she’d said it as if that were a bad thing!) and she’d boxed up her shabbily bound set of Wilkie Collins in the hope that I would be able to bring them back to life.

Aunt Grace had insisted on meeting me before I did the work, so a few weeks earlier, I’d driven out to Lake Tahoe with Suzie and Vinnie to meet Grace and pick up the books.

“She is a lovely woman, Brooklyn,” Vinnie had insisted at least six times on the drive east. “Don’t be afraid of her.”

Suzie had finally glanced in the rearview mirror and said, “Vinnie, you keep saying that, and it’s making Brooklyn even more afraid than before.”

“It’s best that she be prepared,” Vinnie said darkly.

But Grace and I had gotten along famously, maybe because we both loved books so much. Grace, unfortunately, loved books in the worst way. Her home was a huge, sprawling mansion on the lake, and every room was stacked with books. There had to be at least twenty thousand books in her house. She had every author and collection known to man. Not just finely bound works, but paperbacks from every era. She was particularly proud of her forties noir collection with their grisly, sensationalist covers.

It was difficult to reconcile everything I knew of Suzie and Vinnie, the chain saw-wielding, animal-loving lesbian wood artists, with Suzie’s eccentric and brilliant aunt, who’d made her money by designing computer games.

We’d had high tea with Grace and her friend Ruth. Grace had assured me she’d Googled my name and been impressed with my professional Web site. She trusted me to do a good job for her kids. By kids , I assumed she meant her Wilkie Collins books. But it wasn’t until we had finished tea and Suzie mentioned that we needed to get back to the city that Grace finally asked the housekeeper to bring out the box of books she’d set aside for me.

Grace wouldn’t allow me to open the box; she simply said that she wanted them rebound and that they contained lots of surprises and I wouldn’t be sorry. I assured her I was very excited to do the work.

Now as I opened Grace’s box of books for the first time, the pungent aroma of musty, moldy pulp wafted up. I picked up the book on top and stared at it in dismay.

“Good heavens,” I muttered, putting it back in the box. “Did she use them for rat bait?”

I hurried over to a side drawer, pulled out several white cloths, and draped them across the worktable’s surface. Taking all the books out of the box, I laid them carefully across the table to study their condition.

Once upon a time, the leather covers had been navy blue. Each book’s front cover featured a miniature painting behind a small glass plate. They must have been exquisite when they were new, but now they were sad and dreary. That was okay; I appreciated a challenge.