Kate Carlisle - The Lies That Bind

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Book restoration expert Brooklyn Wainwright returns home to San Francisco to teach a bookbinding class. Unfortunately, the program director Layla Fontaine is a horrendous host who pitches fits and lords over her subordinates. But when Layla is found shot dead, Brooklyn is bound and determined to investigate-even as the killer tries to close the book on her for good.

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Derek was more important right now. We had to get him away from there.

We raced down the stairs as police sirens pierced the air, growing louder and louder. Sure enough, they came to an abrupt stop on the side street bordering Mr. Soo’s building.

On the ground floor, we walked briskly toward the back of the building and exited onto the narrow one-way street that ran parallel to Grant. A walkway between office buildings and past several hole-in-the-wall eateries took us to the next street over, which was Kearny. From there, we strolled back to Union Square, window-shopping on the way.

Despite acting as a dividing line between the fashionable shops of Union Square and the monolithic skyscrapers of the Financial District, Kearny Street itself was slightly seedy with small discount shops, funky food joints, check-cashing services, and the occasional bar.

But it was a beautiful day in the city, with brilliant blue skies and a lovely breeze drifting through the canyons of high-rises on our left. We seemed a million miles away from the tawdry murder scene in Chinatown, and as we turned up Post Street, it felt as though we had all the time in the world.

“I’m sorry you had to leave your book back there,” Derek said as we walked past the Brooks Brothers window, which featured a men’s tan suit next to a pale pink crisp cotton dress. The dress was asexual and impossibly conservative, with short sleeves, a tucked bib front and a bow tie at the neck. Seriously, that was a bib. Who in the world would wear it? I had to force myself to look away.

“No, you were right,” I said finally. “We had to get out of there before the police showed up. But they’ll find the book and use it as evidence to nail these guys.”

He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “Yes, they will.”

“I’m sorry I went a little crazy,” I said, remembering my tantrum as we waited for the signal to change at Post and Grant. “I saw that man lying there and my brain exploded. One too many dead bodies, I guess.”

“I’m surprised you’ve held on this long,” he said, resting his cheek on my hand. “I know it’s been traumatic for you.”

“It’s getting more and more weird,” I admitted. “But that’s still no excuse to go off like I did.”

“Darling, you’re a strong woman, but you mustn’t be so hard on yourself.” He wrapped his arm around me and we crossed the street.

A sea of emotion swirled through me at his kind words. I wasn’t sure I deserved them, but they touched me in ways I couldn’t begin to describe. Maybe later, when I was alone, I would think back and wonder if this might be the most perfect moment of my life.

And how sad was it that such perfect moments were now defined by dead bodies?

A half block later we turned onto Maiden Lane, and I stopped to stare at a twelve-thousand-dollar cameo in the window of Gump’s. The ivory carving of the woman’s face was flawless, precise and elegant. It was mounted on a piece of amber so dark and rich it appeared midnight blue. Tiny diamonds encased in platinum circled the ivory and crisscrossed into a bow beneath the woman’s face.

“I wonder who called the police?” I mused, tearing my gaze away from the cameo.

“Somebody was watching that building,” Derek said matter-of-factly.

I looked up at him. “Maybe it was just another tenant who heard those two guys screaming and called nine-one-one.”

He shook his head. “That wasn’t the sort of place where people would willingly invite the police in.”

“True.”

“And the timing was much too coincidental.”

I turned to face him. “So you really think someone saw us go in there and called the cops?”

He shrugged.

“That’s downright creepy.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Uneasy, I glanced around, then shivered. Was somebody watching us right now? I didn’t want to believe it. Maybe someone, namely the killer, had been watching Mr. Soo’s place to see who might show up. That made some sense. But to be watching Derek and me? Following us around? Why?

I see things.

I shivered at the thought that Ned might be watching us from somewhere around here. But that was ridiculous. Ned never left BABA. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had watched us go into that building.

“Those two men who came into Soo’s office didn’t sound like upstanding citizens, did they?”

“No,” Derek said, and left it at that.

We walked another half block along Maiden Lane and stopped to look at the display of yummy foods in the window of a tiny Italian cafeteria-style bistro. It looked a lot prettier than that amazing cameo. I was hungry before in Chinatown. Now I was ravenous.

Derek, bless his heart, ushered me into the cozy restaurant, where we chose a salad and sandwich to split. I decided to have a glass of wine, too. I deserved it. Derek chose a small bottle of San Pelligrino.

“What business would you say Mr. Soo was in?” I asked, once we were seated.

“My guess is book fraud.”

“That’s what I was thinking. That place was a veritable book repository.”

“Yes, it was,” he said, tearing at the loaf of thick Italian bread and dipping it in rich olive oil. “I would guess he bought and sold, but mostly brokered the deals. Books, engravings, other related artwork.”

“At least he was a good reader,” I reflected, as I took a bite of the thick, buttery prosciutto and cheese sandwich.

“Not anymore,” he said.

Derek dropped me off early at BABA and promised to come by later to pick me up. Did I dare to dream that tonight would be the night? I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

The first thing I saw when I walked inside was Alice and Naomi, whispering heatedly by the guillotine in the lower gallery.

The good news was, at least they were speaking.

When Alice saw me, she waved me over. “Brooklyn, you won’t believe what happened to Gunther.”

I glanced around warily. Because the Twisted festival was in full swing, visitors were walking through the gallery, checking out the cool displays and perusing the bookshelves.

“Why don’t we go to Naomi’s office to continue this conversation?” I said, sounding so annoyingly mature I wanted to cringe.

“Fine,” Naomi said, and flounced off in that direction.

Once we were behind closed doors, Alice’s emotions were let loose. “He’s been arrested. Can you believe it?”

“Oh, my goodness,” I said. “Really?”

“Yes. Isn’t it awful?”

Naomi groaned. “Alice, don’t be naive. Brooklyn’s acting like she doesn’t know, but she does. Her boyfriend is Gunther’s keeper.”

Wait a minute. Even Naomi could tell I was lying? That was so unfair.

“Naomi, shut up,” I said lamely.

Alice wasn’t paying attention to either of us. “I’ve had to cancel Gunther’s lithography class, but the auction is this coming weekend. He’s our biggest name. People will expect him to be there. What will we do without him? How will we make any money on the auction?”

“Stop whining,” Naomi said.

But Alice continued her rant. “What’ll we do? We can’t cancel it now. All those people. And the food. The caterers will… oh, God, the caterers.” She stopped and tried to catch her breath, but she couldn’t. She began to wheeze uncontrollably.

“Alice, you’re hyperventilating,” I said, alarmed. “Naomi, do you have a paper bag or something she can breathe into?”

“Why would I have a paper bag? Just… make her stop.”

Alice’s wheezing was louder and more frantic. Her eyes were wide with panic. Just as I thought she might pass out, Naomi stepped in front of her and slapped her across the face.

“There,” Naomi said, wiping her hands together. “Maybe that’ll chill her out.”

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