Kate Carlisle - If Books Could Kill

“I know how to get off an escalator,” I mumbled.

“Just being helpful.”

“Or not.”

He grinned at me. For some perverse reason, that made me smile.

We followed the crowd to the hall where the service was to take place. Several hundred chairs were lined up in rows, facing a podium at the front of the room. The place was filling up fast. He prodded me into the fourth row from the back while he took the aisle seat.

“You’re being helpful again,” I said.

“Yes, now sit.”

Before I could sit, I spotted Royce McVee standing just across the aisle. I knew I had to tell him about the Robert Burns book. He would probably want it back, since it belonged to his family, but maybe I could convince him to let me keep it for a while. I edged my way to the aisle and called his name.

He turned, saw me, and walked over. “ Brooklyn.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered as I gave him a hug.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said.

Kyle always said that Royce’s sphincter made him the perfect business partner. While Kyle was the front man, the glad hand, the schmoozer, Royce never took his eye off the bottom line. Kyle would say that combination made for the perfect partnership.

But Royce McVee was more than Kyle’s business partner. They were cousins. They’d inherited the family business from their fathers, two brothers, both of whom had been knighted for their loyalty to the crown. Kyle was the public face, the upbeat personality who had built up the clientele and made the money Royce counted in the back room. Royce was a nice enough guy but bland. He had pale skin, his hair was thinning and his chin was slightly too small. He was hardly the dynamo his cousin Kyle had been, and I wondered what would happen to the business now that he was top dog. I assumed Royce would inherit everything.

And wasn’t that a nice motive for murder?

Royce’s eyes were red and his shoulders were more slumped than usual. He appeared awkward and self-conscious as he glanced around the room. “Everyone loved Kyle.”

“Yes, they did,” I said. “He was one lovable guy.”

“Always the life of the party,” he said with a tinge of resentment. When he finally met my gaze again, he managed a thin smile. “I should go find the committee members. Perhaps we can speak later.”

“Sure.” I squeezed his arm in sympathy and he walked away. This was clearly not the time to tell him about the Robert Burns book after all, but I knew I’d have to do it eventually.

Feeling even more depressed, I took the seat Derek held for me.

“Friend?” Derek asked.

“Kyle’s cousin. I suppose he’ll inherit everything.”

“And you’re thinking motive,” he whispered.

I frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

I heard his snort of disbelief but ignored it as I turned to see who was seated nearby. I nodded to a few familiar faces, then noticed Peter and Benny, two bookseller friends, seated behind us. Peter leaned forward and invited me to their private cocktail party later in the week.

“I’d love to,” I said, feeling a little more buoyant than before.

“Ooh, and bring that one along,” Peter said under his breath as he made eyes at Derek, who paid no attention.

“Pretty,” Benny cooed.

“He wouldn’t miss it,” I said, patting Derek’s knee.

They both giggled.

I turned around in time to see Helen walking past us. I called her name and waved.

“Come sit here,” I said, then took a quick look around to see if Martin was with her. Happily, he wasn’t.

She nodded cautiously to Derek as she slipped past him and sat on my other side. “Thanks. I don’t think I could face this by myself.”

“Isn’t Martin here?” I asked.

She gave me a dour look. “Even if he was, I don’t want to sit with him.”

“Oh.” Well, thank goodness for that.

Peter tapped Helen on the shoulder. “Hey, girl.”

Helen squealed and jumped up. She leaned over the chair and hugged both men, who invited her to the cocktail party, too.

When she sat back down, she was flushed and happy, but she quickly turned serious and grabbed my hand. “I want to apologize for this morning. It was a fluke. Martin happened to come along and I was still feeling vulnerable from last night, so he consoled me. He can be okay when he wants to be.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay. I just-”

She held up her hand. “Please, I know he’s a pain. And he wouldn’t take the hint and leave, so I didn’t blame you one bit. Are we still on for lunch?”

“Of course.” I leaned in closer to her. “So Martin knew about you and Kyle?”

“Oh, God, no.” She clutched my arm for emphasis, then whispered, “No one knew about Kyle and me. Please don’t say anything to anyone.”

“You know I won’t. It’s just that you said he was consoling you.”

Her lips quivered and she blinked back tears. “Because he knew I found the body.”

“Ah,” I said, not believing for a minute that Martin had merely been consoling her. He was the ultimate manipulator and would probably do anything to get her back in his life. I wondered if maybe Helen was wrong, that maybe Martin had known about her affair with Kyle. It would make him the perfect suspect for Kyle’s murder. And there wasn’t anyone I’d rather see behind bars. Well, except for Minka, but that dream would probably remain unfulfilled forever.

The problem with Martin being a suspect was that I couldn’t see him taking the time and trouble to sneak into my hotel room and steal my stuff. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy seeing me squirm in front of the police, but Martin was the poster boy for indolence. He simply wasn’t the type to get his hands dirty. And climbing up that old fire escape to my room would’ve been a dirty job.

And for Martin to actually murder someone would mean that blood might spray all over him and those white linen pants he was forever wearing. And what was with those pants, anyway? What was he, the master of the croquet tournament? No guy wore white linen pants every day, did he? I mean, never mind the dirt. What about the wrinkles?

Okay, maybe I was being snotty. I knew this wasn’t about white linen pants, because to be honest, I owned a pair or two myself. It was just Martin. I didn’t like him, in case that wasn’t clear. He was mean and persnickety. Killing someone would mean getting dirty, and I didn’t think he had the guts to do it.

I glanced out at the crowded room. “So where is Martin?”

Helen looked around nervously. “He said he’d be here, but I hope he doesn’t come. I can’t deal with him. Not while everyone’s talking about Kyle.”

Derek’s shoulder was pressed against mine, so I knew he was eavesdropping and I was glad of it. He was the one person who might be able to get me off the suspect list, so I was happy to have him listen in on any conversation that would help the cause.

Winifred Paine walked to the podium to welcome everyone, then began to talk about Kyle. Winnie was the elderly, powerful president of the International Association of Antiquarian Booksellers. I’d known her forever and admired her a lot. She was like the cranky grandmother who sent you to your room, then secretly sneaked cookies up to you.

“He was one of our own,” Winnie said, then sniffled and blew her nose with a lacy hankie. “Simply a darling man. A bookseller of sterling reputation and such a gentleman. So full of life. I’m… oh, dear, I don’t know what I am. Devastated. Utterly… devastated.” She swept her arms up to include the throng. “As many of you are, as well.”

Winnie Paine was a classy, authoritative woman who ruled the organization with an iron fist. I’d never seen her so overwhelmed with emotion, and watching her fumble her words made my throat swell in sympathy. I must’ve made some pitiful mewling sound, because Derek held out his handkerchief for me to use. And that was enough to cause my own tears to fall.