Kate Carlisle - If Books Could Kill

“Curiouser and curiouser,” I said to Derek, grinning as I repeated Angus’s words. “I have to buy this.”

“Interesting how staring at books and paper seems to soothe your nerves,” Derek noted.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“I’d thought it was only food that perked you up this much.”

“Food always helps.” And since he’d mentioned it, I reached into my purse for the small bag of Cadbury Clusters I’d brought with me. I held out the bag to him, but he just rolled his eyes.

“More for me,” I said, and popped one in my mouth.

I paid for the Alice and waited while the bookseller wrapped it for me. Then we continued walking. I stopped and introduced myself to a few booksellers I’d never met and handed out my business card. Derek ended up purchasing a small, leather-bound edition of The Enchiridion by the Stoic philosopher Epictetus. It was a handbook of aphorisms, he explained.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “My parents have one at home.”

“Ah, yes, no spiritual commune is complete without one.”

“Right.” I smiled. “Guru Bob gets all his best lines from the Stoics.”

“I’ll bet.” He studied the book more closely.

“It’s a beautiful binding,” I said, admiring the rich, golden brown calfskin cover and matching cloth slip-case.

“Yes, it is.”

“Sangorski and Sutcliffe does excellent work.”

“I was given a paperback version of The Enchiridion by a favorite professor in school,” he said softly. “I always admired its philosophy and practical application to daily life.”

“Figures a former intelligence officer would find pleasure in Stoic philosophy.”

“Indeed, looking inward to find truth and justice never gets old.”

“That must be why my mother likes you so much. Careful, or she’ll sign you up for one of her colon cleansings.”

He actually shuddered.

I grinned. “So you’ve purchased a philosophy book while all I’ve got is Alice , a children’s story. You’re trying to make me feel shallow, aren’t you?”

“Is it working?”

“Yes, but I should warn you, I’m perfectly comfortable with my superficiality.”

He laughed and I quivered with some kind of joy at that sound. I was happy, I realized.

“You don’t really believe Alice in Wonderland is a children’s story,” he said as we continued walking. “All that symbolism?”

I smiled. “Guru Bob believes that every character in the book is a different part of man’s psyche.”

“Ah, I knew you had a method to your madness.”

I laughed again as we passed the large glass cabinet that displayed all the entries in the bookbinding contest. Derek stopped to look. I’d forgotten all about the contest and the fact that I had a book entered.

“Which is yours?” Derek asked.

I pointed it out, taking a moment to admire the work I’d done. Win or lose, I was proud of that book. Then I realized that tomorrow night was the annual dinner and awards ceremony. The week had gone by quickly.

“That’s lovely work,” he said, giving me a smile that dazzled my brain.

“Thank you.”

“Did you design the cover yourself?”

“Of course.” I had designed a stylized W and had sculpted it into the leather cover, then inlaid thin bands of gold and tiny amber stones to form the letter, and gilded the edges. It had taken me hours to get it right.

“It’s stunning,” he said after studying it for another few moments. “Well done.”

My eyes widened. It was the first time Derek had truly complimented me on my bookbinding skills, and surprisingly, it meant a lot. “Thank you.”

“But Waverley ?” he said, staring at my navy blue, leather-bound version of Walter Scott’s epic work. “I’m surprised. Not Rob Roy or Ivanhoe?”

“It wasn’t my choice,” I admitted. “I was going through some old books, looking for ideas, and this old, beat-up edition of Waverley called out to me.”

“Did you read it, as well?”

“If I say yes, will you be impressed?”

He looked appalled. “Of course not. Horrible book.”

“I read it,” I said, laughing. It had taken me three long weeks. Slow going, to say the least. There wasn’t a lot of action, but the story was romantic and the writing was lyrical. And by lyrical, I meant convoluted and wordy, but in a good way, really.

“Not as shallow as you appear,” he said, eyeing me with suspicion.

“Don’t be silly, of course I am.”

Tucking my arm through his, Derek gazed back at the entries and pointed to another book on the lower shelf.

“Is that our own Minka’s entry?”

“Yes.”

Minka had chosen to bind a copy of Robinson Crusoe in padded black leather with palm trees embossed on the front and spine. I understood the use of palm trees based on the subject matter, but black leather? And padded? It suited Minka, but I wasn’t sure it suited Defoe’s classic work.

“Interesting choice,” Derek murmured.

“Mm-hmm.” What else could I say? I was feeling too good to go for the meow moment.

We were walking down one aisle, then up another, when I stopped and grabbed his arm.

“What’s wrong?”

I angled my chin in the general direction of the nearby booth where Serena and Helen stood talking and laughing. What was even weirder was that the booth belonged to Kyle McVee’s company. I wondered if Royce was somewhere in the vicinity, seething. Or maybe he was whooping it up with them. Stranger things had happened lately.

“I agree, that’s an odd pairing,” Derek said.

“It’s totally weird,” I said. “And it’s not the first time I’ve seen them chatting.”

Helen looked up, saw me and waved. “Hi, Brooklyn! Commander, come meet Serena.”

“Tell her to stop calling me that,” Derek grumbled.

“No way,” I said as we approached the booth. “Maybe I can get her to salute you.”

Helen introduced Derek to Serena, who said a shy hello.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Derek said. It didn’t sound at all lame when he said it.

She clasped her hands at her breastbone. “Oh, thank you, everyone has been so nice.” Her voice was high and breathy, like a little British bird who’d run out of air. “I didn’t think I would stay after Kyle… Well, I’m glad I decided to stay and get to know the people in his world. I’m enjoying the book fair immensely. Royce has made me feel so welcome. Everyone has. Minka and Helen, and you, Brooklyn. You’ve all been so kind.”

Really? Minka? Kind? And Royce? Welcoming? Were we all living on the same planet?

“That’s great,” I said, ill at ease with all the perky, shiny “aren’t we all one big happy family” stuff. “Well, we have to be going. It was nice to see you.”

Helen piped up, “I should probably go, too. But we’ll get together later for a drink, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Serena said, grabbing Helen’s hand and squeezing it a bit too desperately before letting go. “Please, Helen, I would love that.”

“I’ll see you in the pub at five, then,” Helen said.

“Super!”

Helen waved with real enthusiasm as we walked away.

I slipped Helen’s arm through mine. Once we were out of Serena’s earshot, I said, “Helen, isn’t this getting a little awkward?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You’re acting like you’re best friends with your dead lover’s wife.”

Helen swallowed. “But she’s sweet. It’s not her fault Kyle was a beast.”

“I know, but don’t you think it’s a little odd that she’s still hanging around? Her husband was murdered and she’s here, going around making friends with everyone he knew.”