Murder Under Cover

Chapter 8

That night, after I’d made sure Robin was asleep, I walked into my bedroom and stumbled into Derek’s arms. I didn’t know I was so close to the breaking point until my eyes blurred with tears and I felt myself shaking.

“God. She could’ve been killed,” I said. “The first strike was such a shock, and then she was hitting Robin in the head, punching her hard. There was blood.”

Derek shushed me, rocked me, whispered nonsensical endearments in my ear as if I were a child who needed consoling. And in that moment, that was exactly how I felt. Still shaken from the murder in Robin’s home, now I was worried about her safety. Derek walked me over to the small love seat under the window, sat down, and pulled me onto his lap. And held me.

I couldn’t remember any man ever holding me in his lap, not since I was five years old, and the man was my dad. It was a strange moment for me. Sweet, but strange.

When I was finally able to speak without whimpering, I said, “It took a while, but between us, we managed to kick her ass.”

Derek chuckled. “I always said you two were tough. Did the woman give you any idea why she came after Robin? Did she say anything?”

“Just what I told you earlier,” I said, and sighed. “She kept shouting at Robin in a foreign language. The only English she used was when she called her a ‘keeller,’ accused her of killing Alexei.”

“She had an accent, obviously,” Derek said.

“Yes. A thick one. Russian, Eastern European, something like that. It was classic Boris and Natasha.”

“Boris and Natasha?”

I blinked at him. “Come on. Rocky and Bullwinkle? That had to make it to England at some point.”

He frowned. “Rocky the flying squirrel and Bullwinkle the moose?”

I laughed softly. “Exactly. So there were these two silly spies, Boris and Natasha. Anyway, never mind. But Galina sounded like Natasha. Right out of a spy movie, like From Russia with Love. You know?”

“Ah, yes, of course.” He smiled. “Darling, can you remember any of the words or sounds she spoke in her language?”

At that moment I realized his mood had shifted subtly from consoling lover to interrogator. And I was okay with it. Interesting.

“Yes, she kept repeating this one phrase, and now I can’t get it out of my head. It went something like, ‘date-eh it-eh om you.’ I’m probably saying it wrong.”

“ ‘Date-eh it-eh om-you’?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“ ‘Give it to me.’ ”

I glanced around. “What?”

“That’s what she was saying. It’s Ukrainian. ‘Give it to me.’ ”

“ ‘Give it to me’?” I said, puzzled. “Give what to me? What does she want?”

“I have no idea.”

“Me neither.” I stretched my muscles, felt the ache in my back from grappling with Galina. “God, she was insane.”

“You’re in pain.”

“I’m in better shape than Robin.”

“Did you take something to help you sleep?”

“I took a Xanax a few hours ago, but that wore off. Just a few minutes ago I took some over-the-counter pain stuff. I didn’t want anything too strong.”

He frowned, kissed my cheek and my temple, then brushed his lips over mine. “I’ll make sure you sleep.”

“Will you?” I smiled.

“Yes.” He stood, lifting me as he rose, and carried me to the bed. It delighted me, flustered me. I buried my face in the smooth skin of his shoulder.

I’d never been much of a girlie girl, never gone in for sugary sweet bedroom accessories like my sisters had. There were no frills in here, no lace, no froufrou brass bed with ornate curlicues. Instead, my room was furnished in pale woods, crisp whites, a light green love seat with green and white pillows. The effect was cool, clean, appealing. To me, anyway. But now I felt outrageously feminine as I lay next to Derek on cool white sheets. He was so big, so masculine, so intense.

“You’ll sleep now,” he said.

“I’ll try.”

He shifted to hold me, fitting me against him, my back to his front, until we were aligned perfectly together.

“You’ll sleep,” he murmured in my ear, and I no longer doubted whether he was right.

But before I drifted off, I remembered something I’d forgotten to ask him. “Do you mind that Robin is staying here with us?”

“Of course not.” One of his hands rested on my stomach and the other smoothed a path down my side until it rested lightly on my hip. “I offered to move back to my hotel because I thought she might be more comfortable if I weren’t here.”

“No, it makes her feel safe to have you near.” I rested my hand over his. “I like your being here, too.”

“It’s settled then,” he said, his breath ruffling my hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Early the next morning, Robin emerged from her bedroom and walked slowly to the couch just as Derek was about to leave for a run around the neighborhood. I winced when I saw her face.

“I know I look like hell,” she muttered. “And oh, joy, I feel like it, too.” It took her a few seconds of careful maneuvering to sit comfortably on the couch.

“I think the swelling has gone down,” I said, studying her.

“Maybe a little. But my face still looks like a punching bag.”

“Let me see it.” Derek sat on the coffee table in front of Robin and gently touched her cheek and temple around her swollen eye. Yesterday, that whole area was dark pink, but today it was mottled black and blue and purple.

While Derek examined the bruising, I filled a small Ziploc bag with ice and wrapped it in a clean dish cloth.

“The swelling is better today,” he said. “And the blood has clotted where the capillaries broke, so it’s already healing quite well.”

“And yet it’s hideous,” Robin murmured, and took the ice bag from me. “Go ahead. You can say it out loud.”

“Never,” he said, smiling as he ran his knuckles along her undamaged jaw. “You’ve been heroic through it all. Yes, you’re a bit battle scarred now, but within a week you’ll be healed and back to your beautiful self.”

She shifted her gaze to me. “He’s good at this.”

I smiled and nodded, so grateful he was there. Nothing like a gorgeous man telling a woman she’s beautiful to make her feel better about life in general.

“I’ll be back with bagels and cream cheese in short order,” Derek promised before enveloping me in his arms and kissing me soundly.

Just for a second or two, I melted right into him. Then I walked with him down the hall to the front door and kissed him once more before sending him off on his run.

“You’re domesticating him,” Robin said when I returned to the living room.

“Domesticating?” I said, and laughed at the very idea. Derek was way too dangerous to ever be called domesticated. Shaking my head, I said, “Not likely. He still seems wild and untamed to me.”

“Don’t worry. He’s still got that ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe going for him, but he’s turned into a pussycat around you.”

Good to know, I thought, but said, “Don’t ever say that to him, I beg of you.”

“I won’t. But he’s still a pussycat.”

I smiled. “To be honest, ever since I first saw him, I’ve thought of him as a big jungle cat. A panther. Or a jaguar. Always on guard, always on the hunt.”

“Panther works for me. Very sexy.” She sighed and laid her head back against the cushion. “It’s just nice to see what a real man is like around the house.”

“Now, that I totally agree with. But just so you know, he’s not completely perfect-he sometimes forgets to take out the trash.”

“What a beast.”

“Isn’t he?” I said. “And you would never know it, but he reads car magazines obsessively. You know, with articles about tires and steering wheels? Can you imagine?”

“That’s unexpected. But it’s kind of manly.”

“I suppose,” I said with a laugh.

Pookie jumped on the couch and meowed at Robin. “Hey, speaking of big jungle cats,” she said, pulling the cat into her lap and stroking his back.

I walked into the kitchen to start the coffee and a pot of tea, trying to keep an eye on Robin as I worked.

She wore the black sweatpants I’d bought her yesterday afternoon. Our official shopping expedition had been canceled, naturally, but she still needed clothes, so shortly after Derek had arrived with the items my mother had recommended, I’d raced out to the local Old Navy store.

Typically, Robin never would have stepped foot inside a discount store, but these were not normal times. She wasn’t going anywhere special, and sweatpants were the most comfortable thing in the world to wear. I bought her three pairs-black, navy, and red-plus three cute hoodies in contrasting shades, along with socks, undies, and three cotton turtlenecks in black, white, and beige. That was the extent of my flair for fashion.

“Will you be able to chew a bagel?” I asked, as I pulled coffee mugs out of the cupboard.

“If I can’t eat a bagel, I’ll slit my wrists.”

“We could pulverize it in the blender, add a little milk, and you could drink it through a straw. A bagel smoothie.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I know.” I grinned as I walked over to the couch and took the ice bag from her. “Ten minutes on, ten minutes off.”

“It’s bad enough that I look like shit,” she said, and gingerly touched her damaged eyelid. “I really don’t want to think about having to eat through a straw for the next week.”

“You’re able to talk okay, so I imagine you can move your jaw well enough to eat something. We’ll heat up the bagel just enough to soften it, and it should be fine.”

“I’ll make it work.”

The water began to boil and I ran back to the kitchen, where I poured hot water into the teapot with the sage tea bags. “I think the sage compress worked really well with the ice to bring down the swelling. You really don’t look as bad as I thought you would.”

“That’s a bald-faced lie,” Robin said. “I look like I was run over by a truck.”

“A very small truck, maybe. But you’re less puffy, and it looks like you can actually open your eye now.”

“It still hurts a lot.”

I walked over, handed her another bag filled with ice, and sat on the couch. “I’m sure it does, but I’m so proud of you for kicking that bitch’s ass.”

She chuckled. “Your mother would have a cow if she heard you talking like that.”

I shook my head. “If Mom had been there, she’d have helped us kick her ass. Of course, afterward, she would have helped the woman cleanse her aura and dust off her dosha, then suggested ways to reach enlightenment…”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Robin said.

“Sorry.” But I was glad to see Robin’s sense of humor returning.

“Hell.” Robin splayed her hands on the cushions. “I really know how to pick them, don’t I?”

I patted her knee in sympathy. “Don’t go there again. Remember? None of this was your fault.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not bad enough that Alex had enemies who wanted him dead. Now I have to find out he had a girlfriend?” She shifted on the couch to get comfortable. Pookie shifted with her. “It’s a little humiliating to realize how thoroughly he used me.”

All true, but this probably wasn’t the time to say so. “We don’t know if Galina was his girlfriend.”

She stretched her shoulders bit by bit and I could tell she still ached all over. “I hope not. I hate knowing Alex might’ve been involved with someone as psychotic as her.”

“I hope not, too,” I said. “But if it’s true and he was cheating on her with you, that’s one more reason to bring him back from the dead, just to smack him upside the head a few dozen times.”

She sat up abruptly. Pookie jumped off the couch as the bag of ice slid down her cheek. “Oh, my God, Brooklyn. What if she was his sister?”

I reached over and grabbed the bag. “Put your head back.” I smoothed her hair away from her face, then repositioned the bag and rubbed her arms until the tension loosened in her shoulders. “Look,” I said, “we’ll just have to wait and find out what the police say about her.”

“All right,” she muttered. “Where’s Pookie?”

At the sound of her name, the cat jumped up on the couch and kneaded her claws in the thick material. Robin pulled the cat close and Pookie went boneless in her arms, then curled up on her lap and purred loudly. I tried to stifle my hurt feelings, but the fact was, she rarely did that for me. Pookie, I mean. She didn’t pay much attention to me at all.

I sighed. “Until we have more information, you should just close your eyes and try to relax. Don’t think about Galina anymore.”

“Okay.”

I was glad she couldn’t see me cringing at the idea that Galina might’ve been Alex’s sister. I really didn’t want to feel sorry for that vicious woman. But I had to admit that if someone had killed my brother, I could picture myself doing exactly what Galina had done, namely, tracking down the person I thought was responsible and smashing her face in.

After munching her bagel and cream cheese, Robin took a nap with Pookie, and Derek went off to work. I decided to take an hour or two and drive over to the Covington Library to show the Kama Sutra to Ian McCullough. As president and head curator of the highly respected Covington, Ian would be able to help me appraise the book and might even want to buy it for the library, if Shiva’s friend Rajiv were planning to sell it.

Ian was also in a position to throw bookbinding work my way, so it was always a good idea to keep in touch. Besides, I’d known him forever. He was my brother Austin’s college roommate as well as my ex-fiancé. That hadn’t worked out, obviously, but we were still great friends.

I bypassed the ubiquitous morning traffic hassles by skirting the Civic Center and zigzagging my way through SoMa over to Divisadero. From there, it was straight on up to Pacific Heights. On the way, I called Ian’s secretary on my cell to make sure he was in and available. Should’ve thought of that first, but I was a little distracted lately. Luckily, he had no meetings and planned to be in the office all day.

My luck held out as I snagged a parking space on the street. I took in the graceful Italianate building with its famously lush gardens and walked up the wide central marble stairway. The stately iron doors were open, and I entered the hushed foyer, then walked into the grand hall, a massive room three stories high that held many of the most sacred and rarest of all the books of the world.

I’d been coming to the Covington since my early teens and had never grown tired of it. I loved this place. It defined me.

I edged my way past the exhibits because I didn’t have time to peruse anything today and didn’t want to be tempted. But I promised myself I would come back very soon. I’d missed the Covington and its magnificent collections.

Minutes later, I was knocking on Ian’s door. His secretary gestured for me to go right in, so I cracked the door open.

“Knock, knock,” I said, peeking inside.

“Brooklyn!” he cried. “Come in.”

“Sure you’re not busy?”

“Not when it’s you.” He pushed back from his desk and strolled across the wide, stylishly appointed space with open arms. After a rousing hug, he led me over to one of the elegant wing-back chairs in front of his mahogany desk. “Sit. What’s going on? What a treat. Do you want to have lunch?”

“I can’t stay for lunch, but thanks. I just wanted to say hello and see how you’re doing. How’s Jake?”

“I’m fine, he’s fine, and we’re fine. So what’s in the bag?”

I laughed. “Okay, enough niceties. I wanted to show you a book I’m working on.”

“Let’s see it,” he said, leaning his hip against the edge of his desk.

I looked around the room. “Let’s use your conference table.”

“Perfect.” He waved his hand for me to precede him to the dark wood table set along a wall of windows that presented an incomparable view of the Golden Gate Bridge and Marin County beyond the blue waters of the bay.

I carried the book across the room and placed it on the table’s smooth surface. “Check it out.”

“Wow,” he said, sitting down and running his hand along the joint of the front cover. “Awesome.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” I asked, teasing him.

He opened the book and studied the frontispiece. “No. Professionally, I would say this book totally rocks.”

I laughed again. We were both such book geeks, it was scary. This was another reason marriage to Ian had been such an absurd idea. I mean, other than the fact that he was gay, our temperament and our likes and dislikes were so identical, we would’ve bored each other to death.

I watched his examination of the Kama Sutra. It was fun to listen to his oohs and ahhs, along with the occasional moan or gasp.

While he enjoyed himself, I took a moment to glance around and check out his office, and noticed a new painting on the wall behind his desk. I knew for a fact that the painting hid a wall safe, so size mattered. Even though this painting wasn’t particularly large, maybe four or five feet in both directions, it was impressive. It was modern and stark, yet intriguing in its simplicity, showing a woman wearing a navy sweater and skirt, sitting in a red chair, drinking coffee. On the wall behind her was a window. Splashes of white, black, and blue filled the background.

“You have a new painting,” I remarked.

He dragged his attention away from the book and followed my gaze. “My Diebenkorn lady. Do you like her?”

“A lot, and I’m not even sure why, because it’s not really my style. But I’m also jealous that you can snap your fingers and get a fabulous work of art installed in your office.”

“One of the many perks.” He returned his attention to the Kama Sutra, turning pages, studying the endpapers, the inner joints and spine. Finally he looked up at me. “You shouldn’t be jealous of me when you get to work with something like this every day.”

“It really is amazing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’d love to display it. Is it for sale or available for loan?”

“I don’t know, but I could find out.” I explained the situation. My work would take a few weeks; then I would be glad to contact Rajiv and find out his plans for the book.

“Great,” Ian said. “Let me know, because this would be an excellent addition to our exhibit of sacred texts.”

“I’ll definitely let you know. Oh, and this should make you laugh. Thanks to Robin, I’m now involved in a bizarre murder investigation involving a Ukrainian or Russian connection to something or other that-”

His office door swung open without warning-and the air around me chilled to freezing.

“Ian, Bill won’t let me use his tools.” The voice sounded like the bleating whine of a bloated sheep. “I want you to-What the hell is she doing here?”

Minka LaBoeuf.

My worst nightmare. My back stiffened, my throat tightened, and my ears plugged up. My whole body went into lockdown mode. It was the only way I could survive her repugnant presence, the only way I could deal with my intense aversion to her voice, her negativity, her existence. Her pleather wardrobe.

“What are you looking at?” she demanded as she pushed past me and reached for the Kama Sutra. “Hey, that’s French! I know French! My father’s half French! Why didn’t you ask me to work on this book?”

I pulled the book away firmly and glared at Ian. “You hired her again, didn’t you?”

He gave me an abashed scowl. “Bill thought she could help out with the new arrivals from the Merced collection.”

“Only if you want to declare the whole thing a loss,” I declared, and briskly wrapped up the Kama Sutra, mainly to protect it from Minka’s bad vibes.

Hadn’t Ian learned that Minka was an anathema to books everywhere? And to me, too. If I’d known she was working here, I might’ve rethought this visit with Ian. She could ruin my day just by walking into the room. And why hadn’t she knocked on Ian’s door? Talk about freaking rude. Honestly, she needed to wear a bell around her neck to warn people she was coming.

“She was injured at BABA last month, so Bill took pity on her,” he explained quietly.

I knew about her injury. I’d been there. Still, that was no excuse. “He should’ve taken more pity on the poor books.”

“I know,” he murmured.

“Hello, I’m standing right here,” Minka griped. “I can hear what you’re saying.” She turned her back on me and faced Ian. “I should be working on that book, Ian. I heard her say there’s a Russian connection. My grandmother was born in Estonia, so I’m practically Russian. And I saw the text. It’s French and so am I.”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, as usual.”

Ian stood and worked up a gracious smile. “Sorry, Minka, but I’ll talk to Bill in a few minutes. Why don’t you use your own tools until then?”

“If I use my own tools you’re going to have to pay me more.”

“You’re paying her?” I said, outraged.

“Shut up,” Ian hissed, trying not to laugh.

Minka stomped her foot and let out a little shriek. “God! You’re both a couple of superficial jerks!” And she flounced out the door.

I started to breathe again.

“Damn it, Brooklyn,” he said. “Now I’m going to have to be nice to her.”

“Why? She’s so close to worthless it’s ridiculous.”

“Exactly. She’s cheap. That’s her best quality.” He put his hands on his hips. “Do you want to come in and do the work instead?”

“Cleaning books? Are you kidding? No way.”

“You superficial jerk,” he grumbled.

“Hey, you’re one, too.”

He laughed out loud. “Can’t you just see that on a T-shirt?”

Twenty minutes later, I walked to my car. I felt a sudden chill, and that was when I noticed Minka standing across the street, glaring at me. She held up two fingers, pointed them at her eyes, then pointed them at me, as if to let me know she would be watching me. It gave me the spookiest feeling and reminded me that she was more dangerous than she looked-although she looked pretty lethal. Those fake-leather plastic pants she wore could kill anyone.

I checked my tires before I got into my car. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d slashed my tires, even though I was never able to prove it was her dirty work. As I drove away, it hit me. Now I remembered who the vicious Galina reminded me of. Minka LaBoeuf.

“That was my mom,” I announced to Robin later that afternoon after hanging up the kitchen telephone. “She insists that I take you up to stay at her place for a few days.”

Robin wandered over and sat on a barstool. The look she flashed me was skeptical, to say the least. “I’m supposed to believe your mom came up with that idea all by herself?”

“Why not? You know she loves you.” I smiled brightly as I continued chopping garlic for a steak marinade recipe I’d stolen from my dad. “Okay, fine. I might’ve suggested that you needed a quiet place to rest and recuperate. Preferably outside of the city. After that, it was all her idea.”

Robin groaned. “I don’t want to burden your poor mom with my problems.”

“My poor mom? You’re kidding, right? She thrives on this kind of stuff. She did such a great job nursing Gabriel back to health that he still shows up for lunch and dinner almost every day.”

“She must love that.”

“You know it.” Scooping up the garlic bits, I tossed them with grated ginger into a heavy-duty plastic bag that held three rib eyes. After pouring healthy doses of olive oil and organic tamari into the bag, I zipped it closed, mushed everything around, and placed it in the fridge to do its thing.

Robin closed her eyes and breathed in the pungent fragrances. “That smells so good.”

“You can’t go wrong with garlic and ginger.”

“You’ve been cooking a lot. You don’t have to, you know. We could do takeout.”

“It’s nice to have people to cook for.” I met her gaze. “And Mom feels the same way. She’d love to have you stay there. It’s just her and Dad in that huge house.”

“I’m not really good company right now, Brooklyn. In this mood I could even depress your mom.”

I shook my head. “Impossible. You know she’s itching to slather her latest concoctions all over your face. Probably whipping them up right now.”

She winced and lifted one hand to her face. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Can’t blame you for that.” I found the bag of lettuce in the fridge and emptied it into the salad bowl, then grabbed a tomato from the vegetable basket. “She said she’s been practicing enchantment spells and wants to try them out on you.”

Robin’s good eye widened. “Oh, God.”

“You know she chanted away my sister Savannah’s acne. Just think what she can do for your lovely bruises.”

“I do long to have skin as clear as your sister’s.”

I chuckled as I chopped the tomato. “Dad says she did a rain dance the other day.”

“Did it rain?”

“Of course.” I sifted through the vegetable bin and pulled out half a cucumber. Before chopping it, I pulled three glasses from the cupboard. “I thought we’d have sparkling water tonight instead of wine. Okay?”

“Good idea,” she said. “I already have a headache, so alcohol would only make it worse.” Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the bar’s smooth wood surface. “I really hate this. I hate being dependent on you. Or your mom, or Derek, or anybody.”

“I know, but you need to get over that.” I walked around the bar and sat on the stool next to her. “Look, you were just brutally attacked by some nut job with a stellar right hook. The fact is, you may still be in danger.”

“I doubt it.” Her lips tightened. “What the hell did I do to piss off that bitch?”

“You didn’t do anything.” I grabbed hold of her hand. “She’s just nuts. But look, they could release her from jail at any time, and even if they don’t, she might have cohorts watching the place. Remember the black Town Car?”

“I’d forgotten about it.” She grimaced. “Thanks for replanting that scary seed.”

“I’m sorry. But that’s why it can’t hurt to leave the city for a few days. At least while you’re in Dharma, you can get out of the house, take walks, enjoy nature. If you stay here, there’s no way I’ll let you leave the confines of these four walls.”

Her shoulders slumped as she accepted the reality of her situation. “Fine, I’ll go to Dharma. But I’ll drive myself.”

“Not a good idea.”

“I don’t want to be there without my car.”

“I know, and I have the perfect solution.”

“Why am I not surprised that you’ve already got this whole thing planned out?”

“Because I’m a genius. We all recognize that, right?”

She laughed. “Okay, genius. What’s the plan?”

“I drive your car and Derek will follow us there.”

“He won’t want to do that. He’d rather drive up there with you.”

“He’s already offered to follow us. I asked him this morning.” I patted her hand and stood. “Besides, it’s only an hour’s drive. We can survive without breathing each other’s air for sixty minutes.”

She sat back and considered the plan. “Okay, I guess it’s a good idea. Except for the part where you drive my car.” Robin owned a vintage Porsche Speedster. She never allowed anyone but herself to drive it.

I rubbed my hands together. “See, that’s the best part of the plan.”

“No way.”

“No offense, but you’re a little too jumpy to drive. And there’s the small detail of your eye being swollen shut. That’s going to make it hard to focus on the road.”

She harrumphed and flounced for a minute, then gave me a grudging nod. “Fine.”

“Great.” I moved back into the kitchen to start on the cucumber. “It’s settled.”

The doorbell rang and Robin flinched. “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know.” I headed for the front. “Probably Vinnie or Suzie.”

She followed me into the workshop. “Look through the peephole first.”

“I will.”

She moved to my desk and grabbed the phone. “I’m ready to dial nine-one-one.”

“Stop worrying. We would’ve heard the elevator if it was someone from outside the building.” I stared through the peephole but didn’t see anyone. That was weird. Maybe they took off.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” I swung the door open.

Robin let out a tiny shriek and brandished the phone receiver above her head.

Six-year-old Tyler blinked in surprise. “Miss Brooklyn, I brought you my book.”

“Hi, Tyler. Please come in.” With a smile, I waved him inside. “Do you remember my friend Robin?”

“Hello,” he said, and nodded solemnly. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Robin’s hand went to her cheek as she remembered her swollen face. “Um, yes, I did.”

He continued to stare at her. “Are you playing a telephone game?”

“A telephone-Oh.” She waved the receiver, then placed it in its cradle. “Yes. But we’re finished playing.”

“Tyler, does your mother know you’re here?” I asked.

He nodded again. “She’ll be here in a minute, but I didn’t want to wait.” He thrust the book at me. “See? Because the pages are falling out now.”

There was another knock at the door. Robin’s shoulders jerked.

“Easy,” I whispered.

“You know what?” Robin said, shaking her head. “I’ll be in the other room.”

“Do you want me to fix another ice pack for you?”

“I can do it.”

I let her go, then opened the door for Tyler’s mom. After a brief tour of my workshop, Lisa was satisfied that I knew what I was doing when it came to books.

“Can you fix it right now?” Tyler asked.

“It’s going to take me a few days, because I want to do the best job possible for you. Can you wait until Saturday to get it back?”

He looked up at his mother with a serious expression on his face. “What day is today?”

“Today is Wednesday,” she told him.

He stared at his hand and counted the days off on his fingers. “Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday.” He gazed at me. “That’s four days.”

“That’s right.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“How much do I have to pay you?” Tyler asked.

I smiled at Lisa, then looked at Tyler. I picked up the book and weighed it in my hands, thought for a moment. Then I knelt down to talk on his level. “I’ll have to take the book apart here, glue new endpapers here, then sew these pages together. See?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I’m going to have to charge you… five dollars.”

He nodded once, firmly. “You have a deal.”

We shook hands, and Lisa smiled proudly. Leaning close, she confided, “I told him it might cost one hundred dollars, so now he thinks he’s a smart negotiator.”

With a quick grin for Tyler, I said, “I was thinking of charging you fifty dollars.”

He shook his head. “It’s too late to change your price. We shook hands and everything.”

Giving Lisa and Tyler the quick tour of my workshop had made me anxious to get back to work on the Kama Sutra. But that work would have to wait until Robin was out of the city and safely delivered into my mother’s care.

So first thing the next morning, I called Inspector Lee to make sure it was acceptable for Robin to go to Sonoma. She gave her approval, of course, since it was pretty obvious from Galina’s attack that Robin had become a target. I gave Lee my mother’s phone number, just in case.

After I packed Robin’s three sweat suits, various accessories, and meager supply of toiletries, the three of us hit the highway.

Driving Robin’s vintage Porsche Speedster was a total blast for me, though not so much for Robin. I could actually hear her teeth grinding as I revved the engine on the straightaway out on Highway 37. I might’ve ground the gears once or twice, but it wasn’t my fault. The car was old. Yes, it was a classic, but let’s face it: The old thing wasn’t as fluid as it once might’ve been. But Robin acted as if I’d taken an ax to the engine just by shifting gears. I knew she was a little sensitive, so I didn’t take her swearing and cringing personally.

At one point along the highway, Derek flew by in his Bentley Continental GT. He passed on Robin’s side and she gazed over at him. When I glanced over, I saw Derek laughing uproariously. Was Robin making a face? Was I being mocked? I ignored them both. This was the sort of thing a true friend like myself had to endure once in a while.

An hour later we parked in my parents’ driveway, and I couldn’t stop smiling as Mom and Dad came out to greet us.

Mom wore a long-sleeved, full-length rainbow tie-dyed dress that floated and swung around her boots as she jogged down the stairs of the front porch. She’d dyed and sewn the dress herself from thick cotton knit that accentuated her tall, still-youthful figure.

Dad was dressed in the familiar faded Levi’s he’d always worn whenever he worked with the grapes in the fields. Today he wore another Mom original, a sage-colored tie-dyed henley shirt that looked almost new.

They were still in love, still adorable, and if you squinted just a little, you could picture them as two young Grateful Dead fans who first met at a Dead concert in Ventura County almost forty years ago.

After many hugs and outraged cries over Robin’s injuries, Mom touched Robin’s forehead, her third eye, where higher consciousness was centered, and chanted quietly, “Om shanti… shanti… shanti.”

My mother used this chant whenever anyone around her was distressed. Shanti is the Sanskrit word for “peace.” Repeating the word three times brought peace and protection from the three disturbances. The first of these disturbances was said to come from God, things like floods and earthquakes and hurricanes. The next came from the world around us, such as noisy neighbors, barking dogs, telephones ringing incessantly. The third came from within and was the one disturbance we could actually control. This included the negative emotions we tended to bring upon ourselves, such as jealousy, fear, anger, and sorrow.

All the pent-up tension seemed to melt from Robin’s shoulders and she smiled. “Thanks, Becky. I’m so glad I’m here.”

“Me, too, sweetie,” Mom said. She wrapped her arm about Robin, Dad grabbed her small suitcase, and Derek and I followed them into the sprawling ranch house in which I’d grown up.

“I’ve made sandwiches and potato salad for lunch,” Mom said, then turned to Derek. “You’ll stay for the day, won’t you?”

Clearly, Derek was the authority as far as Mom was concerned. She was probably right to consult him instead of me. I would’ve been happy spending a night or two, but Derek had an actual office to run back in the city.

Dad poured everyone a glass of the new sparkling wine he’d been experimenting with at the winery. Robin took one sip, then set her glass down. I could tell she was still in pain and was glad to see Mom come over and rub Robin’s shoulders. She relaxed instantly.

We ate lunch under a huge oak tree on my parents’ terraced patio overlooking the vineyards Dharma was famous for. Off to the left of the house and rambling up the hill was the apple orchard Mom had started the first year we moved into the house. In honor of Robin’s arrival, Mom had made her fabulous Crazy Delicious Apple Crisp for dessert.

Many Thanksgiving moons ago, when, as usual, I’d insisted on pumpkin pie after the huge meal, Mom also brought out her fledgling attempt at apple crisp. Not impressed with the presentation at first-it wasn’t pumpkin pie, after all, and I was so devoted to pumpkin pie that my family and friends had taken to calling me Punkin-I forced myself to take one small taste. I didn’t want to hurt Mom’s feelings, after all. Then I took another bite. Then another. In the end, I declared it my new most favorite dessert ever. Especially the way Mom made it, with spicy, lightly sweetened apples and the crunchiest, most crumbly, crispy layers of yumminess on top. Her secret ingredient was a luscious caramel sauce she added at the end. And ice cream on the side of the dish didn’t hurt, either.

Whenever I visited my parents now, I always went home with a bag of apples. Everyone in town did. Mom was known as the Apple Lady at the local grammar school. I guess that was better than being known as the Murder Scene Queen. Just saying.

After lunch, Mom helped Robin move to the chaise longue and tucked a blanket around her. With great care, she daubed some cream on Robin’s swollen face and set a glass of bright green parsley water on the nearby table for her to drink.

I hoped Robin knew better than to touch that stuff. I still had nightmares about parsley juice, Mom’s cure-all for most ailments.

Then Mom turned to another of her cure-alls. She pulled a disposable lighter from her pocket, lit a small bundle of sage incense, and blew on it until it was smoky, filling the air with its pungent aroma.

“I’ll now recite an original healing love chant,” she announced. She bowed to Robin, then bowed to the four directions and hummed loudly. Waving her arms and shaking the bundle of smoking sage above Robin’s head, she began her chant.

Father Sun, Sister Moon,

Sweep out darkness, sweep out doom.

Mother Earth and all the clouds,

Dance the dance and sing out loud.

Free our Robin from this pain,

Take the hurt but leave the flame.

The flame of passion burns anew

And love is found when hearts are true.

Your eyes will meet, your hands will touch,

You’ll get the one you want so much.

You’ll do the funky Twist and Shout

That’s what I’m-a talkin’ ’bout!

Everybody sing! Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny!

Hey, hey, hey!

I started to applaud but Mom stopped me. “Not yet, there’s more.” Then she swayed and hummed and continued in an even deeper yet louder tone.

Sacred stones, circle of magic,

Here is the Dance, here is desire.

Circle of magic, do your thing,

Dance of desire, light my fire!

Everybody sing! Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny!

Hey, hey, hey!

There was a moment of silence, followed by a burst of applause.

“Wow, Mom, that was really something,” I said.

“Beautiful, honey,” Dad said, his eyes moist with emotion. “I think that was your best one yet.”

“I feel the fire,” Robin said, and I didn’t dare meet her gaze.

Mom laughed breathlessly. “That was crazy!” Her cheeks were flushed pink as she fell back into her chair. “Now, Robin, that spell was created especially for you. It’s meant to cleanse your aura, lift your spirit, and allow your heart to find joy again.”

“Sounds like you threw in a little dose of the wild thing, too,” Dad said, dancing in his chair as he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, jeez,” I muttered.

“I do what I can,” Mom said modestly. She bounced up and kissed Robin’s cheek. “We’ll take good care of you here, sweetie.”

“Thank you, Becky,” Robin whispered.

Derek squeezed my hand as he said to Mom, “It was lovely, Rebecca.”

“Why, thank you, Derek,” she said, beaming. “I’ve been trying out a few new chants. I don’t know if you could tell, but I improvised some of the words.”

I raised my hand. “I could tell.”

“I’m feeling better already,” Robin said, nodding in encouragement. She coughed as Mom blew more sage smoke over her head.

Then Mom stopped abruptly and listened to something only she could hear. “I believe it’s working.”

At that moment, the sliding glass door opened and my brother Austin walked out to the patio. He’d come straight from the vineyards and was still wearing his dusty cowboy hat, faded jeans, scruffy boots, and a white T-shirt covered in dirt.

Sometimes I forgot how beautiful he was. His skin was tanned from the sun and his dark blond hair was streaked with gold.

Austin had traveled all over the world but had finally returned to Dharma a few years ago to live and work the land with his family and friends in the commune. He wasn’t some kind of weirdo hippie freak, I swear. On the contrary, he loved football and beer and cars and girls. He liked to shoot and hunt and fish. He also loved good books and fine wine. And he loved this place, the hills, the trees, the grapes, the earth. He was basically an all-American guy, if you didn’t count the fact that he was raised in a commune with two Deadheads for parents. You know, the kind of parents who would name their firstborn son after the Texas town in which little Austin was conceived after a wild night watching the Grateful Dead perform with Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan. Apparently it had been quite a show.

I gave a little cry of joy, jumped up from the table, and ran to hug him. His blue eyes danced with pleasure when he saw me.

“Hey, farmer,” I said. “Gosh, you’re filthy, but it’s still great to see you.”

He ruffled my hair. “Hey, book girl, you look fantastic.”

I brushed some residual dirt off my sweater as Derek stood. Austin greeted him jovially as they shook hands. They’d always liked each other, which was a relief. I’d tried dating guys my brothers hated, and those relationships were always doomed from the start.

“Hello, Austin,” Robin said after the greetings died down.

At the sound of her voice, he smiled at the rest of us. “There she is.” Then he turned and got his first look at Robin. “Holy shit, what happened to you?”

I smacked his shoulder. “Knucklehead.”

Robin tilted her head to meet my gaze. “What every girl longs to hear.”

He whipped around and faced Mom. “Why didn’t you tell me she was hurt?”

Mom frowned and shook her head. “Why would I tell you anything, sweetie? It’s not as if you care about Robin one way or another, is it?”

“Care about-” He shook his head in disgust, then walked straight over to Robin’s chaise and crouched down beside her. “Of course I care about you.”

“Really? Who knew?”

He touched her chin gently with his fingers. “I hope I’m not hurting you.”

She sniffed. “You’re not.”

Stroking her hair, he whispered, “It’s really good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Austin.”

I edged a few feet closer so I could hear everything they were saying.

Austin said, “I understand you’ll be staying here for a few days.”

“That’s the plan.”

Austin glanced over his shoulder at Mom and Dad. He was frowning. If I didn’t know him better, I would’ve said he looked confused. But Austin was never confused. He’d always professed to know exactly what he was doing.

Returning his gaze to Robin, he murmured, “I’ve got to do this, babe.”

“Do what?” Robin asked in a tentative voice.

“Trust me?”

She stared deep into his eyes as if mesmerized. “I guess so.”

In one sweeping motion, he lifted Robin out of the chair and into his arms. “You’re coming home with me.”

“Put me down,” Robin insisted.

Dad jumped to his feet. “Austin, no.”

“Austin Wainwright,” Mom declared, “you put that girl down right this minute. She’s in pain and needs her rest.”

He turned patiently and said, “She’ll get plenty of rest, Mom. But…” He shook his head again, looked around as though he were seeing us all for the first time. Then he gazed at Robin. “I need her with me.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Mom said, clutching her hands nervously.

Robin shoved her hand against his chest. “I won’t sleep with you.”

“Yes, you will.”

“In your dreams.”

He whispered something to Robin that made her laugh-despite her best intentions, it seemed. Then Austin stalked toward the wide walkway at the side of the house and disappeared with my best friend in his arms.