Murder Under Cover

Chapter 15

“You should come with a warning label, Wainwright,” Inspector Lee said, then snorted at her own joke. I wasn’t laughing. Her comment hit a little too close to home.

It wasn’t like I went looking for dead bodies, although I could see how it would appear that way to the police.

According to the passport inside the dead guy’s pocket, his name was Stanislav Ostrovsky, a Ukrainian. Not surprising, since he was found inside the place rented by Alex, another Ukrainian. I’d seen only a flash of Stanislav’s body before Derek pushed me away, but it was enough to make me sick, and not just in a physical sense. No, this one hurt my heart. He looked too young and innocent to be caught up in all this spy-versus-spy nonsense. For a few moments, I speculated that he might be Alex’s younger brother. Otherwise, maybe they were recruiting spies out of high school these days. What did I know? But I concluded sadly that he had to be involved in the same operation that Galina and Alex were caught up in. Why else would he have been found here in a place Alex used as a cover for his intelligence activities?

The Ukrainian connection fed into Lee’s theory that this whole mess was related to the escalating turf war. Once again, Derek and I kept mum, but I wouldn’t be able to be quiet much longer. We were withholding evidence, and all those levels of government jurisdiction didn’t matter to me as long as Robin was still in danger. If the police knew we were looking for a mysterious missing flash drive, they would freak, and I wouldn’t blame them.

I knew Derek wasn’t in favor of telling the police. He’d obtained the intelligence on the flash drive from his sources at Interpol and knew there were people at the highest levels of the U.S. government who were aware of the situation and would step in if and when they felt the need to do so.

I didn’t share with him that confidence that our government officials would play fairly. Besides, I had a personal relationship with Lee and Jaglom. I didn’t want them coming out of this with egg on their faces because their higher-ups didn’t feel a need to keep them in the loop.

“At least we saw who killed the guy,” I said to Inspector Lee in my defense, lame as it was.

Lee and I stood on the small balcony outside Alex Pavlenko’s apartment. She and Jaglom had been first on the scene, beating the uniformed guys and the medical examiner. Now Jaglom and Derek were talking inside while we all waited for the medical examiner and the crime scene specialists to show up. Two uniformed officers were already knocking on neighbors’ doors, looking for witnesses.

Lee smirked. “So you’re saying you saw Galina Shirkova pull the trigger?”

So that was her last name, I thought, then sighed. “No, I didn’t exactly see her do it.”

“You hear a gunshot?”

“Okay, no. But-”

“All you really saw was Shirkova walking down the sidewalk and driving away in a car.”

“Maybe so, but she was in there,” I said, pointing at Alex’s door. “Then she left, drove away. Two minutes later, we get up here and, oh, look, there’s a dead body.”

“Still not good enough.”

“Oh, come on,” I retorted. “She’s a menace who never should’ve been let out of jail. I don’t know why you’re hedging about her. If I’d done the same thing, you’d already have your handcuffs out.”

She pulled them off her belt and twirled them around her finger. “That’s because you would look so good in these.”

I regarded her askance. “Okay, that’s weird.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she said, chuckling as she slipped the handcuffs back in place.

It had been a little tricky at first, explaining to the police what we were doing at Alex’s apartment. I’d attempted an elaborate explanation with justifications and details, but Lee interrupted rudely, shutting me down, telling me I was the worst damn liar on God’s green earth. That was when Derek had stepped in to offer a semblance of the truth, saying we were merely curious to see where Alex lived, but when we saw Galina leaving, we felt duty-bound to check things out.

Now, desperate to change the subject away from murder, I asked, “How’s your mom doing?”

“Hey, she’s doing okay. Thanks for asking.” Lee leaned her elbows on the porch rail. “No sign of cancer after the surgery and the tests, so she’ll be coming home from the hospital tomorrow.”

“That’s great news. Does she have someone staying with her, helping her get around?”

She made a face. “Oh, hell, no. She’s too damned independent for that. But she’s got good friends and neighbors, so I’ve secretly organized them all to take turns checking on her, offering to pick stuff up at the grocery, that sort of thing.”

“You’re a good daughter.”

“What’re you gonna do?” She lifted both hands in surrender. “I can’t be there around the clock, so this is the next-best way to make sure she’s being looked after.”

We kibitzed for twenty more minutes until the medical examiner arrived. Then Derek and I took advantage of the distraction and left the scene.

In the car, Derek gave me some bad news. “Inspector Jaglom believes the victim was shot sometime yesterday.”

“What?” I cried. “But Galina was just there. She had to have shot him during those few minutes before we got there.”

“I’m sorry, darling. Nathan will call with the medical examiner’s findings, but he’s fairly certain, based on rigor mortis, that the man was shot at least twenty-four hours ago.”

I punched the seat cushion. “So they won’t even question Galina.”

“They’ll certainly question her if they can find her.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. Where is she?”

It was after five o’clock, too late to get back to Robin’s place before the cleaning service clocked out for the day. I called Tom, the lead guy, on my cell and he assured me they’d be back to finish the job tomorrow morning, bright and early. For someone who cleaned up the dirtiest consequences of violent death, he was remarkably affable.

Too tired to cook, we parked the car in the garage and walked to Hama, my favorite hole-in-the-wall sushi joint two blocks away. Laughing and arguing about what to share, we finally settled on a mixed platter of sushi, sashimi, and tempura. We ate the whole thing, finished off a small bottle of sake, and were in bed and asleep by ten o’clock that night.

The next day, Derek was up early and I joined him for coffee before he left for the day. Seeing him dressed for work in a beautiful dark gray suit, white shirt, and swirly navy-and-gold tie that by itself probably cost more than all the shoes in my closet, I was reminded of the mean girls from the office party. At this point, I didn’t even care about the flavor-of-the-month comment. What bugged me all over again was that they could talk so rudely and vocally about a woman their boss was obviously dating and cared for enough to bring to the party. It showed disrespect for Derek, and I hated them for that.

As my father says, sometimes people just suck.

After Derek left, I took a shower and dressed, then went to work. There was so much to do on the Kama Sutra, but first I wanted to get little Tyler’s beloved book finished and back to him.

So I spent the next three hours working on Where the Wild Things Are, separating the text block from the cover, resewing the signatures, and reinforcing the spine with a strip of heavy card stock. I replaced the endpapers with a thicker piece of stock that would strengthen the joints. Then I slid sheets of Mylar in between the front and back endpapers and the text block and glued everything down.

After that, I slipped the book between two pieces of wrapped plywood to keep it secure, then placed it in Big Betty, my heavy-duty antique brass book press, and clamped it securely. The book would remain there for twenty-four hours so the glue could dry, then be good as new for Tyler.

At eleven, I drove over to Robin’s to meet the cleaning crew. Yesterday I’d suffered a twinge of uneasiness when Derek and I left them alone to work in her apartment. But I’d been assured that the company employees were fully bonded, and besides, they’d come highly recommended by Inspector Jaglom. That had to count for something. Now, walking through the apartment with Tom, the head guy, I was happy to see that my trust had not been misplaced.

I learned two things from Tom that I’d never realized about crime scenes before. The first was that when blood was spilled, the scene became a biohazard site. Robin had tracked Alex’s blood from the bedroom to the bathroom and across the floor of her living room. These cleanup guys took their job seriously; they dressed head to toe in disposable hazmat gear.

The other thing I learned was that crime scene cleanup was covered by Robin’s homeowner’s insurance, so Tom wouldn’t take my check. Go figure.

But back to the biohazard issue. Not only had the guys cleaned and wiped down every surface where all that creepy fingerprint dust had scattered, but they’d also disinfected every square inch of the floors and walls surrounding the bed where Alex had died. They had stripped and disposed of the bloody linens, only to discover that the mattress itself would have to be thrown out.

I cringed when Tom told me that, knowing it meant that Alex’s blood had seeped through the sheets and into the mattress. I asked them to dispose of the box spring, as well, knowing Robin would never want to sleep on any part of a bed where Alex’s blood had been spilled so violently.

But in the midst of all the negative vibes, there were Tom and his team. Compassionate and respectful, they left Robin’s place sparkling clean and smelling as fresh as springtime. I couldn’t thank them enough for the work they’d done.

On the way to the mall, I had a long telephone conversation with Robin, who let me know she wanted the exact same superdeluxe mattress she had before. So I spent the afternoon buying her a mattress and box spring, then shopped for sheets, two new pillows, a down comforter, a duvet, and some cheerful mix-and-match throw pillows. I made sure everything I bought was the most beautiful and most expensive I could find. I knew my finicky friend well enough to know that that was exactly what she would’ve done.

That evening, I decided to experiment with making a shepherd’s pie. I had warm memories of my mother’s version, and I wanted comfort food after spending time with Robin’s crime scene cleaners.

Derek called to let me know he was running late, so once dinner was in the oven, I took the opportunity to work on the Kama Sutra. The only French dictionary I’d found at the mall that afternoon was for children, so I didn’t know how much help it would be, but I would consult it anyway. I’d also bought The Knucklehead’s Guide to the Kama Sutra, thinking it might come in handy. And I booted up my computer in case I needed to find references online.

I picked up the text block and turned at random to one of the middle pages and began to read, translating as I went along. I lost track of time as I studied the romantic French phrases and meticulously wrote out the English translations in my notebook. I had progressed from the chapter that emphasized sharing love and mutual commitment to the beginning of the section on the sixty-four elements of sexual loving, but now I struggled with one line.

The lingam soothes the fire in the yoni, and their union appeases… Appeases what? I couldn’t make out the French words.

Yesterday, I didn’t have a clue what a lingam was, never mind a yoni. Now I blushed whenever I came upon the words, but at least I knew what body parts they referred to. I had managed to translate another page when the front door opened and Derek walked inside.

“Hello, darling, are you still working?” he said as he strolled over and kissed me. Then he noticed what I was reading and a slow smile formed. “Ah. Do you need help with that?”

I met his smile with one of my own. “I do. I’m sure you must know twenty different languages, but how are you at reading Old French?”

“Do you believe the book is that old?” He placed his briefcase on the desk and took off his jacket. “I’m no expert, but didn’t Old French fade out with the bubonic plague?”

I chuckled. “No, the book isn’t that old, but I’m wondering if some of the archaic language was chosen deliberately.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

I slanted the page so he could read it and pointed to the sentence I’d given up on a little while ago. “It’s this word that’s giving me trouble. Arracher.”

He squinted at the word, then glanced up. “Arracher. To extract. To pull out.”

“Right.” Why did it sound so sexual when he said it? “I did a Google search and found this 1887 French dictionary. Its first definition is ‘to pluck out.’ But in context with the sentence…”

“ ‘Arracher la mangue meür,’ ” he read, finishing the phrase. “La mangue is mango, of course. But I don’t recognize meür.”

I scanned the 1887 dictionary. “Here it is. That spelling is out of use. The modern word is mûrs, which means ‘ripe.’ ”

“Ah, that makes sense. ‘Pluck the ripe mango.’ ” He raised one eyebrow. “Lovely visual.”

“Um… yes.” Was it getting hotter in here or what? “I guess I was overcomplicating the phrases.”

“What else have you translated?”

Pointing to a previous illustration, I said, “I’ve got this one worked out. It’s, um, ‘ride the wild stallion.’ ”

“Stallion.” He nodded, fighting back a smile. “Of course. Go on.”

“They’re a little obsessed with animals in here,” I muttered, my throat suddenly dry. I turned the pages and pointed to the various animals I’d translated. “Here’s a cow, a dog, a crab, a cat, a goat, a crow.”

“The crow is not to be missed.”

“Well,” I whispered, then coughed to clear my throat. “Maybe we’ve seen enough.”

“Hardly.” He turned the page and we both gazed at a couple enjoying a position as old as time. Beneath was a phrase I hadn’t yet translated.

“Ah, ‘driving the nail home,’ ” Derek translated easily, and shot me a lopsided grin. “An old favorite of mine.”

My vision was starting to fog up, making it difficult to write in my notebook. “I really should check on dinner.”

“How about that one?” he asked, pointing to a picture on the opposite page.

“You’re taunting me, right?”

“Yes.” He shifted closer, lifted my hair, and planted kisses on my neck.

I groaned, then focused my energies on my three highest chakras in order to keep from melting into a pool of lust on my clean floor. Fine. Two could play at this game, right? But it was getting harder to concentrate. I turned reluctantly and read the French words under the rather graphic illustration he’d pointed to. “That one is known as ‘trapping the snake.’ ”

He nuzzled my neck as he reached for the top button of my shirt. “And exactly what are they doing there?”

I didn’t have to look too carefully at the drawing of two people, one on top of the other, lying in opposite directions. I’d already spent way too much time studying it. “Each person holds on to their partner’s feet. The movement is more of a rocking motion. It’s supposed to be… more pleasurable for the woman.”

“I’m in favor of that,” he whispered in my ear, causing a few of my synapses to snap and fire.

“Yeah, me, too.” Did I really say all that out loud? Were we having a conversation? Why wasn’t he tearing my clothes off and driving the nail home? But wait. Dinner was cooking in the oven. Oh, God.

He’d finished with my buttons and was pushing my blouse off my shoulders. “Do I smell something cooking?” he murmured against my skin as his mouth traveled along my jawline.

I barely heard him through a fog of pleasure. “What?”

His deep chuckle reverberated as he raised his head and gazed into my eyes. “I said, I’m going to kiss you again. Then I’m going to pick you up and carry you to the bedroom, where we’ll conduct research for your book.”

“Oh, yes, research,” I said, smiling up at him. “But dinner…”

“I’ll turn off the oven.”

Much later that night, long after we’d had dinner in bed and conducted more research, Derek shifted his pillow and sat up. “I had to fire two employees today.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That can’t be easy.”

“On the contrary, it was the easiest thing I did all day.” He tilted his head to make eye contact with me. “Why didn’t you tell me about those women at my office party?”

“What?” I blinked a few times, then rolled over and sat up. This was not a conversation I’d imagined having in bed. In fact, this was not a conversation I ever thought we’d be having at all. I guessed I was hoping the problem would just go away.

“Corrine told me,” he said.

“So you’ve known about it for days?”

“No, I just found out this morning. However, Corinne has known for days. She heard them talking and saw your reaction. She expected you to tell me and thought that at any moment I’d storm in and fire the women. When I didn’t do anything, she finally brought it up. Why didn’t you say something to me?”

I sighed and adjusted my pillow to get comfortable. “I’ll admit I was hurt by their words, Derek, but I wasn’t going to whine about it to you. They were just women being… you know.” I wasn’t about to call his employees bitches, but I could tell by his frown that he got the gist. “Believe me, my biggest problem wasn’t with what they said about me, but the fact that they were so disrespectful to you. But even so, I still didn’t feel I could say anything. They work for you, they’re loyal to you, and I assumed you trusted them. For all I know…” I stared at my hands.

“For all you know, they were speaking the truth.” Troubled, he reached out and brushed my hair back from my forehead, then cupped my cheek with his hand. “They weren’t.”

“I’m glad.”

He nodded, then gritted his teeth and said, “Can you put yourself in my shoes for a moment and imagine my reaction when Corinne told me what she’d heard? I felt… ill, absolutely sick to my stomach, that people I thought I could trust would betray me by hurting someone I care so deeply about. I was furious. I didn’t want to simply fire them. I wanted to throw them into a dungeon somewhere and leave them to the dogs.”

I smiled forlornly. “That would teach them to cross you.”

“Indeed.” He grimaced. “Sadly, Corinne pointed out that I have no dungeon here in the States, so my only remedy was to fire them.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, so am I, because it wasn’t nearly as satisfying. On top of that, I could only fire two of the women. Corinne reminded me of all the red tape we had to go through to get the other two transferred over here from London, so they’ve been sent to different departments, put on probation, and had their security clearances revoked.”

“Wow, don’t mess with Mr. Stone.”

“No,” he said tightly. “Don’t.”

I didn’t feel like gloating, but I didn’t feel guilty, either. I flashed back to the way I felt when I heard the four women cackling about me. I was hurt, confused, and angry. I remembered how it made me doubt Derek and his feelings for me. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner.”

He searched my face-looking for what, I wasn’t sure. Finally he said, “Do you trust me, Brooklyn?”

I was taken aback. “Of course.”

“Then trust me when I tell you that I’ll never hurt you-No, wait. Let me rephrase that.” He pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me. “I will never knowingly hurt you. I know the work I do sometimes worries you, and I’ll try to be more open about it when I’m able. But trust me when I say there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. If you ever have a doubt or a concern about anything I say or do, or don’t say or do, I want us to talk about it. Will you promise me?”

I nodded and rested my head on his shoulder. “Yes, I promise.”

His hold tightened. “I trust you, too, Brooklyn,” he whispered, and kissed my temple.

A gasp closed my throat and tears sprang to my eyes. His simple statement overwhelmed me. I could feel his heart beating in rhythm with my own and it filled me with joy. I almost blurted out how much I loved him, but I hesitated. The time wasn’t quite right. We’d come so far so fast, it was probably best to wait. Right now, all I wanted to do was savor this moment in his arms.

The following morning, I found myself moving a little slower than usual and chalked it up to all the Kama Sutra research Derek and I had undertaken the night before. That’s right, I was calling it research, and that was the end of the discussion. A warm shower, a hot cup of coffee, and two aspirin fixed me right up.

After Vinnie popped in to feed Pookie, I left the house and drove to Robin’s neighborhood. My first stop was a florist’s shop, where I bought a bouquet of red tulips. Then I couldn’t resist running into the bakery and buying two red velvet cupcakes as a welcome-home gift. I drove to Robin’s place and waited for the deliverymen to bring her new bed. After the movers had put it all together, I made up the bed for her, then placed the tulips on her dining room table with a note welcoming her home and letting her know there were cupcakes in the refrigerator.

That afternoon, Inspector Lee called to let me know they’d picked up Galina and brought her in for questioning. I was happy they’d found her, but it concerned me that Inspector Jaglom thought she might be innocent, based on the time frame when that young man, Stanislav, was killed. If Galina didn’t do it, then who did? Who else was involved in this espionage fiasco?

But looking on the bright side again, at least Galina was in custody and unable to attack Robin or me.

Nevertheless, I felt anxious and antsy, so I buried myself in work. Fortifying myself with three kinds of chocolate, I began the actual restoration of the Kama Sutra.

I started with the leather cover, wiping it with a specially treated cloth that wouldn’t hurt the leather but would clean away any grime that had been caught in the seams and around the embedded gems. When I got to the elaborately gilded edges of the leather, I pulled out my magnifying glass to study the dentelles more closely.

As I stared at the intricate design, I recalled the information Rajiv sent me that indicated that the book had been created sometime between 1840 and 1880. I had accepted that time frame, not only because his papers said so but because some of the designs and the precision of the tooling was typical of French bookbinding methods during those decades.

But forty minutes later… good grief, I didn’t know what to think. Was it feasible? I couldn’t wrap my mind around the possibility. I rolled my shoulders and combed my hair back with my fingers. It couldn’t be true. Could it? I popped another Butterfinger ball in my mouth and grabbed my magnifying glass.

“What’s going on?” Derek said.

I jolted slightly. “Where did you come from?”

“I’ve been standing here watching you for the last five minutes.”

“You have? I didn’t see you.”

“I know. You’re so wound up, you’re shaking the table. What I can’t figure out is whether you’re trembling with happiness or anger. Or perhaps it’s excitement. Have you been peeking at the pictures without me, love?”

I looked at the book, then smiled at him. “Never.”

“Good,” he said, prowling toward me. “But something’s captured your attention. What is it?”

I hadn’t realized my left knee was shaking like crazy. I pressed my palm down against my leg to make it stop.

“Tell me what’s got you so tickled,” he said, as he dragged another stool over and sat next to me.

“Okay.” Where to begin? I wondered. “At first I thought this book was a nineteenth-century work, but now I think that’s wrong.”

Derek focused in on me. “Are you saying it’s a forgery?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Well, yes, actually. At least insofar as the information goes that I received from Rajiv. But if my theories are correct, he’s wrong. I can’t say whether he deliberately told me something different or if he’s simply unaware of what he has. I guess I can ask when we meet him.”

“Of course you can.”

“Right. But my point is, I believe this book is almost a century older and infinitely more valuable than I originally thought. Look at this.”

He scooted his chair closer. I placed the back cover in front of him and handed him the magnifying glass. “See these tooled and gilded designs on the leather here? Near the edge of the endpaper?”

“Here?” He pointed, then glanced at me. “Where it’s been ripped apart?”

“Oh.” I frowned at him. “I did that the other day when we were looking for the flash drive. But don’t worry. I’ll fix it when I put the book back together.”

Derek chuckled. “I’m not worried. You know what you’re doing.”

“Yes, I do.” Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly. I was nervous, I realized, and there went my knee, shaking again. I shifted in my chair and rolled my shoulders to realign my energies. “Anyway, this mark on the leather is called a dentelle, and it-”

“What’s a dentelle?”

I rewarded him with a beaming smile, as though he were my star pupil. “Good question. It’s a specific pattern made in the leather by a gilding tool. Here, it gives the effect of a lacy border along the inside cover. Can you see?”

“Yes.” He bent closer and focused the magnifying glass. “Looks a bit like a snowflake.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Sometimes they’re simple, sometimes more elaborate. I think of it as the crown molding on a book. It softens the border and distracts the eye from the hard edges where leather and paper meet.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.”

“Here’s what I’m excited about. It’s common for different binderies to create their own signature dentelles. Sometimes the pattern is simply repeated by the hand of the binder, and sometimes they design a pattern in metal and form a plate. That plate is placed over the leather and the design is etched into it; then gold sheets are rolled or worked into the indentations.”

“Fascinating.”

“I know-it’s complicated. Anyway, some experts can open a book and state unequivocally that the book was created at a certain bindery, based wholly on the dentelles. I’m not a true expert, but I know enough to have given a few lectures on the subject.”

He patted my knee. “And I know they were riveting.”

I laughed. “Of course they were. Anyway, call me cuckoo, but I’m almost certain that the particular pattern of this dentelle is identical to the pattern used by the bindery of Jean-Pierre de Garme.”

Derek leaned over with the magnifying glass and stared at the gold tooling for another moment, then sat back in his chair. “Well, that’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“Lovely?” Laughing again, I took the magnifying glass back. “You bet your sweet ass it’s lovely. But I don’t think you grok the true significance of what I’m saying.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Apparently not, so why don’t you explain it in simple English. Speak slowly. I’m still a little weak from your complimenting of my ass.”

“Sorry. That was rude.” I clutched his arm. “But this is an emotional moment for me.”

“Clearly,” he murmured, and pushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. I think it was his way of calming me down with his touch. “Tell me.”

I took another breath and let it escape slowly. “Jean-Pierre de Garme was one of the royal bookbinders to Louis the Sixteenth of France.”

“Ah. Well, that is monumental.”

“Yes!” I choked on a sudden laugh. “Yes!” Unable to sit still another moment, I jumped up and paced a few steps in either direction, then shrieked and raised my arms in victory.

“It’s incredible,” I cried. “If it’s true, this book was made sometime in the late seventeen hundreds, which makes it well over two hundred years old. Which also explains why this translation doesn’t follow the Burton text, of course.”

He stood as well and pushed his chair in. “Because Burton didn’t begin his translation of the Kama Sutra until the late eighteen hundreds.”

“Yes.” Tapping my fingers on the back of the chair, I calculated. “And that brings up an entirely different issue. This translation could very well be the first evidence that someone else in the Western world discovered the Kama Sutra almost a century before Burton.”

“A stunning possibility,” Derek said.

“But I can’t even think about that right now. Not until I’ve done more research.”

“I have every confidence in your ability to find the truth.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” I kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Just think, Derek. This book might’ve been commissioned by the king of France.” I grinned at him, then frowned. “Was Louis the Sixteenth known for his wild sexual pursuits? Do you know if he and Marie Antoinette were, you know, players?”

Derek laughed. “I doubt it. They were too busy evading the guillotine.”

I laughed with him. “Right. It doesn’t matter. Jean-Pierre is the key.”

“Good point.” He whirled me around and planted a hot, hard kiss on my lips.

“Wow,” I whispered. “What was that for?”

“You,” he said, and bent to kiss my neck, causing shivers to zip up and down my spine. “I’m very proud of you and your discovery. But, darling, if we’re not going to look at the naughty pictures, I’ve got to get back to my phone calls.”

I smiled and touched my cheek to his. “Okay, I’ll be working here a while longer. Oh, I should call Ian at the Covington. He’s going to die when he hears this.”

“Do send him my regards.”

A day later, Robin and Shiva arrived back in the city around noon. Robin called me first thing to let me know that the flowers were beautiful, the cupcakes were delectable, and the bed was spectacular. I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that I’d nailed it. You just never knew about such things.

“It’s like it never happened, Brooklyn,” she said.

I recognized her tone, so I dropped my scalpel and moved to my desk chair to sit and talk. “You almost sound sad about that.”

“It is a little sad, don’t you think? All trace of him is gone. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad they cleaned everything up. But they cleaned it up so well that there’s not even a vibe of Alex left.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” I said gently. “But that’s kind of what those guys get paid to do.”

She chuckled softly. “And I appreciate it. I guess I thought I’d walk in and feel his presence somehow. And I don’t.”

“And you wanted to?”

She thought for a moment. “No. I really didn’t. I’m just in a weird place. I’m still flipping out to think that I chose to go out with someone so duplicitous. So now shouldn’t I be questioning my choices? Shouldn’t I wonder about my feelings for Austin? Is he really the right man for me?”

I picked up a pencil and drummed it on the desk surface. “Yes, he is.”

“It’s that simple?”

“Yes,” I said. “You’ve loved him for more than half your lifetime. This isn’t an impulsive decision, Robin. It’s nothing at all like the situation with Alex. And Austin finally realizes he feels the same way. Are you really going to question that? Do you know how rare it is to find real love?”

“I guess.”

“Austin is the real thing,” I said. “Alex was a blip on the screen. A bump in the road. A misstep. A wrinkle in time.”

She laughed. “Enough with the metaphors.”

“Really? Because I have more. A leaf blowing in the wind.”

“A ship passing in the night?” she whispered.

“Um, well,” I said, and decided to shut up.

“Anyway,” she said, changing tones again, “the bedding is beautiful. I’m still in shock that you showed such good taste.”

There was the Robin I knew and loved. “Wait till you see the bill.”

“Worth it at any cost,” she said. “Thanks.”

“No worries. So, did your mom get a chance to talk to Rajiv yet?”

“They spoke last night. He’s in New York right now and won’t be in San Francisco until Saturday morning. She set up the meeting for the afternoon.”

“Okay, I’ll tell Derek.”

“Great. I think we should all be there.”

“I do, too.” I grabbed a pencil and pulled out my desk calendar. “Oh, crap-a-doodle.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We promised Jeremy we’d go to the Castro Street Fair to see his street performance.”

“That’s right.” Robin groaned. “I forgot all about it.”

“Rats.” I sighed. “I’ll tell him we can’t make it.”

“Oh, but that’s my favorite street fair,” she said. “There’s a great local sculptor who always has a booth there. And I might get some of my stuff in there, too.”

I thought about it. Truth was, I loved the Castro fair, too. All those cute boys in their leather chaps. And the food stalls were always top-notch. And Jeremy had been so excited about having us all show up to watch him perform.

“Maybe we can set up the meeting for later in the afternoon,” I said. “I think Jeremy’s on at one o’clock.”

“Yes, okay,” she said. “We can watch Jeremy, then meet Rajiv at the Cove Cafe maybe around three or four.”

The Cove was your basic American diner, but it wasn’t greasy, the waiters were great, and it was located on Castro Street. We wouldn’t have to walk too far after Jeremy’s performance.

“And Shiva will love the street fair,” Robin added. “It’ll remind her of the bazaar in Varanasi.”

“Minus the Ganges,” I said, laughing. “Okay, if she’s up for it, that would work out perfectly.”

“She’s up for anything I say she’s up for,” Robin murmured.

“It’s like that, is it?”

“Oh, yeah. She kind of flipped out once she heard what I’d gone through. She came by Austin’s place twice a day just to check up on me. It’s weird having her around, doting on me.”

“I think it’s nice that she’s worried about you.” After all the years of benign neglect, it was good to know Shiva actually cared about her daughter.

“We’ll see how long it lasts, now that we’re living in the same space for the next few days.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” I said. “Listen, Derek’s going out with clients Friday night, so I’m having a girls’ night. Margaritas and tacos. If you and your mom don’t have plans, why don’t you come over? It would be interesting to introduce Shiva to Vinnie.”

“Sounds like fun. We’ll be there.”

Tyler stared at the book. He turned it over and scanned the back cover. Then he opened the book, checked the last few pages, and leaned in close to examine the inner hinges. Finally, he closed the book and gazed up at me. “Is this my book?”

“Tyler,” his mother said, “of course it’s your book.”

“But it’s different.”

“It’s all fixed, just as you wanted,” Lisa said, and shot me a look of embarrassed confusion. “Miss Brooklyn sewed the pages back together and glued the covers so it would be like new.”

He was sitting up on his knees at their dining room table, so I sat down in the chair next to him. He had both elbows on the table now, and his expression was so serious, I had to smother a grin. “Look in the front of the book, Tyler. You signed your name, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” he muttered, and turned the book over. On the flyleaf, he had written his name in block letters, in heavy pencil. He studied the signature minutely, then looked up at me, still suspicious. “That looks like my name.”

“It is your name. And do you remember where you colored the beast orange?”

His eyes widened and he flipped through the pages. He nodded rapidly and tapped his fingers on the page. “It’s mine, it’s mine.”

“Do you like it?” his mother asked.

He rubbed his fingers over the crayon scrawling and tiny orange flakes came off on his skin. He nodded again. “Good. It’s… good. Mine.”

“So you’re happy with it?” Lisa said, prompting him to be polite.

“Yes, it’s mine. It’s good.” He stroked the page, then looked up at me. “Thank you, Miss Brooklyn.”

I’d had more effusive praise from my clients, but there was something honest and pure about the six-year-old’s approval. “You’re welcome, Tyler.”

Without warning he threw himself at me and hugged me as best he could, considering he was sprawled between two chairs. “How did you do it? You made it new. It’s like… magic.”

I laughed. “It is magic, but someday I’ll show you how to do it.”

He sat back in his chair. “Yes. I want to see how you did it.”

“I’ll teach you, if it’s okay with your mom.”

“Can I, Mommy?”

It was the first time I’d heard him call her Mommy, so I knew this was important. We both looked at Lisa, who smiled and nodded.

“Yes, yes.” Tyler rubbed his hands and bobbed and wiggled in his chair.

“Tyler, isn’t there something you’re forgetting?” Lisa said, and touched the pocket of her jeans.

“Oh.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out five wrinkled one-dollar bills. He straightened them, then handed them to me. “This is for you, Miss Brooklyn. You earned it for a job well-done.”

Pookie wasn’t eating.

It was early afternoon on Friday, and I could see the reason in her eyes. She’d been here long enough. It was so unfair that she had to stay at my place while Splinters, the sick cat, was allowed to luxuriate at home with Vinnie and Suzie at his beck and call. What had Pookie done to deserve this banishment? Why did she have to be the one to live with me, the human who almost forgot to feed her?

It happened only once, but I wasn’t off the hook yet. Probably never would be. Cats held grudges; I saw that now.

Naturally, Pookie didn’t say any of that out loud, but it was apparent every time she looked at me. She wore her contempt for me like a second fuzzy skin. She was the prisoner; I was the jailer. She let me know with each swift swish of her tail that she would despise me to her dying day.

Or maybe that was just my imagination.

The fact is, I love animals; I really do. But I was never very good with pets. While I was growing up, there were always animals in the house. My brothers had dogs and my baby sister had a cat. There were hamsters and gerbils and little white mice, but none of them were mine. At age seven, I finally insisted on getting a pet of my own, but my mom drew the line at another furry beast. I could have a goldfish, she told me.

I was thrilled. Goldfish were so pretty and shiny. I could have a fishbowl in my room and decorate it with colorful pebbles and fake seaweed and a ceramic treasure chest. At the pet store, I picked out the one fish I thought had the best personality in the tank. Shiny and bright orange-gold, she wasn’t the fastest swimmer, but she seemed to like me. And I liked her. I’d already named her in my mind. Goldie. Undulating back and forth near the side of the tank where I stood watching, she seemed to stare back at me, reaching out, calling my name. Take me home, B-B-B-Brooklyn, she seemed to say in her bubbly little voice. I am your fish.

Who could’ve known that Goldie had a weak gill? It was so unfair. That was why she undulated. That was why she wasn’t a fast swimmer. I came home from school and found her dead, bloated, floating on the surface of the water in her pretty little bowl. I’d had her only two weeks.

I took Goldie’s death personally. It broke my spirit and destroyed my confidence as a pet owner. Fear and guilt were my new watchwords. I could never ask for another pet after that. For goodness’ sake, I couldn’t take care of a fish. How could I be trusted with a mammal?

And Pookie knew it.

I called Suzie to tell her the cat wasn’t eating and she hung up on me. Twenty seconds later, she was knocking on my door.

“Thanks so much for coming over,” I said as I closed the door and led her into my living area.

“No worries, kiddo,” Suzie said as she followed me. “Hey, are you okay? Looks like you’re limping.”

“What? No.” Oh, God, I’d pulled a muscle in my leg the other night when Derek and I were doing research, but I wasn’t about to let anyone know. “I… bumped into a chair. I’ll be fine.”

“Hope so, but if it keeps hurting, Vinnie’s got a poultice that’ll set you right.”

“Thanks. I’ll be fine.”

Pookie came skittering across the floor at the sound of Suzie’s voice.

“There she is,” Suzie said, picking up the cat and hugging her. “She’s only got two more days left here. Splinters’s medication is finished, but we have to wait until Saturday before the cats can be together again.”

“She must feel like she’s in solitary confinement over here,” I said, then couldn’t help but smile as Pookie draped herself over Suzie’s shoulder, a boneless, furry lump of love.

“No, no,” Suzie said as she scratched the cat’s ears. “She likes it here.”

“Nope. I think she’s had it with me,” I muttered. “She’s ready to go home.”

“Don’t be cracked,” Suzie said, stroking the cat’s fur. “She loves you. Don’t you, Pookers, don’t you? Yes, you do. Yes, you do.”

Suzie’s normally tough-chick voice shot up three octaves as she continued crooning to her cat. “Yes, you do. Yes, you do.”

Pookie’s purrs of sublime love radiated through the room. I could feel her blissful vibrations from several feet away. She never vibrated around me. Of course, that was probably a good thing. Still, seeing the love generated between the two left me feeling bittersweet. Maybe it was time I found an animal of my very own to love.

“Hello, darling.”

I lit up like a Christmas tree at the sound of Derek’s voice. As he crossed the living room, I ran to greet him. “You’re home early. I’m so happy. What’s going on?”

He wrapped me in his arms and whispered, “Maybe I just missed you.”

“Oh.” I hugged him back, loving the masculine scent of him. Hmm, who needed a cat?

Suzie sighed. “Sweet.”

“Hello, Suzie,” Derek said over my head.

“Hey, Derek. Just visiting my baby, here.”

“She’s a lovely cat.”

“Yes, she is,” Suzie murmured, then repeated it straight to Pookie. “Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”

I chuckled. There was a whole lot of love going on in here. I looked up at Derek. “Does this mean you’ll be here for girls’ night?”

“Are you serving Cornish pasties, by chance?”

“God, no,” I said, wrinkling my nose.

“Then, sadly, I can’t make it,” he said, smiling wryly. He eased back to check his watch. “I’ll be heading out in a while to meet Clive and his partners at Gary Danko.”

“Wow, how’d you swing that one?” Suzie said, putting the cat down. “It takes three months to get a reservation there.”

With a brief shake of his head, he said, “Corinne takes care of these things.”

Suzie snorted and winked at me. “I’ll give Corinne a call next time I’m in a jam.”

Pookie wandered over to her bowl of mashed salmon and began to nibble.

“She’s eating,” I marveled.

“My work here is done,” Suzie said. “I’ll be back at seven for margaritas.”

“Thanks so much for coming over.”

“She just needed a little Suzie love,” she said, grinning. After bending to give the cat one more affectionate scratch behind her ears, she stood up and punched my arm. “See you later, gator.”

As soon as I heard the door close behind Suzie, I looked at Derek. “How long before you have to leave?”

“Long enough,” he said, grabbing hold of my arms and backing me toward the couch.

I laughed. “What are you doing?”

“I should think it would be obvious.” He yanked off my sweater in one brash move. I shook my hair back and watched him watching me, his dark eyes glittering with intent.

“You’re awfully dressed up,” I said, fingering his tie. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll wrinkle your suit?”

“No.”

My knees hit the couch and I fell backward. He followed. I pressed my hand to his chest. “What if I told you I’m not in the mood?”

“I’d have to call you a liar.”