One Book In The Grave

Chapter 19

Tuesday morning, Derek left for his office as the sun was rising. I was awake, anyway, so I decided to get an early start on my work. I was popping chocolate kisses and measuring out boards to cut for the new cover of Beauty and the Beast when Ian called.

“I’m checking up on you and the book,” he said. “How’s my Beauty doing?”

“I’m putting a whole new cover on your Beauty,” I said with a smile as I reached for another chocolate kiss. “It’s going to look fantastic.”

“So you’re going ahead with the restoration? That’s great news.”

Yikes. I probably shouldn’t have told him I was restoring the book. If he asked if I’d gotten permission from Emily, I would have to lie. I couldn’t tell him about Max. Not yet, anyway. I hung my head in dismay at my big mouth. “Um, yeah. I decided it needed an overhaul, so I’ve made an executive decision to take care of it while I wait to hear from Emily.”

“So you haven’t talked to her yet?”

“Not yet.” I scrambled for an excuse. “I left a message. She’s, um, out of town right now, but I expect to hear from her soon.”

“You’re still going to ask her to donate it to the Covington?”

“Absolutely.” I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling him I would ask Max about it. I was a terrible liar and almost as bad at withholding information. Of course, Ian was so focused on work at the Covington, I wondered if he’d even heard about Joe Taylor’s murder yet. Oh, he had to have heard by now. The book world was so small and garrulous, the news would have spread like crazy. But I wasn’t about to bring up the topic, and I certainly wasn’t going to admit that I was the one who found Joe’s body.

“Look,” he said, “shouldn’t there be a statute of limitations or something? You know, if you haven’t heard from her in thirty days, the book is mine?”

I smiled. “I’ll look into that.”

“I’m just encouraged that you’re restoring it. Maybe I’ll drop by to see it.”

I almost choked on my Hershey’s Kiss. “Um, I’m not sure I’ll be home, so you’d better call first.”

“I’ll take my chances. See you later, Brooklyn.”

The following day, Ian made good on his warning.

On a whim that morning, I’d made a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough and put the first two dozen cookies in the oven to bake.

While I waited for the cookies, I mixed up some polyvinyl acetate, or PVA, the archival glue I used for bookbinding and book repair. It had a low moisture content, dried quickly, and remained flexible.

I had my largest cutting board out on the worktable, ready to go. But first I began drawing a template. The vermilion morocco was too precious to cut without measuring it precisely first. After I made the final cut, I would be ready to glue it to the boards and the spine.

I was getting ahead of myself. I still needed to resew the signatures and clean the book thoroughly. But I couldn’t wait. The leather cover made me giddy with excitement. And didn’t I sound like the biggest book geek ever?

The timer went off and I ran back to the kitchen to remove the two cookie sheets from the oven. The cookies were baked to perfection, golden brown with perfectly melted bits of chocolate and still soft to the touch. While transferring them to a rack to cool off, I almost stuffed one into my mouth, but I resisted, barely.

As I slid two more sheets into the oven, my telephone rang. It was two quick rings, then nothing, which meant that someone was at the front door of my building, buzzing to be let inside.

“Max,” I called, but he didn’t respond, so I knew he wasn’t in the apartment. He had to be up on the roof.

I was expecting my new bookshelves to be delivered today or tomorrow, but just in case it wasn’t the delivery man, I needed Max to stay hidden. Feeling a hint of desperation, I grabbed the phone to see who was downstairs.

“Hey, Brooklyn, it’s me,” Ian said.

“Ian, what do you want?” How rude was that? He was going to think I was off my rocker. “I’m sorry, Ian. I’m just a little stressed. What’s going on?”

“I’m right outside,” he said. “Let me in. I want to say hi and see the book.”

“Um, sure. Great. Here you go.” I pressed the code numbers to release the door lock, then raced upstairs to the roof.

“Max,” I yelled, since the wind made it hard to hear. “Someone’s coming to see me, so stay up here, okay? Don’t come downstairs.”

“Okay, no problem,” he said, waving me off, as casual as could be. “Let me know when it’s safe to come down.”

“You got it.” I went running back down the stairs and closed the door that led to the roof, wondering how the hell he could be so laid-back when I was running around like a crazy person.

Ian stayed for almost an hour. I showed him the leather I’d chosen for the cover, and we discussed the ideas I had for gilding the leather. He suggested an elaborately gilded, highly stylized cover with curlicues in each corner. Since the book was from the Victorian era, I went along with his idea for a fancy design.

While he was here, I pulled more cookies out of the oven. Ian grabbed two while they were still warm. Shortly after that, he took off, and by then I was ready to collapse. All this running around and worrying was taking its toll. The PVA had hardened, so I would have to make another batch. But not right away. Just now, I felt like taking a nap. Maybe I would take the rest of the day off, eat cookies, and read a good book.

I was starting up the stairs to let Max know the coast was clear when the phone rang twice and stopped again. Someone else is at the front door? What the heck? I ran to the kitchen phone to answer it.

“Hey, Brooklyn. It’s me, Ian.”

“Did you forget something?”

“Nope, just wanted to let you know a delivery guy is here with a huge box for you. I let him inside.”

“Oh, my bookshelves. Thanks, Ian.”

We hung up, and it was a full minute later before I heard our building’s ancient industrial freight elevator chug into action.

I cleaned off my worktable and tossed the PVA in the trash can.

The elevator shuddered to a stop and a few seconds later there was a knock on my door. That was one speedy deliveryman.

Max was hidden away on the roof and everything was fine. I took a few deep breaths to steady my heart. I really wasn’t cut out for a life of intrigue.

Oh, who was I kidding? I thrived on intrigue, but this day was driving me batty.

“Brooklyn, yoo-hoo!” A voice called through the door. “You are home?”

My neighbor Vinnie? I ran to open the door.

“Hello, my friend,” she said, and stepped inside.

I wrapped her in a warm hug. “Where’s Suzie? How are you? I haven’t seen you all week.”

“We are fine,” she said in her chirpy voice. I held her at arm’s length to take in her outfit of black bustier, denim cutoffs, and army boots. On her it all worked.

Then I realized there was someone standing behind her.

“Delivery for Wainwright?” he said, parking his furniture dolly while he wiped his forehead with his baseball cap. Towering over him was a large brown box, about six feet tall and almost three feet wide. No wonder he seemed out of breath.

“Right,” I said, grinning. “My bookshelves. Come on in.”

I led the way, and Vinnie followed me from my workshop studio, where my front door was, through the short hall that led to my living room. I pointed to the wall on the left that was bare. “You can leave the box right there.”

“That is why I am here, Brooklyn,” she explained in her lilting Indian accent. “I saw this man stepping off the elevator and I told him I would show him the way.”

“Yo, Brooklyn?”

“There’s Suzie,” Vinnie said, then cried out, “We are in here, Suzie.” Suzie and Vinnie were a loving couple as well as business partners in chain-saw artistry.

“I knew it, you sneaky bitch.”

That wasn’t Suzie’s voice. A sharp pain in my neck made me gasp aloud.

Minka?

She pushed her way past the delivery guy, lumbered right up to me, and smacked my arm. “How dare you?”

“Hey,” I said, rubbing my arm. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed Ian over here. I was sure he was up to no good.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Ew. What a slob. “When he left just now, he let this delivery guy in, so now I’ve caught you in a lie you can’t slither out of.”

“How’d you get into the building?”

“Your front door takes forever to close, so I got in after him.”

“Well, get out.”

Suzie moved in closer and Minka cringed. Good. Suzie looked a lot tougher than she was, but at times like this, flexing some muscle couldn’t hurt.

“I’m not leaving until I get some of the books Ian delivered to you.”

“What books?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She flicked her chin toward the delivery guy. “You’ve got that whole big box of books to restore. I want some.”

“Oh, my God,” I muttered. “You are deranged.”

“Right here okay?” the deliveryman asked.

I whipped around and saw he was standing right where I’d showed him. “Perfect. Thanks.”

“These are the bookshelves you ordered last week?” Vinnie asked. “Can we see them?”

“Yes,” I said, shifting away from Minka. “They’re a really nice oak and they’re going to go on this wall. What do you think?”

“Perfect,” Vinnie said.

“Cool,” Suzie said. “I like books everywhere.”

We watched the deliveryman maneuver the box off the dolly inch by inch; then he held one end and carefully laid it down on the floor. “There you go.”

“Anybody home?” someone bellowed from my front door.

I jolted. Yet another person was at my door?

But Vinnie smiled and said, “It’s Jeremy and Sergio.”

More fun neighbors.

“Come in,” I shouted in the general direction of the front door. “Close the door behind you, please.”

“A party on a Wednesday afternoon-how delicious,” Jeremy said as he hugged me. Then he gazed beyond me toward the kitchen. “Ooh, cookies.”

“Bring the plate over,” I said.

Jeremy went after the cookies, and his boyfriend, Sergio, grabbed me. “Hi, cutie.”

“Hi, Sergio,” I said, patting his back. “How are you?”

“Fabuloso, as always.”

“Brooklyn, darling, are we having a party?”

“Derek?” I spotted him coming through the hall and into the living room. “You’re home early.”

“A good thing, apparently,” he said, kissing me firmly, then wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “I do hate to miss a party.”

Minka shoved me again. “I don’t care if you’re having a party. I want answers. And I want my share of the Covington work.”

I turned on her. “They’re not books, Minka. They’re book shelves. I ordered them a week ago.” I realized I was yelling but I couldn’t help it. She was a delusional moron with a left jab that could land you in the hospital.

“Liar!” she cried.

“Oh, my God.” I grabbed my own hair to keep from strangling her. “You’re a lunatic and you’re trespassing. Now leave before I call the police.”

“Hello, Derek,” Vinnie said brightly, ignoring the commotion.

“Vinnie,” he said, giving her a hug as he observed my less-than-amusing tête-à-tête with Minka. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Sign for this?” The deliveryman shoved a clipboard in front of me. A pen was taped to the steel clip.

“Sure.” I signed my name and he tore off a receipt and handed it to me. Then he turned the dolly around and took off for the door.

“Thank you,” I called after him. I heard my front door slam shut and felt momentarily relieved until I realized Minka was still there.

“Cookie?” Jeremy said, holding the plate out.

“Yes.” I shoved half of the cookie into my mouth. “We have milk.”

“Ooh, yummers,” Jeremy said. “I’ll get it.”

“Darling, what’s going on?” Derek leaned close and whispered in my ear, “Where is our houseguest?”

I stood on tiptoe and answered quietly, “On the roof.” I turned and looked around at the confusion. Derek and I gazed at each other, then shrugged and laughed.

“I’ll open some wine,” he said, and I nodded my approval.

“Hey, Brooklyn, aren’t you going to open the box?” Suzie asked as she munched on a cookie.

“Yeah,” Minka snarled as she adjusted her hat. “I’m not leaving until I’ve seen exactly what’s in there.”

“Whoa.” I must have been distracted before, because I was just now getting my first good look at her-and had to shield my eyes. Pink and plastic were her watchwords today. The shirt was a shiny, one-shoulder creation that stretched across her voluptuous bosom so tightly that if it came loose, I feared somebody would lose an eye. Her pink stretch pants were sliced vertically all the way up her thighs so her skin popped out appallingly. She wore a matching pink, glittery pillbox hat tilted jauntily to one side.

Words failed me.

Derek stepped forward and held up my heavy-duty Tough Tool box cutters he’d found in my workroom. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” I said. “Would you do the honors, please?”

He knelt down next to the big box and sliced the cardboard top open to reveal another box, this one made of wood.

“Are those the shelves?” Suzie asked. “They look unfinished.”

A highly suspicious Minka stood over one end of the box with her arms folded across her chest, just waiting to point an accusing finger at me. Moronic twit.

“This is so exciting,” Sergio said, fanning himself. “Ooh, Derek, you’re so strong.”

Jeremy licked his lips in agreement.

I giggled at Derek’s momentary look of horror.

He moved around the edges of the wooden crate, using the heavy blade of the cutters to pry the top up. “Help me with this, will you?”

Suzie and I gripped one end while Derek took the other end. Together we lifted off the top and laid it along the side of the crate.

“Well?” I asked, turning around to look at my friends’ reactions.

Jeremy screamed and slid to the floor.

“Holy crap,” Suzie shouted and skittered backward.

Vinnie made some kind of wheezing sound and yanked Suzie back farther. She began chanting something in her native language, then cried out, “Dear goddess, what evil has come into our world?”

I turned and looked. And gasped. Derek grabbed me before I could join Jeremy on the floor, and pressed my head to his chest so tightly I could barely breathe.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” Suzie chanted.

“This isn’t happening,” I muttered, lifting my head to catch my breath.

Minka whipped around, pointed at me, and screamed, “You’re a sick, twisted bitch!” Then she made a gagging sound and ran for the door. I could hear her screaming all the way down the hall.

I braced myself, then turned back to make double sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

But no, it wasn’t an illusion. Lying in the box was Angelica, almost as beautiful as she’d ever been, surrounded by faded, wilting flowers. Her hair was coiffed, her makeup was perfect, and she was very, very dead.