Any thoughts of spending time with Derek after the party were squelched once again when Gunther the Troll announced that he wanted Derek and his men to go to dinner with him. At first, Derek had refused to indulge him, exasperated with the man’s capricious changes to his well-ordered operation. He took Gunther aside and told him he would pull his men off the assignment if the Austrian didn’t start taking the death threats against him more seriously. Interpol had already reported that several operatives of the European prime minister whose daughter Gunther had compromised had entered the United States.
But Gunther had insisted the fancy dinner was something he’d planned weeks ago and he wondered aloud why it wasn’t on Derek’s schedule.
Derek wondered as well. Knowing him as well as I thought I did, I knew his own calendar would be accurate and up-to-the-minute. So that meant Gunther was lying. In the end, though, Derek relented for the sake of client goodwill. I was outwardly gracious in defeat but privately irate. Did Gunther know that Derek and I had made plans? Did he care? And how fancy could a dinner with a bunch of guys be?
“Oh.” How stupid was I? There would be women there, of course. Gunther was a good-looking guy, an internationally known artist. He could drum up a wild party with one phone call.
“Ugh.” I so didn’t need the image of Derek surrounded by wild, eager party girls. I took a deep breath and shoved those thoughts right off the bridge, into the bay where they belonged.
As he said good night to me, Derek whispered that his original plan had been to spend the evening with me. It was clear what he meant and it tickled my heart, though I would’ve preferred that other parts of me be tickled instead. But enough about my sorry excuse for a love life.
I was grabbing my coat from the deserted back cloakroom when someone tapped my shoulder, effectively scaring the living daylights out of me.
“Huh. Brooklyn.”
My chest stuttered in fear. But it was just Ned. No worries. He’d caught me off guard, that’s all. “Hey, hi, Ned. How’re you holding up?”
“ ’Kay,” he said, his gaze darting every which way. “Weird stuff.”
Those three words were the most Ned had said to me in all the years I’d been coming here. “That’s to be expected, I guess. But you still have a job, right? Everything will work out, right?”
“Huh. Me and my printing press.” As he spoke, he chewed the skin around the nail of his ring finger. “We’re a team.”
“You sure are,” I said casually, though inside I was starting to wonder why Ned had chosen tonight and me to demonstrate his nascent social skills. “Well, I’d better be going now. Good night.”
“You’re smart.”
I shifted back, surprised. “Thanks.”
“Huh.” His lips thinned and his forehead furled sullenly. “She was bad.”
I frowned. “I’m sorry, Ned. Was Layla mean to you?”
“Huh.” He looked around furtively, then whispered, “I see things.”
“Huh.” Now I sounded like him. “What sort of things?”
“You watch out,” he muttered, then added, “Okay, g’night.” And he shuffled out of the room.
I opened my mouth to call him back, then shut it. What things had he seen? Flummoxed, I glanced around again, then shook off the chills I felt from his last statement.
I see things.
Right now, I couldn’t think about the things Ned had seen. My life was already weird enough.
I see things.
Was Ned watching me? I buttoned up my coat and headed for the front door, where I turned and stared back at the room. I didn’t see Ned but I knew he was in there somewhere, watching. I just couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
As I passed through the gallery, I noticed Naomi swilling wine and holding court by the bar. Seconds later, Inspector Lee walked back inside the gallery with two uniformed cops.
She skirted the crowd and moved directly toward Naomi. I saw the moment Naomi grasped what was happening. Her eyes widened and she turned and walked away quickly. Lee signaled for the cops to go after her, down the hall that led to the bathrooms.
Poor Naomi. She was not having a good night.
Monday’s class had been canceled due to Layla’s memorial service and wake, so Tuesday evening I was back in my classroom laying out supplies at each student’s place for the traditional journal they would create over the next three nights. Heavy cardboard matte, already cut to size, for the boards. Signature pages cut to fit. A thin piece of spine stiffener. I’d also laid out more pieces of cloth on the side counter for them to choose from. There was every conceivable pattern and color for the covers and heavy construction paper for the pastedowns, the decorative paper glued to the inside covers to hide the dull boards and ragged turnings.
Alice arrived a few minutes early and helped me assemble the tools we would need this week. After expressing confusion and concern about last night’s confrontation with Naomi, she changed the subject and raved about our weekend visit to Sonoma. Then she asked about Gabriel.
“He’s okay,” I said. “I talked to my mom this afternoon. He’s still in the hospital, but he’ll be coming home tomorrow. He was having some problems sleeping, but I guess they’ve worked those out. I’m still kind of freaked out that it happened.”
“It’s so frightening.”
“I know. But he’s really strong. Mom will take him to her place and spoil him so much, he’ll run shrieking out of there eventually.”
“Your mother is wonderful,” Alice said.
“Thanks. I think so, too. She should’ve had ten kids because now that we’ve all moved out, she’s started adopting people. First there was Annie, now Gabriel.”
“You’re so lucky. She has such a big heart.”
“Yeah.” I frowned. “I already feel like Annie’s my sister, but I don’t really like to think of Gabriel as my brother.”
She smiled. “I see what you mean. He’s awfully cute.”
I opened the Ziploc bag of glue sticks. “Oh, he’s beyond cute.”
“Yes, even with his head wrapped in gauze and lying on a gurney, I could tell how handsome he was.”
As she walked around the table, placing bone folders at everyone’s place, I observed her. I didn’t know how my faux sister Annie would feel about it, but I wondered if it would be crazy to fix Gabriel up with Alice. She was a beautiful girl, smart, funny, compassionate, and spirited. But despite those qualities, she had a touch of fragility. I had a feeling Gabriel would chew her up and spit her out, and I would lose one or both of them as a friend.
Then again, was Gabriel really a friend? I exhaled slowly. No, he was more like an extremely attractive nuisance. I’d only known him a short while, only seen him a few times. He showed up at the strangest moments and he’d saved my life on more than one occasion. Now I knew he’d also saved the lives of both my father and Guru Bob. So he was definitely hero material, but what if he was a spy or some kind of a mercenary? He’d been known to skirt the law when the situation called for it. All in all, he probably wasn’t the best choice for Alice.
Not that she needed me to set her up. She had a fiancé, for goodness’ sake! In my excitement to change careers from crime investigator to matchmaker, I’d forgotten all about Stuart.
Laughing at myself, I finished passing out glue brushes as the rest of my students arrived for class.
Since we’d missed Monday night’s class as well as half of last Thursday’s class when Layla’s body was discovered, I had to cancel the construction of this week’s miniature book and go directly to the larger journal. I did a quick recap of the basic nineteenth-century bookbinding techniques we’d covered last week. I promised my students that next week we’d move to the twenty-first century and have some fun.
“Tonight I’ll give you a quick background of eighteenth-century binding, but we won’t be doing any hands-on work in that style.”
“Why not?” Jennifer asked.
“A few reasons,” I said. “First and foremost, eighteenth-century bookbinding was all about the tools. You sort of had to wrestle a book into shape. This was the age of gilding, and the French predominated.”
I passed around some photographs showing different styles of gilding on book covers. “Some would say that if you’re studying eighteenth-century bookbinding, you’re essentially studying the work of Pierre-Paul Dubuisson, the French master bookbinder and royal gilder to Louis the Fifteenth. These are his works as compared to his students’ work. You can see who the master is.”
Without warning, Mitchell broke in with a tacky and slightly lewd Maurice Chevalier imitation. Something about an invitation to come up to his place to see his gilding.
The class burst into laughter.
“Thank you,” I said, laughing along with everyone. “Best offer I’ve had in weeks.” Sadly, that was true.
“I’ve done some academic presentations of Dubuisson’s work along with some comparative studies of his gilding designs vis-à-vis his students’. But I’ll spare you the details.”
“You don’t have to,” Alice said loyally.
“Thank you, Alice,” I said, and laughed again. “But I’ll just move on to our next book.”
Since I was leading them through the same steps we’d taken to make last week’s book, the students moved smoothly through the process with only a few reminders from me. It was just as well, because I was having a hard time staying focused. I was burning with curiosity about Naomi. Had the police arrested her last night?
The dinner break finally arrived and I dashed out to find out what had happened. I knocked on Naomi’s door and was almost surprised when she called out, “Come in.”
“You are here,” I said as I opened the door. “I was a little worried.”
“Oh, it’s you, Brooklyn,” she said with some disappointment. “What is it?”
Ooh, feel the warmth. Had she been expecting someone else to come knocking? I was amazed to see her sitting there as though nothing had happened in the last few days to change her life. But I was even more shocked to see her looking like such a fashion plate. She wore a peach jacket that suited her skin tone and fitted her small frame to perfection, giving her the look of a true professional. Her makeup was subtle and her hair curled softly around her face. The mouse had come out of her shell, to mix a metaphor.
“You look great,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said, and her expression softened a little. “What’s up?”
I stepped inside and closed the door. “This is sort of a sensitive issue, but Layla had a book with her the night she died. It was the Oliver Twist I restored for her. I’d like to buy it from you once the police return it.”
Naomi’s eyes widened-in fear? Or was that speculation? But her face calmed instantly and I was no longer sure what I’d seen. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what book you’re talking about.”
“Layla talked about it the night of the Twisted opening party, remember?”
“Sorry, can’t help you.”
My eyes narrowed. She flinched. What game was she playing? She’d had a bad week, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt and explained the book again. “Since the police took it in for evidence, you probably won’t get it back in time for the silent auction, so I’d like to buy it whenever you do get it back.”
She carefully exhaled. “Oh, yeah, I think I know the book you’re talking about.” She pushed her hair away from her face and set her jaw. “No. Sorry, it’s not for sale.”
I couldn’t tell what was going on in that brain of hers, but she was carrying the mini-Layla bit too far. My gloves were off now.
“Naomi, I did the restoration work on that book. I know it from cover to cover, and I can assure you, it’s not what you think it is.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about its market worth. It’s a truly beautiful book and worth a lot of money, but it’s not the rare first edition Layla pretended it was the other night.”
“Layla wouldn’t lie.”
I almost laughed. “Oh, please. Layla lied plenty. And this time she lied to a room full of wealthy BABA contributors and supporters. And she did it knowingly and willfully.”
“Stop it. I don’t believe you.”
I had to think for a moment. Naomi did wield some power at BABA, but I didn’t think she was capable of sabotaging my career like her aunt was. So I decided to plunge ahead with the truth. “I’m sorry, Naomi, but Layla was not being honest about the book. And if you continue her lie and try to pass it off as a first edition, you’ll get caught. Whoever buys it will find out soon enough what the book was really worth. Do you know how fast your funding would be cut off if your corporate sponsors found out about it?”
Naomi’s face was a sickly gray. She blinked rapidly and shook her head. “I can’t… it’s not…” She mumbled something incoherent, pushed away from her desk, and ran from the room.
“Well, that went well.” I blew out a breath and wandered back to the gallery, looking for someone else to browbeat.
“Hello, darling.”
Shock and pleasure overcame me. Derek was loitering by the bookshelf in the north alcove, thumbing through one of the many other copies of Oliver Twist on exhibit.
I slipped my arms around his waist and rested my head against his rock-solid chest.
“Ah, that’s lovely.” He wrapped his arms around me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Hoping to see you, of course.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“I’m a sweet guy.”
“But isn’t Gunther giving a class tonight?”
“Is he?”
“Very funny. That’s why you’re here.”
“Yes, well, I’d still rather see you.” He seemed reluctant to let me go and I was perfectly happy to stay right where I was. After another minute or so, he said, “No matter what happens, I’m taking you out tonight.”
“Are you?”
“I am.” He leaned his head back and frowned at me. “You’re not otherwise engaged, are you?”
“Do you care?” I asked.
His mouth twisted into a sexy grin. “Of course I care.”
I patted the lapel of his bazillion-dollar Savile Row suit. “Then I’m available.”
“I’m glad.”
We continued to smile at each other and I tried to put a name to the emotion running through me. I felt… happy. No, more than happy. Blissful. Complete.
There was that sappiness again. Really, I didn’t need anyone to complete me, for God’s sake. I was complete all on my own.
And how complete could someone else make me feel when I’d never even been on a date with him? Crime scenes, yes. But unless crime scenes counted as dates, I barely knew him.
And just how happy and blissful would I be when he left? Did I really want to open myself to the pain I would suffer then? Because he would leave. His home was six thousand miles away. He’d only been to San Francisco a few times on business.
But none of that mattered to my heart right now. Or any other parts of me, either. I didn’t know what was going on between Derek and me, didn’t know where we would end up, but I was tired of fighting against the tide. I just wanted to be with him.
I rested my head on his custom-suited shoulder.
“Don’t ever play poker,” he said, brushing back my hair to nuzzle my neck.
“Why not?”
“Your face is an open book.”
I lifted my head and studied his face for a moment, then frowned. “I can’t read one word on yours.”
“That’s because I’m a highly trained operative,” he said, bending his head to graze his lips along my jaw.
I laughed. “Oh, Commander, does that line really work?”
“I believe it’s working right now,” he murmured, and kissed my neck.
After that exhilarating dinner break, I found myself racing through the second half of the class. There was more laughter and lots of questions. I tried to slow down, tried to be attentive to everyone’s needs, but I just wanted to get out of there.
I’d already given myself the lecture about appearing too eager, but let’s face it, that ship had sailed. Apparently, my heart was on my sleeve. Go ahead and call me an idiot. It couldn’t be worse than the names I’d already called myself, including fifty-seven kinds of stupid.
Somehow I managed to get through the class. I made sure everyone had someone to accompany them to their cars. For once, Mitchell wasn’t paying attention as he strolled off with the other two librarians, deep in conversation.
I straightened the room and walked out to the gallery. Derek wasn’t in the immediate vicinity so I checked the alcoves and the hallways, then wandered into Gunther’s classroom. It was empty. I could see lights on in the office wing so I ambled down the hall, thinking Derek might’ve struck up a conversation with one of the managers.
Naomi was the only one still around. She sat at her desk, pounding on a calculator and writing numbers on a sheet of paper. A single lamp illuminated the desk surface, leaving her face in shadow.
“Hi, Naomi,” I said.
Her hand jerked and the pencil slid across the page, leaving a dark mark. “Damn it.”
“Sorry to startle you,” I said.
She exhaled and I could see a frown appear on her face. “It’s okay. I thought everyone had left. Look, about the book,” she said, erasing the pencil smudge.
“Oh, we can talk about that later,” I said, glancing down the hall. I had bigger things on my mind than the Oliver Twist. “I’m looking for Derek Stone. I was supposed to meet him after my class.”
“Really?” Her eyes gleamed with intent. “He left awhile ago.”
I frowned. Maybe she misunderstood. “Derek Stone? The British guy? He left?”
“I know who he is.” Thump-thump-thump went the eraser. “He left with the police.”
I froze, unsure if I’d heard her right. Her thumping eraser was getting on my nerves. “The police were here?”
“Yeah. Oh, you must’ve been in class.”
“Right. So he left at the same time the police did?”
She chuckled scornfully. “Not exactly.”
I had to hold myself back from strangling her as my voice rose. “Then what, exactly?”
She stared up at me and I could see how much she loathed me at that moment. I guess maybe I’d laid it on a little heavy earlier, when I accused her dearly departed aunt of lying.
“The police took him in for questioning,” she said.
In shock, I had to force the word out. “Why?”
She made an exasperated sound and waved the pencil around. “Oh, come on, Brooklyn. You know, about his thing with Layla.”
My ears were starting to buzz and I felt dizzy. “What thing with Layla?”
She pulled a face. “What rock have you been hiding under?”
“I’m not sure.” My knees were wobbling and I grabbed the doorjamb. “Spell it out for me.”
Her smile was gloating. “Derek and Layla?”
“What about them?”
“They were having an affair, Brooklyn. Layla broke up with him. He carries a gun. You do the math.”