Текст книги "One Book in the Grave"

Автор книги: Kate Carlisle

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 4

Derek arrived ten minutes after the first police officers showed up. He walked right into the shop and pulled me close, and I just about melted in his arms. The man oozed dark sensuality and charm, but that wasn’t the only reason I was happy to see him. I’m not a wimp about this stuff; I’d faced the police alone plenty of times and I was used to it by now. But Derek and I, we were a team. Especially when it came to dealing with dead bodies.

Maybe that made us sound a bit suspicious, but with Derek’s intelligence background and his current work in security, he definitely came in handy around a crime scene. That was how we first met, after all. Me kneeling over Abraham with my hands covered in blood. Derek, the first to accuse me of murder. It was a match made in heaven. Call me a romantic fool, but when it came to finding a body dripping blood on an Oriental rug, there was no one else I’d rather have on my team than Derek Stone.

“The police officers are cordoning off the back room,” I said, pointing in that direction. “That’s Joe’s antiquarian room, where he died. They told me to wait out here.”

“Have they called Homicide?”

“I don’t know, but I went ahead and called Inspector Lee.” I shrugged. “I’ve got her on speed dial.”

“That’s handy.”

“Isn’t it? I had to leave a message.” I told Derek exactly what had happened from the moment I walked into Ian’s office at the Covington and saw the Beauty and the Beast to my arrival at Joe’s bookstore, where I found the body. I explained about the papermaker’s knife and concluded by confessing what I did when I heard the killer run out the back door.

That was when Derek pulled me back into his arms and held me tightly. “You scare the hell out of me, you know,” he muttered against my hair.

“You’ve mentioned that before,” I said, then admitted, “It was disconcerting.” I was still shaken by the reality of what might have happened if I’d managed to catch up to the killer. “I tried to be careful. But I’m not looking forward to telling the whole story to Inspector Lee. I’m sure I’ve left fingerprints on everything.”

I could just imagine what my favorite Homicide cop would say when she found out I’d stumbled over another dead body. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Joe was a sweet old man,” I whispered. “Who would want to hurt him?”

“He might’ve overheard something he wasn’t supposed to hear,” Derek suggested. “Or perhaps he angered a business associate.”

“Maybe.”

“It could be as simple as a robbery gone wrong.”

“Except for that knife,” I said. “It’s definitely a papermaker’s knife.”

“You would know best,” he said. “I can see it hurts to think someone in your community might be responsible, but I believe it’s a good thing you saw that knife. Now we know what we’re up against.”

“Do we?” But I knew what he was saying. Now that we were aware that the killer could be someone I knew, Derek and I might be able to sort out who knew what and when they knew it.

I rubbed my forehead where a headache was forming. “I had the strongest urge to grab the knife and throw it away, Derek. I hate to see this happening all over again.”

“It could be an unfortunate coincidence. You might not know the people involved.”

“I suppose,” I said skeptically.

“Or it could be a setup.”

“I’ve considered that, too, obviously.”

He smoothed my hair back from my face. “Brooklyn, darling, this isn’t about you.”

“Mind if I hold you to that?”

“You can hold me to anything you’d like,” he murmured, and kissed my neck.

I stared into his smoldering blue eyes and felt sparks ignite inside me. It continued to amaze me that Derek seemed to have the same reaction to me as I had to him. I hugged him a little tighter, then reluctantly pulled away. There was something wrong about snuggling within a few feet of a dead body.

On the other hand, there was a dead body just a few feet away, so what better time to seek comfort? I rested my head against his chest and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. We stayed like that for a few minutes while the muted voices of the two officers in the other room wafted toward us. I couldn’t hear what they were saying and didn’t really want to. I just wished Derek and I could walk out the door and go home.

But no such luck. The front door swung open and SFPD Detective Inspector Janice Lee walked inside. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite dead-body magnet.”

I cringed. She didn’t mince words. But at least I was her favorite.

“Commander Stone,” she said, greeting Derek in a more respectful tone. He had been, after all, a member of law enforcement.

“Hello, Inspector,” Derek said pleasantly, as I buried my face in the lapel of his thousand-dollar suit. I wasn’t shy; I just didn’t think it would be wise to flash her the dirty look I had on my face in response to her smart-ass comment.

After a few more seconds, I calmed my features, turned, and smiled tightly. “Hi, Inspector. Long time, no see.”

“Not long enough, Wainwright,” she said, smirking, then sobered up and glanced around the front room of Joe’s shop. Janice Lee was a first-generation Chinese American woman who took care of her mom, dressed way too fashionably for a cop, and had the most beautiful hair I’d ever seen. Lately, she was always sucking on a mint, probably to keep from smoking, a habit she’d given up only a few months ago. She was about my age, tall, thin, smart, and snarky, and I liked her a lot. We could’ve been great friends if only I weren’t such a dead-body magnet, as she’d pointed out.

“Figures we’d be surrounded by books,” she muttered, peering around at the bookshelves. “So where’s the body?”

“Right through there,” I said, gesturing toward the antiquarian room.

She pulled her notepad out of the pocket of her gorgeous black Burberry trench coat. I was the furthest thing from a fashion maven, but I knew it was Burberry because I could see the coat’s signature plaid lining when she moved. Forgive my weakness at a moment like this, but I was having trench coat envy.

“Stick around, Brooklyn,” she said. “I’m looking forward to hearing all the gory details on this one.” Then she strolled off down the narrow center aisle to check out the crime scene.

By late afternoon, I’d given Inspector Lee and her partner, Inspector Nathan Jaglom, every ounce of information I could think of, right down to which art-supply stores I’d purchased my own inexpensive, square-bladed shearing knives at. Several uniformed officers had left to canvass the neighborhood for possible witnesses, and the medical examiner had taken Joe’s body away.

After Inspector Lee told us she’d be in touch, Derek walked me to my car. Good thing, too, because I had a flat tire.

“Damn it. This day just gets better and better.” I stomped over to the driver’s side and squatted next to the tire. It wasn’t just flat; it looked like it had been slashed by something sharp. Had I run over something on the way to Joe’s?

“Don’t touch anything,” Derek said abruptly, and yanked me back up. That was when I noticed the object sticking out of the tread. It looked like the handle of a small knife.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, thoroughly disgusted and, yeah, frightened.

“Somebody’s not kidding,” Derek muttered, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the street, onto the sidewalk. He called Inspector Lee immediately. He caught her just as she was driving away from Joe’s, and she said she’d meet us in less than a minute.

It took Derek exactly thirty seconds to rush over and take pictures of the knife and my tire with his phone. He finished and was standing next to me on the sidewalk by the time Lee dashed up.

“This is getting stupid,” she said.

“Tell me about it.” I rubbed my arms to keep the scaredy-cat chills from overwhelming me.

“You okay?”

“No, I’m taking this all very personally,” I said.

“I kinda don’t blame you,” she said. With her phone in her hand, she also took pictures of my tire and the knife. Then she slipped one rubber glove onto her left hand and eased the knife out of the tire. She walked over and showed it to me, turning it so I could see it from different angles. “Look familiar?”

It was an expensive Japanese paper knife with a beautifully tooled handle. I recognized it because I owned one like it; I’d bought it a few years ago for almost two hundred dollars. The entire knife was about nine inches long, with a fat, curved blade that looked razor-sharp.

I moved closer and studied the Japanese figures that had been carved along the length of the handle. At the pommel, or butt end of the handle, three ornate letters were also carved into the hardwood surface. The knife was old enough that the design was worn smooth, but I knew the letters spelled out MAX.

“Max?” I whispered as goose bumps formed on my skin. “Max Adams?”

“Who’d you say?” Inspector Lee demanded.

Alarmed, I shook my head. “Nothing. Nobody. It’s not possible. He’s been dead for years. This knife could belong to anyone.”

“Don’t screw around with me, Brooklyn,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

“I’m not,” I cried. “The only person I know by that name died almost three years ago.”

She gave me a withering look as she dangled the knife in front of me. “Uh-huh. And what’re the odds of another Max owning a knife so much like the one your dead friend owned? Or are you saying this is some kind of sign from the grave?”

I glanced wide-eyed at Derek, whose concern for me showed in his expression. Turning back to Lee, I said, “I didn’t say that. Maybe someone stole the knife from Max’s family or they sold it somewhere. But other than those possibilities, I don’t have a clue how it got here.”

“I think you do, Brooklyn,” she said quietly. “You know these book people; you’re part of that world. And I’m thinking you’ve got a pretty good idea of who might’ve killed Joseph Taylor.”

“I don’t,” I insisted. “I swear it.”

“You can swear all you want, but this connects you to the murder,” she said quietly as she dropped the knife into a plastic Ziploc bag. “You know that, right? Whether you like it or not, you’re in this up to your eyeballs. Again.”

“I don’t like it one bit,” I muttered, glowering at her.

Derek stepped forward. “This is a busy neighborhood. Somebody must’ve seen the person who did it.”

“Good thinking,” I said, flashing him a grateful look. “They would’ve had to have jabbed the tire a bunch of times to shred it so badly. Somebody must’ve noticed.”

“Possibly.” Lee pulled out her cell phone and dialed the police dispatcher. After requesting patrol assistance, she hung up. To us, she said, “We’ll do some canvassing, but I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for someone to come forward.”

In less than a minute, we heard a siren.

“Can we go now?” I asked.

“Sure, you can go,” she said with an evil grin. “But not in your car. It’s just been turned into a crime scene.”

Chapter 5

Reluctantly, I left my trusty hybrid in the hands of the San Francisco Police Department and Inspector Lee, who promised I could have it back by Tuesday. Then, to cajole me out of my depressed, dead-body-magnet mood, Derek drove straight to my favorite steak house. We were ushered to a comfortable, dark green booth in the corner with a view of the bustling room.

I was hoping a bottle of wine would magically appear on the linen-covered table.

Chalk it up to ennui or just plain exhaustion, but for the first time in my life, I allowed a man to order dinner for me. Derek knew all my favorite foods, namely, red meat, red wine, and chocolate soufflé. We both began with a lettuce wedge doused in blue cheese dressing, and I felt myself rebounding as the meal progressed. The comfort food, the dark green booths, the wood-paneled walls, the waiters in white shirts with their long black aprons tied neatly at the waist—all of it gave the room a warm, clubby feel that pampered and soothed my spirit.

Some women might’ve chosen a pedicure or a massage to perk them up, but for me, it’s all about food. The steak house provided the miracle cure I needed. The fact that Derek had known exactly what would work to snap me out of my doldrums was just one more feather added to his cap. Seriously, what woman wouldn’t love a boyfriend who acted all James Bond, looked all Hugh Jackman, and knew me well enough to ply me with my favorite foods?

We got to bed early that night, since we’d planned to leave the next morning to spend a few days in Dharma. Tomorrow was the grand opening of my sister Savannah’s new restaurant, Arugula, on Shakespeare Lane.

Dharma had grown to become quite the wine-country tourist spot, and the Lane, as it was called, was currently the hottest destination in the area. Everyone in my family was geared up to make Savannah’s opening a great success.

But Joe’s death and his connection to Emily and Max’s Beauty and the Beast had caused me to rethink some of my weekend plans. I felt as though I’d lost Max all over again. The knives I’d found at the crime scene and in my tire had spooked me badly. I wanted to spend some time commiserating with my family and others in Dharma who had known Max all those years ago. I was also hoping to talk to Guru Bob about the whole dead-body-magnet phenomenon. With any luck, he would have some good advice for me.

Derek and I were on the road at eight o’clock the next morning. It was a disturbingly early start, especially after having shared a bottle of wine the night before. I was happy Derek was driving, because I figured I could work in a quick nap on the way, but we started talking and I realized I’d much rather be wide-awake to enjoy his company than sleep for a few extra minutes.

As we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge and into Marin County, Derek reached across and patted my leg. “Darling, why don’t you give your mother a call and ask her to arrange a meeting for you and Robson? Then you won’t have to worry about trying to track him down all day.”

“Good idea,” I said, and searched in my bag for my phone. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because your mind’s been occupied by bigger and darker problems.”

“True.” I gazed at him, unsure whether to be relieved or worried that he could read me so well. I decided to go with feeling ridiculously pleased. “Thank you.”

He reached across the console and squeezed my hand, holding on to it while I spoke with my mother. Mom insisted that she was thrilled to play my appointments secretary for the day and assured me that everything would be taken care of. She signed off by saying, “Peace out, Punkin’,” and I hung up feeling lighter already.

An hour later, we left the highway and drove into Dharma. Derek slowed down as we cruised Shakespeare Lane, so I could get a good look at Savannah’s restaurant space.

A wide picture window revealed a light, wood-paneled room with a good number of tables covered in white linen. The tables were already set with sparkling crystal and flatware, and I imagined every table was spoken for. A small bar in the back corner was fully stocked and six barstools stood in front of it.

There was no actual signage out front, just a pretty painted picture of a thick bunch of green arugula tied with a pink ribbon. It was whimsical and colorful, just like my sister. I knew she was already at work in the kitchen, knew she would be nervous all day, knew that a number of well-known restaurant critics were driving up from San Francisco to experience the opening-night menu. But I also knew without a doubt that Arugula would be wildly successful and that Savannah Wainwright, my bald-headed, slightly wacky sister, was on her way to becoming the next celebrity chef of the Bay Area.

At the end of the Lane, Derek turned right and drove up Vivaldi Way toward my parents’ home. Over the years, a number of commune members had built homes in the hills overlooking Dharma, and as we climbed, we passed Abraham’s Spanish colonial on the right where his daughter, Annie, now lived. The Westcott family lived in the Tudor-style home tucked into the hillside on the left side of the road. Around the next turn, Carl Brundidge, the lawyer for most of the commune members, owned the sleek contemporary on the right.

Despite being in a commune, we all had our own individual styles and our houses demonstrated that.

A minute later, we pulled up in front of my parents’ spacious ranch-style home. Before the car had rolled to a stop, Mom and Dad came running out to greet us. They were holding hands, and seeing them together eased more of the tension around my heart.

The weather was warm enough that Mom had pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and she wore a tie-dyed tank top, cargo shorts, and utility boots. Mom had great legs and her arms were toned from the exercise she got picking apples and grapes all year long.

“Looks like Mom’s been out in the orchards this morning,” I said to Derek. “You know what that means?”

He shut off the engine and glanced at me. “What?”

“She might be making her crazy-delicious apple crisp while we’re here.”

“Apple crisp?” His eyes were instantly alert. “Don’t toy with me, Brooklyn.”

I laughed as I climbed out of the car. Mom’s crazy-delicious apple crisp with its awesome, spiked caramel sauce was worth the hour-long drive from the city to Sonoma.

I hugged my dad, surprised to see him all dressed up in Dockers and a clean, pressed, denim work shirt. His loafers were shiny, too, and he was wearing one of the Jerry Garcia ties I’d given him for Christmas. For Dad, this was formal wear. The man rarely wore anything but faded jeans and a T-shirt, since he spent most of his days out in the vineyards or in the barrel room, tasting and experimenting with the wines.

I knew I was probably prejudiced, but I thought my parents were adorable. They never seemed to age, which probably should’ve annoyed me, since I was getting older all the time, but it didn’t. It just made me happy to be here with them.

“I’ve invited Robson and some of the children over for lunch,” Mom announced after she’d hugged us both and tried to wrestle my overnight bag from me. As we walked into the house, she turned to Derek and added, “And I’ve cooked up a few of your favorite dishes.”

“You’re a goddess, Rebecca,” Derek said, and Mom giggled like a little girl. He was the only one besides Guru Bob who called her Rebecca.

I was hoping “some of the children” Mom had invited included my best friend, Robin, and my brother Austin. They were a couple now, living together in Austin’s home in the hills above Dharma. I missed Robin living close by me in the city, but I was overjoyed that she and my brother had finally found each other. Of course, Robin had to almost die for Austin to wake up to the fact that he was in love with her and she was meant for him, but at least they were together now.

“Dad, why are you all dressed up?” I asked.

“I’ve got a board of directors meeting,” he said with a pensive sigh.

Dad was on three boards of directors, so I asked, “For the winery?”

He nodded mournfully, and I laughed again. “It’s a real bitch being so successful.”

“Language, Brooklyn,” Mom said mildly, rubbing my father’s arm. “But you’re right. Jimmy was much better off as a poor but rugged farmer. I miss those days.”

I snorted. “Dad was never a poor farmer.”

“True,” she said, winking. “But he’s always been rugged.”

Dad wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I’ll wear my overalls later.”

“Ooh, boy. Here we go,” I said, covering my ears as I rushed ahead into the house.

Once inside, I couldn’t make eye contact with Derek. The thing was, we’d never spent the night at my parents’ house together. Mom and Dad were old hippies, so I didn’t think there would be an issue about the sleeping arrangements, but you just never knew with parents.

“I’ve put you and Derek in your old bedroom,” Mom said briskly, leading the way down the hall.

I finally looked at Derek and rolled my eyes. The man was big, bad, and dangerous, and I couldn’t picture him sleeping in the old bedroom I’d shared with my sister China. We’d slept in narrow twin beds with a third rollaway bed squeezed against one wall to accommodate Robin for her lengthy sleepovers. It was like a small dormitory in there. Was Mom really expecting Derek and me to sleep in twin beds?

Ah, well, I guess I could give her some credit for letting us stay in the same room together. But I wouldn’t blame Derek if he decided to bow out and check into the new boutique hotel down on Shakespeare Lane. I had suggested the hotel when we’d made our plans to come for the weekend, but Derek had insisted he was perfectly content to stay with my parents.

Mom opened the door to my room and stepped aside to let us pass. “What do you think?”

“Whoa,” I said, taking it all in.

The twin beds had been replaced by an elegant, dark wood sleigh bed covered in a thick brown and gold duvet. Piled on top were all sorts of decorative pillows of every shape and size, in colors that ran the gamut from light pearl to sparkly gold to rich brown.

The walls were painted a stylish shade of dark cocoa with pale beige trim and cool, light linen curtains. There was a stately new chest of drawers along one wall and a small mahogany desk and chair on the other.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Mom,” I said softly. “This is beautiful.”

She clapped her hands. “I think so, too. I got a little help from Robin.”

“She’s got great taste.”

“Yes, much better than mine.” She tugged at the curtains, and I realized she was nervous. “I asked her not to make it too girly, because I know that’s not your style.”

“It’s perfect, Mom,” I assured her.

“Thank you for going to so much trouble for us,” Derek said. He took my bag from me and placed it on the new wooden luggage rack under the window.

“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered, and hugged her.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she said, straightening a pillow before heading for the door. “I’ve asked Robin to redo your father’s and my bedroom, too.”

“That’s a great idea,” I said.

“It’s been more than twenty years since we bought anything new, so I’m excited,” she said. “But I’m glad Robin’s doing it. I was afraid if I did it on my own, we’d end up with bordello red walls and white wicker furniture or something.”

“Interesting design choices.”

She laughed, then checked her wristwatch. “I’ll let you kids get settled. Robson should be here in half an hour; then lunch is at noon.”