Текст книги "One Book in the Grave"

Автор книги: Kate Carlisle

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Max shut the door. “Let’s you and me make some pasta sauce.”

“I thought you were kidding,” I said, gripping the kitchen counter nervously as I stared out the window over the sink. “I can’t cook while they’re out there.”

“You’re not cooking. I am,” he said. “You can talk to me. Tell me what the hell you’re all doing on my farm.”

“I thought it was Robson’s farm.” I sounded like a snotty little sister, which was probably how he’d always thought of me.

“Robson bought this place with my money,” he explained as he pulled a frying pan off the pot rack over the stove. “I signed power of attorney over to him a few weeks before I left and asked him to buy a few more houses, just in case.”

Just in case someone found you and you had to move quickly, I thought, but didn’t say it. I slid onto one of the stools that was placed next to a beautifully finished, waist-high, dark-stained farmhouse table in the center of the kitchen. “So you had this all worked out before you died? I mean, before you left?”

“Yeah.” He took a chef’s apron off a hook near the door and wrapped it around himself. “I drew up a will making Robson the executor. I had him give some money to a few people and he kept the rest in trust.”

“What in the world happened to make you think you had to go through this charade?”

“It’s a long story, and I need to cook while I talk.” He pulled mushrooms out of the refrigerator and onions out of a bag in the pantry closet, grabbed a head of garlic from a basket on the counter, then cut bits of herbs from several pots perched along the kitchen windowsill. I recognized thyme, oregano, parsley, and basil.

“I never knew you were such a cook.”

“I never was until I moved here,” he said as he briskly chopped the garlic cloves into tiny pieces. “No choice, really. It was learn to cook or starve.”

He scraped all the garlic bits up with the knife and placed them in a small bowl. Then he handed me another knife and a small wood chopping board. “Can you mince the herbs together?”

“Sure.”

He patted my shoulder. “And while you’re at it, tell me why you came here.”

“Oh yeah. Okay.”Although,I reminded myself, it’s Max who has the most explaining to do.

Walking back to the pantry, he pulled out two large jars of tomatoes and put them on the counter by the stove.

“Do you can those tomatoes yourself?”

“Yeah,” he said, picking up his knife again. “They taste better that way. Now talk.”

“Right.” I pushed the stool away and stood to work at the center table. Suddenly a great bundle of fur brushed against my ankles and I almost screamed.

“Meow.”

I looked down at the fat orange creature. “What’s this?”

“It’s a cat,” Max said. “That’s Clydesdale. Clyde, meet Brooklyn.”

“Hello, Clyde,” I said.

He blinked at me, wound his way in and out of my legs, then curled into a ball under the table.

I had to concentrate on chopping herbs and not my fingers as I told him the story. “A few days ago, I got a call from Ian McCullough at the Covington Library. He had a book for me to restore for their new children’s wing. I drove over there Friday morning to pick up the book and was surprised to see it was a copy of Beauty and the Beast.”

He stopped chopping and I noticed his grip on the knife was so tight, his hand was shaking. “Was it…” He shook his head and rolled his shoulders as if he were in a boxing ring, gearing up for a fight.

“Yes, it was the book I gave you and Emily.”

“So. She sold it.” He clamped his jaw shut, pressed his lips together. After a moment, he let out the breath he was holding and slowly continued his chopping.

Men. I rolled my eyes, then said, “No, Max, she didn’t sell the book.”

His chopping stopped again and he flashed a suspicious frown at me, but said nothing.

“It’s true,” I insisted. “Two weeks after you died, someone broke into Emily’s house and stole the book. It’s been missing for three years and it just resurfaced this week.” Kind of like you did, I thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

“So…wait. I’m not following you. Explain how—”

“Just let me finish,” I said, knowing his mind would drift off to Emily if I didn’t get the story out fast. “I knew the book had been stolen from Emily years ago, so I had to break the news to Ian. He let me know who he bought it from, and I drove to that bookstore to talk to the owner, Joe Taylor. I wanted to find out who sold it to Joe—you know? Anyway, when I got there, I found Joe dead. His throat was cut.”

That shook Max up. “Jeez, Brooklyn. I’m sorry.”

I grimaced. “You will be when you hear what the murder weapon was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone slit Joe’s throat open with a special kind of knife. It’s a papermaker’s knife. Four-inch, square-headed blade, common as anything. I think I have three or four of them. You probably do, too.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. So?”

“So after I was questioned by the police, I went to my car and found my tire had been slashed.”

“Sounds like you were having a bad day.”

“You might say that. Anyway, whoever did it left the weapon stuck in my tire. It was a Japanese paper knife, an expensive one. It had the letters M-A-X carved on the handle.”

He frowned again and stared at the onions as though he might find enlightenment there. Then he looked up at me. “Say that again.”

“I think you heard me.”

“But how in the world…Wait.” His eyes widened and he pointed the chopping knife at me. “You can’t be thinking that I would ever…No. There’s no way. First of all, I don’t even know this bookseller guy. What’d you say his name was? Joe? And second, I haven’t left this godforsaken mountain in three years. I had nothing to do with this. I don’t know how—”

“I know you didn’t do it, Max,” I said as patiently as I could. “But someone’s trying to make it look like you did. They had your tools. They had the book you gave Emily. They put the book out on the market to lure you out. They killed Joe to lure you out. And that means they must know you’re alive.”

“Ah, crap,” he muttered, then followed the word up with an expletive stream that threatened to turn the air blue. Finally out of words, he let his brute strength take over and he plunged his knife into the chopping block with all the force of a category-three hurricane. “Damn it, I know who—”

The kitchen door flew open and I screamed. Derek and Gabriel stomped into the house, looking wild, wet, windblown, and sexier than any two men had a right to be. Especially after scaring me half to death.

But seriously? If I took their picture right now, it would land on the cover of People magazine’s Two Sexiest Men in the World Edition. Just saying.

“Thank God,” I uttered, and wrapped my arms around Derek’s neck. I could feel the cold and wet seeping into me, but I didn’t care. I’d never been so happy to see him.

“Find anyone out there?” Max asked.

“No.”

I grabbed Gabriel and hugged him, too. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“No worries, babe.” He grinned as he took a dish towel off the counter and wiped some of the rain from his face and neck.

“Let me get some more towels,” Max muttered, and stalked out of the room.

“Did you tell him?” Derek asked quietly.

“Yes,” I said, staring at the door Max had disappeared through. “And I think he was about to tell me who’s responsible when you guys walked in.”

Max came back into the kitchen a moment later and handed towels to Derek and Gabriel. “I’ll make dinner for everyone; then you all need to leave. It’s too dangerous for you here.”

“You know who’s doing this, Max,” I said, grabbing hold of his arms. “Tell us who it is. We can help you.”

He pushed my hands away. “You don’t want to know. You’ve never dealt with anyone like them. They’re relentless. If you leave tonight after dark, you might be able to slip out of town and go back to your lives. Just leave me alone. I can deal with it.”

Gabriel chuckled as he walked out of the room.

Derek leaned his hip against the butcher-block island in the middle of the kitchen. “I can assure you, we’re not leaving without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m afraid you are,” Derek said. “We’ll get you back to Dharma and keep a security detail with you until the person you’re hiding from is found and arrested. Otherwise, you’ll have the police climbing all over this place within hours.”

“You would turn me in?”

Derek shrugged.

Max considered this as he turned on the heat under the frying pan, poured in olive oil, then tossed in the minced garlic. Immediately it began to sizzle. Thirty seconds later, he added the piles of chopped onion and stirred, coating everything with oil. Finally, he looked up and said, “I can’t go back.”

“Someone’s setting you up,” Derek said brusquely. “Either you go back with us and try to clear your name or you’ll be arrested for murder.” Derek pulled out his phone and swiped the screen until he found a picture and showed it to Max. I figured it was the photo he took on Friday of the knife in my tire.

Reluctantly, Max stared at the phone screen for a minute, then handed it back. “It looks like one of the knives I owned, but I didn’t slash your tire, Brooklyn. I left everything behind in my studio when I left. All my tools, my journals—everything.”

“I know you didn’t do it, Max.”

“Yes, we know it wasn’t you,” Derek said. He sounded tired. Then in a heartbeat he sprang forward, gripping Max’s arm and swinging him around to look him straight in the eyes. “But I won’t allow Brooklyn to be terrorized by whoever’s behind this. If you’re not willing to tell us who you think killed Joe and planted this knife in Brooklyn’s tire, I won’t think twice about calling the police and telling them exactly where you are.”

They stared at each other for another moment; then Max nodded. “Understood.”

Derek stepped back, satisfied with Max’s response.

Max straightened his apron, glanced around, then said, “There’s a loaf of French bread in the pantry. Can someone butter it for garlic toast?”

“I’m on it,” Derek said, as if nothing monumental had just transpired between them. But as he walked to the pantry closet, he passed behind me and suddenly I was in his arms. He held on to me tightly for almost a minute and kissed my neck, then let me go and continued on to the pantry.

“All rightie, then,” I muttered, dazed but pleased.

Gabriel walked back into the kitchen. “Smells great in here.”

I stopped chopping to stare at him. His dark hair was slicked back and still wet from the rain. He’d taken off his jacket, and the black T-shirt he wore defined every muscle in his chest, arms, and shoulders. Even his cheekbones were more defined. His eyes glittered more brightly as he looked at me and winked. How could he look even better than he did a few minutes ago? It was, like, otherworldly.

Is it rude to stare? I didn’t care; I couldn’t help myself. Just because I was madly in love with Derek didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate some other guy’s awesomeness.

And there is the answer, I realized with a start. The secret to Derek’s appeal versus Gabriel’s. Obviously this was a subject to which I’d dedicated long hours of thought, but hadn’t reached an acceptable conclusion—until now.

No doubt about it, Derek defined the word hunk. He was solid. Tall, dark, handsome, protective, dangerous. Great body—did I mention that? But Derek’s feet were planted firmly on the ground, and when he found something he wanted, he took hold of it with both hands and wouldn’t let go. Apparently he wanted me, and I was thrilled to let him have his way.

Gabriel’s appeal, on the other hand, was more ethereal, his energy more vibrant, his lean looks more elegant. He was dangerous, too, and there was no doubt in my mind that he’d killed before. But his danger to women? That classic bad-boy attitude. A love affair with Gabriel would be high drama, wild sex, and fast burnout.

Hmm.

Speaking of drama, it occurred to me that ever since I’d met Derek, we’d been overwhelmed by high drama. Namely, murder. Victims. Suspects. I’d been involved in so many criminal investigations, I’d lost count. The fact was, I had never even seen a dead body until I met Derek. Had he brought the murder magnet Karma into my world? Or had he simply entered my world right when I needed him most?

I’d have to give that more thought.

“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes,” Max said as he filled a large pot with water for pasta. “Then we’ll have a nice conversation about you all leaving.”

“Not gonna happen,” Gabriel said amiably, “but the dinner invitation is appreciated. That pasta sauce smells incredible.”

“Thanks.”

“The bread is ready to go in the broiler,” Derek said. “Give me a three-minute warning and I’ll turn on the heat.”

“Perfect,” Max said.

“Now, while I was outside,” Derek said, switching subjects, “I dug the spent bullet from your veranda out front.” He pulled a flattened bullet from his pants pocket, held it up to the light, then placed the chunk of mangled brass on the chopping-block surface.

Gabriel moved in, picked up the bullet, and studied it. He pulled out a small pocketknife and scraped at the edges.

“Hand loaded,” he said, casting a meaningful glance at Derek.

“Yes,” Derek said, nodding as though he’d already come to that conclusion. Nothing much got past him.

“Risky,” Gabriel mused.

“What’re you talking about?” I asked.

“Our shooter packs his own bullets,” Gabriel explained.

Max stepped closer now, picked up the bullet, turned it over in his hand. “Oh yeah. Hand packed.”

“How can you tell?” I asked.

With the tip of his knife, Gabriel pointed out minute grooves in the bullet’s surface. “Shape of the bullet. The crimping pattern along the seal. Lot of ways to tell the difference.”

“Right.” I stared at it but still didn’t have a clue. Maybe it was a secondary sex characteristic that allowed men to more easily recognize a hand-packed bullet. Like male pattern baldness, this was something I would never have the joy of experiencing.

“Why would anyone hand pack a bullet?” I asked. “It can’t be any cheaper, can it? Are they zealots? Control freaks? I don’t get it.”

“It does have something to do with control, darling,” Derek said. “An experienced gun enthusiast will load his own cartridges, increasing or decreasing the amount of powder in order to add to his accuracy or to customize the performance of a particular shotgun or rifle. In the long run, for serious gun owners, it can be cost effective.”

“Good to know,” I said, astonished by his knowledge of such matters. I smiled at all three men. “Okay, ’nuf said about guns. Are we absolutely sure there’s no one out there?”

Gabriel shot me a look. “If he’d still been out there, we would’ve found him.”

Derek met my gaze and nodded reassuringly. “Yes, he’s gone, love.”

“Or she’s gone,” Max muttered, his tone edgy with anger.

What?

Oblivious, Max continued stirring the sauce until he finally turned around and flinched at the sight of three pairs of curious eyes staring back at him.

Chapter 10

“You think it’s a woman?” Derek said in surprise.

“Possibly.” Max kept stirring. “Could someone grab two bay leaves from the jar in the pantry and throw them in here?”

I looked around and my two companions stared back at me with blank faces. Okay, fine. I raced to the pantry, then returned and slid two leaves into the tomato sauce. “Come on, Max. Tell us who you think is behind this.”

“It makes sense that it’s a woman,” Gabriel said with a nod.

I frowned at him. “Why?”

“All the drama, the clues, the various scenarios. If a man wanted Max dead, he would’ve just shot him. But this person—this woman, I’m guessing—wants him exposed. She’s letting go of clues inch by inch. It’s theatrical. Messy. Not straightforward. In other words, female.”

“So you’re saying women are sneakier than men?”

He grinned. “No, I’m saying women are more clever, more complicated. Men are basic. Easy. Uncomplicated.”

“Stupid?” I suggested with a smile.

He chuckled. “Sometimes.”

“I’m kidding, sort of,” I said. “I see your point about women, but I happen to know a lot of complicated men. Three of them are here in this room.”

Gabriel glanced around and shrugged. “Maybe so, but I still think it’s safe to say that none of us would go to this much trouble to kill a man. Personally, I would take out a gun and shoot him in the head.”

I winced. “That’s sweet.”

“No, that’s simple.” Gabriel glanced around the room. “Am I right?”

“Fairly accurate, I’d say,” Derek said.

“I agree with what you’re saying,” Max said, “but I’m also hedging my bets. There’s a guy in my past who could have come up with all the clues and scenarios you’re talking about. He thrived on that crap.”

Derek’s expression was guarded as he asked, “Is this the man who caused you to stage your own death?”

Max’s jaw clenched and he seemed to debate whether to answer Derek’s question. He didn’t have to. It was obvious to all of us that the answer was yes.

“Yes,” he said at last.

I wasn’t surprised, but it saddened me that someone in Max’s past had hated him enough to destroy his life. It also bothered me that as close as I’d been to Max back then, I still didn’t have a clue who he was talking about.

“There are two people, actually,” Max said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “A man and a woman. Both of them are capable of straightforward, gun-to-the-head murder, but they also have the kind of warped personalities that would get off on playing the kind of games you’ve been talking about.”

“They sound charming,” I said.

Max gave me a look. “They would’ve stopped at nothing to destroy me, even if it meant going after my family, my friends, my loved ones.”

“I have to wonder why the police didn’t do more to help.”

“The police were useless,” he insisted. “They didn’t believe me because my enemies were pillars of society and I was…well, I wasn’t a pillar of anything.”

I took hold of his arm. “You were a respected artist. A teacher. You gave lectures and classes all over the country.”

“Yeah, that and five dollars will get you a grande latte.” He went back to stirring his sauce.

“Who were these people, Max?” I asked. “I swear you can trust us. We’re here for you.”

“Brooklyn’s right,” Derek said. “It’s time you let us know who you’re afraid of. We can help.”

Max wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me for comfort. I gazed up at him and said, “Not all police are like the ones you dealt with. We’ve been working with a pair of San Francisco detectives who won’t give a damn how powerful your enemies are. If the people you’re talking about killed Joe, these two detectives will take them down.”

Gabriel leaned his hip against the counter by the sink. “I’m not a great lover of cops, but I still don’t get why they wouldn’t help you. Was there something else going on back then?”

“Yeah.” Max went back to his saucepan and studiously avoided making eye contact with me. “I was kind of into drugs back then.”

“But wasn’t everyone?” Gabriel said. “Why would they single you out?”

Max clenched his teeth. “I’d gotten busted a few years earlier. One of the local cops decided to hold a grudge.”

“You were into drugs, Max?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice.

Max turned and rolled his eyes at me. “Yes, Brooklyn. And so was everyone else. Except you, Miss Goody Two-shoes.”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “I wasn’t like that.” Was I?

Derek gazed at me from across the center table. “You never did drugs, Brooklyn?”

“No. I never wanted to.” I frowned and tried to explain away my deep, dark secret. “You’ve met my parents. Who needs drugs with them around?”

Gabriel smirked. “There’s definitely a natural high going on in that house.”

“I know, right?” I smiled but still felt a little defensive, so I folded my arms across my chest. “Look, despite my parents’ wackiness, they were always happy. They raised us to enjoy life. I think we all do that pretty well now. I mean, clearly I’m not perfect—far from it. But I just never felt the need to get high.”

Max grabbed plates from the cupboard. “Some of us weren’t that lucky.”

“On the other hand,” I added quickly, “my family makes wine and I do love to drink it. So I guess you could call that my drug of choice.”

“You’re a wild woman, Brooklyn Wainwright,” Gabriel said, grinning at me.

“Yeah, right,” I said, scoffing.

Derek smiled at me and winked. Okay, he was wild enough for both of us.

The cat came walking up to me so I stooped to pet its soft fur. I could hear him purring as he rubbed against me. “I think Clyde likes me.”

“Pasta’s ready,” Max said, and drained the contents of the pot into a colander. “Three-minute warning.”

Derek turned on the broiler, then squatted down to check the level of the flame. Standing, he turned to Max and said, “To get back to the original question, who do you think is behind all this?”

Max poured the drained pasta into the large pan with the sauce and tossed everything together. “I would be willing to swear it’s one of two people, or it might be both of them working together. My old boss, Solomon, and an ex-girlfriend, Angelica Johansen.”

“Oh, my God. I know them,” I said. “Are you sure?”

“Does Solomon have a last name?” Gabriel asked, already typing something into his smart phone.

“Probably, but he never used it. Just went by Solomon. I think he tried to get his name changed legally but the court wouldn’t go for it. I don’t think anyone knew his last name.”

“Huh. Like someone else I know,” I said, casting a long look at Gabriel, who’d never revealed his last name to me. Even his business card simply read GABRIEL.

Derek checked on the toasting bread, then turned to me. “What did you know of these people, Brooklyn?”

I finished setting napkins and flatware around the kitchen table as I told them of the brief time I worked with Solomon and Angelica.

It was at least ten years ago, when I was twenty-one or twenty-two. I was an overachiever so I’d already gotten my master’s in art, and Max knew I was thinking of becoming a teacher. He was a rising star at the Sonoma Institute of the Arts and he recommended me for a summer job teaching a bookbinding class. It was a great opportunity for me and I was thrilled. But first I had to meet his boss, Solomon, the head of the department.

“I liked Solomon a lot at first,” I said as I took the bowls Max filled and put them at each place setting. “He came across as funny and charming. I watched him teach, too, and he was charismatic, very attractive, and really artistic. But over the weeks I saw that he could also be demanding and mercurial. I tried to stay out of his way as much as possible, but he threw these Friday-night parties and expected the entire staff to attend, so I had to deal with him on those occasions. It was uncomfortable.”

“Did that bastard hit on you?” Max demanded.

Gabriel opened a bottle of red wine, and Derek brought out the bread, golden brown and fragrant. He tossed all the slices into the bread basket Max had provided. I smiled at him as we sat down to eat. Everything looked and smelled heavenly. I had to take a bite before I could do anything else.

“This is fabulous,” I said. Seemed like I hadn’t eaten in hours and that just wasn’t right. The sauce was tangy, rich, and chunky, and it made me and my taste buds stand up and cheer.

“Anyway, yes, he did hit on me. Frankly, he hit on every woman,” I admitted finally. “But I just played dumb. It wasn’t hard to do since I was such a newbie. I got out of more than a few awkward situations by acting like I simply didn’t know what in the world these guys were talking about.” I batted my eyelashes to demonstrate.

“He was an arrogant jerk,” Max said.

I stared at him. “I just now realized why everyone was always leaving the party to go to the bathroom. That’s where the drugs were, right?”

“Good guess.”

“Just like every other party in the known universe,” Gabriel said, then added, “This pasta is fantastic.”

“Thanks,” Max said, then peered at me. “You really were a youngster back then.”

“Young and ridiculously naive.”

“Darling, thinking back, can you imagine Solomon killing someone?” Derek asked.

I thought about it as I scooped up another bite of pasta, then shook my head. “He was creepy, but not in a murderous way. Not back then, anyway.”

“Tell us about the woman,” Derek said, pouring a bit more wine into my glass. Ah, cabernet.

Max swallowed a bite of pasta, then said, “Angelica was a renowned letterpress artist and teacher. Her résumé was awesome.”

“Her résumé,” I said, choking back a laugh. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Very funny,” he said, making a face.

I turned to Derek. “She was nutso.”

Max chuckled. “Well, now I might agree. But back then, I just thought she was a little intense.”

“You say tomato.” I put my fork down. “Come on, Max. She never let you out of her sight. Her possessiveness was weird. Verging on psycho, really. She was especially vigilant whenever I was around.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Because she didn’t show you that side of her. But I caught the vibe right away.” I popped a warm chunk of bread into my mouth and savored the flavor. “You know I always looked up to you, Max. We were friends. I hate to say it, but Angie seemed jealous of our history together.”

Gabriel leaned forward. “Did you spend much time with her?”

“God, no,” I said quickly. “Whenever I came around, she would make up an excuse to leave, always dragging Max off with her. The few times I spoke with her alone, she mostly issued veiled threats.”

“I’m sorry to say, I can believe that,” Max said.

“She threatened you?” Derek looked aghast. “You can’t be serious.”

“It was usually vague,” I said, “but basically she warned me not to hang around Max and their friends, or she’d make me sorry I was ever born.” I took a sip of wine. “Now that we’re talking about it, I remember being scared to death of her. I was afraid she would slip something into my drink someday, so I stopped going to the department parties.”

“I’m sorry,” Max said, then slid into a thoughtful silence.

“It’s not your fault,” I said after a minute.

“Yeah, it is.”

We all ate quietly for a while, each of us absorbed in our own little worlds.

“This pasta is incredible,” I said, trying to coax Max back to the conversation.

“Thanks,” he said, tearing off a slice of toast. “It’s funny now to hear your side of things, Brooklyn. You’re right: Angie was too possessive. I knew it all along. But she was gorgeous, wildly talented, and larger-than-life, so I put up with it. I thought she made me look good. And, I’ll admit, I enjoyed the wild side of her.”

“Men,” I muttered, not for the first time.

“A man will put up with a lot of grief for a beautiful woman,” Gabriel murmured, swirling his wine.

“She was a gorgeous disaster,” Max admitted. “And it didn’t hurt that Solomon was jealous of my relationship with her.”

“No, that wouldn’t hurt,” Derek said, flashing me a quick grin. “Men can be ridiculous sometimes.”

“I can see now that I was a complete idiot,” Max said cheerfully. “As Brooklyn would probably concur.”

“Well, I would now,” I said, and everyone laughed. “But back then, Max was like a celebrity. He had a huge following in the book arts world. His techniques for making paper were considered revolutionary and groundbreaking.”

“Okay, now you’re getting carried away,” Max drawled.

“No, really,” I said, looking at Derek and Gabriel. “He had groupies.”

“They were my students,” Max protested.

I laughed. “No, they were your fans. Solomon absolutely should have been jealous of you. You were years younger, taller, and better-looking than him. He was your boss, so I guess he could have fired you, but he couldn’t afford to lose you. I’m sure a decent percentage of people enrolled in classes at the institute because of you.”

“Thank you for the positive PR, Brooklyn, but Solomon was mainly jealous of my relationship with Angelica, not my work. After we’d been together awhile, Angie confessed that she and Solomon had dated briefly in the past, before I came to work there. She often mentioned that he wanted her back. But for some reason, she was in love with me.”

“Do you think she was seeing Solomon on the side?” I asked.

“Ah, a love triangle,” Derek mused. “Murder would be a natural outcome.”

I couldn’t help but smile when he talked like that. Clyde the cat wound his fuzzy body around my ankles, then planted his entire body on my feet.

“We were hardly in a love triangle,” Max demurred. “Angie told me about her earlier fling with Solomon only to keep me on my toes. She insisted she didn’t like him anymore, but tolerated him to keep the peace. At the time I thought she was sincere, but now who knows what the truth was?”

“The institute sounds like a hotbed of thrills and intrigue,” Derek said dryly.

“Apparently, it was rife with drugs and promiscuity,” I said, then laughed ruefully. “And I was completely in the dark.”

Gabriel wound a small amount of pasta around his fork, then looked at Max. “So why do you think the shooter might be Angelica, if she professed to love you so much?”

We gobbled up pasta as Max collected his thoughts.

“I’d been thinking of quitting my job because Solomon was making my life miserable,” he said. “His rantings had increased and he was making the strangest departmental decisions. He’d become a petty dictator. One night after we’d been drinking for hours, Solomon suddenly threatened to kill me if I didn’t stop seeing Angelica.”

“That’s bizarre.” I stared at him, shocked.

“You have no idea,” Max said. “Solomon fancied himself a warrior and he was well-known for collecting exotic weapons. He told me he knew of ways to kill me that wouldn’t leave a trace. I took the threat seriously.”

“How did I not know this?” I wasn’t expecting an answer and didn’t get one. But none of it was fair. “He was your boss. You should’ve reported him to the school.”

“Your naïveté is charming,” Max said dryly, then faced Derek. “Solomon practically ran the school. He was on the faculty board and they made the decisions concerning scheduling, hiring, firing, which teachers got which classes. All of that.”

“So Solomon was starting to lose it,” Derek prompted. “Where did Angelica fit in at this point?”

“She was becoming more jealous and irrational with every passing day. I finally accepted that our relationship had run its course and I broke up with her. She wasn’t happy about it. She called and e-mailed constantly. Left messages for me everywhere.”