Books of a Feather (13 page)

“Exactly.” Alex had once confessed that she preferred mild-mannered, submissive men—or beta men, as she called them—to a more high-powered, take-charge kind of guy like Derek. Or Gabriel. In her previous relationships, she'd always been the high-powered, dominant one. “So what changed her mind?”

He shrugged. “That was then. This is now.”

“That's all you can say?” I thumped his chest, still shocked that he'd known something was going on with our friends and hadn't shared the news with me. “You know a lot more than you're telling
me, and that has to stop now. What's going on with them? Spill your guts, pal.”

“Not bloody likely.” He clamped his mouth shut.

“That's so unfair.”

He pulled me close and I had to smile as I rested my forehead on his chest. “I promise I won't say anything about it unless Alex says something to me.”

“I would appreciate that.” He stepped back and tried to get around me to leave the kitchen. “Now I've got everything ready for your breakfast. All you have to do is cook the scrambled eggs. I've got to get going.”

“What? No! Please, Derek. I need to know.”

He caressed my cheek. “And I need to be on time for a meeting.”

“But you're the boss.”

“I love you,” he said, and kissed me thoroughly.

“And I love you, too.” I reached out and walked my fingers up his arm. “But this conversation isn't over.”

My gorgeous British agent fiancé flashed a determined smile. “It's beyond over, darling. It never happened.”

•   •   •

Two hours later, the messenger arrived with the book I had been hired to appraise. With it, Trina Jones had included a letter stating what we'd already talked about, that I was to appear in superior court next Tuesday and testify as an expert witness in the case of Flint v. Flint. I was representing the wife.

Ms. Jones reminded me to keep track of my hours and reiterated our payment agreement. Essentially, my research or preparation time would be charged at a slightly lower rate than the time I
spent giving my expert testimony to the court. When we spoke on the phone, she asked if I required an up-front retainer. I suppose I should've said yes, but I was new at this game, so I told her I would bill her. Obviously, I would have to do some research on expert witness fees so I would know what to say next time.

I decided to begin work on the
Mockingbird
right away and get it over with. The first thing I did was go online to find prices for the exact same book in terms of copyright date and amount of repairs needed. I compared that to the same book in pristine condition. The difference was over twenty thousand dollars, which obviously made this copy worth repairing.

Next, I examined the book, inside and out, under my strongest magnifying glass. I pulled out a notepad and began to tally up the costs of restoring the book to its most valuable state. I listed all the repairs that would be necessary to restore the book to its original splendor. There were the usual minor items, such as creases to the book jacket and minor wear and tear along the edges and spine. There was a round stain on the back of the jacket caused by someone resting a wet glass on the book (which made me want to scream, but I resisted the urge). The moisture had seeped through to the cloth cover and stained it badly as well. The boards were soiled and the spine was slanted badly. The front endpapers were tearing at the joint. The edges were chipped. I totaled up the costs of repairing the book.

I wrote out a more detailed list that I planned to read aloud in court, including other less tangible reasons why a book like this might be worth so much money. Some people didn't understand how a book could be worth so much, and I was always willing to educate them.

To Kill a Mockingbird
was a perfect example of a book with quite a bit of sentimentality attached to it. The book had won the Pulitzer Prize the year it was published. The movie made from the
book was a big hit and won a number of Academy Awards. The book was also named the best novel of the twentieth century by legions of literary reviewers as well as by one of the most prestigious publishing journals in the country.

I'd already checked the copyright dates to see if I was holding a true first edition of the book, and it was clear that I was not. While this book was dated the year the book came out, 1960, it stated on the copyright page that it was the “Eleventh Impression.”

If this had been a first edition, I could've appraised it for over twenty thousand dollars, even with all the repair work needed. Still, this edition of the book was a keeper and would be worth at least five thousand dollars if the repairs were made. If no repairs were made, I estimated that the book would be worth twenty-five hundred dollars. Repairing the book would cost about six hundred dollars.

I hoped Trina and her client would be happy with that estimate. It was probably a good thing I didn't know the details of the divorce case. I didn't know whether the appraisal would be met with joy or with disgust. I didn't know if the couple really knew something about books or if this was a sentimental copy someone had bought on a whim. So rather than try to make anyone happy, I would simply have to give my honest opinion and walk away before the feathers started flying. It wouldn't be the first time a rare, valuable book had turned perfectly civilized, mild-mannered people into belligerent, bloodthirsty brutes.

I slipped the copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
, along with my notes, into a sturdy envelope, then rushed out of my workshop to make a sandwich. Along the way, I hoped and prayed that the brutal images floating through my mind of Jared Mulrooney and poor Goose, the two latest victims of someone's blood thirst, wouldn't completely destroy my
appetite.

“Oh, is that Brooklyn? Hallooo!”

I'd just returned from getting our mail downstairs when my neighbor Vinnie Patel called my name. She was stepping from the elevator, carrying a dozen packages and grocery bags.

“Hi, Vinnie,” I said, meeting her halfway to give her a hug and help her with her bags. “It's been too long.”

“I am so happy to see you, my friend!” she cried, her melodic Indian accent as charming as ever. She was petite with delicate bone structure and as pretty as her lilting voice. She offset the sweet image by dressing in clunky biker chick boots, torn jeans, and a black leather vest.

Vinnie and her girlfriend, Suzie Stein, lived almost directly across from me and we'd been friends since the first day I moved in. The two women were renowned chain saw artists who worked exclusively in burl. But not just any burl. The tree had to have already fallen in the forest before my friends would take it to use. Unlike a lot of other artists, they disapproved of chopping down a perfectly good living tree simply to turn it into a work of art.

Their favorite medium was redwood burl, but they had been known to sculpt everything from cherrywood to eucalyptus to pine, depending on the specific piece they envisioned.

Burl is an outgrowth, like a gigantic wart, on a tree trunk or a branch. I wasn't sure how the section of wood became deformed, but I knew that burl contained knots or ropelike tangles, making the wood very hard, and prized for the unusual veneers it produced. Artists everywhere sought out these unusual growths in forests all over the world.

“How's everyone doing?” I asked. “Derek was just saying that it's about time for us to have a party because we've been away so long.”

“A party is exactly why I'm glad I ran into you. Since we were away in India for Lily's official birthday, we have decided to throw an impromptu party for our American friends to help us celebrate the anniversary of our darling girl coming to live with us. It is Sunday afternoon. I hope you'll be able to come. Lily misses you.”

“Of course she does,” I said, laughing. “Because eighteen-month-old babies are so aware of their neighbors.”

Close to a year ago, Lily's parents, Maris and Teddy, were killed in a car crash. Their will had stated that in case of their deaths, they wanted their best friend, Suzie, to be Lily's guardian. The adorable baby girl had quickly become the center of Suzie's and Vinnie's lives. The women were also the pet parents of Pookie and Splinters, the cats who hated me for no good reason. But I didn't hold that against the parents.

Vinnie smiled. “Lily has a highly developed emotional response to certain people, and you are clearly a favorite of hers.”

I was still chuckling. “I've missed you so much, Vinnie. And we would love to come to your party.”

“I am so glad,” she said. “Alex is bringing cupcakes.”

“Not that we have to be bribed, but Alex's cupcakes seal the deal. We'll definitely be there.”

“Wonderful. We can catch up on all the latest news then.”

“Yes, let's catch up at the party.” I could tell that she had heard my unfortunate news, but I didn't have the heart, just then, to go into the gory details of the death that had occurred in our apartment over the weekend. How could I make sense of the fact that some homeless man had been invited by my parents to spend the night and then some unknown intruder had broken into our place and killed him? It was too much information to take in during a quickie conversation with a neighbor in the hallway. Even
my
neighbors, who unfortunately were well acquainted with my tendency to stumble over death.

I knew she would hear everything eventually, of course. The rumor mill was alive and well in our apartment building, and Derek and I could always be counted on to provide plenty of grist. For now, though, Vinnie and I waved good-bye and walked off to our respective homes.

•   •   •

An hour later, the doorbell rang, and after checking through the peephole, I swung the door open.

“Gabriel.” I stepped into the hall and gave him a giant hug. “It's so great to see you.”

“Hey, babe,” he said, wrapping his arms around me in a warm hug. As always, he was wearing his signature color: black. Boots, jeans, cashmere sweater, leather duster, all in black. It suited him. He was outrageously sexy and very, very alpha indeed.

Gabriel had saved my life once upon a time and I would always
have a warm spot in my heart for him. Happily, he and Derek were great friends, too, and had worked together on a few high-security projects.

He kept his arm around me as we walked into the house. “Heard you had a little trouble over the weekend.”

“Oh, just a little,” I said, my tone lightly sarcastic. But I couldn't keep up the pretense for long. “It was pretty awful.”

“Derek gave me the details, so I can imagine what you all went through. Especially your mom. She must've been bummed beyond repair.”

“She was. Me, too.”

“Of course you were. Your home, your sanctuary, was breached.”

“That's right. It still makes me sick to think about it.”

“I know, babe. But we'll fix it so it never happens again.”

“Thanks.” I gazed up at him. “So, did you hear about the break-in from Alex?”

“No. From Derek.” His eyes narrowed in on me. “Why would I have heard about it from Alex?”

When he looked at me like that, I couldn't lie. I was terrible at lying anyway, so what would have been the point? “Derek was preoccupied this morning and I guess he wasn't thinking. Basically, he managed to blurt out a detail or two about you and Alex.”

“I see. Unusual for Derek.”

I suddenly clapped my hand over my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh, shoot! I promised I wouldn't tell you. He was really preoccupied and I interrupted him and he just happened to mention that he saw you here in the hall. It's not his fault—it's mine.”

“It's all right, babe.”

“No, it's not.” I shook my head. “I'm sorry. Just pretend I didn't say anything. I need to mind my own business.”

“Too late for that.” He sighed and folded his muscular arms across his chest, watching me cautiously. “So. What do you think?”

I gave him a bright smile. “I think it's wonderful.”

“Oh yeah? That's it?”

“Well, not completely.” I hesitated, then forged ahead. “I'm kind of afraid you'll end up hurting each other.”

“I would never hurt her,” he insisted, sounding insulted. “I don't hurt women.”

“Oh, I know that,” I hastened to say. “I do. I meant emotional pain. I just want all my people to be happy and loved and, you know, sunshine and lollipops, okay? I know you would never hurt her. But . . . I'm afraid she might hurt you.”

He held his arms out. “Come here.” I stepped closer and he gave me another big hug. When he dropped his arms and we both stepped back, he reached out and gave my nose a little tweak. “You're sweet to care, babe, but I don't intend to get hurt.”

“Okay. Good. Because I love you both and I don't want to lose any friends over this.” Realizing what I'd just said, I quickly doubled down. “Because it's all about me, don't forget.”

He chuckled. “I'll remember that.” He glanced around the apartment. “Place looks awesome. You guys did a great job.”

Relieved to have the subject changed, I followed his gaze. “Doesn't it look wonderful? Now we just have to make sure we can keep the bad guys out.”

He winked at me. “That's what I'm here for.”

•   •   •

“Have you heard from Inspector Lee yet?” I asked Derek over dinner that night. We were enjoying the amazing butternut squash ravioli my sister Savannah had made and sent to us in
frozen packets via my parents. I had managed to whip up a green salad and Derek had opened another fabulous bottle of Medoc from the Bordeaux region in France. Life was good.

“No, and I'm tempted to give her a call. I want to find out if she contacted your friend at the bookstore yet.”

“I'm curious about that, too. I was thinking of paying a visit to Genevieve tomorrow to see what's going on.”

Derek poured more wine into my glass. “I don't think that's a good idea, but I'm not about to tell you what to do.”

“I appreciate that,” I said, relieved that he was being so reasonable.

He sipped his wine. “But I'm going to go with you.”

“Oh, Derek, that's not—”

“Necessary?” he finished. “You're wrong, darling. I mean to keep you safe.”

I smiled. “I would love you to come with me. Even though I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can. But please indulge me.”

I was always happy to have Derek around, but I had to admit to being a tiny bit miffed that he didn't trust me. I'd been taking self-defense classes from Alex, hadn't I? I was smart and capable. Never mind that I couldn't look at a trickle of blood without turning the color of chalk.

He reached across the table and took hold of my hand. It should've been romantic, but I knew better. “Darling, do you have any memory at all of the last conversation we had with Inspector Lee?”

“I recall something about my life being in danger.”

“Yes, something like that.” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “So if you're determined to put yourself in harm's way, I am determined to accompany you.”

“I really do appreciate it.”

“All right. Good.”

“Shall I call Genevieve to let her know we're coming?”

He thought for a moment. “No. She might mention it to Billy and it would be better not to telegraph our actions.”

“You're right.”

“I never get tired of hearing that.”

I laughed, as he knew I would.

“Darling, I'm not trying to run your life. I just want you to be safe.”

“I want that, too. And I want the same for you.”

He grinned. “Then we'll be protecting each other.”

I sat back and stared at him. “I just realized you want to go see Billy as much as I do.”

Derek paused to dredge a bite of ravioli through Savannah's delicious buttery wine sauce, flavored with bits of corn and sweet peppers. After another sip of wine, he pondered aloud. “You're right. We've had two murders that were both closely connected to you occur in the last week. I'm inclined to agree they're connected to one of those books you've got hidden in our safe. And since most of them came from Genevieve's bookshop, I'm interested in seeing what's going on there.”

I took a sip of my wine. “I just wish I knew which book it was. If we could figure that out, then we could turn the book over to the police with lots of fanfare and publicity and then maybe we'd be safe.”

“Perhaps our trip to Genevieve's shop tomorrow will bring us one step closer to solving the puzzle.”

•   •   •

Early the next morning Derek and I were eating breakfast and discussing our plan of action for our trip to Genevieve's bookshop when Ian called from the Covington Library.

“Hope I didn't wake you,” he said.

“Of course not.”

“Good. The Bird-watchers have invited me to attend Jared Mulrooney's memorial service Friday morning. They're calling it a celebration of life. I mentioned that you'd met Jared the other night and they've extended an invitation to you, too. It's going to be held at their sanctuary overlooking Golden Gate Park.”

“I would love to go.” I briefly considered the ramifications of being at an event where a killer might be in attendance and added, “Do you think they would mind if Derek came, too?”

“I don't see why not. The more the merrier, if you'll pardon the expression. I'm sure Jared's family and friends would appreciate having anyone come who wants to.”

Ian gave me the address and we promised to meet each other there. Then he signed off and I stared into space.

“What was that about?” Derek asked, looking up from the morning paper.

“Bird-watchers,” I murmured.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I'm invited to the Bird-watchers Society tribute to Jared on Friday. Can you come with me?”

“Bird-watchers.” He pursed his lips in thought. “Sounds intriguing.”

“I think we should find out.”

“Indeed, we should.”

•   •   •

At ten o'clock, Derek lucked out and found a place to park a mere half block down from Taylor's Fine Books on Clement Street. The store was located in an area of the city known as the Inner Richmond, as opposed to the Outer Richmond, which
extended all the way west to the Great Highway, which ran along the beach. While the Outer Richmond was best known for the fog that enveloped it on an almost daily basis, the Inner Richmond was packed with charming flats, a plethora of Asian restaurants, fabulous bistros and bars, lots of fun shops, and a general lack of parking spaces. The area was flanked by two massive, beautiful parks: the rugged, historic Presidio edging along the north side and Golden Gate Park, which constituted its southern border.

“Do we need a plan?” I asked, unbuckling my seat belt.

“I've a basic idea,” he said, glancing up the street toward the shop. “If Billy's there, I'd like to engage him in conversation, treat him as if he's a book expert.”

“I'll distract Genevieve if necessary,” I said, then added, “I think you've touched on part of the problem with Billy. He's young and basically just a salesclerk, so I'll bet the con man flattered him with attention, made him think he was more essential to the business than he is.”

“And that's what I'll do,” Derek said. “And on the off chance that we actually learn anything, we'll report it to Inspector Lee.”

“Of course.” I bit my bottom lip and worried. If Derek discovered that Billy had other secrets, Genevieve might be in danger as well.