Books of a Feather (7 page)

I ignored that, too. “I can reattach all the torn pages and they'll look like new. Trust me, she won't be able to tell the difference. And I can design a beautiful box for it. Derek brought me some gorgeous art paper from Hong Kong last year, so I'll use that. It'll go perfectly with the book's cover art. And listen, on the top of the box I can fashion a plaque with the book title and author's name. And under that, we could write something whimsical like ‘original artwork by Janice Lee.'”

“No way.”

“It'll be adorable. Your mom will love it.”

She snorted. “You don't know her.”

“Is she as tough as you?”

“Tougher. The original Tiger Mom.”

“She sounds formidable. But if she's anything like you, I'll bet she's got a gooey marshmallow center—just like yours.”

It was her turn to be speechless, but not for long. “Excuse me?”

I brushed off her intimidating tone. “Look, don't you think she'll be pleased and excited that you remembered the book after all these years? And now it'll be as good as new—well, except for the darling scribbles by her baby girl.” I put my hands over my heart. “It's so sweet.”

“You are so off base here.” She pushed away from the table and paced around the studio, grumbling and shaking her head, as though she was carrying on her own private conversation. Finally, she stopped and waved her hands in the air. “Okay. Fine. Go ahead and fix whatever you can and leave the rest. You're really wrong about how my mother will take it, but what the heck? Just . . . let's do it.”

“The box, too? And the plaque?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “All right. Sure. Whatever.”

Just then I heard a “meow” and glanced down. Charlie was looking up at Inspector Lee while one of her little paws batted the toe of Lee's stylish black pump.

“Well, hello there,” Lee said, and stooped down to pick her up. “Aren't you a cutie pie? Yes, you are.” She nuzzled the cat for a long moment and then seemed to realize she had an audience. She glared at me. “What are you looking at?”

I had to fight to keep a straight face and not utter a word about gooey marshmallow centers. Instead I said, “I really can't wait to meet your mom.”

•   •   •

The next morning, I showed up at the bookstore, greeted Genevieve, and went right to work on the last row of bookshelves. “Where's Billy?” I asked after a few minutes.

“He called in sick.”

That wasn't a good sign.

She seemed to know what I was thinking. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to fire him.”

Something occurred to me. “If he's involved in something illegal, it's possible he could be hiding from someone.”

“Oh God. Now you're scaring me.”

I wanted to kick my own butt for saying it out loud. “Look, I'm just letting my imagination run away with itself. He's probably got a stomachache and you'll see him tomorrow, no problem.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She thought about it for precisely two seconds. “I'm going to call him back.”

“Good idea.”

Five minutes later, she came out of the office. “He's coming to work right now.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah. He said he had something to tell me.”

Twenty minutes later, Billy walked into the store. His straight brown hair was still wet from his morning shower and he wore a grungy thin flannel shirt over a black T-shirt and skinny jeans. He was a sweet kid but always looked a little undernourished. I figured he could gain from a regimen of weight-bearing exercises and healthy eating.

I waved to him and he nodded but kept walking toward the office at the back of the shop, where Gen was working. It was still early enough that no customers had shown up yet, but if anyone came in, the cheerful bells over the front door would announce them loudly enough to be heard in the office, even if Gen shut the door.

I couldn't help myself; I skipped down the ladder and sidled toward the back office, hoping to hear some of their conversation.
It was a bad habit of mine, but how else was I supposed to find out what was really going on with the
Almanack
?

“What's his name?” Genevieve asked.

There was a mumbled response from Billy.

“I've never heard of him,” she said. “Is he a customer? Is he paying you?”

“Well, yeah, he pays me a little. I mean, it's not against the law. I'm sort of a—”

“A what?” Gen demanded. “A liar? A cheater?”

“No!” Billy huffed and puffed for a moment, then said, “I'm a helper. I'm helping the store make money.”

She laughed. “Oh, really? A helper?”

“Yeah. I mean, sure, he gives me a finder's fee, but he still pays the store the money for the book.”

“Is that what you were doing with the
Poor Richard's Almanack
? Being helpful?”

“Yes. I mean, it was dated like a zillion years ago, so I knew he might be interested. He likes old stuff.”

“It looked to me like you were taking it out of the store.”

“I wasn't,” Billy insisted, sounding a little desperate. “I was just taking it with me into the office. I was going to call him and describe it over the phone.”

“So why did it look like you were getting ready to walk out the back door?”

I knew the back entrance to the store was located inside the office.

“I was closing the door,” he insisted. “Not opening it. You have to believe me. I wouldn't cheat you.”

“How much does he pay you?”

“Usually about fifty bucks.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“He came in one day when you weren't here.”

Oh boy. I was willing to bet the guy had specifically waited for a moment when Genevieve wasn't around.

“How many times have you called to tell him about a book?” she asked.

“I don't know. Maybe six or seven times.”

“And each time you've called, he's come into the store?”

He paused. “Well, I've never actually seen him come in, but I'm not here every day. I just figured you waited on him.”

“So how do you get your finder's fee?”

“We meet down the street at the brewpub.”

Oh, Billy
, I thought, shaking my head.

“When was the last time you called him?” Genevieve's tone had softened. She had to be realizing the same thing I had, that Billy was being taken for a ride. Young and gullible, he was an easy target for a con man.

“Yesterday. I called to tell him about the
Almanack
.”

“Even after I took it from you?”

“He still might be interested in buying it.”

“Do you remember the other books you recommended to him?”

“Yeah. He likes mysteries and thrillers, so I told him about the collection of James Bond books we got from that estate sale. That was about two months ago.”

“And that was around the last time we were robbed. Do you know what was taken?”

“You never told me.”

“It was a collection of five first-edition James Bond books. Worth about sixty thousand dollars.”

There was a pause and then Billy said, “I—I don't believe it.”

“You're willing to believe a stranger, but not your family?
Billy, honey, I know you had nothing to do with the burglaries, but this guy is using you to steal from the store.”

I could hear him start to cry and felt like weeping myself. I was also really worried about the
Almanack
now, since Billy had already alerted the thief. I had to remind myself that it was no longer in jeopardy at the bookshop but securely locked in my safe at home.

“I'm so sorry, Gen,” Billy said. “I didn't think he—”

“It's okay, honey. It's okay. But we're going to call the police, okay? And you're going to describe the man to them.”

•   •   •

Late Friday afternoon, Derek was just pouring us each a glass of wine when the doorbell rang. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you ready for this?”

“Are you?” I asked.

“As ready as I'll ever be,” he said, and held up his glass. “Here's to welcoming our first official overnight guests to our new home.”

We clinked our glasses, took a quick sip of wine, and then hurried to the door to greet our visitors.

“Sweetie!”

“Hi, Mom,” I said, and was instantly wrapped up in a happy hug.

Yes, my mom and dad were our first visitors in our new space. Even though we had spent the past three months living next door to them in Dharma while the house was being remodeled, I felt as if I hadn't seen them in a long time. Maybe because so much had happened since we had come home.

Mom hugged Derek next and said, “This is so nice of you to let us stay for the weekend.”

“We're happy to have you both, Rebecca.”

Mom blushed and I couldn't blame her. Derek was one of the few
people who called her Rebecca, and she seemed to glow whenever she heard him utter her formal name in his charming British accent.

“Hey, punkin',” my father said, sweeping me into his arms for a robust hug. “You look great.”

“Thanks, Dad. So do you.”

They were both dressed casually and Mom had her pretty blond hair brushed back in a ponytail.

“Hey, Derek.” Dad shook Derek's hand, then pulled him in for a manly hug, too.

“Jim, great to have you here,” Derek said. “How about a glass of wine?”

“Music to my ears,” Dad said.

“Good. I've got a Medoc that is spectacular. I held off opening it until you got here.”

“You rock, man.”

I closed the front door and followed them into the spacious living room.

“Say, this is snazzy,” Dad said, gazing around.

“Your new space is lovely,” Mom said. “I know you'll be very happy here.”

“We are very happy indeed,” Derek said. “Now how about that wine?”

“I'll take your bags into your room while Derek pours the wine.” I grabbed Mom's rolling suitcase.

“I'll go with you, sweetie. I want to see everything. Oh, I just love the energy in here.”

My mother was always big into energy, vibes, the hum of electricity in a place. But this time, I had to agree completely. Our shiny new apartment was filled with happiness, and that was just how I wanted to keep it. “Thanks, Mom.”

“And after we've had a few glasses of wine, I'll be ready to perform a transformation ceremony to initiate your new space. It's a new one I've been practicing and it's guaranteed to snap your garter belt.”

I grinned at her. I couldn't help it. “That's quite a claim.”

“You know I mean it. I brought my white sage and crystals.”

“Super-duper, Mom,” I muttered, and glanced back at Derek, who was laughing too hard to make a comment.

•   •   •

Once Mom and Dad were unpacked and we'd all had a glass of wine and a bite of cheese and crackers, we walked a few blocks over to the best sushi bar south of Market Street. Mom and Dad were in town to attend a Grateful Dead reunion party Saturday night and a wedding for the daughter of some old friends on Sunday afternoon. Now that we had extra space, we had invited them to stay with us for the weekend.

My parents had first met at a Grateful Dead show over forty years ago. To be specific, they met at the tie-dyed T-shirt booth in the makeshift parking lot bazaar before the show. It was family legend by now and we could all recite their ages (Mom was nineteen and Dad was twenty-two), what they'd been wearing (Mom was dressed in button-fly cutoff jeans and a skimpy T-shirt that advertised “Bed & Becky,” and Dad wore . . . well, that detail never much mattered to the story), and Dad's opening line (“I sure hope your name is Becky”). It was pretty much love at first sight for the two of them and it was plain to see they were still in love to this day.

When I was eight years old, my parents moved my five siblings and me up to Sonoma County, where their beloved guru, Avatar Robson Benedict, had established the Fellowship for Spiritual Enlightenment and Higher Artistic Consciousness. We complained for
a while, but it turned out to be the best move ever. I met my best friend, Robin, and my bookbinding mentor, Abraham, that year. And much of the initial sixteen hundred acres of farmland that Robson—or Guru Bob, as we kids called him—shared with his new commune members was lush vineyards.

My parents were simply the two sweetest people in the world and I loved them with all my heart. My dad was still laid-back and friendly despite running a billion-dollar winery operation and the Dharma Town Council. Mom was the original free spirit who'd been at the forefront of every New Age trend I'd ever heard of—and a few I doubt really existed. Her current position as Grand Raven Mistress of her local druidic coven kept her busy and happy.

Our dinner was a laugh-filled, chatty food fest. We tried all sorts of intriguing combinations of raw fish and seafood oddities and taste-tested three different sakes. Walking home was an adventure, to say the least.

As we reached the door to our apartment, our neighbor Alex sauntered into the hall to greet us. She looked gorgeous as usual in her high-powered black business suit and stilettos. I started to smile but noticed she did not appear pleased.

Derek took one look at her grim demeanor and instantly snapped into protective mode, gripping my shoulder to keep me from advancing toward her.

“What is it?” he demanded.

I tried to soften the question. “Is something wrong, Alex?”

“Wrong?” She scowled. “I'll say there's something wrong. Someone tried to break into your
place.”

“But you stopped him.” It wasn't a question. I knew Alex would do anything it took to stop a thief in his tracks. She'd done it for us once before, and if this latest incident was any clue, she would have to keep on doing it for as long as we were all living here. We had wonderful neighbors, but Alex was the best, thanks to her covert training and awesome defensive skills. And the fact that she made absolutely fabulous cupcakes.

“Her,” she corrected me. “I stopped
her
.”

“A woman tried to break in?” Derek and I exchanged looks of concern. Who in the world could it be?

Dad glanced around the hallway. “Did you already call the police? Are they on their way?”

“I didn't bother,” Alex said, disgusted. “She ran away before I could grab her. I didn't even get close. To be honest, I barely noticed her as I was getting off the elevator. When I got closer and saw her fiddling with your doorknob, I shouted and she tore out of here faster than I've ever seen anyone run. I swear she must've flown
down six flights of stairs, because I chased after her, but she was long gone by the time I got to the street.”

I squeezed her arm softly. “Thank you so much. We owe you.”

“No, you don't.” Disgust colored her tone, and her expression left no doubt that she was kicking herself. “I should've stopped her and I didn't.”

Derek glared at her. “You're not to blame yourself.”

“Derek's right,” I said. “We're just grateful you happened to arrive home when you did.”

She sighed. “That was lucky, I guess.” She took a wobbly step toward her apartment, then stopped. “I think I broke my heel.”

“We'll buy you a new pair of shoes,” Derek insisted.

“We'll buy you
two
new pairs,” I said. The momentary adrenaline rush was wearing off and I wanted to cry. We hadn't been in our brand-new apartment for more than a few weeks and already we'd been targeted again. It wasn't fair.

Alex must've noticed, because she held out her arms. “Come here,” she said, and gave me a hug.

“Let's all go inside,” Mom said gently, rubbing my back.

Derek nodded. “Good idea.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open to allow Mom and Dad to go inside. Then he turned to Alex. “You'll come in for a few minutes.”

“Of course.”

Derek put his arm around my shoulder as we walked into the house. After a few minutes, Mom and Dad said good night. Then the three of us sat around the kitchen counter.

“Can I pour you a glass of wine?” I asked.

“No, thanks,” Alex said, slipping off her shoes. “It's getting late. I just wanted to tell you what I saw. And I'll be glad to talk to the police if you'd like to go ahead and call them.”

“Do you recall what time it happened?” Derek asked.

“Yes. It was about twenty minutes before you got home.”

“What did she look like?” I wondered.

“Tall, thin,” Alex said. “She moved like a cat. I couldn't see her face. Couldn't even see her hair color. She wore a mask.”

“Great,” I muttered. “Catwoman.”

Alex gave me a wry smile.

“Sights, sounds, smells?” Derek's words had the effect of snapping Alex to attention. The two of them occasionally spoke in a shorthand that I couldn't always decipher. Months ago, they had bonded over their shared history in covert operations—and their mutual desire to improve my pitiable self-defense moves.

“I got nothing,” Alex said, frustrated. “She wasn't wearing perfume. She didn't make a sound. And she wore gloves.”

“You're sure it was a woman,” Derek said.

The question made her smile. “There's no doubt in my mind.”

He shrugged. “You never know.”

Something had been bothering me and I finally figured out what it was. “If you rode up on the elevator, she must've heard it coming. It shakes the whole building. Why didn't she leave before it arrived on our floor?”

“I wondered about that, too,” Alex said. “She could've been gambling that it would stop on one of the lower floors. I think that's what I might've done.”

Derek pondered the possibilities. “And even if it made it all the way up to our floor, she was close enough to the stairs to believe she'd have time to escape.”

I grinned. “She wasn't expecting a former covert operative to come strolling down the hall.”

“They never do,” Alex said wryly.

“We're very grateful,” Derek said.

“Hey, you'd do the same for me.”

“Absolutely,” Derek and I said at the same time. I quickly added, “But I hope we never have to.”

She leaned across the counter and patted my hand. “You and me both, pal.”

•   •   •

First thing the next morning, after pouring myself a cup of coffee, I called Inspector Lee. I didn't want to examine too carefully the fact that I had her phone number on speed dial.

“Hey, Brooklyn,” she said. “Don't tell me you're finished with the book already.”

“No, not yet. The reason I'm calling is to let you know that someone tried to break into our apartment last night.”

There was silence for a moment, and I could practically see her sigh, then brace herself. “Tried?”

“Yeah. Our neighbor Alex was just coming home and saw the burglar, but she got away. That's why we didn't call the police.”

“She?”

“Yes. According to Alex, the intruder was a woman.”

“That's different,” she murmured.

“Yeah, I'll say. I can't imagine who it is.”

Another pause, and then Lee said, “But everyone's okay?”

“We're fine. We were out to dinner with my mom and dad.”

“So, you want me to get someone to come by and take statements?”

“I don't think it's necessary,” I admitted. “I can ask Alex to give you a call, but she didn't see much. She did say that the woman was wearing a mask and gloves, so Alex couldn't get much of a
description and there aren't any prints. Oh, she was tall and thin. That's about all Alex could discern.”

“Okay, I'll make a note. You might want to think about hiring some private security, Brooklyn.”

I was beginning to think the same thing—although when I thought about it, I
lived
with private security. Who could I hire who would be better than Derek? There was no one better. “I'll talk to Derek about it.”

“Something tells me he's already considered it.”

“I'm sure you're right,” I said, wondering if he might've already put someone in place. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know what happened. Not that there's any connection, but it's just weird that it happened one night after the murder at the Covington.”

“You're right. It's weird, but I can't see a connection, either.”

“Except for the fact that both incidents are really disturbing.”

“I hear you.” She seemed to hesitate, then said, “Listen, this might sound lame, but could you keep an eye on my mom's book? It's not as valuable as some of those classics you usually work on, but it's sort of rare. You know, one of a kind.”

I thought it was sweet that she was so concerned about her mom's book, but I wasn't about to say so out loud. “I understand completely. Please don't worry, though. I've gotten used to keeping all the books I'm working on in my safe. It's very secure.”

“Cool,” she said. “Give me a call if you happen to hear from any other neighbors about the break-in, or if you decide you want us to come by and check things out after all.”

“I will. I really appreciate it.”

I hung up the phone, amazed. It felt as though I'd just had a conversation with a friend. Well, besides all the murder-burglary talk. But hey, my friends were used to that kind of talk around me,
so what the heck? My point was, Janice Lee and I were becoming friends. Hallelujah.

I laughed at myself, then wondered if I should've mentioned the
Poor Richard's
Almanack
that was currently tucked safely away in my hall safe along with her art book and all the books I'd brought home from Genevieve's to repair. If I had to place a wager, it was an easy bet that the
Almanack
was the reason for the attempted break-in. That was especially true after overhearing Billy tell Genevieve that his friendly neighborhood book thief knew about the
Almanack
.

What if the thief couldn't find the rare booklet in the bookshop? What if he'd followed Genevieve to the Covington Library? What if the guy had watched her hand the
Almanack
to me?

What if I was being followed?

I wondered, not for the first time, if the
Almanack
had something to do with Jared Mulrooney's murder. But how could it? What was the connection? Unless Genevieve knew Jared somehow. It didn't make sense, but still. What if . . .

I should've asked Inspector Lee if the police had made any progress in finding Jared's killer. Not that she would tell me anything, but it would help to know that they were doing their best to solve his murder. I couldn't help feeling a connection to the odd-looking bird-watcher, if only because I had his book in my house.

Could Jared be the connection? It made sense. He had been murdered, and one day later, someone tried to break into my house. The part that didn't make sense was the book itself. How could a simple, pretty little book about birds be important enough to kill over? I didn't have a clue.

I rubbed my arms as a chill skittered across my shoulders.

Shaking off my nerves, I walked into the kitchen to refill my
coffee cup. My parents had decided to sleep in, a luxury they rarely indulged in at home. This afternoon, they would meet up with friends for an early-afternoon concert in Golden Gate Park before the main event tonight at the Fillmore.

Thinking about my parents, I replayed last night's events. We'd been having such a good time until we got home and found Alex waiting for us. I wondered again what the intruder could possibly be looking for. I made a mental list of all the books in my safe, and when I got to the
Almanack
, I gasped out loud. What with the arrival of my parents and all the trauma over the attempted break-in, I'd completely forgotten to tell Derek about Billy's con man entanglement.

“I'm a knucklehead,” I muttered, and went to track down Derek. I found him working in his nice new home office—formerly my second bedroom. He was talking on the phone but held up one finger to indicate he'd only be a minute, so I leaned against the doorjamb and waited until he finished.

“Hello, love,” he said. “Come in and talk to me.”

“I can't believe I forgot to tell you something,” I said, taking a seat in the chair next to his desk. “It might be important.”

He angled his chair to face me head-on. “Go ahead.”

I told him about eavesdropping on Billy and Gen's conversation the day before. “Naturally, I jumped directly to the conclusion that I was being followed and whoever tried to break in last night was trying to steal the
Almanack
.”

“Unfortunately, that's not an unreasonable deduction to make.” He frowned and considered the situation. “After our intruder's run-in with Alex last night, I doubt she'll try to break in tonight. But I've decided not to take any chances. With all of us leaving the house tonight, I've asked George to watch the place until we get home.”

“You already called him?”

“Yes.”

My mood brightened at the news. So Derek
had
been thinking about private security. George Thompson was one of his best agents and I'd worked with him twice before. The first time was while I was working on the traveling antiques show
This Old Attic
, and then once again more recently while we were staying in Dharma and a friend required security.

“So George can do it?”

“He'll be here at six.”

“That's great.”

“Yes. He'll park across the street and watch for anyone who comes near the front door of the building.”

“Is it necessary for him to stay outside?” I wondered. “He's welcome to come inside the house and stay warm.”

“I'd rather have him catch the woman outside the building than inside our home.”

“I see your point. But I hate to think of poor George sitting out in the cold all night.”

He broke into a smile, leaned over, and squeezed my hand. “You have a good heart. But to be perfectly honest, I offered him the choice and he elected to remain outside.”

“That's because you're his boss. You intimidate him.”

“Every chance I get.”

I smacked his knee, but managed to laugh as I stood up. “I love you,” I said, bending over to give him a kiss.

“And I love you.” He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me close. We stayed huddled together for a long moment; then he gazed up at me. “We'll have to find some time to discuss our plans.”

I knew he meant our wedding plans and it made me smile. “Yes, we do. But let's wait until after my parents leave.”

“Excellent idea. I'd rather not make any decisions by committee. Especially as they might include a drum circle ceremony where I'm clothed in nothing but daisies.”

“Hmm.” I laughed at the image but knew just what he was talking about. “We're in perfect agreement.”

I left him to his work and walked down the hall to the closet that concealed my safe. I kept a few jackets hanging in there to distract a would-be thief. Pushing them aside, I slid open a small panel in the back wall, revealing a combination lock. I dialed in the six numbers, opened the door, and pulled out
Dracula, Cuckoo's Nest
, and the
Almanack
.

This closet had once functioned as a dumbwaiter back in the days when the building was a corset factory. Now it served as a fireproof safe lined with a one-inch-thick layer of solid steel. I trusted it to keep my books secure—as long as I remembered to put them in here every night. After a few scary break-ins over the last few years, I'd developed the habit.