One Book In The Grave

by Kate Carlisle

  We followed Sir Francis Drake Boulevard for almost fifteen miles. It was hardly a boulevard. More like a two-lane country road, I thought, as we wound our way up and down and around the rolling hills, through narrow, tree-shaded hollows and rich, open, green farmland, past pastures and ponds and farms so old they’d earned official state historic markers.

  We were close to the ocean and I could smell it in the briny air. We drove higher into the hills, past cypress trees surreally misshapen by years of blustery winds blowing in from the rough northern California ocean.

  “This is it,” Derek said, and carefully turned off onto a dirt road, then wound around another hill and climbed higher, past another two farms. Scattered across the hillside were black-and-white cows chewing grass. A wire and wood-post fence separated the pasture land from the road.

  “Are we there yet?” I muttered.

  “There’d better be someone at home when we get there,” Derek said.

  “And they’d better know where Max is,” Gabriel added.

  Finally, Derek brought the car to a stop on the narrow verge. Up the hill on our left was a set of pitted stairs carved out of bedrock that led up another fifty yards to a two-story farmhouse.

  “That’s the place?” Gabriel asked.

  “Yes,” Derek said, opening his door, then glancing back. “This should only take a moment.”

  “Maybe so,” Gabriel said, pushing the driver’s seat forward, then stepping out of the car. “But you’re not going alone.”

  “I’m coming, too,” I said, unwilling to wait by myself.

  “We’ll cause too much attention if we all go,” Derek insisted.

  “Your English accent will cause more attention than anything else,” I countered. “And then there’s the Bentley you’re driving.”

  Gabriel snorted. “She’s got you there.”

  Derek shook his head. “I’ve lost control of the situation, haven’t I?”

  “Not sure you ever had it, pal,” Gabriel said helpfully.

  “True.” Derek shrugged. “Let’s go, then.”

  We’d barely walked ten feet when the front door of the farmhouse opened. A tall, bearded man carrying a high-powered rifle stepped out on the porch and aimed the gun right at us. A dog stood at his side. It barked once and the man nudged him quiet with his knee.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered.

  Derek swore under his breath as he held his arms up.

  “Ah, hell,” Gabriel said, raising his arms high over his head. “That’s never a good thing.”

  “Yes, it is,” I said, my voice unsteady. “That’s Max Adams.”

  Chapter 9

  “Max,” I shouted, and waved my arms in the air, as if he couldn’t see me up close and personal in the crosshairs of his rifle. But would he remember me? I looked the same, basically, and I’d known him most of my life, so unless he’d developed amnesia, he couldn’t have forgotten me.

  Three years didn’t seem like that long a time, but looking at Max now, it felt like ten years had passed. Except for the beard, I guess he looked the same, but on the inside, I imagined he must have changed a lot more than I had. For one thing, since faking his own death, he probably didn’t go by the name Max anymore. And living out here, day after day, all alone for three long years, could’ve turned him a little paranoid.

  Guru Bob had pulled another fast one by giving us directions that led straight to Max. It was alarming to be facing Max suddenly and without warning, but now that we were here, I was excited to talk to him. I just hoped he wouldn’t start shooting. I had so many questions to ask him.

  Starting, of course, with, Why did you lie to all of us for three years?

  But there was more I wanted to know, too. Did he go outside his house much? Was he afraid to go into town because someone from his old life might see him? Did he wear a disguise? Besides the beard, I mean. It wasn’t all that effective, since I had still recognized him.

  What had happened to him three years ago that had been so awful that he’d staged his own death rather than face whoever had been tormenting him? Why hadn’t the police helped? Had Max missed us as much as we had missed him?

  Did he kill Joe Taylor?

  “Max! It’s Brooklyn.” I shouted his name several more times, and after many long seconds he slowly lowered the rifle.

  “Brooklyn?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” I shouted, then shivered from the cold air. The marine layer had obliterated the blue skies and now it looked like it might rain.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Who are those guys?”

  “They’re friends of mine. Guru Bob sent us.”

  “Robson knows you’re here?”

  “He gave us directions to find you.” I took a cautious step closer. He wasn’t pointing the rifle anymore, but he was still holding it, after all. “Can we please talk to you?”

  He raked his fingers roughly through his hair and glared at us for another minute. He was probably wishing he could tell us all to go to hell, but hearing Robson’s name put the kibosh on that. “All right. Yeah, okay.” He waved us up the stairs, but he didn’t put down the gun, and I guess I couldn’t blame him.

  I went first, climbing up the rocky, uneven steps. When I got close to the porch, I said, “This is Derek Stone and that’s Gabriel.” I turned to Derek and Gabriel and said needlessly, “This is Max Adams.”

  “Call me Jack,” he said to the men, then looked at me and frowned. “What are you all doing here? What’s going on?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said, rubbing my arms and looking at the darkening sky. “Max-er, Jack, do you mind if we go inside? It’s cold out here.”

  He clamped his lips together in a scowl, then exhaled heavily. “Yeah, I guess so. Come on.”

  As I stepped onto the porch, a gunshot blasted through the air.

  Chips of wood went flying, and I screamed. Derek shoved me down on the wood planks and threw himself on top of me as a shield.

  “Shit!” Max shouted, crouching in front of the door and grabbing the handle to open it. He shoved the dog inside and said, “Everyone get in the house.”

  “Go, go!” Gabriel yelled.

  Derek yanked me up and pushed me toward the door. Max clutched my arm and propelled me inside. I careened into the sofa and felt manhandled and bruised in a few places, but I was safe. The dog, a big yellow Lab, licked my hand.

  Gabriel scrambled up the steps, bolted inside, and slammed the door.

  “Anyone hit?” Derek asked.

  “No,” Max said, checking the lock. He raced over to the picture window and whipped the curtains closed. “Damn it. You were followed here.”

  “We weren’t,” I said with conviction, but I was wrong, obviously.

  I looked at Derek, who stared warily at Max. Gabriel was watching him, too. What is going on?

  “We weren’t followed,” Derek said carefully. “But are you sure someone hasn’t been here all along, watching your house?”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” He ran over to a side window, leaned his rifle against the corner wall, then used one finger to pull back the curtain an inch and stare outside. “I’ve been living here for years and nothing has ever happened. All of a sudden you three show up like the Mod Squad, and someone takes a shot at me. Pretty clear to me whose fault that is.”

  “How do you know that shot was meant for you?” Gabriel said sagely.

  Max glowered at Gabriel, then turned his narrowing gaze on Derek. Abruptly he flicked his hand toward the door. “This wasn’t a good idea. I want all of you to leave now.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “Not yet. I need to talk to you. Besides, there’s a killer outside, so we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  “Well, don’t get comfortable,” he said, “because you won’t be here long.”

  I threw warning glances at Derek and Gabriel, then walked over to Max. “Could we stop arguing for a minute so I can tell you why we’re here?”

  He glared at me w
ith the same dark look of suspicion he’d been wearing since we arrived. I stared back, silently willing him to remember better days when we were close friends.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed Derek and Gabriel had positioned themselves at opposite sides of the picture window and were taking turns peering outside. I’d forgotten about the shooter in the past ten seconds or so. Luckily, my companions hadn’t. I pondered whether it might’ve been an errant hunter whose gun had gone off accidentally.

  No, I didn’t really believe that, either.

  Max and I continued our staring contest until I noticed the lines bracketing his mouth soften a bit and the storm clouds in his eyes clear. And just like that, he was the carefree Max I knew from my youth. Outwardly, anyway. There had to be demons inside him. How could there not be after all this time alone?

  “Fine, Brooklyn. Go ahead and say what you were going to say.”

  I smiled tentatively. “Can I have a hug first?”

  He huffed. “Damn it, Brooklyn.” Two seconds later, he grabbed me in a tight hug. The dog barked cheerfully. I laughed in surprise, then buried my face in his barrel chest and breathed in his scent. After a moment, I eased back.

  “You look good, honey,” he said, squeezing my arms affectionately.

  “You do, too, Max. You look alive, and that’s a good thing.” I sniffled as misty tears fogged my eyes.

  “Yeah, about that,” he said, ill at ease.

  “Yeah, about that,” I echoed, then stepped back and punched him hard in the stomach.

  The dog barked once.

  “Ow!” Max rubbed his stomach. “What was that for?”

  “Oh, please,” I said, shaking and flexing my hand to get the blood flowing again. “That hurt me more than it hurt you. And you know what it was for. You’ve been lying to all of us for three years.”

  “It was important. Still is.” The dog came over and nudged his leg. Max patted his back, then glared at me. “You know, I always wondered if my enemies would ever discover I was alive, but I never figured it would be my friends who would lead them straight to me.”

  Gabriel took a step forward. “You’ll want to ratchet back on the accusations, Jack.”

  “Brooklyn didn’t lead anyone to you,” Derek retorted as he flanked me. “Your enemies know you’re alive. It was a matter of time before they found you. You’re lucky we found you first.”

  “Lucky?” He snorted. “How the hell would they know I’m alive if not for you?”

  “Because it didn’t begin here today,” I said softly. The Lab came over and sat in front of me, staring and panting.

  “What’s your name?” I asked as I bent down to let him sniff my hand.

  “It’s Buckminster,” Max said. “Bucky when he’s good.”

  “Hello, Bucky,” I said, patting his back as I observed Max.

  But Max wouldn’t make eye contact with me. Maybe he was starting to figure things out for himself. But then, obstinate to the end, he threw me another angry look. “Why are you here, Brooklyn?”

  “Yeah, well, about that.” Now it was my turn to look uncomfortable. Glancing around for the first time, I pointed at the couch and chairs arranged in front of the fireplace. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

  “Before you get into it,” Derek said, first meeting my gaze, then looking at Max, “do you have a back door?”

  “Yeah,” he said, jabbing his thumb toward a doorway. “Through the kitchen.”

  “Good. Gabriel and I will circle the area, and if the shooter’s still out there, we’ll trap him from behind.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Max said, grabbing his rifle from the corner of the room where he’d left it.

  Bucky immediately stood at attention.

  “Somebody should stay here,” Derek said, casting a quick look at me.

  “It’s my land,” Max said.

  Derek studied him. “Are you willing to return fire if it comes down to it?”

  “Stone’s in security,” Gabriel said, as if that explained Derek’s question.

  “What do you do?” Max said, scowling at Gabriel.

  Gabriel shrugged. “Little of this, little of that. Right now, I’m your best defense against whoever’s out there shooting at you.”

  Max’s jaw clenched as he glanced at me. I could see the turmoil in his expression. He was a big man and used to living on his own. But he didn’t have the same kind of killer instinct Gabriel and Derek possessed, and I could tell he was beginning to realize that.

  Reluctantly he nodded once, acquiescing to stay behind.

  Derek moved into the kitchen with purpose, followed by Gabriel. I rushed after them. “Are you really going out there?” I whispered, feeling my throat dry up.

  “Yes,” Derek said. “If there’s the slightest chance someone followed us here, I want to make sure they don’t follow us home.”

  “But there haven’t been any more gunshots,” I said a little desperately. “Maybe he’s already gone.”

  “That’s what we’ll need to determine,” Gabriel said, and pulled a powerful-looking handgun out from behind his back.

  “Oh, my God, what’s that?” I asked stupidly. “That’s a gun. What are you doing with that?”

  He grinned. “Relax, babe.”

  I stared wildly at Derek. “He’s got a gun.”

  “Yes, darling,” he said, and pulled his own weapon out of a holster under his arm.

  I felt my eyes cross. “You-you’ve had that with you all this time?”

  “Just since we got out of the car,” he said. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t worry? Are you insane?”

  He chuckled, leaned over, and kissed me. Then he looked at Max. “You’ll stay with her.”

  “Of course. We’ll cook something.”

  I laughed a little hysterically. They have to be kidding, I decided.

  Max opened the back door and pointed out a few details. “The fig orchard should provide enough cover until you get to the barn. Don’t go inside unless you want to hear a deafening chorus of bleats from the goats.”

  “No, thanks,” Derek muttered.

  “It’s wide-open on this side-no cover except for the oak tree.” Max pointed the opposite way, then gazed up at the sky. “But it looks about to rain, so maybe he’s already gone.”

  “We’ll soon find out,” Gabriel said, and zipped up his black leather jacket against the cold.

  I watched them steal out of the house. Derek moved off toward the fig orchard while Gabriel hustled in the opposite direction, out into the open field.

  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.