One Book In The Grave

by Kate Carlisle

  “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 acce
ptable 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 gr
eat 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?”