Buried in Books

by Kate Carlisle

  “Sorry, love,” Derek said from the hall archway. “I’m ready to go now.”

  “Will you come look at this?” I asked.

  He walked over and stared at the images on my computer screen.

  I glanced up at him. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”

  “Of course. The same two men appear in the background of many of these photos, yet they weren’t all taken at the same time or in the same place.”

  I smiled. I should’ve known he would pick up on it.

  “I don’t know what to think,” I said. “Were they following me? I don’t recognize them from any of my classes or the Book Lovers’ Tour. So who are they?”

  “This bald fellow looks vaguely familiar,” he said, and pointed to one particular photograph that showed both men’s faces clearly. “Will you send me a copy of this one?”

  “Sure.” I clicked on the photo and emailed it to him.

  A second later, his phone beeped and he opened up the picture to study it for another minute. He tapped his screen a few times and then closed the program and slid his phone back into his pocket. “Ready to go.”

  “Did you send it to your office?”

  “Yes. Corinne will run both of them through our facial recognition program and we should have our answers shortly.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go?”

  I beamed at him. “You are a genius.”

  “Thank you, darling. But you’re the one who pointed me in the right direction.”

  “They probably thought they were being discreet, but neither of them look like librarians.” I held up my hand. “I’m not saying that librarians have a look, per se, but . . . you know what I mean.”

  He chuckled. “Of course.”

  * * *

  • • •

  We crossed over to Fifth Street and walked the few short blocks to the conference center. There was still plenty of time to get seats in the large auditorium where the service was being held. We sat next to the aisle near the back and I turned to watch the doorway, hoping to catch Inspector Lee. As soon as she walked in, I waved her over.

  “We saved you a seat.”

  She nudged me with her elbow. “You’re a peach, Brooklyn.”

  The crowd settled down and the head of the librarians’ association walked to the podium. A librarian herself, she presided over the service and gave a touching tribute to “one of our own.”

  Several more speakers said lovely things about Sara and I was glad I’d slipped several tissues into my bag. Then the dreaded Cornelia Jones, the head of Sara’s college library, was introduced. She walked to the podium and I realized that I had seen her before. She was the woman who had followed Rod into my classroom the other day. She was probably in her forties, tall and full-figured, with dark hair she wore pulled back in what my mother would call a French roll. She was attractive in a matronly sort of way, but the permanent frown lines around her mouth and across her forehead detracted from any beauty she might’ve once claimed.

  Cornelia’s speech was an odd combination of complaints and praise—given begrudgingly. For some reason, instead of celebrating Sara’s life, she painted a dour and depressing picture of life back in their small town. It probably wasn’t meant to be a downer, but I could tell from her face that she had lived her life in that gloomy state of mind. Her words had more to do with her own personality than with Sara or with their hometown. Cornelia was a real sourpuss.

  “I suppose Sara got along well with everyone,” she continued, her voice a monotone. “And we will miss her.” She coughed self-consciously and added, “I confess I, er, don’t know too many of the details of her death, but I know that, um, dear Sara died as she lived, buried in books.”

  “Buried in books,” I murmured. “Strangely apropos.” And how would she know that little detail if she wasn’t involved in Sara’s murder?

  The room burst into thunderous applause, which shocked the heck out of Cornelia. I couldn’t blame her for being surprised at the outpouring, because she was a downright drudge. I had a feeling Sara had gotten along well with everyone except Cornelia. But that line about being buried in books was a definite winner with the librarians.

  I leaned closer to Inspector Lee and whispered, “She’s the one who forced Sara to move all those boxes of books. I’ll bet she did it out of spite.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “When we met Darla in the booth, she was visibly frightened of being caught talking to us. And she admitted that Cornelia had it in for Sara. And I told you that Sara thought Cornelia was jealous of her. What a horrible boss.”

  Lee weighed my words as she studied Cornelia. “She reminds me of an angry dog. Constantly growling.”

  “That about sums it up.” I wondered if Inspector Lee had already interviewed Cornelia, but I knew that if I asked her, she would avoid answering.

  The applause died down and Cornelia continued speaking.

  “She should’ve quit while she was ahead,” I murmured.

  Inspector Lee snorted.

  Cornelia continued taking subtle digs at Sara. She moaned that the library budget was going to suffer because they had paid for Sara to fly out for the conference, and now that she was dead, it was a wasted ticket. She blamed Sara for all the extra hours Cornelia would have to work. She sniffed contemptuously. “It’s not fair to be saddled with all of her work just because she’s dead. But . . . I suppose she did the best she could. My thoughts and prayers are with her family today.”

  “Ugh,” I muttered.

  Cornelia had lost any goodwill she might have garnered from the audience and a few minutes later she left the podium accompanied by silence.

  “Wow, Debbie Downer,” Inspector Lee whispered. “She really didn’t like our victim. I’m looking forward to hearing her alibi for the other night.”

  My eyebrows shot up. So Inspector Lee hadn’t interviewed Cornelia yet. I was glad she’d heard that speech before meeting with the woman. It would give her more perspective on Cornelia’s personality—or lack thereof.

  “She’s awful,” I said. “And stupid.” I hadn’t met many stupid librarians in my life because they were usually the smartest people in the room. But Cornelia qualified for stupidity award of the year. And as long as I was handing out awards, she also won in the mean-spirited and passive-aggressive categories.

  Happily, the last speaker gave a rousing, upbeat eulogy, and by the end of his speech the crowd was cheering and shouting, “Amen!”

  I had to dab my eyes again, it was so moving. Sara and I hadn’t spoken in over a decade, but reconnecting this week had been really great. Whether she had intentions of defrauding a book buyer or not was for the police to figure out, but we had once been friends. This whole mess was breaking my heart.

  I glanced around at all the smiling, tearstained faces, relieved that the service had ended on a high note. I wondered why Rod didn’t speak, and I suddenly realized that I hadn’t seen him here at all. I stood and scanned the room, trying to spot him.

  “Looking for someone?” Derek asked.

  “Seems weird that Sara’s husband wouldn’t be here.”

  “Perhaps he has a reason to avoid being seen.”

  I nodded intently. “Perhaps he does.”

  Inspector Lee glanced at Derek, her eyes narrowed in speculation. “That’s an interesting point. Why would he not attend his wife’s memorial?”

  As Derek stood, his phone beeped.

  “That might be Corinne,” I said.

  “It is Corinne.” He tapped the screen and stared at the results.

  “What’s going on?” Inspector Lee asked.

  Quickly and quietly, I explained about the two men who’d appeared in so many of the photographs my people had sent me by email. The inspector was watching Derek as closely as I was.

  Derek’s assistant, Corinne, was a l
ovely older woman who had followed him here from their London office to help open their San Francisco branch. She was as smart and efficient as any of the special investigators in Derek’s offices and her loyalty to him was beyond question, a quality I particularly appreciated.

  “My suspicions were correct,” he murmured, angling the phone so that I could see the screen. “This fellow here, the one I thought I recognized, is former FBI, now working as a private detective. His name is Roy Mattingly.”

  “What’s a private detective doing here?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I shook my head. “Never mind. Dumb question. We’ve got murder and possible criminal fraud, for starters.”

  “For starters.” Derek opened another screen on his phone, but closed it after a few seconds.

  “More interesting information,” Inspector Lee mused. She wrote down the name of the FBI guy, then glanced around the room as if expecting to see the man.

  “Any news on the other guy in the photo?” I asked.

  Derek shook his head. “No word yet on him.”

  “Too bad.” Derek’s facial recognition system was the most sophisticated in the world. If Corinne couldn’t track down the other guy, he might be completely off the radar.

  “Do you have a picture of the other guy?” Inspector Lee asked.

  “Absolutely,” Derek said, and brought the photo to his phone screen. “Let me send it to you.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “And keep me posted. If you find out who he is, I want to know.”

  “Definitely.”

  Gazing around the room, I caught sight of Heather speaking to another woman. Seeing her reminded me of something and I turned back to Derek. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Heather to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night. I know she’s a suspect, but we’re still friends until further notice.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” he said. “It was kind of you to invite her.”

  “I would hate to think of her all alone in her hotel room.”

  “I’ll contact the restaurant to add an extra seat at the table.”

  “Thank you.”

  He glanced around. “Darling, if you don’t mind, I have a few more questions for Inspector Lee.”

  “I’m in no hurry to leave,” I said. “Unless you’d rather talk to her alone.”

  “Of course not. I’ll just—”

  “Brooklyn.”

  I whipped around and saw Rod walking toward me. I looked back at Derek and Inspector Lee. “Can you wait a minute? I want to introduce you to Rod.”

  “Certainly,” Derek murmured.

  I watched Rod approach and wondered, where had he been? I hadn’t seen him during the memorial. Something told me he had heard some of it, though, because his face was pale and his eyes were bloodshot. Had he been crying? Was he really upset about Sara, or was he putting on a show for everyone here? I couldn’t help but be suspicious of him, even if he had a perfectly legitimate alibi for the night of Sara’s death.

  Rod came within a few feet before realizing that Inspector Lee was standing with me. His eyes widened and he might have bolted, but I grabbed him before he could take off.

  “Rod.” I forced him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I still can’t believe it.”

  “I know.” After a moment we broke off the hug and I said, “I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Derek Stone. Derek, this is Rod Martin, Sara’s husband.”

  They shook hands and Derek commiserated with him for a moment. Then I said to Rod, “I tried to look for you yesterday to tell you, but I didn’t know where to find you.”

  He frowned at me. “Tell me what?”

  Derek gave my arm a subtle squeeze before he and Inspector Lee walked off and began talking in hushed tones. I was bummed not to be in on their conversation but I would pester Derek for the details later.

  I turned back to Rod. “I—I wanted to catch you before the police found you. To tell you that Sara was, you know, dead.” My throat suddenly dried up. It was still hard to say it.

  “Oh.” He blinked a few times, but was still frowning. “I don’t understand. Why would you be the one to tell me that?”

  “Because I’m the one who found her.”

  His mouth dropped open. “You? Oh, wow. Okay. Sorry, I didn’t realize. That must’ve been horrible for you.”

  “It was.” An image planted itself in my brain, of Sara buried alive in that pile of heavy books and broken crates. I shook my head to get rid of the grim picture, but it refused to leave.

  “When she didn’t show up in our hotel room, I thought she was just in a snit,” he said. “Figured she would show up eventually when she got over whatever was bugging her.”

  “You weren’t worried about her?”

  “She’s done this before. Sometimes when she’s really ticked off, she’ll spend the night at a girlfriend’s house. So no, I’m sorry to say I wasn’t worried. But now I feel like an idiot for not going after her. Instead I spent all day in the exhibit hall, doing my schtick.”

  “What schtick is that?” I asked, but I had a feeling I knew. And meanwhile, I wondered what he had done to put Sara in a “snit.”

  He managed to smile. “Buying and selling books. Wheeling and dealing. That’s my schtick. My job. My company has a booth on the exhibit floor. Number 1274. If you have time, please come by and browse.”

  “I’ll do that.” Was he still going to be working in the company booth? Even after his wife’s murder?

  He winked at me. “I’ll give you a nice discount.”

  This was just creepy. Discounts. Work talk. His wife hadn’t even been dead twenty-four hours. But I smiled and played along. “How can I say no?”

  “Great.” He sobered quickly and gave my arm a warm squeeze. “Look, Brooklyn, I know you didn’t want to give up The Three Musketeers, but now that I’ve lost my sweet Sara, I’d be willing to beg to have that book back.”

  I sighed. It was so hard to believe anything he said. “I understand your feelings, Rod. I have a lot of sentimental feelings about the book, too, so let me think about it, okay?”

  But he was staring at something over my shoulder and whatever he saw did not make him happy. Without warning, he covered his face and began to sob like a baby. Grabbing my arms, he yanked me close and buried his face in my shoulder.

  The shock I felt must have shown on my face because Derek took one step closer, grabbed Rod from behind, and jerked him away from me.

  “Watch yourself, mate,” Derek said, taking the friendly approach as opposed to punching him in the face.

  “Oh. Uh, sorry,” Rod muttered, still sniffling and snorting. “I’m a little overwhelmed.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, then glanced around as though he were embarrassed about his crying jag. But it didn’t feel authentic. I remembered just how good he had been at feigning emotions he wasn’t really feeling, so I was less than moved by the outburst. Rod’s scans of the room were too furtive and I got the feeling he was looking for someone. Or hiding from someone?

  “Are you waiting for someone?” I asked, trying to sound casual—as opposed to confrontational.

  “Who, me? No.” He raked his hand through his hair. “To tell the truth, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. I’m sorry I broke down there, but I can’t seem to control myself. Whenever I think about Sara, I just lose it.”

  At that moment, Derek leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Wait here, love. I’ll be right back.”

  Surprised, I watched him stride off and saw Inspector Lee jog after him. Where were they off to? I didn’t follow because I still had a few issues with Rod.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry,” Rod said, still sniffling.

  I gave him a moment to pull himself together, then said, “I know you’re feeling pretty awful right now, but I have to tell you some more
bad news.”

  He seemed to brace himself. “What is it?”

  “The Three Musketeers book is a forgery.”

  “What?” he shouted, then instantly cringed. I almost laughed because it was the same reaction as Inspector Lee’s.

  “Sorry for yelling,” he said. “But what in the world are you talking about?”

  “I was examining the book this morning and found that the title page had been replaced and the publication date was altered. The book is lovely, but it’s not worth what you thought it was.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he cried. “Are you accusing me of trying to sell a fake book?”

  “Not at all,” I said, keeping my voice calm. He was good at feigning emotions, but he didn’t seem to be pretending now. But how could he not have known all along that the book was a forgery? He was supposed to be an expert. And so was Sara for that matter. “I’m just telling you what I discovered.”

  I was so wrapped up in Rod’s emotional swings that I hadn’t noticed that Derek had returned. I flashed him a questioning look, but knew better than to ask where he’d gone while Rod was standing here listening. Derek moved closer and casually draped his arm around my shoulders and I recognized it as a purely protective move. I had to admit it felt pretty great to have the man I loved standing at my side.

  “I’m a reputable bookseller,” Rod continued, growing more upset. “And I’m completely shocked by this.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said. “I was pretty shocked when I realized it.”

  “How could something like this have happened?”

  “You’d know more about that than I would. Did you buy the book from another reputable bookseller?”

  “No, I—” He gasped. “Oh my God. Oh no. It was Sara.”

  “Sara . . . what?”

  “Sara found the book and brought it home to me.”

  I flashed him a look of disbelief. “She found it?”