Buried in Books

by Kate Carlisle

  It was noon and the weather was still wonderful. I gazed out at the views of the Golden Gate Bridge, the bay, and the green hills beyond, and didn’t catch a hint of fog. I didn’t know how long that would last, but I prayed that the blue skies would hold out until the weather cooled and we all went inside for dinner.

  I took a deep breath and felt myself tremble. Everything was so beautiful, simply perfect. My stomach tingled at the thought and I immediately wondered if I was jinxing anything by being so utterly happy for this day.

  I didn’t believe in jinxes, did I? Of course not.

  Reluctantly I left the gardens. Pulling open the heavy iron door, I walked back through the elegant side foyer with its wide black-and-white-checkerboard marble floor and entered the main exhibit hall. It was empty now, so I stole a moment to enjoy the quiet and visit a few of my favorite displays. Walt Whitman’s handwritten letters to his publisher. The vibrantly illuminated manuscript of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. John Lennon’s original drawings.

  I’d spent so many wonderful hours in the Covington Library that it felt exactly right for Derek and me to start the next chapter of our lives here. I sighed a little at the wealth of knowledge and beauty within these walls. The room was a stunning tribute to books and ephemera as well as to architecture, with its deeply coffered ceiling, its Frank Lloyd Wright–inspired sconces, and its floral-patterned wrought-iron railings that lined the second- and third-floor walkways.

  “Visiting old friends?”

  I turned. “Ian.” I ran and gave him a big hug. “Hello, old friend.”

  “Hey, I’m not that old.”

  I laughed. “No, you’re not. You look like a teenager.”

  “Let’s not get carried away.”

  “But it’s true.”

  He looked so handsome in his suit and tie. I had ordered a yellow boutonniere for him and it looked wonderful with his gold-and-green-striped silk tie. Ian had been my brother Austin’s friend all through college. At some point, the two of us met and decided we were perfect for each other. We started dating and even got engaged for a brief time, until we realized we were great friends, but not in love. A few years later, Ian announced that he was gay and now he had a wonderful husband and was blissfully happy.

  I slipped my arm through his and we strolled down the hall. “I love it here. Thank you so much for doing this for me and Derek.”

  “I couldn’t be happier that you wanted to have your wedding here.”

  We walked down the wide corridor that led to Ian’s suite of offices. I was pleased to see that a no-nonsense security guard was posted and waiting by the door at the end of the hallway.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “This is Gerald,” Ian said.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Wainwright.” He pushed the door open for me and tipped his hat. “I hope you have a wonderful day.”

  “Thank you, Gerald.” Ian walked with me inside the large outer office, where we bypassed all the desks and office equipment and headed for Ian’s private office. This was where my girlfriends and I would spend a few hours before the ceremony dressing and fixing our hair and makeup.

  He gave me a kiss on the cheek, wished me all the happiness in the world, and walked out as I entered his personal sanctum sanctorum. I was still amazed and very grateful that he had so willingly turned over his office to me and my bridesmaids. There were priceless works of art everywhere you looked and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf holding the most rare and expensive books imaginable. I had a feeling if you tried to walk out with just one of those books, mild-mannered Gerald would have you facedown on the floor and in handcuffs in seconds.

  The room was large enough that two separate sets of comfortable couches and chairs had been grouped together for conversations or interviews or for guests to sit and chat. There was also room for a small conference table and a huge mahogany desk, of course, where Ian plotted daily to collect the great books of the universe.

  There were two doors subtly disguised in the richly paneled wall. One was a small closet and the other led to a large executive bathroom with full-length mirrors, several vanity tables, and even a fainting couch. Ian had explained that his office was occasionally the scene of intimate parties for the library’s biggest donors. Thus the vanities and fainting couch. I once asked him if rich people fainted when they gave away money, but he wouldn’t explain.

  But this was the first time Ian’s office would be used by a bridal party for a wedding. He seemed perfectly happy knowing that his sacred office space was about to be transformed, as he put it, into the Girl Zone.

  I found my dress and veil hanging in the closet. My suitcase was on the floor and I dragged it out to the coffee table and opened it. Inside I found my carefully packed shoes, my jewelry, boxes of goodies for my bridesmaids, and all the other necessities I would need for the day, along with my makeup and some clips for my hair. I gave a silent prayer of thanks that Robin and Alex had accomplished so much while I was busy giving speeches at the library convention.

  Alone for the moment, I thought back to Derek kissing me good-bye at our front door less than an hour ago.

  “I won’t see you again until I walk down the aisle,” I’d said wistfully.

  “I can stop by Ian’s office to say hello.”

  Alarmed, I said, “No, you really can’t. You’re not allowed to see me in my wedding dress until the ceremony. It’s bad luck.”

  He gave me his most tolerant smile and ran his hands up and down my arms. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “My mother will be there, you know. Do you really want her waving a smoldering sage stick at you to clear the vibes?”

  “You make a good point, love.”

  “Let me paint a clearer picture.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You only have brothers, so maybe you weren’t aware of this hard-and-fast rule. So here’s the deal. You don’t get to see me in my wedding dress because my mother will kill you.”

  “Ah.” He grinned and kissed me again. “Now that makes perfect sense.”

  “Thank you.” I kissed him back. “I love you.”

  I heard someone laughing outside Ian’s office and I went to see who it was. Robin and my sister China were just walking into the outer office, followed by my other two sisters, London and Savannah. London looked petite and polished, as always. Savannah was bald and beautiful, as always. A few years ago she had shaved her hair in solidarity with a girlfriend who had cancer and the look suited her so well that she kept it. I was almost certain that her bald noggin was the reason Dalton fell in love with her at first sight.

  “Hi, girls,” I said. “Come on in.”

  “It’s like we haven’t seen you in hours,” Robin said, smirking.

  Savannah gave me a hug. “You do know that we’ve been here for two hours, right?”

  I blinked. “Where have you been?”

  “Robin had lists for all of us,” London said. “I worked with the flower people, making sure all the flowers had arrived, and arranged the boutonnieres and bouquets in the refrigerator.”

  “And I was forced to approve the cake and other desserts,” Savannah explained with a world-weary sigh.

  Robin was gleeful. “There were cookies.”

  “And they needed taste-testers,” China added with a grin.

  “You give and you give,” I said, laughing. “Thank you for helping.”

  “Don’t close the door,” Robin said. “Your mom and Meg are right behind us.”

  I snuck a peek out the door. “Did you see Alex out there?”

  “She’ll be here in a few minutes,” Robin said. “She’s handling the guest book, right?”

  “Right. With Gabriel.” I had made the guest book by hand and it was beautiful if I did say so myself. I had even gone so far as to coordinate the book cover with the color of Alex’s dress, which she seemed to get a ki
ck out of.

  “I hope they won’t have to work too hard to get people to sign it,” I added. “I would hate to see Gabriel having to strong-arm someone who neglects to sign their name.”

  “Guest book duty is harder than it sounds,” Robin warned. “Some people will pick up the book and carry it around with them. It’s like they can’t think of something pithy to write on the spur of the moment so they want to keep it with them until brilliance strikes.” She had married my brother last year so I suppose she knew what she was talking about. She glanced around the room. “I think we need champagne.”

  As if on cue, Meg walked into the room carrying two bottles of lovely French champagne. “Good morning, ladies!”

  “This is going to be too much fun!” Mom said, holding up a shopping bag filled with snacks and chocolate bars.

  I had to laugh as I set out the piles of goodies on the sideboard. London found glasses in one of Ian’s elegant cabinets and began to pour.

  “Should we lock the door?” China asked. “The men are just down the hall.”

  I grinned. “No, Gerald the guard will protect us.”

  Within a few minutes, as always happened when more than two women got together with a couple of bottles of champagne, the decibel level rose to ear-bleed levels. I wasn’t about to say anything because Mom was right, I was having too much fun. I just hoped the walls were soundproof because the poor dogs in this neighborhood were going to go crazy if they had to listen to us shouting and shrieking with laughter for the next hour.

  My hairdresser, Laura, arrived and set up shop at the bathroom vanity. We propped the door open so everyone could walk in and out and watch if they wanted to. After touching up Mom and Meg’s makeup, Laura went to work on me. She fashioned a soft braid across the back of my head, pulling selected strands out to curl and fall around my neck in sexy profusion. Those were her words, but they were pretty accurate, if I did say so myself. She tucked tiny bits of baby’s breath through the braid and added a diamond barrette on one side. I would wear a veil for the ceremony and then remove it for the party, but for now, I was beyond thrilled.

  “Wow.” I stared at myself in the mirror. “You are an artistic genius.”

  “Thank you for noticing.” Laura smiled. “Yes, I am.”

  I was starting to wonder where the photographer was, when I noticed that my mother was crying.

  “Mom, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you in pain?”

  “Oh, Brooklyn. You look stunning,” she said, sniffling.

  “Don’t cry, Mom. You’re going to ruin your pretty makeup.” I grabbed a tissue and handed it to her. “More importantly, you know that if you keep crying, I’ll be forced to join you. And that would be disastrous.”

  She dabbed her nose with the tissue. “You were always a beautiful girl, sweetie, but now you look like a fairy princess come to life. Simply breathtaking.”

  “I don’t even have my dress on.”

  “It’s your hair,” Meg said, and now she was sniffling, too.

  “Thank you, Meg. But don’t you start crying, too.”

  I was afraid there might be a chain reaction so I looked around for Robin. My best friend from age eight would have a good laugh with me over all this tear-jerking nonsense. I spied her sitting on the couch, bent over, slipping on her high heels.

  “Hey, Robin,” I called. “Can you come in here?”

  She didn’t sit up, wouldn’t make eye contact. “Not just now.”

  I was taken aback. “Why not?”

  Then I heard her sniffling.

  “Oh no. No, you can’t be crying.” It was frankly horrifying. The natural order of life on the planet had gone dangerously askew. “Stop that.”

  She smiled through her tears. “It’s just . . . you look . . . really great.”

  “You’re just upset because I didn’t wear my Birkenstocks like I threatened to do.” I tapped my champagne glass and raised my voice. “Attention, everyone, I have an announcement to make. We have hired the most expensive hair and makeup artist in San Francisco, and once she’s finished with your makeup, you are not, I repeat, not allowed to cry. Or make me cry.” I wagged my finger at Robin. “That goes double for you, missy.”

  Robin chuckled and sniffled at the same time. “It’s okay, I haven’t had my makeup done yet.”

  “Fine,” I said imperiously. “You may cry.”

  Now she laughed. “Thank you, Princess.”

  My hairdresser grinned. “I’m not the most expensive in town, but I’m close.”

  “You’re worth it. I look amazing.”

  “Yes, you do.” She began to apply a thin layer of foundation on my cheeks. “I think I’ve only got a few more of the ladies to make up. Once I’m finished with everyone, I’ll help you put your dress on.”

  “Thank you, Laura. I need all the help I can get.” My dress wasn’t particularly elaborate or heavy, but I knew I needed help with the zipper. And I was liable to rip it to shreds if I stepped into it the wrong way. And then I would be the one crying.

  Fifteen minutes later, Laura gazed at me in the mirror. “Wow, you should wear makeup more often, Brooklyn. You look like a beauty queen.”

  I stared at myself. The makeup had been applied subtly, just enough to highlight my best aspects and give me a bit of what she called her patented “blushing bride glow.”

  “This is mind-blowing,” I murmured.

  “My work here is done,” Laura said with a laugh. “Who’s next?”

  I heard my cell phone ringing and glanced at the screen to see who was calling. It was an out-of-state number but I recognized the area code. “Hello?”

  “This is Virginia Hawthorne, the collections librarian at Glen Cove College, returning your call.”

  “Thank you so much for calling me back, Ms. Hawthorne.”

  “I was in the office catching up on some paperwork, otherwise you wouldn’t have heard from me until Tuesday.”

  “I’m grateful for this chance to talk to you. You’ve probably already heard from Rod Martin, but I wanted to follow up just in case.”

  “No,” she said. “I haven’t heard from Rod, but Cornelia called to tell me about poor Sara. She was one of my dearest friends and I still can’t believe it.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  She took a deep breath. “Thank you. But about your message. It left me with a few questions.”

  I scowled. “I’ll bet it did.” I explained that I was a librarian, too, and a bookbinder. I told her that Sara had given me a finely bound copy of The Three Musketeers as a bridal gift and what I had subsequently discovered inside the book.

  I could hear her typing on her computer. “If it’s the book I’m thinking of, it’s been missing from our collection for over a year.”

  “Oh dear,” I said, stunned. After I assured her that the book would be returned to the college once the murder investigation was completed, Virginia thanked me.

  “We’ve had an alarming number of antiquarian books stolen in the last few years,” she explained. “We finally narrowed down the possible suspects and, unfortunately, Sara was one of them. We hired an investigator to look into it, but we haven’t received his report yet.”

  Hmm. That was interesting. “Is your investigator an ex-FBI agent named Roy Mattingly?”

  “That’s his name although I don’t know his background. He was hired by our head of campus security.”

  “Ah.” I thought for a moment. Was there something else the investigator was looking into? “I know it’s an imposition, but would you mind calling me when you get the results of his investigation? I feel as though I have a connection to the case now and I would love to know the outcome.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” She chuckled. “We librarians have to stick together, right?”

  “That’s right,” I said, pleased with my
self for mentioning that I was a librarian, too.

  She sighed. “I would hate to think that Rod had anything to do with this. He’s such a nice guy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, isn’t he?”

  We finished the call and I absently reached for my champagne glass. I went back over everything Virginia had said, and knew that Derek would want to hear about it. I set the glass down. “I’ve got to talk to Derek.”

  “Sweetie, no,” Mom said. “It’s bad luck. You’ll see him soon enough.”

  “Okay, Mom, you win.” I stared at my phone and realized that I could text Derek, but that seemed like a waste of time. There was too much to tell him and I would see him in a little while anyway. The information could wait.

  He’s such a nice guy.

  If you only knew, I thought. Would a nice guy kill his wife? Not that I had any proof that he was the culprit yet, but it seemed like the most likely possibility.

  But again, I had to wonder why. Why would Rod kill Sara? I suppose there were plenty of reasons for a husband to kill his wife, but if the conversation he’d had with Cornelia was to be believed, Sara might have been at the heart of the whole forgery thing.

  I perched on the arm of the couch and sipped champagne while Laura finished touching up everyone’s hair and makeup. When she was ready to help me with my dress, I opened the hanging bag and fell in love all over again. It was lace with a bateau neckline and lacy cap sleeves that barely covered my shoulders. For some reason, I found those little cap sleeves the most adorable thing. The dress was fitted from the neckline to the waist, where hundreds of tiny crystals gleamed and reflected the light. From there it flowed to the floor in thin layers of lace and chiffon satin.