Murder Under Cover

by Kate Carlisle

  “Wow, don’t mess with Mr. Stone.”

  “No,” he said tightly. “Don’t.”

  I didn’t feel like gloating, but I didn’t feel guilty, either. I flashed back to the way I felt when I heard the four women cackling about me. I was hurt, confused, and angry. I remembered how it made me doubt Derek and his feelings for me. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner.”

  He searched my face-looking for what, I wasn’t sure. Finally he said, “Do you trust me, Brooklyn?”

  I was taken aback. “Of course.”

  “Then trust me when I tell you that I’ll never hurt you-No, wait. Let me rephrase that.” He pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me. “I will never knowingly hurt you. I know the work I do sometimes worries you, and I’ll try to be more open about it when I’m able. But trust me when I say there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. If you ever have a doubt or a concern about anything I say or do, or don’t say or do, I want us to talk about it. Will you promise me?”

  I nodded and rested my head on his shoulder. “Yes, I promise.”

  His hold tightened. “I trust you, too, Brooklyn,” he whispered, and kissed my temple.

  A gasp closed my throat and tears sprang to my eyes. His simple statement overwhelmed me. I could feel his heart beating in rhythm with my own and it filled me with joy. I almost blurted out how much I loved him, but I hesitated. The time wasn’t quite right. We’d come so far so fast, it was probably best to wait. Right now, all I wanted to do was savor this moment in his arms.

  The following morning, I found myself moving a little slower than usual and chalked it up to all the Kama Sutra research Derek and I had undertaken the night before. That’s right, I was calling it research, and that was the end of the discussion. A warm shower, a hot cup of coffee, and two aspirin fixed me right up.

  After Vinnie popped in to feed Pookie, I left the house and drove to Robin’s neighborhood. My first stop was a florist’s shop, where I bought a bouquet of red tulips. Then I couldn’t resist running into the bakery and buying two red velvet cupcakes as a welcome-home gift. I drove to Robin’s place and waited for the deliverymen to bring her new bed. After the movers had put it all together, I made up the bed for her, then placed the tulips on her dining room table with a note welcoming her home and letting her know there were cupcakes in the refrigerator.

  That afternoon, Inspector Lee called to let me know they’d picked up Galina and brought her in for questioning. I was happy they’d found her, but it concerned me that Inspector Jaglom thought she might be innocent, based on the time frame when that young man, Stanislav, was killed. If Galina didn’t do it, then who did? Who else was involved in this espionage fiasco?

  But looking on the bright side again, at least Galina was in custody and unable to attack Robin or me.

  Nevertheless, I felt anxious and antsy, so I buried myself in work. Fortifying myself with three kinds of chocolate, I began the actual restoration of the Kama Sutra.

  I started with the leather cover, wiping it with a specially treated cloth that wouldn’t hurt the leather but would clean away any grime that had been caught in the seams and around the embedded gems. When I got to the elaborately gilded edges of the leather, I pulled out my magnifying glass to study the dentelles more closely.

  As I stared at the intricate design, I recalled the information Rajiv sent me that indicated that the book had been created sometime between 1840 and 1880. I had accepted that time frame, not only because his papers said so but because some of the designs and the precision of the tooling was typical of French bookbinding methods during those decades.

  But forty minutes later… good grief, I didn’t know what to think. Was it feasible? I couldn’t wrap my mind around the possibility. I rolled my shoulders and combed my hair back with my fingers. It couldn’t be true. Could it? I popped another Butterfinger ball in my mouth and grabbed my magnifying glass.

  “What’s going on?” Derek said.

  I jolted slightly. “Where did you come from?”

  “I’ve been standing here watching you for the last five minutes.”

  “You have? I didn’t see you.”

  “I know. You’re so wound up, you’re shaking the table. What I can’t figure out is whether you’re trembling with happiness or anger. Or perhaps it’s excitement. Have you been peeking at the pictures without me, love?”

  I looked at the book, then smiled at him. “Never.”

  “Good,” he said, prowling toward me. “But something’s captured your attention. What is it?”

  I hadn’t realized my left knee was shaking like crazy. I pressed my palm down against my leg to make it stop.

  “Tell me what’s got you so tickled,” he said, as he dragged another stool over and sat next to me.

  “Okay.” Where to begin? I wondered. “At first I thought this book was a nineteenth-century work, but now I think that’s wrong.”

  Derek focused in on me. “Are you saying it’s a forgery?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “Well, yes, actually. At least insofar as the information goes that I received from Rajiv. But if my theories are correct, he’s wrong. I can’t say whether he deliberately told me something different or if he’s simply unaware of what he has. I guess I can ask when we meet him.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “Right. But my point is, I believe this book is almost a century older and infinitely more valuable than I originally thought. Look at this.”

  He scooted his chair closer. I placed the back cover in front of him and handed him the magnifying glass. “See these tooled and gilded designs on the leather here? Near the edge of the endpaper?”

  “Here?” He pointed, then glanced at me. “Where it’s been ripped apart?”

  “Oh.” I frowned at him. “I did that the other day when we were looking for the flash drive. But don’t worry. I’ll fix it when I put the book back together.”

  Derek chuckled. “I’m not worried. You know what you’re doing.”

  “Yes, I do.” Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly. I was nervous, I realized, and there went my knee, shaking again. I shifted in my chair and rolled my shoulders to realign my energies. “Anyway, this mark on the leather is called a dentelle, and it-”

  “What’s a dentelle?”

  I rewarded him with a beaming smile, as though he were my star pupil. “Good question. It’s a specific pattern made in the leather by a gilding tool. Here, it gives the effect of a lacy border along the inside cover. Can you see?”

  “Yes.” He bent closer and focused the magnifying glass. “Looks a bit like a snowflake.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Sometimes they’re simple, sometimes more elaborate. I think of it as the crown molding on a book. It softens the border and distracts the eye from the hard edges where leather and paper meet.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  “Here’s what I’m excited about. It’s common for different binderies to create their own signature dentelles. Sometimes the pattern is simply repeated by the hand of the binder, and sometimes they design a pattern in metal and form a plate. That plate is placed over the leather and the design is etched into it; then gold sheets are rolled or worked into the indentations.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “I know-it’s complicated. Anyway, some experts can open a book and state unequivocally that the book was created at a certain bindery, based wholly on the dentelles. I’m not a true expert, but I know enough to have given a few lectures on the subject.”

  He patted my knee. “And I know they were riveting.”

  I laughed. “Of course they were. Anyway, call me cuckoo, but I’m almost certain that the particular pattern of this dentelle is identical to the pattern used by the bindery of Jean-Pierre de Garme.”

  Derek leaned over with the magnifying glass and stared at the gold tooling for another moment, then sat back in his chair. “Well, that’s lovely, isn’t it?”

  “Lovely?” Laughing again, I
took the magnifying glass back. “You bet your sweet ass it’s lovely. But I don’t think you grok the true significance of what I’m saying.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “Apparently not, so why don’t you explain it in simple English. Speak slowly. I’m still a little weak from your complimenting of my ass.”

  “Sorry. That was rude.” I clutched his arm. “But this is an emotional moment for me.”

  “Clearly,” he murmured, and pushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. I think it was his way of calming me down with his touch. “Tell me.”

  I took another breath and let it escape slowly. “Jean-Pierre de Garme was one of the royal bookbinders to Louis the Sixteenth of France.”

  “Ah. Well, that is monumental.”

  “Yes!” I choked on a sudden laugh. “Yes!” Unable to sit still another moment, I jumped up and paced a few steps in either direction, then shrieked and raised my arms in victory.

  “It’s incredible,” I cried. “If it’s true, this book was made sometime in the late seventeen hundreds, which makes it well over two hundred years old. Which also explains why this translation doesn’t follow the Burton text, of course.”

  He stood as well and pushed his chair in. “Because Burton didn’t begin his translation of the Kama Sutra until the late eighteen hundreds.”

  “Yes.” Tapping my fingers on the back of the chair, I calculated. “And that brings up an entirely different issue. This translation could very well be the first evidence that someone else in the Western world discovered the Kama Sutra almost a century before Burton.”

  “A stunning possibility,” Derek said.

  “But I can’t even think about that right now. Not until I’ve done more research.”

  “I have every confidence in your ability to find the truth.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot.” I kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Just think, Derek. This book might’ve been commissioned by the king of France.” I grinned at him, then frowned. “Was Louis the Sixteenth known for his wild sexual pursuits? Do you know if he and Marie Antoinette were, you know, players?”

  Derek laughed. “I doubt it. They were too busy evading the guillotine.”

  I laughed with him. “Right. It doesn’t matter. Jean-Pierre is the key.”

  “Good point.” He whirled me around and planted a hot, hard kiss on my lips.

  “Wow,” I whispered. “What was that for?”

  “You,” he said, and bent to kiss my neck, causing shivers to zip up and down my spine. “I’m very proud of you and your discovery. But, darling, if we’re not going to look at the naughty pictures, I’ve got to get back to my phone calls.”

  I smiled and touched my cheek to his. “Okay, I’ll be working here a while longer. Oh, I should call Ian at the Covington. He’s going to die when he hears this.”

  “Do send him my regards.”

  A day later, Robin and Shiva arrived back in the city around noon. Robin called me first thing to let me know that the flowers were beautiful, the cupcakes were delectable, and the bed was spectacular. I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that I’d nailed it. You just never knew about such things.

  “It’s like it never happened, Brooklyn,” she said.

  I recognized her tone, so I dropped my scalpel and moved to my desk chair to sit and talk. “You almost sound sad about that.”

  “It is a little sad, don’t you think? All trace of him is gone. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad they cleaned everything up. But they cleaned it up so well that there’s not even a vibe of Alex left.”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” I said gently. “But that’s kind of what those guys get paid to do.”

  She chuckled softly. “And I appreciate it. I guess I thought I’d walk in and feel his presence somehow. And I don’t.”

  “And you wanted to?”

  She thought for a moment. “No. I really didn’t. I’m just in a weird place. I’m still flipping out to think that I chose to go out with someone so duplicitous. So now shouldn’t I be questioning my choices? Shouldn’t I wonder about my feelings for Austin? Is he really the right man for me?”

  I picked up a pencil and drummed it on the desk surface. “Yes, he is.”

  “It’s that simple?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You’ve loved him for more than half your lifetime. This isn’t an impulsive decision, Robin. It’s nothing at all like the situation with Alex. And Austin finally realizes he feels the same way. Are you really going to question that? Do you know how rare it is to find real love?”

  “I guess.”

  “Austin is the real thing,” I said. “Alex was a blip on the screen. A bump in the road. A misstep. A wrinkle in time.”

  She laughed. “Enough with the metaphors.”

  “Really? Because I have more. A leaf blowing in the wind.”

  “A ship passing in the night?” she whispered.

  “Um, well,” I said, and decided to shut up.

  “Anyway,” she said, changing tones again, “the bedding is beautiful. I’m still in shock that you showed such good taste.”

  There was the Robin I knew and loved. “Wait till you see the bill.”

  “Worth it at any cost,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “No worries. So, did your mom get a chance to talk to Rajiv yet?”

  “They spoke last night. He’s in New York right now and won’t be in San Francisco until Saturday morning. She set up the meeting for the afternoon.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell Derek.”

  “Great. I think we should all be there.”

  “I do, too.” I grabbed a pencil and pulled out my desk calendar. “Oh, crap-a-doodle.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We promised Jeremy we’d go to the Castro Street Fair to see his street performance.”

  “That’s right.” Robin groaned. “I forgot all about it.”

  “Rats.” I sighed. “I’ll tell him we can’t make it.”

  “Oh, but that’s my favorite street fair,” she said. “There’s a great local sculptor who always has a booth there. And I might get some of my stuff in there, too.”

  I thought about it. Truth was, I loved the Castro fair, too. All those cute boys in their leather chaps. And the food stalls were always top-notch. And Jeremy had been so excited about having us all show up to watch him perform.

  “Maybe we can set up the meeting for later in the afternoon,” I said. “I think Jeremy’s on at one o’clock.”

  “Yes, okay,” she said. “We can watch Jeremy, then meet Rajiv at the Cove Cafe maybe around three or four.”

  The Cove was your basic American diner, but it wasn’t greasy, the waiters were great, and it was located on Castro Street. We wouldn’t have to walk too far after Jeremy’s performance.

  “And Shiva will love the street fair,” Robin added. “It’ll remind her of the bazaar in Varanasi.”

  “Minus the Ganges,” I said, laughing. “Okay, if she’s up for it, that would work out perfectly.”

  “She’s up for anything I say she’s up for,” Robin murmured.

  “It’s like that, is it?”

  “Oh, yeah. She kind of flipped out once she heard what I’d gone through. She came by Austin’s place twice a day just to check up on me. It’s weird having her around, doting on me.”

  “I think it’s nice that she’s worried about you.” After all the years of benign neglect, it was good to know Shiva actually cared about her daughter.

  “We’ll see how long it lasts, now that we’re living in the same space for the next few days.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that,” I said. “Listen, Derek’s going out with clients Friday night, so I’m having a girls’ night. Margaritas and tacos. If you and your mom don’t have plans, why don’t you come over? It would be interesting to introduce Shiva to Vinnie.”

  “Sounds like fun. We’ll be there.”

  Tyler stared at the book. He turned it over and scanned the back cover. Then he opened the book, checked t
he last few pages, and leaned in close to examine the inner hinges. Finally, he closed the book and gazed up at me. “Is this my book?”

  “Tyler,” his mother said, “of course it’s your book.”

  “But it’s different.”

  “It’s all fixed, just as you wanted,” Lisa said, and shot me a look of embarrassed confusion. “Miss Brooklyn sewed the pages back together and glued the covers so it would be like new.”

  He was sitting up on his knees at their dining room table, so I sat down in the chair next to him. He had both elbows on the table now, and his expression was so serious, I had to smother a grin. “Look in the front of the book, Tyler. You signed your name, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he muttered, and turned the book over. On the flyleaf, he had written his name in block letters, in heavy pencil. He studied the signature minutely, then looked up at me, still suspicious. “That looks like my name.”

  “It is your name. And do you remember where you colored the beast orange?”

  His eyes widened and he flipped through the pages. He nodded rapidly and tapped his fingers on the page. “It’s mine, it’s mine.”

  “Do you like it?” his mother asked.

  He rubbed his fingers over the crayon scrawling and tiny orange flakes came off on his skin. He nodded again. “Good. It’s… good. Mine.”

  “So you’re happy with it?” Lisa said, prompting him to be polite.

  “Yes, it’s mine. It’s good.” He stroked the page, then looked up at me. “Thank you, Miss Brooklyn.”

  I’d had more effusive praise from my clients, but there was something honest and pure about the six-year-old’s approval. “You’re welcome, Tyler.”

  Without warning he threw himself at me and hugged me as best he could, considering he was sprawled between two chairs. “How did you do it? You made it new. It’s like… magic.”

  I laughed. “It is magic, but someday I’ll show you how to do it.”

  He sat back in his chair. “Yes. I want to see how you did it.”

  “I’ll teach you, if it’s okay with your mom.”

  “Can I, Mommy?”