One Book in the Grave (5 page)

But no such luck. The front door swung open and SFPD Detective Inspector Janice Lee walked inside. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite dead-body magnet.”

I cringed. She didn’t mince words. But at least I was her favorite.

“Commander Stone,” she said, greeting Derek in a more respectful tone. He had been, after all, a member of law enforcement.

“Hello, Inspector,” Derek said pleasantly, as I buried my face in the lapel of his thousand-dollar suit. I wasn’t shy; I just didn’t think it would be wise to flash her the dirty look I had on my face in response to her smart-ass comment.

After a few more seconds, I calmed my features, turned, and smiled tightly. “Hi, Inspector. Long time, no see.”

“Not long enough, Wainwright,” she said, smirking, then sobered up and glanced around the front room of Joe’s shop. Janice Lee was a first-generation Chinese American woman who took care of her mom, dressed way too fashionably for a cop, and had the most beautiful hair I’d ever seen. Lately, she was always sucking on a mint, probably to keep from smoking, a habit she’d given up only a few months ago. She was about my age, tall, thin, smart, and snarky, and I liked her a lot. We could’ve been great friends if only I weren’t such a dead-body magnet, as she’d pointed out.

“Figures we’d be surrounded by books,” she muttered, peering around at the bookshelves. “So where’s the body?”

“Right through there,” I said, gesturing toward the antiquarian room.

She pulled her notepad out of the pocket of her gorgeous black Burberry trench coat. I was the furthest thing from a fashion maven, but I knew it was Burberry because I could see the coat’s signature plaid lining when she moved. Forgive my weakness at a moment like this, but I was having trench coat envy.

“Stick around, Brooklyn,” she said. “I’m looking forward to hearing all the gory details on this one.” Then she strolled off down the narrow center aisle to check out the crime scene.

By late afternoon, I’d given Inspector Lee and her partner, Inspector Nathan Jaglom, every ounce of information I could think of, right down to which art-supply stores I’d purchased my own inexpensive, square-bladed shearing knives at. Several uniformed officers had left to canvass the neighborhood for possible witnesses, and the medical examiner had taken Joe’s body away.

After Inspector Lee told us she’d be in touch, Derek walked me to my car. Good thing, too, because I had a flat tire.

“Damn it. This day just gets better and better.” I stomped over to the driver’s side and squatted next to
the tire. It wasn’t just flat; it looked like it had been slashed by something sharp. Had I run over something on the way to Joe’s?

“Don’t touch anything,” Derek said abruptly, and yanked me back up. That was when I noticed the object sticking out of the tread. It looked like the handle of a small knife.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, thoroughly disgusted and, yeah, frightened.

“Somebody’s not kidding,” Derek muttered, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the street, onto the sidewalk. He called Inspector Lee immediately. He caught her just as she was driving away from Joe’s, and she said she’d meet us in less than a minute.

It took Derek exactly thirty seconds to rush over and take pictures of the knife and my tire with his phone. He finished and was standing next to me on the sidewalk by the time Lee dashed up.

“This is getting stupid,” she said.

“Tell me about it.” I rubbed my arms to keep the scaredy-cat chills from overwhelming me.

“You okay?”

“No, I’m taking this all very personally,” I said.

“I kinda don’t blame you,” she said. With her phone in her hand, she also took pictures of my tire and the knife. Then she slipped one rubber glove onto her left hand and eased the knife out of the tire. She walked over and showed it to me, turning it so I could see it from different angles. “Look familiar?”

It was an expensive Japanese paper knife with a beautifully tooled handle. I recognized it because I owned one like it; I’d bought it a few years ago for almost two hundred dollars. The entire knife was about nine inches long, with a fat, curved blade that looked razor-sharp.

I moved closer and studied the Japanese figures that had been carved along the length of the handle. At the pommel, or butt end of the handle, three ornate letters were also carved into the hardwood surface. The knife
was old enough that the design was worn smooth, but I knew the letters spelled out
MAX.

“Max?” I whispered as goose bumps formed on my skin. “Max Adams?”

“Who’d you say?” Inspector Lee demanded.

Alarmed, I shook my head. “Nothing. Nobody. It’s not possible. He’s been dead for years. This knife could belong to anyone.”

“Don’t screw around with me, Brooklyn,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

“I’m not,” I cried. “The only person I know by that name died almost three years ago.”

She gave me a withering look as she dangled the knife in front of me. “Uh-huh. And what’re the odds of another Max owning a knife so much like the one your dead friend owned? Or are you saying this is some kind of sign from the grave?”

I glanced wide-eyed at Derek, whose concern for me showed in his expression. Turning back to Lee, I said, “I didn’t say that. Maybe someone stole the knife from Max’s family or they sold it somewhere. But other than those possibilities, I don’t have a clue how it got here.”

“I think you do, Brooklyn,” she said quietly. “You know these book people; you’re part of that world. And I’m thinking you’ve got a pretty good idea of who might’ve killed Joseph Taylor.”

“I don’t,” I insisted. “I swear it.”

“You can swear all you want, but this connects you to the murder,” she said quietly as she dropped the knife into a plastic Ziploc bag. “You know that, right? Whether you like it or not, you’re in this up to your eyeballs. Again.”

“I don’t like it one bit,” I muttered, glowering at her.

Derek stepped forward. “This is a busy neighborhood. Somebody must’ve seen the person who did it.”

“Good thinking,” I said, flashing him a grateful look. “They would’ve had to have jabbed the tire a bunch of times to shred it so badly. Somebody must’ve noticed.”

“Possibly.” Lee pulled out her cell phone and dialed the police dispatcher. After requesting patrol assistance, she hung up. To us, she said, “We’ll do some canvassing, but I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for someone to come forward.”

In less than a minute, we heard a siren.

“Can we go now?” I asked.

“Sure, you can go,” she said with an evil grin. “But not in your car. It’s just been turned into a crime scene.”

Reluctantly, I left my trusty hybrid in the hands of the San Francisco Police Department and Inspector Lee, who promised I could have it back by Tuesday. Then, to cajole me out of my depressed, dead-body-magnet mood, Derek drove straight to my favorite steak house. We were ushered to a comfortable, dark green booth in the corner with a view of the bustling room.

I was hoping a bottle of wine would magically appear on the linen-covered table.

Chalk it up to ennui or just plain exhaustion, but for the first time in my life, I allowed a man to order dinner for me. Derek knew all my favorite foods, namely, red meat, red wine, and chocolate soufflé. We both began with a lettuce wedge doused in blue cheese dressing, and I felt myself rebounding as the meal progressed. The comfort food, the dark green booths, the wood-paneled walls, the waiters in white shirts with their long black aprons tied neatly at the waist—all of it gave the room a warm, clubby feel that pampered and soothed my spirit.

Some women might’ve chosen a pedicure or a massage to perk them up, but for me, it’s all about food. The steak house provided the miracle cure I needed. The fact that Derek had known exactly what would work to snap me out of my doldrums was just one more feather added to his cap. Seriously, what woman wouldn’t love a boyfriend
who acted all James Bond, looked all Hugh Jackman, and knew me well enough to ply me with my favorite foods?

We got to bed early that night, since we’d planned to leave the next morning to spend a few days in Dharma. Tomorrow was the grand opening of my sister Savannah’s new restaurant, Arugula, on Shakespeare Lane.

Dharma had grown to become quite the wine-country tourist spot, and the Lane, as it was called, was currently the hottest destination in the area. Everyone in my family was geared up to make Savannah’s opening a great success.

But Joe’s death and his connection to Emily and Max’s
Beauty and the Beast
had caused me to rethink some of my weekend plans. I felt as though I’d lost Max all over again. The knives I’d found at the crime scene and in my tire had spooked me badly. I wanted to spend some time commiserating with my family and others in Dharma who had known Max all those years ago. I was also hoping to talk to Guru Bob about the whole dead-body-magnet phenomenon. With any luck, he would have some good advice for me.

Derek and I were on the road at eight o’clock the next morning. It was a disturbingly early start, especially after having shared a bottle of wine the night before. I was happy Derek was driving, because I figured I could work in a quick nap on the way, but we started talking and I realized I’d much rather be wide-awake to enjoy his company than sleep for a few extra minutes.

As we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge and into Marin County, Derek reached across and patted my leg. “Darling, why don’t you give your mother a call and ask her to arrange a meeting for you and Robson? Then you won’t have to worry about trying to track him down all day.”

“Good idea,” I said, and searched in my bag for my phone. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because your mind’s been occupied by bigger and darker problems.”

“True.” I gazed at him, unsure whether to be relieved or worried that he could read me so well. I decided to go with feeling ridiculously pleased. “Thank you.”

He reached across the console and squeezed my hand, holding on to it while I spoke with my mother. Mom insisted that she was thrilled to play my appointments secretary for the day and assured me that everything would be taken care of. She signed off by saying, “Peace out, Punkin’,” and I hung up feeling lighter already.

An hour later, we left the highway and drove into Dharma. Derek slowed down as we cruised Shakespeare Lane, so I could get a good look at Savannah’s restaurant space.

A wide picture window revealed a light, wood-paneled room with a good number of tables covered in white linen. The tables were already set with sparkling crystal and flatware, and I imagined every table was spoken for. A small bar in the back corner was fully stocked and six barstools stood in front of it.

There was no actual signage out front, just a pretty painted picture of a thick bunch of green arugula tied with a pink ribbon. It was whimsical and colorful, just like my sister. I knew she was already at work in the kitchen, knew she would be nervous all day, knew that a number of well-known restaurant critics were driving up from San Francisco to experience the opening-night menu. But I also knew without a doubt that Arugula would be wildly successful and that Savannah Wainwright, my bald-headed, slightly wacky sister, was on her way to becoming the next celebrity chef of the Bay Area.

At the end of the Lane, Derek turned right and drove up Vivaldi Way toward my parents’ home. Over the years, a number of commune members had built homes in the hills overlooking Dharma, and as we climbed, we passed Abraham’s Spanish colonial on the right where his daughter, Annie, now lived. The Westcott family lived in the Tudor-style home tucked into the hillside on the left side of the road. Around the next turn, Carl Brundidge,
the lawyer for most of the commune members, owned the sleek contemporary on the right.

Despite being in a commune, we all had our own individual styles and our houses demonstrated that.

A minute later, we pulled up in front of my parents’ spacious ranch-style home. Before the car had rolled to a stop, Mom and Dad came running out to greet us. They were holding hands, and seeing them together eased more of the tension around my heart.

The weather was warm enough that Mom had pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and she wore a tie-dyed tank top, cargo shorts, and utility boots. Mom had great legs and her arms were toned from the exercise she got picking apples and grapes all year long.

“Looks like Mom’s been out in the orchards this morning,” I said to Derek. “You know what that means?”

He shut off the engine and glanced at me. “What?”

“She might be making her crazy-delicious apple crisp while we’re here.”

“Apple crisp?” His eyes were instantly alert. “Don’t toy with me, Brooklyn.”

I laughed as I climbed out of the car. Mom’s crazy-delicious apple crisp with its awesome, spiked caramel sauce was worth the hour-long drive from the city to Sonoma.

I hugged my dad, surprised to see him all dressed up in Dockers and a clean, pressed, denim work shirt. His loafers were shiny, too, and he was wearing one of the Jerry Garcia ties I’d given him for Christmas. For Dad, this was formal wear. The man rarely wore anything but faded jeans and a T-shirt, since he spent most of his days out in the vineyards or in the barrel room, tasting and experimenting with the wines.

I knew I was probably prejudiced, but I thought my parents were adorable. They never seemed to age, which probably should’ve annoyed me, since I was getting older all the time, but it didn’t. It just made me happy to be here with them.

“I’ve invited Robson and some of the children over
for lunch,” Mom announced after she’d hugged us both and tried to wrestle my overnight bag from me. As we walked into the house, she turned to Derek and added, “And I’ve cooked up a few of your favorite dishes.”

“You’re a goddess, Rebecca,” Derek said, and Mom giggled like a little girl. He was the only one besides Guru Bob who called her Rebecca.

I was hoping “some of the children” Mom had invited included my best friend, Robin, and my brother Austin. They were a couple now, living together in Austin’s home in the hills above Dharma. I missed Robin living close by me in the city, but I was overjoyed that she and my brother had finally found each other. Of course, Robin had to almost
die
for Austin to wake up to the fact that he was in love with her and she was meant for him, but at least they were together now.