One Book in the Grave (6 page)

“Dad, why are you all dressed up?” I asked.

“I’ve got a board of directors meeting,” he said with a pensive sigh.

Dad was on three boards of directors, so I asked, “For the winery?”

He nodded mournfully, and I laughed again. “It’s a real bitch being so successful.”

“Language, Brooklyn,” Mom said mildly, rubbing my father’s arm. “But you’re right. Jimmy was much better off as a poor but rugged farmer. I miss those days.”

I snorted. “Dad was never a poor farmer.”

“True,” she said, winking. “But he’s always been rugged.”

Dad wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I’ll wear my overalls later.”

“Ooh, boy. Here we go,” I said, covering my ears as I rushed ahead into the house.

Once inside, I couldn’t make eye contact with Derek. The thing was, we’d never spent the night at my parents’ house together. Mom and Dad were old hippies, so I didn’t think there would be an issue about the sleeping arrangements, but you just never knew with parents.

“I’ve put you and Derek in your old bedroom,” Mom said briskly, leading the way down the hall.

I finally looked at Derek and rolled my eyes. The man was big, bad, and dangerous, and I couldn’t picture him sleeping in the old bedroom I’d shared with my sister China. We’d slept in narrow twin beds with a third rollaway bed squeezed against one wall to accommodate Robin for her lengthy sleepovers. It was like a small dormitory in there. Was Mom really expecting Derek and me to sleep in twin beds?

Ah, well, I guess I could give her some credit for letting us stay in the same room together. But I wouldn’t blame Derek if he decided to bow out and check into the new boutique hotel down on Shakespeare Lane. I had suggested the hotel when we’d made our plans to come for the weekend, but Derek had insisted he was perfectly content to stay with my parents.

Mom opened the door to my room and stepped aside to let us pass. “What do you think?”

“Whoa,” I said, taking it all in.

The twin beds had been replaced by an elegant, dark wood sleigh bed covered in a thick brown and gold duvet. Piled on top were all sorts of decorative pillows of every shape and size, in colors that ran the gamut from light pearl to sparkly gold to rich brown.

The walls were painted a stylish shade of dark cocoa with pale beige trim and cool, light linen curtains. There was a stately new chest of drawers along one wall and a small mahogany desk and chair on the other.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Mom,” I said softly. “This is beautiful.”

She clapped her hands. “I think so, too. I got a little help from Robin.”

“She’s got great taste.”

“Yes, much better than mine.” She tugged at the curtains, and I realized she was nervous. “I asked her not to make it too girly, because I know that’s not your style.”

“It’s perfect, Mom,” I assured her.

“Thank you for going to so much trouble for us,” Derek said. He took my bag from me and placed it on the new wooden luggage rack under the window.

“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered, and hugged her.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she said, straightening a pillow before heading for the door. “I’ve asked Robin to redo your father’s and my bedroom, too.”

“That’s a great idea,” I said.

“It’s been more than twenty years since we bought anything new, so I’m excited,” she said. “But I’m glad Robin’s doing it. I was afraid if I did it on my own, we’d end up with bordello red walls and white wicker furniture or something.”

“Interesting design choices.”

She laughed, then checked her wristwatch. “I’ll let you kids get settled. Robson should be here in half an hour; then lunch is at noon.”

“Something is troubling you, gracious,” Guru Bob said.

To the leader of the Dharma commune,
everyone
was
gracious
. But I still liked to think that the other kids and I who had been raised in Dharma were extraspecial to him. He was my parents’ spiritual leader, but to me he was simply a true friend and a terrific listener.

“Yes, Robson,” I confessed. I always called him Robson to his face. Guru Bob was a fun nickname we kids had always used, but it was too irreverent to call him that in person.

We were alone on the terrace of my parents’ home, overlooking Mom’s apple orchard on one side and rolling hills of grapevines on the other. The sky was brilliant blue and the air was so crisp and clear, it almost hurt to breathe. It was turning out to be a warm day but I still felt a touch of the morning chill. Or maybe it was just my state of mind.

Guru Bob sipped the tea my mother had brought him and assured me he was in no hurry, so I took a few moments to gather my thoughts. It was good to know that no matter what I told him, he would be kind. I trusted him and loved him as I would a cherished uncle.

It was hard to explain Guru Bob to outsiders. On paper, he probably came across as a charlatan, a deceitful crackpot whose charm and clever wiles were responsible
for brainwashing several hundred followers twenty-five years ago. Why else would all those intelligent people sell everything and move from the city out to the Sonoma boondocks to establish the Fellowship for Spiritual Enlightenment and Higher Artistic Consciousness?

That picture couldn’t have been further from the truth.

I guessed he was in his mid-fifties, but he seemed younger. He was tall and lanky, a gentle, spiritual man, although I wouldn’t call him religious. My parents believed him to be a highly evolved conscious being. All I knew was that Guru Bob was smarter and kinder and more aware of…well, everything than anyone I knew.

I’d also seen him coldly draw a line in the sand when he was betrayed by someone he’d considered a friend. I never wanted to see that look on his face again.

Sitting here in the sun, I suddenly remembered that a few months back, during Abraham’s murder investigation, Derek had followed me to Dharma and heard Guru Bob speak at Abraham’s memorial service. I was still regarding Derek as an adversary then, but, nevertheless, I was nervous about his reaction to Guru Bob. When Derek called him powerful, in a most respectful tone, I was delighted. Thinking back on it now, I realized that that might’ve been the moment my attitude warmed toward Derek.

“Gracious, what is upsetting you?”

I cleared my throat and made eye contact with him. “I found another dead body yesterday. I’m afraid there’s something negative growing inside me that’s causing me to attract death. Murder, I mean. And murderers. I keep finding these victims of murder, and I’m afraid I am going to scare off my friends. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s getting bad and I’m getting paranoid. What if people think they might get killed if they stay friends with me?”

He smiled. “My dear, have you not considered the possibility that the dead seek you out? In each of the instances of which you speak, even when the victim was not your friend, you have been compassionate, as well as
passionate, in leading the charge for justice. Do you not think the universe recognizes this?”

“Wait a sec,” I protested, then winced for being less than polite with him. “Sorry, Robson. But I mean, seriously, you think the universe is putting these bodies in my path so that I’ll bring them justice?”

“I do.”

“That’s just bizarre. Sorry.” Oops, there I was, being rude again. “The police are pretty good at this, you know.”

“Ah, but in many of these situations, it is my understanding that you have led them to several clues they might not have otherwise uncovered.” He took a sip of his tea and gave me one of his genial smiles.

Another quirk of Guru Bob’s was that he never used contractions. Sometimes I couldn’t help but imitate him, but I tried to avoid it. Guru Bob sounded fine talking that way, but I sounded deranged.

I pursed my lips in frustration as I tried to make sense of his words. In a flash, I remembered an old Agatha Christie story in which Miss Marple received a request that came from beyond the grave. A man she’d known who had recently died had sent her a card asking her to investigate the suspicious death of his son’s fiancée, for which his son had been imprisoned.

“
Nemesis
,” Guru Bob murmured.

I blinked. “What? What did you say?”

“
Nemesis
.” He smiled. “An Agatha Christie novel. Do you know it?”

“Of course I know it,” I cried, waving my hands. Then I sat back and frowned at him. “Why did you say that? I mean, sorry, but that was weird.” I took a calming breath and let it out. “Anyway, yes, I know the story of
Nemesis
. I was just now thinking about it.”

“Ah, well.” He smiled innocently. “That is a coincidence. Is it not?”

Still frowning, I stared at him, watching him for signs of more trickery, but he just continued to gaze at me with a gentle smile. Okay, this was a staring contest I couldn’t
win, so I changed the subject. “Robson, do you remember Max Adams?”

His smile faded. “Yes, of course, gracious. Why do you ask?”

I gave him the shortened version of what had happened yesterday with the
Beauty and the Beast
and Joseph Taylor’s death and my flat tire and the papermaker’s knives with Max’s initials carved into the handles.

He seemed to grow more and more uneasy as I spoke, but who wouldn’t after hearing the news of Joe’s murder? And the mention of Max’s knives must have disturbed him, too.

“Stop.” He held up his hand and interrupted me in midsentence. “Please, gracious. Wait a moment.”

I was kind of shocked. I’d never seen him do that before. “Okay.”

He stood, agitated and distracted now. Very un–Guru Bob–like. “I must go inside and call Gabriel.”

Gabriel? Why did he have to call Gabriel? Did somebody need saving? Or shooting? I’d first met the dashing, mysterious Gabriel when he saved my life in a noodle restaurant on Fillmore Street. I still wasn’t sure whether he was a hero or a thief or both, but he was a good friend.

Guru Bob continued. “I will need to speak with Derek, as well. Please do not go anywhere, gracious. It is important that we discuss this matter further.”

“Um, sure.”

He dashed off. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him move so fast.

“You are all sworn to secrecy,” Guru Bob said sternly forty-five minutes later, when we’d regrouped in Mom’s living room. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, of course,” Derek said, sitting comfortably on the sofa beside me.

“You’re upset, Robson,” Mom said. “What happened?”

He closed his eyes and drew in a breath. After a moment, serenity returned to his features. “I apologize for
my brusqueness. Brooklyn gave me some distressing news a few minutes ago and I am afraid I reacted badly.”

“I’m so sorry!” I said, clamping my hands over my mouth. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No, gracious. It is not your fault. You will understand my reaction in a moment.”

The front door slammed and Dad came rushing into the room. “I got here as soon as I could. What’s going on?”

Guru Bob held up his hand, and Dad calmed immediately. Mom poured another cup of tea and handed it to Dad. He sat in one of the upholstered corner chairs, still catching his breath.

This was getting odder by the minute. Derek took hold of my hand in apparent agreement.

“Rebecca, James,” Guru Bob said, speaking to my parents. “You remember Max Adams and the circumstances surrounding his death.”

“Oh yes. Poor Max,” Mom whispered. “I wish you’d known him.” Her eyes softened as she gazed across at Derek, then over at Gabriel, who stood leaning against the mantel over the fireplace, looking fit and handsome in a black leather jacket and well-worn jeans. He’d been injured badly a month ago and had been recuperating in Dharma while he weighed his options and planned his next move.

Frankly, I’d been worried about Gabriel for a while now. What would he do next? Where would he go from here? I didn’t have time to think about that right now, but I would ask him later.

“Max grew up in Dharma,” Mom explained. “He was great friends with Austin and the other kids, and after high school he went on to become a talented artist and papermaker. Eventually he met a lovely woman and they got engaged. A month after their engagement party, he was killed in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said to Mom. “It must’ve been difficult for you all.”

“It was,” Mom said, sitting on the arm of Dad’s chair.

“Yes, it was, indeed,” Guru Bob said, “but now Brooklyn has introduced a new wrinkle to the saga.” He was standing now, and began strolling slowly around the room as he related an abbreviated version of the story I’d told him a few minutes earlier.

“Oh, Brooklyn, sweetie,” Mom said. “I’m so sorry about Mr. Taylor. I wish we could’ve been there for you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Dad shook his head. “Honey, you should’ve called us.”

“Thanks, Dad. Derek was close by, so he came over.” Staring at our joined hands, I murmured to no one in particular, “There was a lot of blood.”

Derek squeezed my hand.

Gabriel had been watching us, but now he folded his arms across his chest and lifted his chin toward Guru Bob. “What’s this all about, Robson? Has someone else died?”

“No.” Guru Bob looked around the room, meeting each person’s gaze in order. “But I have kept something from you for far too long. The time has come to reveal the truth.”

This really was beginning to feel like an Agatha Christie novel. But Robson’s eyes were grave as he turned them on me, and I gripped Derek’s hand a little tighter.

“Max Adams is very much alive.”

“What?” I might have shrieked the word, but nobody would have blamed me right at that moment. “That’s impossible! Max has been dead for three years.”

“No, gracious, he has not,” Guru Bob demurred.

“You’re wrong.” I jumped up from the couch and looked around the room in desperation.

“Robson’s never wrong, sweetie,” Mom said, but she was just as shocked as I was.

I stared at her for a moment. “Okay, maybe not. But this can’t be true.”

“I don’t understand,” Mom said. “Are you sure, Robson?”

“You said he’s never wrong,” I protested.

She blinked. “I know, but we all went to his funeral. There must be a mistake. Robson?”