The Lies That Bind (20 page)

The door flew open and Naomi ran out, then stopped when she saw Alice.

“You!” she cried, pointing. “You knew all along. Are you happy now?”

“I didn’t. Naomi, I—”

“Stay out of my way, you troublemaker.”

“You’re upset,” Alice said softly, “so I’m going to let that go. Maybe we can talk later and work things out between us.”

“Oh, buzz off, all of you.” Then Naomi marched down the hall and disappeared into the crowd.

I turned and looked at Alice, who was holding her stomach and swaying back and forth.

“Are you going to be sick?”

She nodded her head vigorously.

“Go.” I pointed and she raced off down the hall.

So,
I thought.
The formerly dowdy young Naomi has inherited a spine after all. Along with her aunt’s temper.

Cynthia walked over, looking shell-shocked. “Did you hear any of that?”

“Some of it,” I confessed. “She was pretty upset.”

“It was worse up close. I’m worried she’ll quit because, unfortunately, she’s right. She knows how this place runs.”

“She won’t quit,” I said with certainty. “This job is her life. Give her a few days to calm down.”

“I feel so bad,” Cynthia said. “Her aunt just died and now this.”

“You had to make a decision quickly,” I said, touching her shoulder in understanding. “They’ll just have to learn to work together.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cynthia said, shaking her head in apprehension. “Naomi looked like she wanted to kill us all.”

Any thoughts of spending time with Derek after the party were squelched once again when Gunther the Troll announced that he wanted Derek and his men to go to dinner with him. At first, Derek had refused to indulge him, exasperated with the man’s capricious changes to his well-ordered operation. He took Gunther aside and told him he would pull his men off the assignment if the Austrian didn’t start taking the death threats against him more seriously. Interpol had already reported that several operatives of the European prime minister whose daughter Gunther had compromised had entered the United States.

But Gunther had insisted the fancy dinner was something he’d planned weeks ago and he wondered aloud why it wasn’t on Derek’s schedule.

Derek wondered as well. Knowing him as well as I thought I did, I knew his own calendar would be accurate and up-to-the-minute. So that meant Gunther was lying. In the end, though, Derek relented for the sake of client goodwill. I was outwardly gracious in defeat but privately irate. Did Gunther know that Derek and I had made plans? Did he care? And how fancy could a dinner with a bunch of guys be?

“Oh.” How stupid was I? There would be women there, of course. Gunther was a good-looking guy, an internationally known artist. He could drum up a wild party with one phone call.

“Ugh.” I so didn’t need the image of Derek surrounded by wild, eager party girls. I took a deep breath and shoved those thoughts right off the bridge, into the bay where they belonged.

As he said good night to me, Derek whispered that his original plan had been to spend the evening with me. It was clear what he meant and it tickled my heart, though I would’ve preferred that other parts of me be tickled instead. But enough about my sorry excuse for a love life.

I was grabbing my coat from the deserted back cloakroom when someone tapped my shoulder, effectively scaring the living daylights out of me.

“Huh. Brooklyn.”

My chest stuttered in fear. But it was just Ned. No worries. He’d caught me off guard, that’s all. “Hey, hi, Ned. How’re you holding up?”

“ ’Kay,” he said, his gaze darting every which way. “Weird stuff.”

Those three words were the most Ned had said to me in all the years I’d been coming here. “That’s to be expected, I guess. But you still have a job, right? Everything will work out, right?”

“Huh. Me and my printing press.” As he spoke, he chewed the skin around the nail of his ring finger. “We’re a team.”

“You sure are,” I said casually, though inside I was starting to wonder why Ned had chosen tonight and me to demonstrate his nascent social skills. “Well, I’d better be going now. Good night.”

“You’re smart.”

I shifted back, surprised. “Thanks.”

“Huh.” His lips thinned and his forehead furled sullenly. “She was bad.”

I frowned. “I’m sorry, Ned. Was Layla mean to you?”

“Huh.” He looked around furtively, then whispered, “I see things.”

“Huh.” Now I sounded like him. “What sort of things?”

“You watch out,” he muttered, then added, “Okay, g’night.” And he shuffled out of the room.

I opened my mouth to call him back, then shut it. What things had he seen? Flummoxed, I glanced around again, then shook off the chills I felt from his last statement.

Right now, I couldn’t think about the things Ned had seen. My life was already weird enough.

Was Ned watching me? I buttoned up my coat and headed for the front door, where I turned and stared back at the room. I didn’t see Ned but I knew he was in there somewhere, watching. I just couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

As I passed through the gallery, I noticed Naomi swilling wine and holding court by the bar. Seconds later, Inspector Lee walked back inside the gallery with two uniformed cops.

She skirted the crowd and moved directly toward Naomi. I saw the moment Naomi grasped what was happening. Her eyes widened and she turned and walked away quickly. Lee signaled for the cops to go after her, down the hall that led to the bathrooms.

Poor Naomi. She was not having a good night.

 

Monday’s class had been canceled due to Layla’s memorial service and wake, so Tuesday evening I was back in my classroom laying out supplies at each student’s place for the traditional journal they would create over the next three nights. Heavy cardboard matte, already cut to size, for the boards. Signature pages cut to fit. A thin piece of spine stiffener. I’d also laid out more pieces of cloth on the side counter for them to choose from. There was every conceivable pattern and color for the covers and heavy construction paper for the pastedowns, the decorative paper glued to the inside covers to hide the dull boards and ragged turnings.

Alice arrived a few minutes early and helped me assemble the tools we would need this week. After expressing confusion and concern about last night’s confrontation with Naomi, she changed the subject and raved about our weekend visit to Sonoma. Then she asked about Gabriel.

“He’s okay,” I said. “I talked to my mom this afternoon. He’s still in the hospital, but he’ll be coming home tomorrow. He was having some problems sleeping, but I guess they’ve worked those out. I’m still kind of freaked out that it happened.”

“It’s so frightening.”

“I know. But he’s really strong. Mom will take him to her place and spoil him so much, he’ll run shrieking out of there eventually.”

“Your mother is wonderful,” Alice said.

“Thanks. I think so, too. She should’ve had ten kids because now that we’ve all moved out, she’s started adopting people. First there was Annie, now Gabriel.”

“You’re so lucky. She has such a big heart.”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “I already feel like Annie’s my sister, but I don’t really like to think of Gabriel as my brother.”

She smiled. “I see what you mean. He’s awfully cute.”

I opened the Ziploc bag of glue sticks. “Oh, he’s beyond cute.”

“Yes, even with his head wrapped in gauze and lying on a gurney, I could tell how handsome he was.”

As she walked around the table, placing bone folders at everyone’s place, I observed her. I didn’t know how my faux sister Annie would feel about it, but I wondered if it would be crazy to fix Gabriel up with Alice. She was a beautiful girl, smart, funny, compassionate, and spirited. But despite those qualities, she had a touch of fragility. I had a feeling Gabriel would chew her up and spit her out, and I would lose one or both of them as a friend.

Then again, was Gabriel really a friend? I exhaled slowly. No, he was more like an extremely attractive nuisance. I’d only known him a short while, only seen him a few times. He showed up at the strangest moments and he’d saved my life on more than one occasion. Now I knew he’d also saved the lives of both my father and Guru Bob. So he was definitely hero material, but what if he was a spy or some kind of a mercenary? He’d been known to skirt the law when the situation called for it. All in all, he probably wasn’t the best choice for Alice.

Not that she needed me to set her up. She had a fiancé, for goodness’ sake! In my excitement to change careers from crime investigator to matchmaker, I’d forgotten all about Stuart.

Laughing at myself, I finished passing out glue brushes as the rest of my students arrived for class.

Since we’d missed Monday night’s class as well as half of last Thursday’s class when Layla’s body was discovered, I had to cancel the construction of this week’s miniature book and go directly to the larger journal. I did a quick recap of the basic nineteenth-century bookbinding techniques we’d covered last week. I promised my students that next week we’d move to the twenty-first century and have some fun.

“Tonight I’ll give you a quick background of eighteenth-century binding, but we won’t be doing any hands-on work in that style.”

“Why not?” Jennifer asked.

“A few reasons,” I said. “First and foremost, eighteenth-century bookbinding was all about the tools. You sort of had to wrestle a book into shape. This was the age of gilding, and the French predominated.”

I passed around some photographs showing different styles of gilding on book covers. “Some would say that if you’re studying eighteenth-century bookbinding, you’re essentially studying the work of Pierre-Paul Dubuisson, the French master bookbinder and royal gilder to Louis the Fifteenth. These are his works as compared to his students’ work. You can see who the master is.”

Without warning, Mitchell broke in with a tacky and slightly lewd Maurice Chevalier imitation. Something about an invitation to come up to his place to see his gilding.

The class burst into laughter.

“Thank you,” I said, laughing along with everyone. “Best offer I’ve had in weeks.” Sadly, that was true.

“I’ve done some academic presentations of Dubuisson’s work along with some comparative studies of his gilding designs vis-à-vis his students’. But I’ll spare you the details.”

“You don’t have to,” Alice said loyally.

“Thank you, Alice,” I said, and laughed again. “But I’ll just move on to our next book.”

Since I was leading them through the same steps we’d taken to make last week’s book, the students moved smoothly through the process with only a few reminders from me. It was just as well, because I was having a hard time staying focused. I was burning with curiosity about Naomi. Had the police arrested her last night?

The dinner break finally arrived and I dashed out to find out what had happened. I knocked on Naomi’s door and was almost surprised when she called out, “Come in.”

“You
are
here,” I said as I opened the door. “I was a little worried.”

“Oh, it’s you, Brooklyn,” she said with some disappointment. “What is it?”

Ooh, feel the warmth. Had she been expecting someone else to come knocking? I was amazed to see her sitting there as though nothing had happened in the last few days to change her life. But I was even more shocked to see her looking like such a fashion plate. She wore a peach jacket that suited her skin tone and fitted her small frame to perfection, giving her the look of a true professional. Her makeup was subtle and her hair curled softly around her face. The mouse had come out of her shell, to mix a metaphor.

“You look great,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said, and her expression softened a little. “What’s up?”

I stepped inside and closed the door. “This is sort of a sensitive issue, but Layla had a book with her the night she died. It was the
Oliver Twist
I restored for her. I’d like to buy it from you once the police return it.”

Naomi’s eyes widened—in fear? Or was that speculation? But her face calmed instantly and I was no longer sure what I’d seen. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what book you’re talking about.”

“Layla talked about it the night of the Twisted opening party, remember?”

“Sorry, can’t help you.”

My eyes narrowed. She flinched. What game was she playing? She’d had a bad week, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt and explained the book again. “Since the police took it in for evidence, you probably won’t get it back in time for the silent auction, so I’d like to buy it whenever you do get it back.”

She carefully exhaled. “Oh, yeah, I think I know the book you’re talking about.” She pushed her hair away from her face and set her jaw. “No. Sorry, it’s not for sale.”

I couldn’t tell what was going on in that brain of hers, but she was carrying the mini-Layla bit too far. My gloves were off now.

“Naomi, I did the restoration work on that book. I know it from cover to cover, and I can assure you, it’s not what you think it is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about its market worth. It’s a truly beautiful book and worth a lot of money, but it’s not the rare first edition Layla pretended it was the other night.”

“Layla wouldn’t lie.”

I almost laughed. “Oh, please. Layla lied plenty. And this time she lied to a room full of wealthy BABA contributors and supporters. And she did it knowingly and willfully.”

“Stop it. I don’t believe you.”

I had to think for a moment. Naomi did wield some power at BABA, but I didn’t think she was capable of sabotaging my career like her aunt was. So I decided to plunge ahead with the truth. “I’m sorry, Naomi, but Layla was not being honest about the book. And if you continue her lie and try to pass it off as a first edition, you’ll get caught. Whoever buys it will find out soon enough what the book was really worth. Do you know how fast your funding would be cut off if your corporate sponsors found out about it?”