I spent the night tossing and turning, thanks to Heather and Sara. And okay, maybe the champagne had a little something to do with it, too. My dreams kept recycling over and over, and I found myself back in our old dorm room, tearing apart the books they had given me, then putting them back together, then pulling them apart again. What was that all about?
“You didn’t sleep well,” Derek said as I stumbled into the kitchen.
I groaned. “Oh, great. I must look ravishing.”
He chuckled. “You look beautiful as always, my love.” His fingers grazed my cheek and he pressed a light kiss on my forehead. I leaned against him for a brief moment, then stepped back while he poured me a cup of coffee.
“Bless you,” I whispered, pitifully grateful that he had risen an hour ahead of me to make some phone calls and prepare our breakfast.
I took a sip of the strong brew, then sat down on the barstool. Charlie scurried over to greet me and I picked her up to snuggle for a moment. When I put her down, she circled and brushed up against my ankles a few times, then settled at my feet. “I kept dreaming of those books the girls gave me.”
“Is that what had you restless all night?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re happy with the books, aren’t you?”
“Happy? Oh, I am. The books are wonderful. But it was such a weird situation with both of the girls suddenly showing up at my bridal shower after twelve years of silence. I think that’s what triggered the dreams, not the books themselves.”
“I understand.” He pulled two pieces of toast from the toaster and buttered them, then scooped scrambled eggs onto both of our plates. “But you did have fun at the party, didn’t you?”
“Oh, definitely.” I smiled, remembering. All in all, it had been a fabulous night. “Mom was amazing. I’ll admit I wasn’t thrilled to be surprised like that, but it turned out to be a complete kick.”
“I’m glad, darling. Now tell me more about the books. You must have some theories after going online and then dreaming about them all night.”
I chuckled. “Yes. As you know, Heather gave me an old book of fairy tales. That particular book used to have a lot of meaning for the three of us and I really do love it. I was frankly shocked that she remembered. But it was a sweet, thoughtful gift.”
“And the other one?” he asked.
I shook my head, still confused. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful book and I’m thrilled to have it. But . . . well, you saw what it was worth. It doesn’t make sense.” I took another sip of coffee as Derek added a piece of turkey bacon to each of our plates. My mouth was starting to water watching him. And he had that effect on me even when he wasn’t giving me food.
He picked up the plates and brought them over to the kitchen island, where I was sitting. He sat down across from me and we began to eat.
“I guess I’m a little skeptical that Sara actually meant to give it to me. I think she was carried away in the moment and also wanted to make a bigger splash than Heather. So as much as I love the book, I’m wondering if I should give it back.”
“Did your online source indicate that the similar book was still on the market?”
“I took another quick look this morning. They show that it was just sold.”
“Just sold? That was fast.” He sipped his coffee.
“Here’s the thing, Derek. I think it’s the same book.”
He glanced up at me, surprised. “What makes you think so?”
“They described it exactly.” Another reason to give it back, I thought. “I guess it’s possible there’s another copy out there, but I doubt it.”
He gazed at me for a long moment. “So a friend you haven’t seen in twelve years shows up and gives you a seventy-four-thousand-dollar book. And that same book was just sold to someone else.”
I sighed, took another gulp of blessed coffee, and gave myself a moment to settle before saying, “It doesn’t make sense, does it?”
Derek was contemplative as he took another bite of toast.
I snapped off a piece of bacon, popped it into my mouth, and savored the rich flavor. “What are you thinking?”
Frowning, Derek shook his head. “Everything about this situation smells fishy.”
That was just what I had been thinking, too, darn it.
That afternoon, I gave my bookbinding workshop. I arrived early to find the studio and was happy to see that it was perfect for my class. There were three long, wide lab tables with an ample number of stools for everyone who had signed up. I arranged supplies and equipment for each student with a cutting board, utility knife, bone folder, sewing needle, scissors, pencil, awl, a small glue brush, and a metal ruler.
I had collected all this equipment over the years and used it whenever I had a class. Occasionally a student would show up with their own tools, but I was always willing to lend my own—as long as I was able to collect it all back when the class was finished.
I also gave each of them three different thicknesses of linen thread for the various bindings I’d be teaching, a stack of high-quality, acid-free paper for the pages, and several pieces of heavy bookboard for the covers. The pages had already been scored for folding and the pieces of bookboard were cut to the correct size for each book.
Once the students’ spaces were set up, I moved to the front of the room to set out my own supplies. On a side counter I placed piles of decorative papers for the endpapers and lots of interesting cloth remnants for covering the boards. I had brought a jar of polyvinyl acetate, otherwise known as PVA glue, that I had mixed at home yesterday. I planned to pour small amounts into disposable plastic cups for each student. Happily, the association had given me a stipend to cover the cost of these supplies since they couldn’t be reused.
And then I waited.
I had been giving this same bookbinding workshop for years at conferences and book fairs all over the world. I loved teaching this stuff. Sometimes I added more history and technique and stretched it out over an entire weekend. And once a year I offered a three-week intensive course at BABA that attracted artists and teachers from all over the Bay Area. But these short, two-hour classes were the most fun and generally attracted hobbyists as well as librarians looking forward to picking up a new technique or two.
Even though this would be a relatively short class, my attendees would go home with four small handmade books representing four styles of bookbinding. It was fast-paced and enjoyable for anyone who loved books and crafting.
In the back of my mind, though, was the nagging thought that one of my students might beg me to relate some grisly tales of murder. I wouldn’t do it, of course, but the fact that the subject had already come up during the bus tour concerned me. It didn’t help that my mother and Meg had fanned those flames. Still, I knew that Lucy from the registration desk, who had been so rabid about the subject, would be attending the class today, and that made my worry all the more real.
The students trickled in, including Lucy, and finally I had my full class assembled and ready to go.
I handed out name tags so I would be able to call on them by name. I took a few minutes to explain several different methods of bookbinding, such as Coptic, one of the oldest binding methods, similar to a chain stitch; Japanese stab binding, a good place to start since the pages are not made up of folded signatures but a stack of single sheets; and limp binding, which usually refers to a binding in which paper signatures are sewn onto cords and a soft cover is folded around the textblock.
I dispensed some general cautionary advice along with a touch of history. And since my students were all librarians whose days were often filled with rescuing badly treated books, I also devoted a few minutes to some quick and practical tips and tricks of book repair and maintenance.
Finally, I gave my inspirational mini-lecture on paper fibers and grain direction, followed by a dazzling speech about glue. And then we got down to making books.
“We’re going to start with the accordion-folded book.” I held up a four-by-four-inch sample of a cute little book I had made a while back. It had a grosgrain tie that wrapped all the way around to hold the book together. I untied the ribbon and pulled the book apart and the accordion-folded pages expanded. To my surprise, the students applauded and I laughed. “I’m glad you like it, because this will be the easiest book we make today.”
I re-tied the ribbon and handed the book to Priscilla, the student closest to me. “I’m going to pass this around. Please feel free to examine it, unwrap and wrap it up again. As you can see, the front and back boards are covered in beautiful, gold-tone fabric and the ‘endpaper’ is actually the first page of the accordion. When it’s closed, it looks like a nicely bound book.”
“It’s like playing an accordion,” Priscilla marveled, as she pulled the covers apart and pressed them back together a few times. “Now I get it.”
I smiled. “Keep passing that one around while we start making our own.”
I had set aside thirty minutes to work on the accordion book project and most of the class came close to finishing. After promising to leave time at the end of the class to complete any unfinished work, I moved on to our next topic, the Coptic stitch. The best part of this bookbinding method was that it could be accomplished without using any adhesive.
Essentially, the Coptic stitch was a series of chain-like stitches that held a set of folded signature pages together and bound them to the covered boards. Again, I passed around samples of Coptic bindings to illustrate exactly what we would be making.
I had the librarians pick out fabric and endpapers before we started on the Coptic project since the front and back boards would need to be completed before the stitching began. I explained that this style was more complicated than it looked, but most of the students picked it up pretty quickly.
“Have you guys done this one before?” I asked, teasing them. But they insisted they hadn’t.
“You’re just a brilliant teacher,” one of them remarked slyly.
“And you get an A,” I said, laughing.
Halfway through this portion of the class, a woman named Amy raised her hand. “Has anyone else noticed that some of these tools could be really dangerous?”
It was her tone that had my antennae perking up.
“Yes,” I said lightly. “As I explained at the start, the utility knife, the needle, and the scissors are very sharp, so please be careful.” I tried for a nonchalant tone, but I could already hear a low-level buzz coming from Amy’s worktable. Was it just a coincidence that she was sitting next to Lucy from the registration desk? The one who had been so excited to hear about murder?
Prepared for the worst, I strolled over to their worktable. “How’s it going over here?”
“Amy brings up an interesting point,” Lucy said. “Don’t you think so, Brooklyn?”
“Actually, I’m not sure what her point is.” I smiled at Amy, who was a pretty blonde in her twenties. “Can you repeat it for me?”
The others at the table were looking anywhere else but at Amy. But Lucy seemed happy that her friend had brought up the subject. She was sweet and a little naive while Amy had more of an edge. She seemed ready for a confrontation, but I wasn’t sure why.
“Here’s the deal,” Amy said breezily. “Not only do you find dead bodies everywhere you go, but some might say that you bring the vibe with you.” She held up the utility knife. “I mean, look at these tools. What else can we think when you simply hand them over to us?”
I smiled, which wasn’t easy while gritting my teeth. “You could think that I’m teaching a class in bookbinding. These are the tools that a bookbinder uses to create a book.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, sure. But what if someone in here is really unhinged? You hand them a knife and it sends them spiraling and they end up hurting one of us. What happens then?”
I glanced at Lucy but she would no longer make eye contact with me. I could understand that. Lucy had wanted to talk about dead bodies and all that fun stuff, but Amy was off on a tangent about me and my “vibe.” And I didn’t know why. I was teaching a class on bookbinding and we were making little books. Pretty innocuous stuff if you asked me. But I supposed I had to address her point.
“It’s a scary world,” I said carefully. “I try to make my classroom a safe environment, but these days there’s always a slight possibility that something dangerous could happen. But do you really want to have a philosophical discussion about that right now? Because I’m sorry to say it, but you’re disrupting the entire class and that’s really not fair.”
“I thought it was a perfectly straightforward question.”
“Actually, it was confrontational and mean-spirited.” I managed to smile as I said it. “As you’ll recall, at the beginning of the class I asked everyone to be very careful with the tools because I didn’t want anyone to hurt themselves. I offered to help anyone who needed assistance.”
“Okay, fine,” she groused. “Sorry I even said anything.”
So now she was being a martyr. I sighed. “Amy, if you’d rather not continue with the class, I’ll be happy to refund your payment.” I glanced around. “That goes for everyone else, too.”
She grunted in disgust. “My friend said that people keep dying around you. It’s weird, that’s all. I wanted to find out why it’s happening.”
“And I want to continue teaching this class. And since I’m in charge, I say we continue the class.”
“But that’s not fair,” Amy whined.
“That’s true of so many things,” I said, trying not to go completely snarky. I took another quick look at Lucy, but she looked like she wanted to hide under the worktable. Honestly, I hoped she was embarrassed. I didn’t enjoy feeling like I was under attack, especially when I was doing something I loved to do. I shifted my gaze back to her friend Amy. “As I said before, I’ll understand if you’d like to leave. Or you can stay and we can talk after class.”
She blinked, clearly shocked that I had made the offer. “Really? Um, okay. I’ll stay and talk to you afterwards.”
“Fine.” I exhaled slowly. “Then let’s get back to work. Where were we?”
Someone at another table spoke up. “You were explaining how to attach the next set of signature pages to the textblock.”
“Right. Thank you.” I walked back to the front of the room, taking more deep breaths as I went. That brief squabble had left me a little shaky, but I still had an hour left to teach these people two more bookbinding techniques so I straightened my shoulders and shook off the mood.
I tried to maintain a light, cheerful tone for the rest of the class, figuring that I wasn’t the only one who’d been upset by Amy’s oddly hostile questioning. At one point, Lucy raised her hand. “I don’t want to bring up a sore subject, but you did mention that bookbinders use some dangerous tools. So I’m wondering if you’ve ever injured yourself while binding a book. And what do you do if you get blood on the pages?”
I took a breath in and out. Okay, I could handle this. I had a fleeting thought that I should’ve asked Mom and Meg to attend the class. They would’ve had some answers and kept things rollicking.
I smiled at Lucy. “Blood is a liquid, so that makes it an enemy of paper. It’s also bright red, so it will stain the page. Therefore, my only rule when it comes to getting blood on a book is, don’t do it.”
The entire class laughed and Lucy smiled.
By the end of the session, I was so relieved. As I was packing up my supplies, Lucy approached. I forced a smile. “I hope you enjoyed the class.”
“I did. But I wanted to apologize.”
“What for?”
She sighed. “My boss took your Book Lovers’ Tour yesterday and she warned me not to bring up the topic of the murders. So I had already decided not to say anything. But Amy insisted on bringing it up. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop her.”
I nodded. “I appreciate that. Thanks.” I glanced around. “Did Amy leave?”
“No, she’s still packing up her bag.” Lucy lowered her voice. “After you got back on topic, she was starting to feel pretty stupid. Some of the people at our table were giving her dirty looks, and I was so annoyed with her I ignored her for the rest of the class.”
“I hope she’ll be okay.”
Amy approached at that moment and waved her hand blithely. “I’m fine. I’ve got a thick skin. You probably noticed.”
I considered what to say to the two women, then forged ahead. “I would like you to understand why I don’t talk about these things. Coming across a dead body is not an uplifting moment. It’s not cool or interesting or exciting. It’s actually quite disturbing. And sad and painful, especially for the people who are going to be affected in a really horrible way for the rest of their lives. So I don’t like being thought of as someone who attracts that kind of, you know, energy, or karma, or vibe. It’s not fun for me. Do you get that?”
“Oh. Oh yes. God.” Amy’s eyes were awash with tears. She grabbed me in a hug and whispered, “I’m so sorry. I won’t ever do anything like that again. I hope you’ll forgive me someday.”
“There’s no need to forgive anything.” When she let me go, I gave her a smile. “Don’t worry, Amy. I know you’re a good person. I really appreciate you coming to talk to me.”
Lucy pressed her lips together, then blurted, “I was your biggest fan before and now I’m even more impressed.”
I laughed. “Now you’re just trying to butter me up.”
“Absolutely,” she said, and giggled.
“Brooklyn?”
We all turned at the sound of a man’s voice. I suddenly lost my breath and I was pretty sure my eyes were as big as goggles. Rod Martin stood in the doorway next to an older woman who was trying to get his attention by reaching for his arm. He sloughed her off and stepped inside the classroom.
“Guess that’s our cue to go,” Lucy said amiably, and elbowed Amy. They took off for the door just as Rod took a few more steps into the classroom.
I was still in shock. I wasn’t even certain my voice would work, but I finally gave it a shot.
“Rod.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “It’s me.”
“Uh, wow. Long time.” I shouldn’t have been so surprised to see him. After all, I knew Sara had brought him with her to the conference. And then there was that valuable book . . .
“Too long.” He scanned me up and down. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks,” I said, although I didn’t take it as a compliment. Rod Martin had always been a natural-born schmoozer, lest I forgot.
I had to admit, though, that he was even better looking than I remembered, and a little taller. His thin frame had filled out over the years and now he appeared to be happy, handsome, and prosperous. It just figured that his looks would only improve with age. Life could be so unfair.
“How have you been?” I asked. Not that I cared. Not really. I still wasn’t ready to forgive him after he’d been the cause of so much misery between my two friends.
“Couldn’t be better,” he said jovially, clearly confident that his good looks and charm would get him whatever he wanted. And he was probably right.
The older woman appeared in the doorway. “Is that woman with you?”
He glanced over his shoulder and waved her away. “She’s someone I work with. I’ll see her later.”
I didn’t know what to say to him so I continued to pack up my supplies.
“Hey,” he said. “I understand Sara gave you a little gift last night.”
“She did.” I smiled brightly while my brain calculated exactly what he would say and a hundred different responses I could make. I knew instinctively that he wanted the book back, but he probably wouldn’t come right out and ask for it. No, he was too cool for that. He would try to cajole and flatter me to get it. And that wasn’t going to work.
But hadn’t I just been thinking that morning about whether I should return it or not? The rare book website I frequented had indicated that the book had been sold very recently. Had Rod sold it, thinking it was still in his possession? If so, he had to be panicking even as we spoke. I studied his jaw. Was it clenched? Was he starting to sweat around his hairline? Losing out on a seventy-four-thousand-dollar sale would cause me to sweat, just saying. But I couldn’t see any outward signs that he was freaking out. He just kept smiling.
I made a decision in that moment, that even if he did ask for it back, I wouldn’t give it to him. Maybe I would return it to Sara, but not to Rod.
“It was such a surprise,” I continued, practically gushing. “I absolutely love it.”
“Yeah, it’s a beauty, all right.”
“And the significance of the book is so touching, right? I mean, we were the Three Musketeers, remember? It just means a lot.” I actually felt myself tearing up and tried to shake off the sentimental feelings. I didn’t want him to think I was a wimp. On the other hand, maybe that could work in my favor.
Nope, I thought. There was no way I would deliberately act weak or fragile in front of him. I gathered my stack of endpapers and slipped them into my briefcase. “Sara seemed to think you could find another copy easily. I hope that’s true.”
“Oh yeah, no problem.” He shrugged casually. “You know how it is with books. There’s always another one coming around the bend.”
“I do know books,” I said, smiling. “And I recognized it for the generous gift it was. Sara was so sweet to think of me.”
His smile was pensive. “I know she was hoping to patch things up with you. I hope the book helped.”
There was no way he meant that, was there? So what was he really doing here? Rod was charming in a slippery kind of way, so it was hard to tell.
“The book was a lovely gesture,” I said. “And it’s been so great to catch up with Sara this week. I’m hoping we can keep in touch and remain friends after all this time.”
His smile grew brighter. “Sara would love to hear that.” He glanced around, seemed to realize the room was empty. “Well, I just wanted to track you down and tell you how pleased I was to hear that you’re getting married. I wish you every happiness, Brooklyn.”
“Thank you, Rod.”
“Hey,” he said. “If you’re free sometime for coffee or a drink this week, let me know. I can even meet you tonight if you’re available. I’d love to catch up on old times.”
I almost rolled my eyes, but instead I just kept smiling. “I’d better check my schedule before I say yes.”
We exchanged phone numbers, then he gave me a warm hug. It brought back so many mixed feelings from those times in school. I had loathed the way he treated Heather, and my feelings had lasted for so many years. Now I was finding it hard to switch them around. But if I was going to be friends with Sara again, I would need to rekindle my so-called friendship with Rod.
“This was really a nice surprise,” I said. “Thank you so much for coming to see me.”
“It was nice for me, too.” He turned to leave, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Take care, Brooklyn.”
“You, too.”
That night, Derek was going out to dinner with his brothers, his partners from work, and some guy friends. It was as close as he was going to get to a bachelor party. I doubted he would tolerate anyone shouting “Surprise” and making him open twenty pink-wrapped gifts, but I hoped the guys would make sure he had a good time. Not that I was complaining about all those pink-wrapped goodies. My party had turned out to be awesome, once I got over my initial shock and befuddlement.
Since Derek would be out for the evening, I had decided to invite a few of my very closest girlfriends over for pizza and wine.
Robin and my sisters, of course, and my favorite neighbors, Alex and Vinnie and Suzie. I mulled over the possibility of inviting Heather and Sara. Granted, things had been pretty tense between them at the shower the night before, but at the last minute, I decided to text them both and invite them over. After all, if I really wanted to stay in touch with them, I needed to extend my own hand in friendship. If either of them decided not to show up, that was their choice. But I hoped that they would because, to be honest, I wasn’t sure when I would ever see either of them again.
Heather texted me right back to let me know she would be here, but that she had a meeting and might be a little bit late. Sara texted a few minutes later to say that Rod was going out with a few associates and she would love to come over for pizza. I texted back my address and directions and she texted back a thumbs-up.
“Good,” I murmured, and called to order the pizza.
An hour into my impromptu party, I realized that neither Heather nor Sara had arrived. I texted Heather first. “Are you lost?”
A minute later, she responded. “Sorry, I got stuck in a meeting. Will still try to make it if it’s not too late.”
“Okay. If not, let’s do coffee tomorrow.”
“Great!”
I took a sip of wine, then texted Sara the same message. “Are you lost?”
While I waited for her return text, I glanced around the room. Vinnie was showing everyone the latest pictures of Lily, who was rapidly growing into a beautiful little girl. I thought back to the night almost two years ago when the three of us and Gabriel were staying at a gorgeous old mansion near Lake Tahoe and got snowed in for a few days. It was on that trip that Vinnie and Suzie had found out that their best friends, Teddy and Maris, were killed in a tragic car accident and that their will stipulated that Suzie and Vinnie were to raise Lily as their own. The two women had accepted that challenging role and never looked back.
Robin was talking to Savannah about the gardens they had both planted in Dharma, London and China were laughing about the latest protection spell our mom had performed for Derek’s parents, and Alex was passing around her freshly baked batch of red velvet cupcakes. I grabbed one just as my phone signaled an incoming text.
“Ugh, I’m stuck working!” Sara wrote. “I’ll try to make it to your place, but it might be another hour.”
“That’s okay, come anytime,” I answered. “What R U working on?”
“Cornelia shipped a ton of books out here and they’re stored in the conference hotel basement. I have to bring them over to the convention floor.”
“Sounds awful.”
“Totally! She’s trying to kill my girlish spirit.”
“LOL. I’m so sorry. Hope you can make it.”
“Me, too. I’ll call you.”
After that, I got wrapped up in the party, laughing and sharing old family stories along with plenty of anecdotes about Derek and his amazing brothers.
Almost an hour later, my cell phone rang and I answered right away. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Sara.”
“Hi. Everything okay?”
“I’m still working, but I should be finished soon.”
“Are you all by yourself?”
“Yeah, but I can handle it,” she said, then sighed. “I’m just so annoyed with my boss. She really has it in for me.”
“I’ve got to meet this person. She sounds awful.”
“Believe me, she’s even worse than you can imagine. She’s—”
She didn’t finish the sentence so I waited. After a long moment of silence, I said, “Sara?”
“Sorry,” Sara replied. “I thought I heard something. This basement is kind of creepy. Let me get off the phone so I can finish up and come over. Save me a slice of pepperoni.”
“You got it.” I rejoined my guests, replenishing everyone’s drinks and bringing around more pizza. The party broke up around eleven o’clock and we never saw Sara or Heather.
The next morning Derek left early for a meeting at his office while I faced a shoe crisis. I couldn’t say what got into me, but I had decided that with Derek out of the house, this was a perfect time to try on my wedding dress with my newly dyed white lace shoes.
I loved my dress, but it was impossible to slip into it without someone helping me zip up the zipper. Instead, I slipped my arms into the sleeves and held it in place around my waist, then slid my feet into the heels.
Staring in the mirror, I confess I really felt like a princess. But . . . something was wrong. My shoes felt way too loose. I had to sit down on the edge of the bed to take them off. I stared at the lacy style and remembered how I had fallen in love with them at the shop. These were definitely my shoes. I turned them over to look at the soles where the size was stamped.
“That’s my size,” I muttered. “But . . . oh God.”
I felt as if I’d entered the Twilight Zone. Everything looked right, but something was very wrong. I tried them on again. Still too loose. “What am I going to do? I need new shoes.”
“Meow.”
I glanced down and saw Charlie staring up at me as if I was crazy or something. “Charlie, stop judging me and help. What am I going to do?”
“Meow,” she said, and gave my pretty lace shoe a delicate lick.
“You’re very cute but you’re no help at all.” Still uncertain what to do and feeling my heart rate climbing, I grabbed my house key and, clutching my dress so it wouldn’t fall off in front of any neighbors who might be leaving for work about then, ran down the hall to Alex’s apartment. She was my guru for all things related to clothing and shoes.
“What’s going on?” Alex said, tying the sash of her silk bathrobe more securely.
“Please help me,” I cried. “I tried on my wedding shoes and they don’t fit anymore.”
She smiled indulgently. “Well, you’ve been working out a lot. Maybe you’ve lost a shoe size.”
“It that really a thing? I’ve never heard of losing weight in your feet.”
“It can happen,” she said enigmatically.
I was ready to start sobbing and she was going all inscrutable on me. “Alex, focus. I need new shoes.”
She grabbed my hand and pulled me into her apartment. “It’s going to be okay. Do you want a cupcake?”
“Of course I want a cupcake. And then I need new shoes.”
Still holding my hand, she led me over to her kitchen counter, where a tray filled with newly frosted chocolate mint cupcakes sat. It was amazing. She must have started baking them at five o’clock that morning. “Sit,” she said, slipping an apron on over my head. “Your dress is too beautiful to have crumbs falling all over it.”
“Thank you.” At least one of us was thinking clearly.
“Now have a cupcake and then we’ll see if we can make those shoes fit.”
While Alex finished dressing for work and I ate my cupcake, I texted both Heather and Sara, sending them each the same message. “Missed you last night. Can we get together sometime today?” I got no response from either of them. I wondered briefly if anything was wrong, but I couldn’t worry about that at the moment.
Alex came out to the kitchen dressed to kill in a black-on-black couture suit with a cinched waist and epaulets, and shiny black stiletto pumps.
“You look like a sexy four-star general who’s about to kick ass and take names.”
“Just the look I was going for,” she said with an impish grin. “Now let’s see about those shoes.”
“You’re way too dressed up to deal with my silly shoe crisis. You should go to work. I can handle this. I think.”
She rubbed my arm. “I’m never too dressed up to help you, Brooks.”
I covered my mouth with my hand. “Now I’m going to cry.”
She laughed. “Well, it’s about time. You’ve been so calm and cool during all these months of wedding planning, it’s downright unnatural. You haven’t had one nervous breakdown or a screaming fit or even a little crying jag. You deserve to have a good cry over ill-fitting shoes, so go for it.”
And so I did, briefly. She handed me a handful of tissues and I blew my nose a few times. But after another minute, I was completely bored with myself and my nose was stuffed up to boot. “Okay, I’m done,” I said. “Let’s go fix those shoes.”
“That’s my girl.”
Within minutes Alex had assessed the situation and suggested that I buy a narrow inner sole and a set of heel cushions that would fit inside my white lace heels. “You can pick them up at any good drugstore.”
“You think that’ll work?”
“Yes. You’re still basically the same shoe size. Your foot is just slightly narrower from all the working out. The cushions should solve the problem and they’ll also help keep the shoes from rubbing against your heel. Shoe crisis averted.”
“You saved my life,” I said, giving her a hug.
“It’s what I do,” she said with a modest shrug, and took off for work.
I still couldn’t believe I’d lost weight in my feet. I mean, I’d been watching my diet for months and exercising like a champ, but still. That was downright weird.
An hour later I was working on a special project, a beautiful little book of Shakespeare’s sonnets that I planned to give to Derek as a wedding gift. When we first started dating, he had read a few of his favorite sonnets to me and I had almost swooned at the romance of it all. Maybe the British accent had something to do with it, but I knew he would love this book. I had asked my friend Genevieve Taylor of Taylor’s Fine Books to keep an eye out for the perfect book and she had come through for me. It was small but lovely and in excellent condition with bright white pages and a number of charming colored illustrations throughout, each guarded by tissue. The book was covered in rich burgundy morocco leather with shiny gilding along the edges of the pages. I had tooled a pretty design of a stylized tree on the front cover and added gilding to the leaves. All that was left to do was construct a simple slip-case-style book box covered in matching burgundy linen with a ribbon pull.
I had just finished cutting the boards for the box when Derek arrived home. I tucked the book and materials away and joined him in the kitchen while he made himself a sandwich.
While we chatted about his office meeting, I texted Heather again. “Coffee today or tomorrow?”
She responded immediately. “Tomorrow better than today.”
“Okay,” I typed. “I’ll check in tomorrow morning.”
Then I texted Sara again but heard nothing back from her. I stared at my phone. “Hmm.”
“What is it?” Derek asked.
“I never heard back from Sara last night and now she’s not answering her texts.”
“Did you try calling?”
“What a good idea,” I said, smiling. I’d gotten so used to texting that the idea of actually dialing the phone and speaking to a person had become an odd concept. I pushed her number and waited. The phone rang six times and then went to voice mail. I left a quick message and ended the call.
“No answer?”
“No.” I frowned at my phone. “I can’t believe she would blow me off like this. We left each other on pretty good terms and then her husband, Rod, stopped by my classroom to say hello.”
“How did that work out for you?”
I sat on the kitchen stool and watched him work. “It was weird, but not too bad. Of course, I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. I think he wants me to give the book back but he wouldn’t come right out and say it.”
“Where is the book right now?”
“It’s in the safe.”
“Good.”
“I’ll try Sara one more time.” I dialed her number, but once again the call went to voice mail. I gazed up at Derek and shrugged. “I don’t know why I’m worried. Her boss has been riding her pretty hard so maybe she’s too busy working to check her messages.”
“But you don’t think so.”
I grimaced. “I really don’t.”
“Would you feel better if we tried to track her down?”
Just another reason why I loved that man. He always knew the exact right thing to say.
“Yes. She might still be tied up with work, but I can’t see her ignoring all those texts.” I frowned. “Maybe she lost her phone.”
“I’ll finish my sandwich and then let’s go find out.”
We walked a few blocks over to the conference center and into the main exhibit hall. Dozens of organizations, publishers, bookstores, and vendors had rented booths where they were selling their products or giving away books and swag. The Glen Cove College Library, where Sara worked, had rented a small space to display the books published by the college press along with a number of favorite local authors and hometown memorabilia.
Sara wasn’t in the booth, but another woman dressed in a business suit smiled at us. I got a quick look at her badge and saw that her name was Darla.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“Yes. Actually, I’m looking for Sara Martin.”
“Oh.” The woman glanced around nervously and lowered her voice. “I haven’t seen Sara for hours. She didn’t show up this morning for her shift in the booth. I tried texting but didn’t hear back from her.”
“Is she usually pretty responsible?”
“Are you kidding? Responsible is her middle name.”
“When did you last see her?” Derek asked.
She leaned closer. “Last night. Our boss insisted that we cart all of our books over here before we could clock out for the day.”
“Is that Cornelia?”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know? Oh wait, Sara must’ve told you about her.” Darla shook her head in disgust. “She’s a piece of work and she’s been even worse on this trip.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. Well, that’s why they pay us the big bucks.” She snorted. “Anyway, we had to make a dozen trips last night carrying tons of books. By the end I was exhausted so Sara offered to finish up.”
“What time was that?”
“About eight thirty or nine?”
I gazed up at Derek. “That was about the time I texted her to see where she was.”
“If you see her,” Darla whispered loudly, “tell her the boss is still cranky.”
“Why is that?” Derek asked.
“Because we’re still missing a couple of boxes of books.” Darla shrugged. “I’m not sure how they went missing. It’s not like Sara to miscalculate stuff like that.” She grinned suddenly. “Maybe she did it to get back at Cornelia. The woman is the original grouch.”
Despite my worry, I flashed her a friendly smile. “I’ll give Sara the message.”
“Thanks.”
We started to walk away, but I thought of something else. It was probably a dumb question, but I wanted to know just how grouchy Cornelia could be. “Just curious. Did you have to move all the books by hand?”
“Oh, goodness no. We borrowed a hand truck from the booth next door. It wasn’t industrial strength, but it helped.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Derek and I walked away. I glanced around, still hoping to catch a glimpse of Sara, but something told me I wouldn’t have any luck. “Let’s check her hotel. It’s the InterContinental, right across the street.”
When we reached the hotel lobby, I asked the clerk to call Sara’s room. He didn’t have any more luck than I’d had, so I pulled out my conference badge and showed it to him. “My boss wanted me to get some boxes that you have stored down in your basement and take them over to the exhibit hall. Can you point the way?”
“Yes, ma’am. In fact, I’ll take you there.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s a little tricky,” he said with a grin, and led the way down the hall toward a bank of elevators. He walked past them to the far wall, where he pushed a door open and pointed. “That’s the freight elevator. There are two basement levels. You want level two. That’s where we store items that have been shipped out here for our guests.”
“We appreciate your help,” Derek said, and steered me into the elevator.
“Be careful,” the clerk added. “It can get kind of dark and there’s probably no one working down there at this time of the day.”
“Okay. Thanks again.”
I pushed the down elevator button and the doors slid closed. “Here goes nothing.”
“He made it sound rather uninviting,” Derek muttered.
“Yeah, not a place I’d want to hang out late at night.” I shook off the spooky chills the clerk’s words had left me with.
Derek wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “We’ll just consider this an adventure.”
“Seems our entire life is an adventure.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Indeed.”
“I’m afraid she might’ve gone home,” I said, finally voicing what I’d been worried about all morning. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she and Rod had a fight and she just left.”
“She probably would’ve told you that in a text,” Derek said, which made perfect sense but did nothing to alleviate my concerns.
Something else occurred to me. “What if Cornelia fired her?”
“If Sara is doing all this heavy lifting, it wouldn’t be in Cornelia’s best interests to fire her.”
“I guess not.”
The elevator came to a shuddering stop and we stepped out into the second-level basement. As promised, it was a dark, massive space with a low ceiling. The air was dank and cold.
“Is there a light switch somewhere?” I asked.
Derek found the panel of switches, but none of them worked.
“That’s not good.” I felt those spooky chills return.
“No.” His voice was pitched low and I could sense the tension in him.
“It’s bad enough having to lug around a bunch of heavy boxes,” I said, still trying to be upbeat about this whole situation. “I just hope she wasn’t doing it in the dark.”
“I’ve never heard of a hotel allowing their guests to work in a space like this without an employee supervising.”
“It’s odd, isn’t it?” I shook my head. “Not one person working down here?”
“Perhaps they’re on a break,” he mused.
“Maybe. They could’ve left the lights on, at least.”
“Let’s remedy this state of affairs,” Derek suggested, reaching for his cell phone and turning on the flashlight app.
“Much better,” I said. “But I can’t imagine Sara is working down here with all the lights turned off.”
“Perhaps the lights were working last night.” He swept his flashlight across the rows before us. “Let’s do our due diligence and check each of those rows.”
“Sara?” I called. The word echoed in the cavernous space. We started walking, searching up and down each long row. The shelves were stacked to the ceiling with boxes and crates.
“Sara?” I called again. There was no answer, but I didn’t really expect one. “This place is huge.”
We checked the next aisle. Nothing.
“She can’t still be down here. For all we know, she’s upstairs in her hotel room having a cocktail.” I was grasping at straws. “Maybe she’s sick or she pulled a muscle doing all this heavy lifting.”
“Perhaps.”
“She still would’ve answered her phone, though.”
We kept going until we reached the end of the dark, creepy space. That was where I noticed pieces of several large crates scattered on the ground, cracked and broken.
“What a mess.” I sighed, although it should have been expected, with so many wooden crates sitting on top of each other, filled with heavy books. A deserted forklift was parked in the middle of the aisle.
I nearly jumped when Derek grabbed my arm. “Darling, I don’t want to switch off this light, so can you check your phone to see if you’re getting a signal?”
“Sure. Man, this place is like a bunker.” I pulled out my phone and checked my settings. “Believe it or not, I do have a signal. Why do you ask?”
“You need to call the police.”
“Right now? Why?”
“In fact, let’s go upstairs and call from there.” As he spoke, he moved until he was standing in front of me.
“Why? Hey, you’re blocking the light.”
He sighed and squeezed my arm gently. “I’m sorry, love, but I’m afraid there’s something disturbing at the end of this row.”
I leaned over to see beyond him and stared into the darkness. “How can you even see down there?”
He turned. “I happened to aim the light right . . . there.” His flashlight illuminated a pile of broken crates against the wall at the far end of the row.
“Oh.” I began to walk toward the pile.
“Darling, wait. This would be better handled by the police.”
“But we won’t know what to tell them if we don’t check it out.”
Derek stayed right behind me, focusing his phone’s bright light on the mess ahead of us. A huge pile of books towered over us as we approached. It had to be at least six feet tall. It looked as though three or four pallets of books had split open and spilled their contents. When I got closer, I hesitated, then stopped completely when I noticed someone’s legs sticking out from under the massive pile of books.
I recognized those gorgeous boots.
“Oh no!” I rushed forward. “Oh God, no. It’s Sara.”