“What?” Inspector Lee shouted into the phone.
“A forgery,” I repeated, praying that my hearing would return soon. I couldn’t blame Janice for being shocked. So was I. “A fake. They did a really good job and the book is beautiful regardless, but it’s been altered to show an earlier date.”
“Which would make it more valuable.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re sure?”
I frowned. “Uh, yes.”
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I should know better than to question you. But damn, Brooklyn.”
“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction, too.” And now I wondered if Sara had done the forgery work herself or if Rod had paid to have it done. Or had they purchased it that way? Had the two of them been duped as well? Maybe Sara didn’t realize it was fake when she gave it to me.
I hoped that was the case because I hated to think that she had deliberately altered a nearly impeccable work of art, just to raise the price even more. Never mind that it was a criminal offense.
I quickly calculated how much the book would be worth, given that it was a forgery. Everything about it was still beautiful, and if I had enough time, I could track down the provenance of the book and determine its actual value. Off the top of my head, I guessed it would be closer to the forty- to fifty-thousand-dollar range, maybe less. Since I couldn’t be sure and since I was leaving on my honeymoon in a few days, I decided that the best thing to do would be to leave the book with Ian McCullough at the Covington Library. He would be able to arrange an appraisal faster than I could.
Another question occurred to me an instant later. Was this the reason Rod had tried to get the book back? Had he known it was fake all along? Had he lied to Sara about it?
An additional thought chilled me to my bones. Was the forged book the motive for Sara’s murder?
I shook off the chills and came back to the conversation with Inspector Lee. “So why were you calling me?”
“Oh, yeah,” Inspector Lee said, apparently just as sidetracked as I was. “Not sure it’s still relevant now, but it’s important that we investigate every possibility.”
“Of course.”
“So I’d like you to tell me everything you know about Heather Babcock.”
“Heather? So you think she’s—”
“A suspect,” she said flatly. “Everyone is until further notice. I promise I’ll try to clear her as soon as possible, but for now, I’ve got to do the groundwork.”
“I know, I know.” I rolled my shoulders to shake off the tension. “I think I’ve already told you everything I know about her. She works for the city library in Valley Heart, Wisconsin. She does everything for them. Preservation and conservation, book restoration, collections, archiving. She probably reads stories to the children on Saturday mornings.”
“Did she ever mention anything about an anonymous donor?”
I felt the lines on my forehead furrow in confusion and quickly changed expressions. My mother’s warning from a few days ago was still hanging over me. “No. She’s never said anything about a donor, anonymous or otherwise.”
“Apparently they’ve got someone sending anonymous cashier’s checks directly to Heather.”
I stared at the phone for a moment. “I have no idea what that means.”
“An anonymous donor is someone who donates money anonymously.”
I smiled. Inspector Lee could be such a smart-ass sometimes, but it was part of her charm. “I know what it means in terms of an organization, but what you’re saying is that Heather herself has an anonymous donor. All her own?”
“She doesn’t keep the money,” Janice explained. “But she gets credit for it, which translates to a small check to Heather at the end of each year. The donor has told the city that the only reason she’s giving them money is because of Heather, so this person insists that Heather gets a piece of the action.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yeah. Except that a while back, the city was concerned enough to call in the local cops. They looked into it for a while, but finally closed the case. Couldn’t see any evidence of her stealing money.”
“But they had to make a point of telling you,” I muttered.
“Hey, we cops stick together.”
“Yeah, yeah. Meanwhile, Heather’s under suspicion until proven innocent.” But I was getting ahead of myself. Heather was still under suspicion until we figured out who killed Sara.
“Everyone’s under suspicion at this point,” Janice said, echoing what I’d just been thinking.
Something still bothered me about Heather’s situation back home. “Don’t you think it’s weird that her city library would call in the cops? Maybe Heather was simply helping this donor person on the side and they took a liking to her.”
“What kind of stuff would she be doing?”
“I don’t know.” I waved one hand in the air as if she could see me groping for an explanation. “Maybe she was repairing their books. Or calling them whenever a new book came in so they could get first dibs. Heck, maybe she was mowing their lawn.”
“Yeah, maybe. But . . . Just a sec, Brooklyn,” she said as someone in the background spoke to her for a minute. Finally she said, “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
“Wait. When will we talk again?”
“Yeah, I’ll miss you, too.”
“You know you’re crazy, right?”
“Funny. I wasn’t before I met you.” She chuckled, obviously cracking herself up. “I’ll call you in a while. I want to see that book again.”
We hung up and I went back to work on the book, where my resentment over the forgery began to fester all over again. But before I could begin to deal with it, my phone buzzed. It was Heather texting me back. “Finally,” I whispered.
“I can meet you at the coffee kiosk in fifteen minutes,” she texted.
I replied, “I’ll see you there.”
I quickly cleaned off my table, then grabbed the books and returned them to the safe. I ran to get dressed and was out the door in under ten minutes.
Heather took a sip of her vanilla latte and slowly shook her head. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. It’s just surreal, isn’t it?”
“That’s a good word for it,” I agreed. Heather had begged to hear more about how Derek and I had found Sara under the books in the basement. I hadn’t given her all the gory details but it was enough for her to realize how awful it was.
She rubbed her arms. “Thinking of her in that cold dark room. It gives me the chills.”
“Yeah, me, too.” But I forced a smile, more than ready to change the subject. “So how did you and Rod find each other the other day?”
“I literally ran into him inside the book room. I was browsing, walking up and down the aisles, and suddenly he was standing in front of me. It was such a shock.”
“That’s amazing. You keep running into people by accident. That’s how we found each other.”
“I’m so glad we did,” she said.
“Yeah, me, too.” I took a sip of my decaf latte. I didn’t dare order more caffeine after all the agitation I’d gone through earlier today. “So anyway, I’m dying to hear more about your conversation with Rod.”
She smiled and I could tell she was in a reminiscing mood. “It was great, Brooklyn. He’s been really successful as a book dealer.”
“That’s what I understand.”
“He said that he fumbled around with different jobs for a few years. Worked in a couple of libraries. You know how it is.”
“I sure do,” I said with a grin.
“But as soon as he started buying and selling books, he found his calling. So that’s nice.”
“I’ll say. Did you talk about the old days?”
“Only enough to give him grief for dumping me the way he did.” She glanced around, then lowered her voice. “He told me that he and Sara almost got a divorce more than once. She was very suspicious and jealous of anyone he was friends with, especially women. Obviously.”
“Right. Can’t blame her for that.”
“I know, right? I call it poetic justice. I mean, because she was constantly jealous. It’s only fair that she would mistrust every other woman since she was so untrustworthy back then.” She frowned guiltily. “But now that she’s dead, I feel bad for thinking that about her.”
“I know.” I sighed. “I have those same sorts of thoughts about her, too. Basically, I blamed her for everything that happened. Don’t get me wrong; I blamed Rod, too. But she’s the one who destroyed our friendship and she hurt you so badly. The entire thing was really painful.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Heather said. “For years I dreamed of running into her and smacking her right across the face. And then we’d have this knock-down, drag-out fight, and finally we’d start laughing and end up friends again. Now that’ll never happen. And that makes me really sad.”
My own eyes were tearing up and I was having a hard time picturing Heather as a killer. Still, it would be smart to keep some perspective. Nevertheless, I reached out and squeezed her hand. “That is so sweet. Not the part about smacking her, but about being friends again.”
She sniffled, then gave a short chuckle. “I know. I’m really bummed.”
“Yeah.”
She gazed at me. “Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay?”
“Agreed.” We sipped our drinks for a long moment, then I said, “So. Have you heard from Gus yet?”
“I have.” And just like that, her expression changed completely. She was radiant. “I saw him for breakfast this morning.”
“Breakfast.” I smiled. “The guy moves fast.”
“He does. I can hardly believe it’s happening so quickly, but it’s wonderful. He told me he’s never felt like this before.”
“After one day? Wow. What about you?”
Heather took a deep breath as if trying to settle herself. “Honestly, Brooklyn, I’ve never felt this way before, either. We’re going out again tonight and spending Saturday morning together. Saturday night he has a thing with his parents so I won’t be able to see him. But he’s promised to call me.”
“That’s really nice, Heather. He seems like a good guy.”
“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Brooklyn, he wants to visit me and see what Valley Heart is like.”
“Whoa. Forget about moving fast, this guy is moving at warp speed.” Maybe a little too fast? I wondered.
“I know.” Heather looked as concerned as I felt. But she deserved to meet someone fabulous and have some happiness in her life. Unless of course she was guilty of murder, in which case she deserved to spend her life in prison.
“He’s a great guy,” she continued, “but I’m a little scared. Mainly because I feel the same way. I just want to spend all my time with him.”
“I know exactly how that feels,” I said, thinking of Derek. “It’s a wonderful feeling, isn’t it?”
“The best in the world.” She flashed a shy smile. “He says he doesn’t mind moving to Wisconsin if it means he can be with me. He says he can work anywhere and make a good living.”
“That’s true enough.” Paramedics would be welcomed into any town.
She laughed. “So in case it didn’t sink in, let me repeat that I’m free tomorrow night. What are you doing? Can you get together?”
“Oh, Heather, I’m so sorry,” I moaned. “It’s the rehearsal dinner.”
“Oh, no, I’m a space cadet. I totally forgot about your wedding. Sorry.” She laughed. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Why don’t you come to the dinner? You know some of my family and I would love to introduce you to the rest of them. And it would give you something to do while you pine away for Gus.”
She swatted my arm. “It’s not so bad that I’m pining. Oh, all right, it is that bad. But I would love to come if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all. I’ll text you the directions and we’ll see you at six o’clock.”
“Thank you so much, Brooklyn.” Heather jumped up from the table and grabbed me in a warm hug. “Can you believe how much our lives are changing? I’m so happy I came to the conference and found you. And Gus.”
“Me, too.” And I would be a lot happier when I was certain she wasn’t Sara’s killer.
As I walked home, my phone dinged, indicating a new email. At the stoplight I checked and found a group message from the Librarians Association announcing that there would be a memorial service for Sara in the conference center at three o’clock that afternoon.
What a nice idea, I thought, and picked up my pace. I had almost two hours before I had to be back for the service and I wanted to take a shower and dress nicely.
On a whim, I called Inspector Lee back to tell her about the service, just in case she wanted to observe any buggy behavior.
“Buggy?” she said.
“You know,” I said. “People get buggy when they’re guilty, haven’t you noticed? It’s possible that the murderer could show up and completely flip out after hearing Sara’s eulogy.”
“You’re the only one acting buggy,” she said, snickering. “But that’s part of your charm.”
Smiling to myself, I said, “I know there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”
She laughed, and after we agreed to meet at the designated time, I disconnected the call.
I arrived home just as Derek drove into the garage. We road in the elevator together and I told him about the service. He offered to go with me.
“I would love that,” I said. “You’re my hero.”
I dashed off to take a shower and was ready in record time. But while I’d been showering, Derek had gotten caught up in a conference call with his office. As I waited for him to finish, I strolled back to my studio to spend a few minutes on my computer, checking out all the photos that my bookbinding students and tour participants had sent me.
There were some great shots of the bookbinding class I’d taught and a few of me during my speech on book conservation. I must admit I looked quite professorial. There were some selfies taken by the Purple Sweater Woman on the bus tour, who also took a beautiful shot of my mom and Meg laughing. I caught myself sniffling sentimentally at the two of them looking so happy and so pretty. I copied that photo to another file and wrote myself a note to make copies for both of them. I wouldn’t have time to do it myself and also frame the shots before the wedding, but I would send one to each of them after the honeymoon. I knew they would love it.
I began arranging the pictures in chronological order, and as I opened up more photos and lined them up on my screen, a strange pattern began to emerge. Or maybe I was just too suspicious for my own good.
Wherever the wariness came from, the fact was that I kept seeing the same two men show up in the background. I probably wouldn’t have noticed them, except that they were in so many shots, and more importantly, they just didn’t look like librarians. To be honest, they looked more like thugs.
“Sorry, love,” Derek said from the hall archway. “I’m ready to go now.”
“Will you come look at this?” I asked.
He walked over and stared at the images on my computer screen.
I glanced up at him. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”
“Of course. The same two men appear in the background of many of these photos, yet they weren’t all taken at the same time or in the same place.”
I smiled. I should’ve known he would pick up on it.
“I don’t know what to think,” I said. “Were they following me? I don’t recognize them from any of my classes or the Book Lovers’ Tour. So who are they?”
“This bald fellow looks vaguely familiar,” he said, and pointed to one particular photograph that showed both men’s faces clearly. “Will you send me a copy of this one?”
“Sure.” I clicked on the photo and emailed it to him.
A second later, his phone beeped and he opened up the picture to study it for another minute. He tapped his screen a few times and then closed the program and slid his phone back into his pocket. “Ready to go.”
“Did you send it to your office?”
“Yes. Corinne will run both of them through our facial recognition program and we should have our answers shortly.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go?”
I beamed at him. “You are a genius.”
“Thank you, darling. But you’re the one who pointed me in the right direction.”
“They probably thought they were being discreet, but neither of them look like librarians.” I held up my hand. “I’m not saying that librarians have a look, per se, but . . . you know what I mean.”
He chuckled. “Of course.”
We crossed over to Fifth Street and walked the few short blocks to the conference center. There was still plenty of time to get seats in the large auditorium where the service was being held. We sat next to the aisle near the back and I turned to watch the doorway, hoping to catch Inspector Lee. As soon as she walked in, I waved her over.
“We saved you a seat.”
She nudged me with her elbow. “You’re a peach, Brooklyn.”
The crowd settled down and the head of the librarians’ association walked to the podium. A librarian herself, she presided over the service and gave a touching tribute to “one of our own.”
Several more speakers said lovely things about Sara and I was glad I’d slipped several tissues into my bag. Then the dreaded Cornelia Jones, the head of Sara’s college library, was introduced. She walked to the podium and I realized that I had seen her before. She was the woman who had followed Rod into my classroom the other day. She was probably in her forties, tall and full-figured, with dark hair she wore pulled back in what my mother would call a French roll. She was attractive in a matronly sort of way, but the permanent frown lines around her mouth and across her forehead detracted from any beauty she might’ve once claimed.
Cornelia’s speech was an odd combination of complaints and praise—given begrudgingly. For some reason, instead of celebrating Sara’s life, she painted a dour and depressing picture of life back in their small town. It probably wasn’t meant to be a downer, but I could tell from her face that she had lived her life in that gloomy state of mind. Her words had more to do with her own personality than with Sara or with their hometown. Cornelia was a real sourpuss.
“I suppose Sara got along well with everyone,” she continued, her voice a monotone. “And we will miss her.” She coughed self-consciously and added, “I confess I, er, don’t know too many of the details of her death, but I know that, um, dear Sara died as she lived, buried in books.”
“Buried in books,” I murmured. “Strangely apropos.” And how would she know that little detail if she wasn’t involved in Sara’s murder?
The room burst into thunderous applause, which shocked the heck out of Cornelia. I couldn’t blame her for being surprised at the outpouring, because she was a downright drudge. I had a feeling Sara had gotten along well with everyone except Cornelia. But that line about being buried in books was a definite winner with the librarians.
I leaned closer to Inspector Lee and whispered, “She’s the one who forced Sara to move all those boxes of books. I’ll bet she did it out of spite.”
“What makes you think so?”
“When we met Darla in the booth, she was visibly frightened of being caught talking to us. And she admitted that Cornelia had it in for Sara. And I told you that Sara thought Cornelia was jealous of her. What a horrible boss.”
Lee weighed my words as she studied Cornelia. “She reminds me of an angry dog. Constantly growling.”
“That about sums it up.” I wondered if Inspector Lee had already interviewed Cornelia, but I knew that if I asked her, she would avoid answering.
The applause died down and Cornelia continued speaking.
“She should’ve quit while she was ahead,” I murmured.
Inspector Lee snorted.
Cornelia continued taking subtle digs at Sara. She moaned that the library budget was going to suffer because they had paid for Sara to fly out for the conference, and now that she was dead, it was a wasted ticket. She blamed Sara for all the extra hours Cornelia would have to work. She sniffed contemptuously. “It’s not fair to be saddled with all of her work just because she’s dead. But . . . I suppose she did the best she could. My thoughts and prayers are with her family today.”
“Ugh,” I muttered.
Cornelia had lost any goodwill she might have garnered from the audience and a few minutes later she left the podium accompanied by silence.
“Wow, Debbie Downer,” Inspector Lee whispered. “She really didn’t like our victim. I’m looking forward to hearing her alibi for the other night.”
My eyebrows shot up. So Inspector Lee hadn’t interviewed Cornelia yet. I was glad she’d heard that speech before meeting with the woman. It would give her more perspective on Cornelia’s personality—or lack thereof.
“She’s awful,” I said. “And stupid.” I hadn’t met many stupid librarians in my life because they were usually the smartest people in the room. But Cornelia qualified for stupidity award of the year. And as long as I was handing out awards, she also won in the mean-spirited and passive-aggressive categories.
Happily, the last speaker gave a rousing, upbeat eulogy, and by the end of his speech the crowd was cheering and shouting, “Amen!”
I had to dab my eyes again, it was so moving. Sara and I hadn’t spoken in over a decade, but reconnecting this week had been really great. Whether she had intentions of defrauding a book buyer or not was for the police to figure out, but we had once been friends. This whole mess was breaking my heart.
I glanced around at all the smiling, tearstained faces, relieved that the service had ended on a high note. I wondered why Rod didn’t speak, and I suddenly realized that I hadn’t seen him here at all. I stood and scanned the room, trying to spot him.
“Looking for someone?” Derek asked.
“Seems weird that Sara’s husband wouldn’t be here.”
“Perhaps he has a reason to avoid being seen.”
I nodded intently. “Perhaps he does.”
Inspector Lee glanced at Derek, her eyes narrowed in speculation. “That’s an interesting point. Why would he not attend his wife’s memorial?”
As Derek stood, his phone beeped.
“That might be Corinne,” I said.
“It is Corinne.” He tapped the screen and stared at the results.
“What’s going on?” Inspector Lee asked.
Quickly and quietly, I explained about the two men who’d appeared in so many of the photographs my people had sent me by email. The inspector was watching Derek as closely as I was.
Derek’s assistant, Corinne, was a lovely older woman who had followed him here from their London office to help open their San Francisco branch. She was as smart and efficient as any of the special investigators in Derek’s offices and her loyalty to him was beyond question, a quality I particularly appreciated.
“My suspicions were correct,” he murmured, angling the phone so that I could see the screen. “This fellow here, the one I thought I recognized, is former FBI, now working as a private detective. His name is Roy Mattingly.”
“What’s a private detective doing here?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I shook my head. “Never mind. Dumb question. We’ve got murder and possible criminal fraud, for starters.”
“For starters.” Derek opened another screen on his phone, but closed it after a few seconds.
“More interesting information,” Inspector Lee mused. She wrote down the name of the FBI guy, then glanced around the room as if expecting to see the man.
“Any news on the other guy in the photo?” I asked.
Derek shook his head. “No word yet on him.”
“Too bad.” Derek’s facial recognition system was the most sophisticated in the world. If Corinne couldn’t track down the other guy, he might be completely off the radar.
“Do you have a picture of the other guy?” Inspector Lee asked.
“Absolutely,” Derek said, and brought the photo to his phone screen. “Let me send it to you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “And keep me posted. If you find out who he is, I want to know.”
“Definitely.”
Gazing around the room, I caught sight of Heather speaking to another woman. Seeing her reminded me of something and I turned back to Derek. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Heather to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night. I know she’s a suspect, but we’re still friends until further notice.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he said. “It was kind of you to invite her.”
“I would hate to think of her all alone in her hotel room.”
“I’ll contact the restaurant to add an extra seat at the table.”
“Thank you.”
He glanced around. “Darling, if you don’t mind, I have a few more questions for Inspector Lee.”
“I’m in no hurry to leave,” I said. “Unless you’d rather talk to her alone.”
“Of course not. I’ll just—”
“Brooklyn.”
I whipped around and saw Rod walking toward me. I looked back at Derek and Inspector Lee. “Can you wait a minute? I want to introduce you to Rod.”
“Certainly,” Derek murmured.
I watched Rod approach and wondered, where had he been? I hadn’t seen him during the memorial. Something told me he had heard some of it, though, because his face was pale and his eyes were bloodshot. Had he been crying? Was he really upset about Sara, or was he putting on a show for everyone here? I couldn’t help but be suspicious of him, even if he had a perfectly legitimate alibi for the night of Sara’s death.
Rod came within a few feet before realizing that Inspector Lee was standing with me. His eyes widened and he might have bolted, but I grabbed him before he could take off.
“Rod.” I forced him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”
“I still can’t believe it.”
“I know.” After a moment we broke off the hug and I said, “I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Derek Stone. Derek, this is Rod Martin, Sara’s husband.”
They shook hands and Derek commiserated with him for a moment. Then I said to Rod, “I tried to look for you yesterday to tell you, but I didn’t know where to find you.”
He frowned at me. “Tell me what?”
Derek gave my arm a subtle squeeze before he and Inspector Lee walked off and began talking in hushed tones. I was bummed not to be in on their conversation but I would pester Derek for the details later.
I turned back to Rod. “I—I wanted to catch you before the police found you. To tell you that Sara was, you know, dead.” My throat suddenly dried up. It was still hard to say it.
“Oh.” He blinked a few times, but was still frowning. “I don’t understand. Why would you be the one to tell me that?”
“Because I’m the one who found her.”
His mouth dropped open. “You? Oh, wow. Okay. Sorry, I didn’t realize. That must’ve been horrible for you.”
“It was.” An image planted itself in my brain, of Sara buried alive in that pile of heavy books and broken crates. I shook my head to get rid of the grim picture, but it refused to leave.
“When she didn’t show up in our hotel room, I thought she was just in a snit,” he said. “Figured she would show up eventually when she got over whatever was bugging her.”
“You weren’t worried about her?”
“She’s done this before. Sometimes when she’s really ticked off, she’ll spend the night at a girlfriend’s house. So no, I’m sorry to say I wasn’t worried. But now I feel like an idiot for not going after her. Instead I spent all day in the exhibit hall, doing my schtick.”
“What schtick is that?” I asked, but I had a feeling I knew. And meanwhile, I wondered what he had done to put Sara in a “snit.”
He managed to smile. “Buying and selling books. Wheeling and dealing. That’s my schtick. My job. My company has a booth on the exhibit floor. Number 1274. If you have time, please come by and browse.”
“I’ll do that.” Was he still going to be working in the company booth? Even after his wife’s murder?
He winked at me. “I’ll give you a nice discount.”
This was just creepy. Discounts. Work talk. His wife hadn’t even been dead twenty-four hours. But I smiled and played along. “How can I say no?”
“Great.” He sobered quickly and gave my arm a warm squeeze. “Look, Brooklyn, I know you didn’t want to give up The Three Musketeers, but now that I’ve lost my sweet Sara, I’d be willing to beg to have that book back.”
I sighed. It was so hard to believe anything he said. “I understand your feelings, Rod. I have a lot of sentimental feelings about the book, too, so let me think about it, okay?”
But he was staring at something over my shoulder and whatever he saw did not make him happy. Without warning, he covered his face and began to sob like a baby. Grabbing my arms, he yanked me close and buried his face in my shoulder.
The shock I felt must have shown on my face because Derek took one step closer, grabbed Rod from behind, and jerked him away from me.
“Watch yourself, mate,” Derek said, taking the friendly approach as opposed to punching him in the face.
“Oh. Uh, sorry,” Rod muttered, still sniffling and snorting. “I’m a little overwhelmed.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, then glanced around as though he were embarrassed about his crying jag. But it didn’t feel authentic. I remembered just how good he had been at feigning emotions he wasn’t really feeling, so I was less than moved by the outburst. Rod’s scans of the room were too furtive and I got the feeling he was looking for someone. Or hiding from someone?
“Are you waiting for someone?” I asked, trying to sound casual—as opposed to confrontational.
“Who, me? No.” He raked his hand through his hair. “To tell the truth, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. I’m sorry I broke down there, but I can’t seem to control myself. Whenever I think about Sara, I just lose it.”
At that moment, Derek leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Wait here, love. I’ll be right back.”
Surprised, I watched him stride off and saw Inspector Lee jog after him. Where were they off to? I didn’t follow because I still had a few issues with Rod.
“Anyway, I’m sorry,” Rod said, still sniffling.
I gave him a moment to pull himself together, then said, “I know you’re feeling pretty awful right now, but I have to tell you some more bad news.”
He seemed to brace himself. “What is it?”
“The Three Musketeers book is a forgery.”
“What?” he shouted, then instantly cringed. I almost laughed because it was the same reaction as Inspector Lee’s.
“Sorry for yelling,” he said. “But what in the world are you talking about?”
“I was examining the book this morning and found that the title page had been replaced and the publication date was altered. The book is lovely, but it’s not worth what you thought it was.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he cried. “Are you accusing me of trying to sell a fake book?”
“Not at all,” I said, keeping my voice calm. He was good at feigning emotions, but he didn’t seem to be pretending now. But how could he not have known all along that the book was a forgery? He was supposed to be an expert. And so was Sara for that matter. “I’m just telling you what I discovered.”
I was so wrapped up in Rod’s emotional swings that I hadn’t noticed that Derek had returned. I flashed him a questioning look, but knew better than to ask where he’d gone while Rod was standing here listening. Derek moved closer and casually draped his arm around my shoulders and I recognized it as a purely protective move. I had to admit it felt pretty great to have the man I loved standing at my side.
“I’m a reputable bookseller,” Rod continued, growing more upset. “And I’m completely shocked by this.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “I was pretty shocked when I realized it.”
“How could something like this have happened?”
“You’d know more about that than I would. Did you buy the book from another reputable bookseller?”
“No, I—” He gasped. “Oh my God. Oh no. It was Sara.”
“Sara . . . what?”
“Sara found the book and brought it home to me.”
I flashed him a look of disbelief. “She found it?”
“I mean, she, uh, bought it. In an old used bookstore. They didn’t know what they had, but she recognized its value.”
“Hold on,” I said. “Are you saying—”
“No, you hold on,” he snapped. “Are you accusing Sara of breaking the law behind my back?”
“Calm down, Rod. I don’t know who was breaking the law. It could’ve been the used bookseller.” I was a little affronted that he would instinctively push the blame off on a wife who was no longer here to defend herself. And frankly, I didn’t believe his story that Sara had found it in an old used bookstore. Anyone, especially a bookseller, could see that the book was extremely valuable. “I just know that the book was altered and I’m assuming it was done in order to sell it for a lot more money. And that’s very likely a criminal offense.”
He seemed to mull my words over for a moment, then shook his head numbly. “I’m at a complete loss. I can only surmise that it was Sara who forged the book.”
“Wait. So it wasn’t the bookseller, it was Sara. Was she familiar with the process of forging a book?”
“Of course not. I mean, I don’t know.” His eyes widened with another realization. “Oh no, I’ve got to call her office to let them know. She was the head of the book restoration department. If she did it for one book, she might have done it for others. They need to know.”
I was still angry that he was putting all the blame on Sara. But I had to admit he was right to notify Sara’s college. “That’s a good idea, but can’t Cornelia do it?”
He blinked, apparently surprised that I knew the name of Sara’s boss. “Cornelia is the head librarian but she isn’t in charge of restoration and conservation.”
“I see.”
“I’ll have to take The Three Musketeers back to them,” he said reasonably. “They’ll need to hunt down the original owner and make sure they know exactly what the story is. I’m happy to swing by your place later and pick it up.”
Inspector Lee returned and joined the conversation. “That’s not an option. The book is part of our investigation and will stay in San Francisco until further notice.”
“What?” he demanded. “Why?”
“That’s police business,” she said enigmatically.
I always hated it when she said that to me, but today I rather enjoyed hearing it.
Rod turned to me in confusion as if I might be the one to explain and fix everything.
“The forged book could’ve been the motive.” When my words didn’t seem to register, I added softly, “For Sara’s murder. Remember?”
“Of course,” he said testily, but just as quickly he began to choke back tears. “How can I ever forget she was murdered? I’ll have to live with her loss for the rest of my life.”
“I’m sorry, Rod.” I patted his shoulder. “Look, it’s true that Sara and I didn’t talk to each other for years, but I felt like we were finally starting to connect again. I’ll miss her, too.”
“She would’ve loved to hear you say that.”
“I know. Oh, hey, Heather told me that you two had a drink the other night.”
He gave me a cautious look. “Yeah.”
“She showed me the selfie you took together. That’s a great shot.”
“Thanks.” Rod sighed. “I’m really glad we reconnected, too, Brooklyn.”
“Me, too.” I wasn’t sure that was true, but I didn’t intend to ruin the moment. Rod gave me a quick hug, then eyed Derek and took a few steps back.
“I’d be happy if we could make up for lost time,” he said. “Why don’t I take you and your fiancé out to dinner tomorrow night? We could clear the air and really talk.”
“That’s such a lovely offer, Rod. Thank you. But we’re not available tomorrow night.” I hesitated, then added, “We’re having the rehearsal dinner for our wedding.”
He slapped his forehead. “Of course. My mistake.” He grabbed hold of my hand and clutched it tightly. “I’m so happy for you. Both of you. I wish I could be there to wish you well.”
“Thank you, Rod.”
“Yes, thank you,” Derek said blandly. “Darling, we should go.”
I gazed up at him. I had the feeling he was hoping to get me out of there before I invited Rod to the dinner and wedding. But he didn’t need to worry about that.
“All right, love.” I turned and gave Rod an encouraging smile and a hug. “Take care of yourself, Rod.”
“You, too,” he said, and once again, I caught him glancing anxiously over my shoulder.
Maybe Rod was just one of those people who was always looking for someone more interesting to talk to. Or maybe there was somebody here who scared the bejeezus out of him. I figured that was the more likely scenario because I really got the feeling that he’d been trying to hide behind me earlier. Which was ridiculous since he was several inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier than me.
As he walked away, I realized that none of it mattered, because I would never see him again. I turned to Derek. “Where did you two dash off to?”
Derek shot a glance at Inspector Lee first, then said, “When Rod burst into tears and grabbed you, I happened to see Roy Mattingly standing by the door on the other side of the auditorium.”
“The FBI guy? I’ll bet that’s who Rod was staring at over my shoulder.”
“Quite possibly,” he said. “But oddly enough, as soon as Mattingly saw me coming, he took off.”
“So you didn’t catch up to him?”
“Not yet,” Inspector Lee said, a dangerous edge to her voice.
I clutched Derek’s arm, feeling a bit shaky. If Derek had recognized the FBI guy, then surely the FBI guy knew who Derek was. So why did he run away from him? The possible answers to that question did not exactly fill me with tranquility.
“Darling,” Derek said. “Why did you tell Rod about our rehearsal dinner tomorrow night?”
“I was just making small talk.”
“So you weren’t inviting him to break into our home and steal the book?”
“What? Me? No.”
He pursed his lips as he considered my evasive gaze. “Just checking.”
“It did sound like an invitation to commit burglary,” Inspector Lee mused. “If he were so inclined.”
I gave an uncertain shrug. “Depends on how desperate he is to get that book.”
“I don’t like the odds on this one,” Inspector Lee said.
I slid my arm through Derek’s. “But wouldn’t he assume that the police have the book? Especially after what you said to him.”
Inspector Lee shrugged. “I didn’t exactly admit that we have it. And he might be desperate enough to try to break in anyway.”
I gazed up at Derek. “Our house is impenetrable, right?”
“Nothing is impenetrable,” he said, so casually that I knew I’d blown it.
“Your place comes close, though,” Inspector Lee pointed out.
But Derek’s tone said it all.
“Shoot,” I grumbled. “I screwed up, right?”
He gave me a comforting squeeze. “We might be able to remedy it.”
I took a moment to rethink the problem. “If I ask nicely, Inspector Lee, would you consider assigning someone to watch our place?”
She laughed. “Brooklyn, you’re so entertaining. But sorry, I can’t justify the man-hours on a hunch.”
Derek smiled. “No need, Inspector. I’ll have one of my men keep an eye on things.”
“That’s handy,” she said, grinning. I had to agree.
“Thank you.” I reached up and kissed his cheek. “And I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Blame it on wedding jitters.”
But Derek’s attention was diverted elsewhere. I turned to see what he was looking at and saw Rod Martin talking to Cornelia, Sara’s boss. They both looked furious and Rod was jabbing his finger at her. She shoved him and he grabbed her arm.
“Whoa, what’s that all about?” I wondered.
“Two angry people blaming each other for a crime?”
“Think I’ll go find out,” Inspector Lee said, and took off across the room.
Derek and I glanced at each other and immediately followed, approaching from behind so Rod wouldn’t see us. The crowd had thinned out, so we could get close enough to hear them clearly.
“She hated you,” Rod was saying. “And I know you hated her, too. You were practically giddy when you sent her down to that basement to get those books.”
“That doesn’t mean I killed her.”
“With Sara out of the way, you stand to—”
“Why would I kill the golden goose?” she hissed.
Inspector Lee strolled up, stopping the conversation. “Everything okay here?”
“Who the hell are you?” Cornelia demanded.
“That’s just rude,” Lee said, grinning.
I almost laughed and whispered to Derek, “This is not going to end well.”
He just shook his head.
Lee flashed her badge and then took Cornelia’s arm. “I’d like you to come with me.”
“What? No! Why aren’t you taking him?”
“I already spoke to Mr. Martin. Now I want to talk to you.”
“I didn’t do anything!” she wailed.
As Inspector Lee passed us, she rolled her eyes. “This day just keeps getting better and better. I’ve got to play the lottery.”
It probably wasn’t funny, but we both laughed all the way home.
Back home, we settled down at the kitchen bar. Derek pulled out a bottle of wine, but then stopped. “Darling, do you realize we have neglected to choose our cocktails for the wedding?”
“I didn’t want to say anything,” I said coyly.
He studied me for a moment. “You forgot as well, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” I grinned, then shrugged. “I’m afraid we’ve become slipshod in our wedding preparations.”
“It’s disgraceful.” He opened the cabinet in the dining room and removed a shaker and two martini glasses. “Let’s get this done and try not to be distracted again.”
“You’re right.” I sighed. “If we don’t have a signature cocktail at our wedding, people will talk.”
“I couldn’t live with that,” he said, and began concocting the first drink. “And I don’t want you to lose sleep so I will admit that I emailed the caterers to let them know our two choices.”
“So they’ll be prepared with whatever choice we make?”
“Exactly.”
Derek knew that, besides being delicious, I had only one other requirement of our signature cocktail and that was that it had to contain light-colored liquids. I hated the thought of someone spilling a Tequila Sunrise on my pristine white wedding dress.
“Now this first one is a light amber shade, but I think you’ll find it delicious.” Derek dipped the rims of the two martini glasses in white sugar, poured the liquid into the glasses, and handed one to me.
“It’s pretty. What is it?”
“Essentially it’s a sidecar, but with several twists. We start with a good cognac, add simple syrup made with honey instead of sugar, add in a shot of orange liqueur and a generous squeeze of fresh lemon juice. Then shake vigorously and garnish with a good-sized lemon twist.”
After one sip, I said, “I choose this one. It’s just as delicious as you said it would be. Does it have a name?”
He grinned. “Why don’t you name it?”
I thought for a moment. “Honey, lemon twist, cognac. How about Twisted French Honey?”
“A bit complicated,” he said with a laugh.
“Okay. We can shorten it to Twisted Honey. It’s quirky yet romantic. I like it.”
“Then it’s perfect.”
“Are you going to make the second drink?”
“My second choice starts with a base of ginger syrup that involves a lot of peeling and chopping and then boiling and steeping the ginger root to draw out its rich, peppery flavor. So for the caterers’ and bartenders’ sake, I suggest we stick with the Twisted Honey, if that works for you.”
“It works great for me.” I took another sip and smiled.
He leaned over and kissed me. “I’ll email the caterers to let them know what we’ve decided on.”
“So except for a quick trip to Tiffany tomorrow, we are officially done with all the wedding preparations. Hallelujah.” I took the last sip of my drink and set my glass on the bar. “I think we should have another round, just to be sure.”
Despite overindulging on two Twisted Honeys the night before, I woke up without the jitters and that put me in a good mood right from the start. The entire day ran like a well-oiled machine. All my plans fell in line perfectly, a miracle after the last few days of internal chaos and missteps. My sisters and Robin were on time for our mani-pedis at the spa, and Alex, my mom, and Meg joined us, too. We laughed and chatted and had the best time together. Now that my sisters and Robin lived in the wine country, I missed hanging out with all of them, so we vowed to do this more often.
Afterward, I broke away from the group and stopped at Tiffany to pick out gifts for my girls. I found the cutest silver bracelet with one tiny dangling heart and ended up buying six of them. One for me, one for each of my four bridesmaids, and one for Alex, who had been such a great help to me.
The shoe crisis solution alone had made Alex’s gift worth it, but she had also been an awesome self-defense instructor for the past year and had helped me get my arms in shape for my wedding dress. And she did actually save my life at least twice. She was dating my darling, dangerous friend Gabriel, which provided me with good gossip and intrigue. Plus, cupcakes. Alex had become very dear to me and I wanted to make sure she knew it.
I had to admit I was a little anxious as I dressed for our rehearsal dinner. Not because of the dinner, which would be wonderful; and not because of the guests, some of whom I had never met; but because I was worried that our house might be broken into while we were out.
“I never should’ve said anything to Rod,” I muttered to myself in the mirror.
“Meow,” Charlie said in agreement as she took two turns around and then plopped down on top of my feet.
I smiled and lifted her up to snuggle for a minute. “I love you, Charlie Cupcake.”
I had never known a cat to be this affectionate, especially after my experiences babysitting Vinnie and Suzie’s two cats, Pookie and Splinters. Those two had always been properly disdainful of everything I did for them. But Charlie was a sweet creature who seemed to love me as much as I loved her. She made me happy. It helped that she had been a gift from Derek, which meant that I cherished her all the more.
Derek checked his phone as he walked into the room. “Mitch is in place, parked across the street,” he announced. “So along with every high-tech security gadget known to man, our home is being monitored by a real live human who is trained to kill.”
“Wonderful.” I wasn’t sure if he was kidding about the “trained to kill” part, but I was happy to hear that Mitch was on duty.
“Ready, love?” Derek asked.
I set Charlie down and grabbed my small clutch purse. “Whenever you are.”
We had rented a private room in our favorite restaurant near the Embarcadero. The cozy terrace offered a view of the Bay Bridge and the Berkeley Hills beyond. The weather was temperate enough to have cocktails outside and that was where I was introduced to the rest of Derek’s family.
Seeing Derek chatting with his four brothers took my breath away. One man was more gorgeous than the next, and all of them had a dangerous streak that added to their attractiveness. Naturally, the most gorgeous and dangerous of them all was Derek, although any of his brothers’ wives might have argued the point.
I was about to take a sip from my second glass of champagne when Heather walked in.
We gave each other air kisses and I laughed. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Thank you so much for inviting me. This is so special.” She looked a little hesitant. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought a guest.”
“Oh.” I was shocked, but recovered quickly. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
She was watching the door. “Here he is.”
I was thinking how happy I was that Gus could see her tonight after all. But then I spun around to greet . . .
“Rod?”