I didn’t even like the guy. In fact, I hated him. He had threatened my mother and maybe even tried to kill her, and for that, there was zero forgiveness. I was glad he wouldn’t be around to torment my mother ever again. But it didn’t make my stomach feel any better to see the jerk’s blood oozing out of him and into the oriental carpet on the floor of Clyde’s shop.
Poor Clyde. Poor bookshop. The Good Book had been a landmark in Dharma for over twenty years. I loved this place, but now the shop would always be a murder scene. It might bring more tourists in, but I had to wonder if I’d ever be completely comfortable here again.
So many happy memories were all wrapped up in Clyde’s charming shop. But now they were clouded after finding the bloody body of creepy Jacob Banyan lying dead on the floor.
Banyan ruined everything, I grumbled under my breath. But I wouldn’t let him ruin Clyde’s Good Book for me.
Within minutes, Stevie—I mean Detective Willoughby—arrived with two officers. After confirming that Banyan was indeed dead, they began to question Derek and me. They wanted to know how and when we had run into Clyde and why we had walked with him to the bookshop where we found Banyan’s body.
I told Stevie everything that had occurred at the committee meeting earlier that afternoon and how Banyan had once again threatened my mother and insulted almost everyone else on the committee. I made a point of telling him how Derek had thrown the big jerk out of the room. I reiterated my suspicions about Banyan trying to run Mom down. I wasn’t sure that mattered anymore, but I was compelled to mention it anyway.
It was clear from Stevie’s line of questioning that the police were suspicious of Clyde. After all, the body was found in his bookshop. I told Stevie that he was barking up the wrong tree and should look elsewhere because there was no way that Clyde could’ve killed Banyan.
“First of all,” I said, “the timing is all wrong. Clyde was having dinner at El Diablo at the same time that Banyan was killed.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asked.
Well of course not! I thought, but didn’t say it. Instead, I just shrugged. “Not entirely, but I know you’ll interview the restaurant staff to make sure.”
“Yes, we will,” he said tightly, although I thought I caught a gleam of amusement in his eyes. I hoped it was amusement, anyway. I occasionally saw the same glimmer in Inspector Lee’s eyes, but that usually meant she was getting ready to lampoon me. I couldn’t be sure if Stevie had reached that level of mockery yet, but time would tell.
“And second,” I continued, picking up where I left off. “Banyan was so much bigger and more powerful than Clyde. How could Clyde possibly overpower Banyan enough to shove a knife in his throat?”
“How do you know it was a knife?” Stevie asked.
I opened my mouth to speak, but then had to close it quickly. Was this a trick question? Frankly, I had no idea whether he’d been killed with a knife or not.
“I don’t know exactly,” I admitted. “But it’s, you know, an educated guess since there was lots of blood around his throat.” I ran my fingers along my neck, just in case he was unclear on the concept. I frowned. “Was it another broken wine bottle?”
Stevie flipped to a new page in his notebook. “Did you see anyone else on the street as you were walking toward the bookshop?”
I closed my eyes and tried to picture our walk down the Lane earlier that evening. With a sigh, I opened my eyes. “There were people walking up and down the Lane, but I didn’t see anyone I knew.”
He jotted something down and thought about it for a minute. Then he closed the notebook and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Okay, that’s it for now. We’ll probably have some follow-up questions in the next day or so.”
“Call me anytime,” I said. “I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do.” I hesitated, then added, “I just hate that there’s a murderer roaming the streets of Dharma. It’s shocking and frightening. I hate that it’s happening right before the festival. It’s all so wrong.”
“Yeah, it’s wrong,” he said flatly. “And we intend to catch him before anyone else gets hurt.”
I nodded. “Good.”
He raised his hand and gave me a casual salute. “Good night, Brooklyn.”
So Jacob Banyan was dead. Even though his death meant that there was still a vicious killer roaming the streets of Dharma, I felt a keen sense of relief. Because, you know, that big brutish bully Jacob Banyan was gone and we were safe.
But that was just a lie. We weren’t safe. My mother wasn’t safe. Someone had tried to kill her and now we didn’t know if the driver had been Banyan or the even more vicious person who had killed him. Either way, we would still be sticking to Mom like superglue for the foreseeable future.
I think we need to make a list,” I said, taking a sip of wine.
Derek and I had made it home and had settled down in the comfortable family room with our mushroom and sausage pizza, antipasto salad, and the lovely Cabernet Sauvignon that my father had handed Derek when we stopped by to give them the news about Banyan a little while ago. Mom had been completely shocked and expressed her sorrow that he was dead. But I sensed some relief from her, too.
I had hated to spoil the moment by reminding both Mom and Dad that there was still a killer out there who may have also targeted my mother.
“A list, you say,” Derek said, and sipped his wine.
“Yes. A list of murder suspects, now that our best suspect is dead.”
Charlie must have sensed our somber mood because she jumped up onto the couch and squeezed between us, rubbing her soft, furry body against both of us. Then she cuddled up in the middle, allowing us to take turns giving her strokes and soft scratches and nonsensical murmurs, calling her silly names like “my little peanut” and “punky-wunky.”
I’ll confess that Derek doesn’t call her silly names. That would be me.
“Our prime suspect is dead,” Derek lamented, picking up on my last comment. “It tends to spoil all of our best laid plans.”
“Yeah, I hate it when the prime suspect dies.”
I bit off a small chunk of the delicious Italian sausage and savored it. “I especially hate that we still have to worry that there’s someone out there who wants to kill my mother.”
Derek frowned. “We don’t know that someone else is trying to kill your mother. Now that Banyan’s dead, the threat to her may be over.”
I pressed my hands to my stomach. “I hope so. Because the thought of her still being in danger makes my stomach twist itself into a pretzel.”
“I know, love, and I’m sorry. It’s not a good situation.” Derek frowned thoughtfully. “We’ve got to find this killer before he tries anything again.”
“Or she,” I added.
His eyes narrowed. “Yes, there is definitely that possibility.”
“So back to my list.” I took another quick sip of wine, then picked up my pen. “Saffron Bergeron.”
“She belongs at the top of the list,” Derek agreed. “She’s quite bitter and seems to have it in for your mother. I watched her when Banyan lost his chance to fund the festival. She was as angry as he was.”
“And that’s just stupid, because my mother is a wonderful person.”
“She is indeed. And that’s one more reason why Saffron can’t understand her.”
“What a contrary muggle she is,” I muttered.
Derek grinned, but said nothing for a long moment. Then he asked, “But why would she kill Banyan?”
“Oh heck. I have no idea.” I took a big sip of wine. “Let’s move on. Number two on my list is Shandi Patrick.”
He gazed at me. “That’s quite a leap since we’ve never even met the woman. Why do you think she belongs on the list?”
“Remember when Mom told us that she had stormed into the bank looking for Banyan?”
“Yes. She was angry that he was attempting to foreclose on her winery.”
“Right. Glenmaron Winery. Of course, she doesn’t have to worry about the winery now that he’s dead.”
“And you think she might’ve killed him to prevent him from going through with that plan.”
“Yes.”
“It makes sense. Isn’t she also trying to make a Hollywood comeback?”
“That’s the rumor.” I shrugged and reached for a cherry tomato.
“I’m not certain her wanting to make a Hollywood comeback is relevant. But I would agree that there’s something going on with her. It’s too bad we couldn’t meet her tonight.”
“Yeah, it would’ve been good to get a feel for her personality and attitude.”
Derek stared at his wineglass, obviously thinking about something. “She had to run out to meet someone, your sister said.”
“Right. And then Jacob Banyan winds up dead. Coincidence?”
“You know my answer to that.”
“Jacob Banyan said something snarky about Shandi during the committee meeting. I wonder if Ryan reported that to her.”
“He could have, and I imagine it would’ve enraged her. But it’s also possible that he didn’t say anything, not wanting to hurt her feelings.”
“Yeah, that’s probably more likely.” I thought for a minute. “There are plenty of suspects when it comes to Banyan’s death, but who would want to come after my mother?”
“And who among those suspects would also want to kill Lawson Schmidt?” I set my wineglass on the table. “This is getting too complicated.”
“Let’s not throw in the towel yet,” he said. “How do you feel about the other committee members?”
I closed my eyes and pictured the meeting room. “There’s Mom, Winston, Jan, Sue Flanders, Marybeth Novak, Professor Dinkins, Clyde, Ryan, Saffron Bergeron.” I opened my eyes and frowned. “I remember counting ten committee members that first day. So who am I missing?”
He gave my arm a light squeeze. “You’re missing Lawson, darling.”
“Oh dear. Sorry. Of course.” I picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite. “I don’t know who to put on the suspect list because if anyone didn’t like my mom or Lawson, they invariably liked Jacob Banyan. So who would kill both of them?”
“I haven’t a clue. But I do have other questions. For instance, why would Ryan urge your mother to fix things for Shandi?”
“I don’t know. He was destined to fail. Which makes him come off as a fool while Shandi comes across as conciliatory and willing to go along with whatever is asked of her.”
“At least, that’s how London made her sound,” I said. “London seems to love her. And funny how Shandi never asked to be cast in a different role.”
“Because she cleverly plays up to her director,” he guessed.
“Pretty smart, since London’s in charge of the entire production.” I took another bite of pizza.
“Do you think Ryan would kill for her?”
I almost choked on my pizza but managed to swallow. “What?”
“It’s something to think about.”
“I guess. But I hate to think he’s that malleable.” I put the rest of my pizza down on the plate and shook my head. “Of course, he’s so mild mannered, he’s practically invisible.”
“Beware of the quiet ones,” he murmured, sipping his wine.
“I suppose you’re right. But do you really think he could’ve faced down Banyan?”
“I have no idea. And for all we know, the killer surprised Banyan with no facing down involved. I suppose if she pays him enough, Ryan will do whatever she says.”
I thought about it. “I don’t really believe he’s our prime suspect because he has no reason to kill anyone.”
“I agree,” Derek said. “But Shandi does. And so does Saffron. And when it comes to Banyan, the entire committee does, too. So for now, they all stay on the list.” He took a bite of pizza and chewed it thoughtfully. “So what about Lawson? We haven’t really discussed who might’ve had it in for him.”
“True, but any one of those committee members might’ve come after him, seeing as how he stole all of their money.”
“In that case, your mother would be a suspect.”
“Oh, she would love to hear us say that,” I said with a laugh.
Derek swirled his wine. “Our biggest problem is still that whoever went after your mother would never go after Banyan.”
“But Lawson is another problem altogether. There are too many suspects in his case.” I reached for my own wineglass. “I’m getting confused.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb,” Derek said. “The same person who killed Lawson and Banyan also went after your mother. And that person is a member of the festival committee.”
“I’ll agree to that.”
“And the most prominent suspects, in my humble opinion, are Saffron, Clyde, that professor fellow, and Ryan, simply because of his connection to Shandi.”
“You’re gunning for Ryan.”
He smiled. “I’m not, honestly. But I do remember him casting that ‘no’ vote. Along with Saffron and the professor and someone else I can’t recall.”
“Professor Dinkins works at the Sonoma Institute of the Arts.”
“Do you know him well?”
“I always got along with him when I was teaching at the Institute, but we weren’t close.”
I had a sudden flashback to my days at the Institute and how awful some of the professors turned out to be. I hesitated to remind Derek of what we went through back then, but I knew I had to say something. “I’m wondering if Dinkins was a friend of Solomon’s.”
Solomon—he only went by the one name—was a professor who loved to have students fawn over him. He collected sycophants and was very creepy.
Derek’s jaw clenched. “That man was a psychopath.”
“Oh, for sure. But even psychos have friends.”
Derek swirled his wine, the casual move belying the tension he had to be feeling. Those were dark days, I thought.
“If Dinkins was close to Solomon,” I finally said, “I wonder if he knew how truly screwed up he was.”
“More importantly,” he countered, “does he know of Solomon’s connection to you and me?”
“And to my mother,” I added, and felt a chill crawl up my arms and gather in my shoulders. “I don’t even want to consider that possibility.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I don’t either. But we won’t discount Dinkins altogether just yet.”
I munched on another bite of salad as I studied the names. “Who are we forgetting?”
Derek gazed at me. “Clyde.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?” Derek said, surprised at my vehemence. “You said that very quickly.”
“I know I should put him on the list.” I thought maybe I should be wringing my hands, I felt so guilty. “After all, Banyan was killed inside his shop and he could’ve been faking that whole unlocked door scene.”
“Yes, he could’ve made that up on the spot. And let’s not forget that Clyde had the book that once belonged to Lawson.”
“But he gave the book to me. Look, I’ve known him most of my life. And sure, he comes across as an old grump, but once you get to know him, he’s . . . well, he’s still grumpy. But he’s smart and funny and charming. And don’t forget, Gabriel likes him.”
“Gabriel’s opinion weighs a lot,” Derek said, squeezing my shoulder fondly. “But not as much as yours. If you’d rather not add him to the list, we won’t. For now.”
I breathed out a sigh. Could the man be any more perfect for me? I didn’t think so. Especially when we could enjoy pizza and wine, and consider murder suspects all at the same time. “Thank you. I love you.”
He began to laugh. “I love you, too, darling. But I can see that you’re stressing out over this list. But it’s our list. We can make it up as we go along. We make the decisions, isn’t that so?”
“Yes.” I grabbed my wineglass and sucked down a healthy sip. “We’re the deciders.”
“Hear, hear,” he said, and clinked his glass to mine. “So read me the names on the list.”
I set down my wineglass. “Saffron, Shandi, Ryan, Professor Dinkins, and everyone else on the committee, including Clyde, but not really Clyde.”
“So, not Clyde,” Derek said. “Which leaves us only four real suspects. I was expecting several dozen.”
“There could be people we aren’t even aware of. Like some friend of Banyan’s. Or someone who was blackmailing Lawson. Or—”
“We can search the entire valley for suspects and motives, love, but I think we should stick to the committee. Otherwise, we’ll drive ourselves insane.”
“Okay, you’re right,” I admitted. “But I’ll just add that blackmail is a very good motive. Specifically with Lawson.”
“And I agree. But now let’s change the subject to the fact that you could be in danger because of that book.”
I could feel my stomach begin to tighten all over again. “I’ve been so concerned about my mother that I keep forgetting that other little issue.”
“Well, I haven’t,” he said. “And as long as we’re sticking close to your mother for safety’s sake, I’ll also be sticking close to you.”
“Despite the possibility of mortal danger, I’m happy to have you close by.”
“You can’t get rid of me so easily.”
“Don’t want to.” I gazed at the names and wondered. “So any last word on motives?”
“For Lawson’s killer, it could have been about the money. Someone stole the money that he stole from the festival. Or someone was blackmailing him for taking the money in the first place so he handed over the money.”
“I thought it had to be Banyan who killed Lawson,” I said. “All along, I’ve been thinking that all Banyan wanted was his own festival booth. I suppose he thought it would bring him some respectability, which is kind of ludicrous when you think about it. I mean, the guy was making box wine in the midst of the Sonoma wine country. He was never going to be considered respectable.”
“He might not have realized that.”
“No,” I murmured. “He was too vain, too far into himself to see the reality.”
“What other reasons would he insist on being part of the festival?”
I thought about it. “Prestige? Connections? Acceptance? Visibility? Was he trying to impress someone?”
“We might never know,” Derek said.
“Well, that’s not very satisfying.”
He chuckled. “We’ll do our best to find out.”
“I hope so.”
Derek finished the last of his wine. “Could Banyan have been working with Lawson behind your mother’s back?”
“I suppose so. To tell the truth, I never really trusted Lawson all that much.”
“Perhaps they had a falling out when Lawson couldn’t work out a way to get him a booth at the festival.”
“So Banyan killed Lawson? And then someone killed Banyan?” I frowned, then yawned. “Could we really have that many murderers wandering through Dharma?”
“It’s possible.”
“So what was the motive for killing Banyan?”
Derek smiled. “I believe we need to cut this discussion short and go to bed.”
“Good idea.” I stretched my arms over my head. “I’m so tired all of a sudden. There are too many players and I’m getting confused about motives and I’m worried about my mother.”
“Let’s go to sleep. We’ll think more clearly in the morning.”
We straightened up the room and packed up the food. Then Derek picked up Charlie and we went upstairs to bed.
The next morning my phone rang, and it was my mother. “You won’t believe who called me.”
“Who?” I asked
“Saffron. She called a few minutes ago, hysterical about Jacob Banyan. She accused me of killing him!”
“She’s insane,” I said, and suddenly this morning’s delicious avocado toast formed a ball of anxiety in my stomach. “You need to get rid of her.”
“I can’t get rid of her. She’s in charge of the festival promotion, and to be honest, she does a good job. She’s just a miserable person.”
“Okay. But you should call Stevie and report her phone call. She could come after you if she honestly thinks you had anything to do with Banyan’s death.”
“I’ll call him right now.”
“And, Mom, I don’t want you to go anywhere today.”
“I can’t stay home! I have far too much to do.”
“Derek and I will take care of all your book-festival errands. You do everything you can on the phone and the computer, and then just text us with directions on anything that needs to be done in person.”
She protested but finally acquiesced. But as extra insurance, Derek called Gabriel to ask him to contact Stevie to see how the murder investigations were proceeding.
“And ask him what’s happening with those surveillance cameras on the Lane,” I said.
“I’ll take care of it,” Gabriel said.
The rest of the day flew by in a flurry of activity. Derek had several hours of conference calls with his office and with clients, and I got lost in the pages of Little Women. We didn’t slow down until it was close to midnight and we finally went to bed.
The next day I had to spend more time working on the book rehab, but I knew Mom had work to do at the festival and I didn’t want Derek to be her only protector. He solved the problem by calling Gabriel who agreed to meet them at the town hall.
I knew that Mom’s first priority was to make sure that the booths were being set up in the correct pattern around Berkeley Circle. She was also going to meet up with the porta-potty dude and give him my cashier’s check for ten thousand dollars, which meant that she and Derek would have to walk over to my bank on the Lane and get a cashier’s check from my checking account, on which Derek was a signatory. They promised to call me if there were any problems. But there weren’t, thank goodness.
My personal priority was to work on the book for four hours in the morning. Then Derek would pick me up and we would attend the committee’s tea party to welcome the Louisa May Alcott scholar.
It was a pretty sure bet that Gabriel wanted nothing to do with the Alcott tea party. But then, neither did Derek. He had insisted that he was looking forward to it, of course, and I was pitifully grateful to him for lying.
Meanwhile, I had a moment of sheer panic when I didn’t see the Little Women book inside my plastic bookbinding crate.
“Oh God.” I had meant to find a more secure place to hide it, but had completely forgotten in all the chaos surrounding the two murders and my mother’s attack.
“This isn’t happening,” I muttered. I definitely remembered wrapping it in the soft white cloth and putting it right on top of the crate. And I couldn’t remember taking it out again. So it had to be here.
Unless it had been stolen.
But who knew I had the book? Clyde had sworn he didn’t tell anyone and I believed him. Not only was he grumpy, but he didn’t talk about his business much.
I wondered how anyone could’ve broken into Annie’s house. I knew it had a state-of-the-art alarm system comparable to Gabriel’s, because he was the one who had installed it. Still, there were ways. Maybe the book thief was a friend of Annie’s. Maybe he knew the code or had talked her into letting him come inside at some point.
“Search the whole box,” I said to myself. It could be stuck between something. I went ahead and started by removing my canvas traveling bag of tools, then my pint container of Polyvinyl Acetate or PVA, which was the archival glue I used most often for bookbinding.
And that’s when I saw the bit of white cloth pressed against the lower side of the crate. The book must have slipped down when I carried it from Abraham’s workshop back to the house.
I had to take a minute and breathe. All that panic for nothing, but seriously, I wasn’t sure what I would’ve done if that book had been stolen. Maybe I was kidding myself and maybe it wasn’t as valuable as I hoped it would be, but I had a feeling that the book could be the key to everything.
I put my tools and glue jars back into the box, placed Little Women on top, and carried everything out to Abraham’s workshop.
As before, I put the box down next to the worktable and pulled out the bag of chocolate caramel Kisses to keep up my strength. Then I grabbed my magnifying glasses and my camera. I laid out the white cloth and placed the book on top of it. I studied it as though it were the first time, admiring the illustration of the four sisters, then checking the front and back.
I had to finish sweeping each page and each gutter with my short, stiff brush, and check for foxing all through the book. The paper itself was of good quality, not thin and weak, and I thought I might be able to get away with using a soft gum eraser on any smudges. Yesterday I had cut new endpapers, a new cover, new headbands, and new pastedowns.
I was happy that the book had a cloth cover rather than leather, so I would simply replace it with a high-quality bookcloth. I didn’t mind working in leather, but it was much more time-consuming job. And the one thing I didn’t have was much time to complete this job. I had already decided to carefully remove the cover illustration and insert it into a cutout within the new bookcloth. I envisioned a beveled edge that would improve the look of the cover and I hoped that Clyde would be happy with it. Not that he cared, I supposed, but I would be happy.
I would also have to gild the titles and add a touch of decoration onto the spine. That would take some extra time and I planned to save that job until the end.
For now, I splayed the book open on the white cloth and used my X-Acto knife to cut along the front hinge, separating the front cover from the textblock—this consisted of the actual sewn pages that made up the book’s interior content. I did the same with the back cover, cutting along the hinge until the entire cover and spine were separated from the rest. I set the cover aside and took hold of the textblock. I gripped it with the spine facing me and tore off the original headbands, those small, decorative fabric bands attached to the head and foot of the spine. The headbands, besides being pretty, served to cover up any remnants of loose threads and glue that might otherwise be visible after binding. Ideally, they also add strength to the spine itself.
I carefully picked a few bits of old glue from the spine and from the super, which is a very stiff strip of woven cotton that also adds strength to the spine.
Books from this era were invariably held together with animal glue and, sure enough, that was what I found on the surface of the spine. Animal glue was derived from animal protein, and while it had its uses, it tended to turn brittle on paper and darken and shrink with age.
Of course, if the book’s owner had kept the book in pristine condition, it wouldn’t have been an issue. But since I had to take the entire book apart, I would go ahead and get rid of this glue and replace it with good old archival PVA.
I pushed away from the table and walked over to what Abraham had always called his glue cupboard, where he kept his myriad containers of every type of glue known to man. I found an unopened bag of methyl cellulose powder and poured two-and-a-half tablespoons into the large glass mixing cup that he kept in the cupboard. At the sink, I turned on the hot water and waited for it to warm up, then added one-quarter cup to the powder. I stirred it quickly to keep any lumps from forming, and when it was a nice consistency, I carried it over to the worktable.
Once again holding the textblock with the spine facing me, I began to brush on the mixture. This would help loosen and break down the old animal-based adhesive and allow it to be more easily removed.
While the methyl cellulose did its thing, I started work on the front cover. I had to peel away the bookcloth from the cover boards, but since I wanted to keep the charming illustration intact, I had to carefully pry it away instead of just tearing it.
I rolled out my canvas tool kit and found my micro spatula, a paper-thin stainless steel tool that’s exactly what its name implies: an eensy-weensy spatula. I slid the tool in between the interior endsheet and the cloth turnover and used it as a wedge to separate the two, inching ever so slightly forward from the outer edges to the center of the board, until the entire cover was loosened.
Later, I would trim the edges of the pretty illustration and fit it into a beveled space in the bookcloth that would give the effect of a picture frame. But that would happen tomorrow.
For now, I returned to the textblock spine and began to scrape off the softened animal glue with another micro spatula. Since I had discovered this tool in a catalog last year, it had become one of my favorites. I had a feeling it was originally created to be used by surgeons in hospitals, but I didn’t want to think about that too much because blood.
Eventually I would have to sand the surface of the boards to make them smooth before laying down the new bookcloth and endpapers. I wanted to avoid the bubbles and ripples that could ruin a pretty new cover.
Removing the old cloth was a painstaking job that took more time than I realized. When the alarm on my phone beeped, I was surprised that four hours had passed.
I stood and stretched, and wondered where the time had gone. It seemed to fly by when I was immersed in my bookbinding work.
Knowing Derek would be home any minute to pick me up, I quickly packed up my equipment and supplies, wrapped up the book in the white cloth, and carried everything back to the house.
I changed out of my jeans and into a slightly dressier pair of brown plaid pants, a pretty mocha-colored sweater, and black booties. I carried a jacket and scarf with me downstairs and sat and played with Charlie until I heard Derek’s car drive up.
“You have a good day, Charlie,” I murmured, stroking the fluffy, soft fur of her back and scratching her ears. “I love you, funny face.”
I gave a quick glance around to make sure there was nobody listening to my ridiculous conversation with my cat. Then I locked up the house and set the alarm. Before I could even turn around, Derek was standing beside me.
“Hello, darling,” he murmured, and kissed me.
“Hi, you.” I smiled up at him. “Everything okay with Mom?”
“Gabriel is with her and so is my mother.”
“Meg is at the town hall?”
“Your mother invited her to attend the tea party.”
“How nice. That’ll be fun for both of them.” I batted my eyelashes at him. “And for us, of course.”
“Oh yes,” he said somberly. “Tea parties are my life.”
I laughed. “Gabriel will be there and there are other men on the committee.”
“Fun for all of us.”
I touched his cheek. “You can slip out with Gabriel and have a beer.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not going anywhere unless you and your mother are there with me.”
I sighed. “Thank you.”
He glanced down at the plastic crate I’d carried out of the house. “What’s this?”
“My bookbinding tools are in there, but more importantly, it contains the copy of Little Women that I’m working on.”
“The expensive one?”
“Yes. I didn’t know where to hide it safely inside the house, so I was wondering if we could just put it in the trunk of your car.”
“Good thinking,” he said, easily lifting the crate. “My car is fairly safe.”
I smiled. “I know.”
I watched while he stowed the book and my tools in the trunk and shut the lid with a heavy thud. His Bentley was built like an armored tank inside a beautiful, classy exterior, and his alarm system was, like everything else he did, one step beyond state-of-the-art.
We got in the car and Derek leaned over to kiss me again. Then he deftly reached into the glove compartment and pulled out his very deadly looking gun.
I shivered at the sight of the weapon. “Do you think you’ll need that?”
“I hope not,” he said lightly, “but I won’t take chances with our mothers.”
“I appreciate that.”
As we drove off, I stared at the glove compartment in front of me. I realized I had the truly convenient facility for forgetting there was a deadly weapon just inside that box, waiting for the next time Derek called it into action.
I truly hoped today wasn’t one of those days.