to talk about it. Will you promise me?”
I nodded and rested my head on his shoulder. “Yes, I promise.”
His hold tightened. “I trust you, too, Brooklyn,” he whispered, and kissed my temple.
A gasp closed my throat and tears sprang to my eyes. His simple statement overwhelmed me. I could feel his heart beating in rhythm with my own and it filled me with joy. I almost blurted out how much I loved him, but I hesitated. The time wasn’t quite right. We’d come so far so fast, it was probably best to wait. Right now, all I wanted to do was savor this moment in his arms.
The following morning, I found myself moving a little slower than usual and chalked it up to all the Kama Sutra research Derek and I had undertaken the night before. That’s right, I was calling it
After Vinnie popped in to feed Pookie, I left the house and drove to Robin’s neighborhood. My first stop was a florist’s shop, where I bought a bouquet of red tulips. Then I couldn’t resist running into the bakery and buying two red velvet cupcakes as a welcome-home gift. I drove to Robin’s place and waited for the deliverymen to bring her new bed. After the movers had put it all together, I made up the bed for her, then placed the tulips on her dining room table with a note welcoming her home and letting her know there were cupcakes in the refrigerator.
That afternoon, Inspector Lee called to let me know they’d picked up Galina and brought her in for questioning. I was happy they’d found her, but it concerned me that Inspector Jaglom thought she might be innocent, based on the time frame when that young man, Stanislav, was killed. If Galina didn’t do it, then who did? Who else was involved in this espionage fiasco?
But looking on the bright side again, at least Galina was in custody and unable to attack Robin or me.
Nevertheless, I felt anxious and antsy, so I buried myself in work. Fortifying myself with three kinds of chocolate, I began the actual restoration of the Kama Sutra.
I started with the leather cover, wiping it with a specially treated cloth that wouldn’t hurt the leather but would clean away any grime that had been caught in the seams and around the embedded gems. When I got to the elaborately gilded edges of the leather, I pulled out my magnifying glass to study the dentelles more closely.
As I stared at the intricate design, I recalled the information Rajiv sent me that indicated that the book had been created sometime between 1840 and 1880. I had accepted that time frame, not only because his papers said so but because some of the designs and the precision of the tooling was typical of French bookbinding methods during those decades.
But forty minutes later… good grief, I didn’t know what to think. Was it feasible? I couldn’t wrap my mind around the possibility. I rolled my shoulders and combed my hair back with my fingers. It couldn’t be true. Could it? I popped another Butterfinger ball in my mouth and grabbed my magnifying glass.
“What’s going on?” Derek said.
I jolted slightly. “Where did you come from?”
“I’ve been standing here watching you for the last five minutes.”
“You have? I didn’t see you.”
“I know. You’re so wound up, you’re shaking the table. What I can’t figure out is whether you’re trembling with happiness or anger. Or perhaps it’s excitement. Have you been peeking at the pictures without me, love?”
I looked at the book, then smiled at him. “Never.”
“Good,” he said, prowling toward me. “But something’s captured your attention. What is it?”
I hadn’t realized my left knee was shaking like crazy. I pressed my palm down against my leg to make it stop.
“Tell me what’s got you so tickled,” he said, as he dragged another stool over and sat next to me.
“Okay.” Where to begin? I wondered. “At first I thought this book was a nineteenth-century work, but now I think that’s wrong.”
Derek focused in on me. “Are you saying it’s a forgery?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Well, yes, actually. At least insofar as the information goes that I received from Rajiv. But if my theories are correct, he’s wrong. I can’t say whether he deliberately told me something different or if he’s simply unaware of what he has. I guess I can ask when we meet him.”
“Of course you can.”
“Right. But my point is, I believe this book is almost a century older and infinitely more valuable than I originally thought. Look at this.”
He scooted his chair closer. I placed the back cover in front of him and handed him the magnifying glass. “See these tooled and gilded designs on the leather here? Near the edge of the endpaper?”
“Here?” He pointed, then glanced at me. “Where it’s been ripped apart?”
“Oh.” I frowned at him. “I did that the other day when we were looking for the flash drive. But don’t worry. I’ll fix it when I put the book back together.”
Derek chuckled. “I’m not worried. You know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, I do.” Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly. I was nervous, I realized, and there went my knee, shaking again. I shifted in my chair and rolled my shoulders to realign my energies. “Anyway, this mark on the leather is called a dentelle, and it-”
“What’s a dentelle?”
I rewarded him with a beaming smile, as though he were my star pupil. “Good question. It’s a specific pattern made in the leather by a gilding tool. Here, it gives the effect of a lacy border along the inside cover. Can you see?”
“Yes.” He bent closer and focused the magnifying glass. “Looks a bit like a snowflake.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Sometimes they’re simple, sometimes more elaborate. I think of it as the crown molding on a book. It softens the border and distracts the eye from the hard edges where leather and paper meet.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
“Here’s what I’m excited about. It’s common for different binderies to create their own signature dentelles. Sometimes the pattern is simply repeated by the hand of the binder, and sometimes they design a pattern in metal and form a plate. That plate is placed over the leather and the design is etched into it; then gold sheets are rolled or worked into the indentations.”
“Fascinating.”
“I know-it’s complicated. Anyway, some experts can open a book and state unequivocally that the book was created at a certain bindery, based wholly on the dentelles. I’m not a true expert, but I know enough to have given a few lectures on the subject.”
He patted my knee. “And I know they were riveting.”
I laughed. “Of course they were. Anyway, call me cuckoo, but I’m almost certain that the particular pattern of this dentelle is identical to the pattern used by the bindery of Jean-Pierre de Garme.”
Derek leaned over with the magnifying glass and stared at the gold tooling for another moment, then sat back in his chair. “Well, that’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“Lovely?” Laughing again, I took the magnifying glass back. “You bet your sweet ass it’s lovely. But I don’t think you grok the true significance of what I’m saying.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Apparently not, so why don’t you explain it in simple English. Speak slowly. I’m still a little weak from your complimenting of my ass.”
“Sorry. That was rude.” I clutched his arm. “But this is an emotional moment for me.”
“Clearly,” he murmured, and pushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. I think it was his way of calming me down with his touch. “Tell me.”
I took another breath and let it escape slowly. “Jean-Pierre de Garme was one of the royal bookbinders to Louis the Sixteenth of France.”
“Ah. Well, that is monumental.”
“Yes!” I choked on a sudden laugh. “Yes!” Unable to sit still another moment, I jumped up and paced a few steps in either direction, then shrieked and raised my arms in victory.
“It’s incredible,” I cried. “If it’s true, this book was made sometime in the late seventeen hundreds, which makes it well over two hundred years old. Which also explains why this translation doesn’t follow the Burton text, of
