One Book In The Grave

I had to concentrate on chopping herbs and not my fingers as I told him the story. “A few days ago, I got a call from Ian McCullough at the Covington Library. He had a book for me to restore for their new children’s wing. I drove over there Friday morning to pick up the book and was surprised to see it was a copy of Beauty and the Beast.”

He stopped chopping and I noticed his grip on the knife was so tight, his hand was shaking. “Was it…” He shook his head and rolled his shoulders as if he were in a boxing ring, gearing up for a fight.

“Yes, it was the book I gave you and Emily.”

“So. She sold it.” He clamped his jaw shut, pressed his lips together. After a moment, he let out the breath he was holding and slowly continued his chopping.

Men. I rolled my eyes, then said, “No, Max, she didn’t sell the book.”

His chopping stopped again and he flashed a suspicious frown at me, but said nothing.

“It’s true,” I insisted. “Two weeks after you died, someone broke into Emily’s house and stole the book. It’s been missing for three years and it just resurfaced this week.” Kind of like you did, I thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

“So…wait. I’m not following you. Explain how-”

“Just let me finish,” I said, knowing his mind would drift off to Emily if I didn’t get the story out fast. “I knew the book had been stolen from Emily years ago, so I had to break the news to Ian. He let me know who he bought it from, and I drove to that bookstore to talk to the owner, Joe Taylor. I wanted to find out who sold it to Joe-you know? Anyway, when I got there, I found Joe dead. His throat was cut.”

That shook Max up. “Jeez, Brooklyn. I’m sorry.”

I grimaced. “You will be when you hear what the murder weapon was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone slit Joe’s throat open with a special kind of knife. It’s a papermaker’s knife. Four-inch, square-headed blade, common as anything. I think I have three or four of them. You probably do, too.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. So?”

“So after I was questioned by the police, I went to my car and found my tire had been slashed.”

“Sounds like you were having a bad day.”

“You might say that. Anyway, whoever did it left the weapon stuck in my tire. It was a Japanese paper knife, an expensive one. It had the letters M-A-X carved on the handle.”

He frowned again and stared at the onions as though he might find enlightenment there. Then he looked up at me. “Say that again.”

“I think you heard me.”

“But how in the world…Wait.” His eyes widened and he pointed the chopping knife at me. “You can’t be thinking that I would ever…No. There’s no way. First of all, I don’t even know this bookseller guy. What’d you say his name was? Joe? And second, I haven’t left this godforsaken mountain in three years. I had nothing to do with this. I don’t know how-”

“I know you didn’t do it, Max,” I said as patiently as I could. “But someone’s trying to make it look like you did. They had your tools. They had the book you gave Emily. They put the book out on the market to lure you out. They killed Joe to lure you out. And that means they must know you’re alive.”

“Ah, crap,” he muttered, then followed the word up with an expletive stream that threatened to turn the air blue. Finally out of words, he let his brute strength take over and he plunged his knife into the chopping block with all the force of a category-three hurricane. “Damn it, I know who-”

The kitchen door flew open and I screamed. Derek and Gabriel stomped into the house, looking wild, wet, windblown, and sexier than any two men had a right to be. Especially after scaring me half to death.

But seriously? If I took their picture right now, it would land on the cover of People magazine’s Two Sexiest Men in the World Edition. Just saying.

“Thank God,” I uttered, and wrapped my arms around Derek’s neck. I could feel the cold and wet seeping into me, but I didn’t care. I’d never been so happy to see him.

“Find anyone out there?” Max asked.

“No.”

I grabbed Gabriel and hugged him, too. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“No worries, babe.” He grinned as he took a dish towel off the counter and wiped some of the rain from his face and neck.

“Let me get some more towels,” Max muttered, and stalked out of the room.

“Did you tell him?” Derek asked quietly.

“Yes,” I said, staring at the door Max had disappeared through. “And I think he was about to tell me who’s responsible when you guys walked in.”

Max came back into the kitchen a moment later and handed towels to Derek and Gabriel. “I’ll make dinner for everyone; then you all need to leave. It’s too dangerous for you here.”

“You know who’s doing this, Max,” I said, grabbing hold of his arms. “Tell us who it is. We can help you.”

He pushed my hands away. “You don’t want to know. You’ve never dealt with anyone like them. They’re relentless. If you leave tonight after dark, you might be able to slip out of town and go back to your lives. Just leave me alone. I can deal with it.”

Gabriel chuckled as he walked out of the room.

Derek leaned his hip against the butcher-block island in the middle of the kitchen. “I can assure you, we’re not leaving without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m afraid you are,” Derek said. “We’ll get you back to Dharma and keep a security detail with you until the person you’re hiding from is found and arrested. Otherwise, you’ll have the police climbing all over this place within hours.”

“You would turn me in?”

Derek shrugged.

Max considered this as he turned on the heat under the frying pan, poured in olive oil, then tossed in the minced garlic. Immediately it began to sizzle. Thirty seconds later, he added the piles of chopped onion and stirred, coating everything with oil. Finally, he looked up and said, “I can’t go back.”

“Someone’s setting you up,” Derek said brusquely. “Either you go back with us and try to clear your name or you’ll be arrested for murder.” Derek pulled out his phone and swiped the screen until he found a picture and showed it to Max. I figured it was the photo he took on Friday of the knife in my tire.

Reluctantly, Max stared at the phone screen for a minute, then handed it back. “It looks like one of the knives I owned, but I didn’t slash your tire, Brooklyn. I left everything behind in my studio when I left. All my tools, my journals-everything.”

“I know you didn’t do it, Max.”

“Yes, we know it wasn’t you,” Derek said. He sounded tired. Then in a heartbeat he sprang forward, gripping Max’s arm and swinging him around to look him straight in the eyes. “But I won’t allow Brooklyn to be terrorized by whoever’s behind this. If you’re not willing to tell us who you think killed Joe and planted this knife in Brooklyn’s tire, I won’t think twice about calling the police and telling them exactly where you are.”

They stared at each other for another moment; then Max nodded. “Understood.”

Derek stepped back, satisfied with Max’s response.

Max straightened his apron, glanced around, then said, “There’s a loaf of French bread in the pantry. Can someone butter it for garlic toast?”

“I’m on it,” Derek said, as if nothing monumental had just transpired between them. But as he walked to the pantry closet, he passed behind me and suddenly I was in his arms. He held on to me tightly for almost a minute and kissed my neck, then let me go and continued on to the pantry.

“All rightie, then,” I muttered, dazed but pleased.

Gabriel walked back into the kitchen. “Smells great in here.”

I stopped chopping to stare at him. His dark hair was slicked back and still wet from the rain. He’d taken off his jacket, and the black T-shirt he wore defined every muscle in his chest, arms, and shoulders. Even his cheekbones were more defined. His eyes glittered more brightly as he looked at me and winked. How could he look even better than he did a few minutes ago? It was, like, otherworldly.