One Book In The Grave

arrangements, but you just never knew with parents.

“I’ve put you and Derek in your old bedroom,” Mom said briskly, leading the way down the hall.

I finally looked at Derek and rolled my eyes. The man was big, bad, and dangerous, and I couldn’t picture him sleeping in the old bedroom I’d shared with my sister China. We’d slept in narrow twin beds with a third rollaway bed squeezed against one wall to accommodate Robin for her lengthy sleepovers. It was like a small dormitory in there. Was Mom really expecting Derek and me to sleep in twin beds?

Ah, well, I guess I could give her some credit for letting us stay in the same room together. But I wouldn’t blame Derek if he decided to bow out and check into the new boutique hotel down on Shakespeare Lane. I had suggested the hotel when we’d made our plans to come for the weekend, but Derek had insisted he was perfectly content to stay with my parents.

Mom opened the door to my room and stepped aside to let us pass. “What do you think?”

“Whoa,” I said, taking it all in.

The twin beds had been replaced by an elegant, dark wood sleigh bed covered in a thick brown and gold duvet. Piled on top were all sorts of decorative pillows of every shape and size, in colors that ran the gamut from light pearl to sparkly gold to rich brown.

The walls were painted a stylish shade of dark cocoa with pale beige trim and cool, light linen curtains. There was a stately new chest of drawers along one wall and a small mahogany desk and chair on the other.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Mom,” I said softly. “This is beautiful.”

She clapped her hands. “I think so, too. I got a little help from Robin.”

“She’s got great taste.”

“Yes, much better than mine.” She tugged at the curtains, and I realized she was nervous. “I asked her not to make it too girly, because I know that’s not your style.”

“It’s perfect, Mom,” I assured her.

“Thank you for going to so much trouble for us,” Derek said. He took my bag from me and placed it on the new wooden luggage rack under the window.

“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered, and hugged her.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she said, straightening a pillow before heading for the door. “I’ve asked Robin to redo your father’s and my bedroom, too.”

“That’s a great idea,” I said.

“It’s been more than twenty years since we bought anything new, so I’m excited,” she said. “But I’m glad Robin’s doing it. I was afraid if I did it on my own, we’d end up with bordello red walls and white wicker furniture or something.”

“Interesting design choices.”

She laughed, then checked her wristwatch. “I’ll let you kids get settled. Robson should be here in half an hour; then lunch is at noon.”

Chapter 6

“Something is troubling you, gracious,” Guru Bob said.

To the leader of the Dharma commune, everyone was gracious. But I still liked to think that the other kids and I who had been raised in Dharma were extraspecial to him. He was my parents’ spiritual leader, but to me he was simply a true friend and a terrific listener.

“Yes, Robson,” I confessed. I always called him Robson to his face. Guru Bob was a fun nickname we kids had always used, but it was too irreverent to call him that in person.

We were alone on the terrace of my parents’ home, overlooking Mom’s apple orchard on one side and rolling hills of grapevines on the other. The sky was brilliant blue and the air was so crisp and clear, it almost hurt to breathe. It was turning out to be a warm day but I still felt a touch of the morning chill. Or maybe it was just my state of mind.

Guru Bob sipped the tea my mother had brought him and assured me he was in no hurry, so I took a few moments to gather my thoughts. It was good to know that no matter what I told him, he would be kind. I trusted him and loved him as I would a cherished uncle.

It was hard to explain Guru Bob to outsiders. On paper, he probably came across as a charlatan, a deceitful crackpot whose charm and clever wiles were responsible for brainwashing several hundred followers twenty-five years ago. Why else would all those intelligent people sell everything and move from the city out to the Sonoma boondocks to establish the Fellowship for Spiritual Enlightenment and Higher Artistic Consciousness?

That picture couldn’t have been further from the truth.

I guessed he was in his mid-fifties, but he seemed younger. He was tall and lanky, a gentle, spiritual man, although I wouldn’t call him religious. My parents believed him to be a highly evolved conscious being. All I knew was that Guru Bob was smarter and kinder and more aware of…well, everything than anyone I knew.

I’d also seen him coldly draw a line in the sand when he was betrayed by someone he’d considered a friend. I never wanted to see that look on his face again.

Sitting here in the sun, I suddenly remembered that a few months back, during Abraham’s murder investigation, Derek had followed me to Dharma and heard Guru Bob speak at Abraham’s memorial service. I was still regarding Derek as an adversary then, but, nevertheless, I was nervous about his reaction to Guru Bob. When Derek called him powerful, in a most respectful tone, I was delighted. Thinking back on it now, I realized that that might’ve been the moment my attitude warmed toward Derek.

“Gracious, what is upsetting you?”

I cleared my throat and made eye contact with him. “I found another dead body yesterday. I’m afraid there’s something negative growing inside me that’s causing me to attract death. Murder, I mean. And murderers. I keep finding these victims of murder, and I’m afraid I am going to scare off my friends. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s getting bad and I’m getting paranoid. What if people think they might get killed if they stay friends with me?”

He smiled. “My dear, have you not considered the possibility that the dead seek you out? In each of the instances of which you speak, even when the victim was not your friend, you have been compassionate, as well as passionate, in leading the charge for justice. Do you not think the universe recognizes this?”

“Wait a sec,” I protested, then winced for being less than polite with him. “Sorry, Robson. But I mean, seriously, you think the universe is putting these bodies in my path so that I’ll bring them justice?”

“I do.”

“That’s just bizarre. Sorry.” Oops, there I was, being rude again. “The police are pretty good at this, you know.”

“Ah, but in many of these situations, it is my understanding that you have led them to several clues they might not have otherwise uncovered.” He took a sip of his tea and gave me one of his genial smiles.

Another quirk of Guru Bob’s was that he never used contractions. Sometimes I couldn’t help but imitate him, but I tried to avoid it. Guru Bob sounded fine talking that way, but I sounded deranged.

I pursed my lips in frustration as I tried to make sense of his words. In a flash, I remembered an old Agatha Christie story in which Miss Marple received a request that came from beyond the grave. A man she’d known who had recently died had sent her a card asking her to investigate the suspicious death of his son’s fiancee, for which his son had been imprisoned.

“Nemesis,” Guru Bob murmured.

I blinked. “What? What did you say?”

“Nemesis.” He smiled. “An Agatha Christie novel. Do you know it?”

“Of course I know it,” I cried, waving my hands. Then I sat back and frowned at him. “Why did you say that? I mean, sorry, but that was weird.” I took a calming breath and let it out. “Anyway, yes, I know the story of Nemesis. I was just now thinking about it.”

“Ah, well.” He smiled innocently. “That is a coincidence. Is it not?”

Still frowning, I stared at him, watching him for signs of more trickery, but he just continued to gaze at me with a gentle smile. Okay, this was a staring contest I couldn’t win, so I changed the subject. “Robson, do you