One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

waiting to be roasted? You’re an idiot.” I started to walk out of the room.
     
    “Wait! Come back!” he cried.
     
    “Keep it down, old man,” Derek said sternly. “One more remark like that and I’ll gladly leave you here for your captor to deal with.”
     
    “Oh, God, don’t!” he said, his voice raspy, his eyes wide and wheeling. “Don’t let her get me!”
     
    Her?
I met Derek’s gaze.
     
    “Who’s going to get you?” I asked warily.
     
    He had to take a few deep breaths to brace himself before he could whisper, “Nobody.”
     
    “Too late,” I said, moving back to the bedpost and the ropes. “You’ve just admitted a woman did this to you.”
     
    He clamped his lips together and his jaw worked rapidly.
     
    “A woman tied you up and left you to rot,” I taunted. “Isn’t that interesting.”
     
    “She’ll be back. It was just a little game we were playing.”
     
    “Some game,” I said. “You were scared to death when we walked in.”
     
    “Shut up and undo the damn ropes before I—”
     
    In that moment, he lost his ability to frighten me. Sort of. “Are you actually threatening me, Solomon?”
     
    “I knew it,” he said in triumph. “You know who I am. We have met, haven’t we?”
     
    I shook my head. “No, we haven’t.”
     
    “But you look so familiar. Did we ever—”
     
    I recoiled at his suggestive tone, but before I could speak, Derek said in a low, menacing voice, “Enough.”
     
    I blinked at the force of Derek’s anger, and a rush of emotion flooded through me. Gratitude, love, excitement, fear. Derek was rarely moved to anger, but when it happened, look out.
     
    He glared down at Solomon. “Tell us what happened here and who did this to you. Start talking, or we’ll walk out and leave you here to rot.”
     
    Solomon stared up at Derek. He seemed to measure the man’s words and intentions, then swallowed heavily. “A woman I know lured me up here, promising a night of pure fantasy. I was foolish enough to believe her. Wehad a glass of wine, and she was cooking something in a frying pan. It smelled fantastic and everything was going well. But then I turned away for a minute, and she knocked me out. I guess she used the frying pan. I don’t know, but I have a massive headache. Anyway, when I woke up, I was tied to the bed. She told me that if she couldn’t have me, no woman could.”
     
    “Why would she say that?” I asked. “What did you do to her?”
     
    “I didn’t do anything.” He speared me with a look of pure loathing, but I didn’t care. I just watched him, more curious than anything else. Finally, gritting his teeth, he continued. “She said I wasn’t grateful enough. She had done me a…a big favor, but I guess I didn’t show her enough appreciation.”
     
    “What was the big favor?”
     
    He bared his teeth, obviously resenting my questions. “Look, none of that matters. Just untie the ropes and get me the hell out of here.”
     
    “Oh, because you’re so innocent?” I said. “Whatever she did to you, I know you deserve it all and then some.”
     
    “I didn’t do anything,” he said irately. “She’s in love with me and completely obsessed. She’s a raving— I didn’t ask her to— Look, just let it go.”
     
    I was starting to get a really bad feeling about this whole scene. “We’re not letting anything go, especially not you. The police are waiting down the mountain and you’re going straight to jail.”
     
    “Me?” he said, outraged. “I’m the victim here.”
     
    “You have never been a victim, Solomon.” I shook my head and looked away. I had feared the man and hated him for what he did to Max, but now I couldn’t be bothered to expend that much energy. Now I felt nothing but contempt for him.
     
    But that reminded me of something. “Why did you hate Max Adams so much?”
     
    The immediate change in Solomon was startling. He scowled bitterly. “Max Adams was nothing but a two-bit hack. I have more talent in my little toe than he had inhis entire body. But Max had the Midas touch. He got everything he wanted delivered on a golden platter. Women by the dozens, acclaim, money. The institute got him a book contract. They sent him on lecture tours. When Angelica left me for him, I was furious.”
     
    “You were obsessed.”
     
    “So what?” he said on a snarl, then shook his fist. “Max Adams was a pissant. He was supposed to die.”
     
    “He didn’t.”
     
    “I know