One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

helped him get away,” Derek surmised, his gaze directed at Guru Bob. “With Jim’s help?”
     
    “To one of your safe houses?” Gabriel said.
     
    My mouth gaped open. “Wait a minute.”
Safe houses?
I felt as if I’d wandered into an alternate reality, where Guru Bob was a spymaster and my own father was capable of keeping state secrets. “Safe houses?”
     
    “What?” Mom screeched the word, and Dad covered his ears. “You have safe
houses
? Plural? As in,
more than one safe house
? Why? And, Jimmy, you knew? What else aren’t you telling me?”
     
    Guru Bob flashed Gabriel a fulminating look, but Gabriel seemed unfazed that he’d just busted the secret wide-open. Then again, he didn’t have my mother throwing daggers at him or me yelling at him. Not yet, anyway.
     
    Robson turned to my father. “James, you mentioned a new Phelps Viognier you wanted to try.”
     
    “Damn straight!” Dad said joyfully, and bounced up from his chair in sheer relief. “Must be time for a little wine tasting.”
     
    “Jimmy.” Mom’s voice held a tone of warning, but Dad ignored her and rushed off to the kitchen.
     
    He was back a few seconds later with a chilled bottle and a corkscrew. “You’re going to love this baby. It’s got a creamy mouthfeel with hints of apricot and mint that’ll go down like silk and ease your troubled mind.”
     
    I raised my hand weakly. “Yes, please.”
     
    Derek laughed. “I’ll try a sip or two, Jim.”
     
    “James Francis Wainwright, I asked you a question,” Mom said, her normally smooth forehead lined in distress.
     
    I cringed at that. Mom used our full names only when she was about to ground us for eternity. I’m not sure how that translated for one’s spouse, but I knew Dad was in deep trouble.
     
    “What’s that, sweetie?” Dad said as the cork popped out of the bottle. He glanced around, feigning confusion, then said, “Oh, hey. We’ll need some glasses.”
     
    “I’ll get them,” I said quickly, earning a suspicious look from Mom, who threw her hands up in disgust.
     
    “Thanks, Brooksie,” Dad said, cheerily ignoring Mom’s wrathful vibe.
     
    I raced into the dining room and pulled six wineglasses out of the cabinet. I would’ve used any excuse to get out from between Mom’s eyes shooting flames at Dad.
     
    As I walked back into the living room, I caught Mom waggling her finger at Dad. She was strutting now and her head was moving back and forth on her neck like a bobblehead doll. “Jimmy, you got some ’splainin’ to do.”
     
    Derek laughed, and Gabriel, who hadn’t said much up until now, grinned with delight. “God, I love you people.”
     
    It took the whole bottle of Viognier to ease our troubled minds enough to calm down and listen to Guru Bob’s explanation. In the past three years, he had purchased
five
safe houses, all under different names in remote areas of northern California. Max’s had been the first.
    “For two months after he ‘died,’” he explained, “Max camped on the Columbia River up in Oregon. Once the Marin house was purchased, he moved there.”
     
    Mom had calmed down considerably, but she still scowled at her longtime spiritual teacher and friend. “So you just go out and buy houses and new identities for people?”
     
    Dad and Guru Bob exchanged glances. Finally, Guru Bob said, “I provide…sanctuary.”
     
    “Oh.” Mom thought about that for a few seconds; then her shoulders relaxed. “All right. That makes sense. Thank you, Robson.”
     
    He nodded solemnly, as if that settled everything.
     
    “Wait. It makes sense? Really?” I was almost more confused than before. And not that I would mention it in front of Mom, but did Dad have something to do with those safe houses? I’d seen that look he gave Guru Bob.
     
    “Yes, sweetie,” Mom said. “Sanctuary is a good thing.” She looked around at the faces in the room and smiled. “Now, who’s ready for lunch?”
     
    Huh?
     
    Don’t get me wrong, I’m always up for lunch. But where did my mom go? Her expression had transmogrified into the Sunny-Bunny smiley face she made whenever she didn’t want to discuss an uncomfortable topic.
     
    Maybe she was lying low, figuring she could get more answers by grilling Dad later. Or maybe the idea of GuruBob providing sanctuary for those in need was honestly something she could get behind. Sanctuary was, after all, considered a noble cause by some. But I had a feeling there was more