One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

set of pitted stairs carved out of bedrock that led up another fifty yards to a two-story farmhouse.
     
    “That’s the place?” Gabriel asked.
     
    “Yes,” Derek said, opening his door, then glancing back. “This should only take a moment.”
     
    “Maybe so,” Gabriel said, pushing the driver’s seat forward, then stepping out of the car. “But you’re not going alone.”
     
    “I’m coming, too,” I said, unwilling to wait by myself.
     
    “We’ll cause too much attention if we all go,” Derek insisted.
     
    “Your English accent will cause more attention than anything else,” I countered. “And then there’s the Bentley you’re driving.”
     
    Gabriel snorted. “She’s got you there.”
     
    Derek shook his head. “I’ve lost control of the situation, haven’t I?”
     
    “Not sure you ever had it, pal,” Gabriel said helpfully.
     
    “True.” Derek shrugged. “Let’s go, then.”
     
    We’d barely walked ten feet when the front door of the farmhouse opened. A tall, bearded man carrying a high-powered rifle stepped out on the porch and aimed the gun right at us. A dog stood at his side. It barked once and the man nudged him quiet with his knee.
     
    “Oh, my God,” I whispered.
     
    Derek swore under his breath as he held his arms up.
     
    “Ah, hell,” Gabriel said, raising his arms high over his head. “That’s never a good thing.”
     
    “Yes, it is,” I said, my voice unsteady. “That’s Max Adams.”
     

Chapter 9
     
    “Max,” I shouted, and waved my arms in the air, as if he couldn’t see me up close and personal in the crosshairs of his rifle. But would he remember me? I looked the same, basically, and I’d known him most of my life, so unless he’d developed amnesia, he couldn’t have forgotten me.
    Three years didn’t seem like that long a time, but looking at Max now, it felt like ten years had passed. Except for the beard, I guess he looked the same, but on the inside, I imagined he must have changed a lot more than I had. For one thing, since faking his own death, he probably didn’t go by the name Max anymore. And living out here, day after day, all alone for three long years, could’ve turned him a little paranoid.
     
    Guru Bob had pulled another fast one by giving us directions that led straight to Max. It was alarming to be facing Max suddenly and without warning, but now that we were here, I was excited to talk to him. I just hoped he wouldn’t start shooting. I had so many questions to ask him.
     
    Starting, of course, with, Why did you lie to all of us for three years?
     
    But there was more I wanted to know, too. Did he go outside his house much? Was he afraid to go into town because someone from his old life might see him? Didhe wear a disguise? Besides the beard, I mean. It wasn’t all that effective, since I had still recognized him.
     
    What had happened to him three years ago that had been so awful that he’d staged his own death rather than face whoever had been tormenting him? Why hadn’t the police helped? Had Max missed us as much as we had missed him?
     
    Did he kill Joe Taylor?
     
    “Max! It’s Brooklyn.” I shouted his name several more times, and after many long seconds he slowly lowered the rifle.
     
    “Brooklyn?”
     
    “Yes, it’s me,” I shouted, then shivered from the cold air. The marine layer had obliterated the blue skies and now it looked like it might rain.
     
    “What the hell are you doing here? Who are those guys?”
     
    “They’re friends of mine. Guru Bob sent us.”
     
    “Robson knows you’re here?”
     
    “He gave us directions to find you.” I took a cautious step closer. He wasn’t pointing the rifle anymore, but he was still holding it, after all. “Can we please talk to you?”
     
    He raked his fingers roughly through his hair and glared at us for another minute. He was probably wishing he could tell us all to go to hell, but hearing Robson’s name put the kibosh on that. “All right. Yeah, okay.” He waved us up the stairs, but he didn’t put down the gun, and I guess I couldn’t blame him.
     
    I went first, climbing up the rocky, uneven steps. When I got close to the porch, I said, “This is Derek Stone and that’s Gabriel.” I turned to Derek and Gabriel and said needlessly, “This is Max Adams.”
     
    “Call me Jack,” he said to the men, then looked at me and frowned. “What are you all doing here? What’s going on?”
     
    “It’s a long story,” I