One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

said, rubbing my arms and looking at the darkening sky. “Max—er, Jack, do you mind if we go inside? It’s cold out here.”
     
    He clamped his lips together in a scowl, then exhaled heavily. “Yeah, I guess so. Come on.”
     
    As I stepped onto the porch, a gunshot blasted through the air.
     
    Chips of wood went flying, and I screamed. Derek shoved me down on the wood planks and threw himself on top of me as a shield.
     
    “Shit!” Max shouted, crouching in front of the door and grabbing the handle to open it. He shoved the dog inside and said, “Everyone get in the house.”
     
    “Go, go!” Gabriel yelled.
     
    Derek yanked me up and pushed me toward the door. Max clutched my arm and propelled me inside. I careened into the sofa and felt manhandled and bruised in a few places, but I was safe. The dog, a big yellow Lab, licked my hand.
     
    Gabriel scrambled up the steps, bolted inside, and slammed the door.
     
    “Anyone hit?” Derek asked.
     
    “No,” Max said, checking the lock. He raced over to the picture window and whipped the curtains closed. “Damn it. You were followed here.”
     
    “We weren’t,” I said with conviction, but I was wrong, obviously.
     
    I looked at Derek, who stared warily at Max. Gabriel was watching him, too.
What is going on?
     
    “We weren’t followed,” Derek said carefully. “But are you sure someone hasn’t been here all along, watching your house?”
     
    “You’re kidding me, right?” He ran over to a side window, leaned his rifle against the corner wall, then used one finger to pull back the curtain an inch and stare outside. “I’ve been living here for years and nothing has ever happened. All of a sudden you three show up like the Mod Squad, and someone takes a shot at me. Pretty clear to me whose fault that is.”
     
    “How do you know that shot was meant for you?” Gabriel said sagely.
     
    Max glowered at Gabriel, then turned his narrowinggaze on Derek. Abruptly he flicked his hand toward the door. “This wasn’t a good idea. I want all of you to leave now.”
     
    “No,” I said quickly. “Not yet. I need to talk to you. Besides, there’s a killer outside, so we’re not going anywhere for a while.”
     
    “Well, don’t get comfortable,” he said, “because you won’t be here long.”
     
    I threw warning glances at Derek and Gabriel, then walked over to Max. “Could we stop arguing for a minute so I can tell you why we’re here?”
     
    He glared at me with the same dark look of suspicion he’d been wearing since we arrived. I stared back, silently willing him to remember better days when we were close friends.
     
    From the corner of my eye, I noticed Derek and Gabriel had positioned themselves at opposite sides of the picture window and were taking turns peering outside. I’d forgotten about the shooter in the past ten seconds or so. Luckily, my companions hadn’t. I pondered whether it might’ve been an errant hunter whose gun had gone off accidentally.
     
    No, I didn’t really believe that, either.
     
    Max and I continued our staring contest until I noticed the lines bracketing his mouth soften a bit and the storm clouds in his eyes clear. And just like that, he was the carefree Max I knew from my youth. Outwardly, anyway. There had to be demons inside him. How could there not be after all this time alone?
     
    “Fine, Brooklyn. Go ahead and say what you were going to say.”
     
    I smiled tentatively. “Can I have a hug first?”
     
    He huffed. “Damn it, Brooklyn.” Two seconds later, he grabbed me in a tight hug. The dog barked cheerfully. I laughed in surprise, then buried my face in his barrel chest and breathed in his scent. After a moment, I eased back.
     
    “You look good, honey,” he said, squeezing my arms affectionately.
     
    “You do, too, Max. You look alive, and that’s a good thing.” I sniffled as misty tears fogged my eyes.
     
    “Yeah, about that,” he said, ill at ease.
     
    “Yeah, about that,” I echoed, then stepped back and punched him hard in the stomach.
     
    The dog barked once.
     
    “Ow!” Max rubbed his stomach. “What was that for?”
     
    “Oh, please,” I said, shaking and flexing my hand to get the blood flowing again. “That hurt me more than it hurt you. And you know what it was for. You’ve been lying to all of us for three years.”
     
    “It was important. Still is.” The dog came over and nudged his leg. Max patted his back, then glared at me.