One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

invitation is appreciated. That pasta sauce smells incredible.”
     
    “Thanks.”
     
    “The bread is ready to go in the broiler,” Derek said. “Give me a three-minute warning and I’ll turn on the heat.”
     
    “Perfect,” Max said.
     
    “Now, while I was outside,” Derek said, switching subjects, “I dug the spent bullet from your veranda out front.” He pulled a flattened bullet from his pants pocket, held it up to the light, then placed the chunk of mangled brass on the chopping-block surface.
     
    Gabriel moved in, picked up the bullet, and studied it.He pulled out a small pocketknife and scraped at the edges.
     
    “Hand loaded,” he said, casting a meaningful glance at Derek.
     
    “Yes,” Derek said, nodding as though he’d already come to that conclusion. Nothing much got past him.
     
    “Risky,” Gabriel mused.
     
    “What’re you talking about?” I asked.
     
    “Our shooter packs his own bullets,” Gabriel explained.
     
    Max stepped closer now, picked up the bullet, turned it over in his hand. “Oh yeah. Hand packed.”
     
    “How can you tell?” I asked.
     
    With the tip of his knife, Gabriel pointed out minute grooves in the bullet’s surface. “Shape of the bullet. The crimping pattern along the seal. Lot of ways to tell the difference.”
     
    “Right.” I stared at it but still didn’t have a clue. Maybe it was a secondary sex characteristic that allowed men to more easily recognize a hand-packed bullet. Like male pattern baldness, this was something I would never have the joy of experiencing.
     
    “Why would anyone hand pack a bullet?” I asked. “It can’t be any cheaper, can it? Are they zealots? Control freaks? I don’t get it.”
     
    “It does have something to do with control, darling,” Derek said. “An experienced gun enthusiast will load his own cartridges, increasing or decreasing the amount of powder in order to add to his accuracy or to customize the performance of a particular shotgun or rifle. In the long run, for serious gun owners, it can be cost effective.”
     
    “Good to know,” I said, astonished by his knowledge of such matters. I smiled at all three men. “Okay, ’nuf said about guns. Are we absolutely sure there’s no one out there?”
     
    Gabriel shot me a look. “If he’d still been out there, we would’ve found him.”
     
    Derek met my gaze and nodded reassuringly. “Yes, he’s gone, love.”
     
    “Or
she’s
gone,” Max muttered, his tone edgy with anger.
     
    What?
     
    Oblivious, Max continued stirring the sauce until he finally turned around and flinched at the sight of three pairs of curious eyes staring back at him.
     

Chapter 10
     
    “You think it’s a woman?” Derek said in surprise.
    “Possibly.” Max kept stirring. “Could someone grab two bay leaves from the jar in the pantry and throw them in here?”
     
    I looked around and my two companions stared back at me with blank faces.
Okay, fine.
I raced to the pantry, then returned and slid two leaves into the tomato sauce. “Come on, Max. Tell us who you think is behind this.”
     
    “It makes sense that it’s a woman,” Gabriel said with a nod.
     
    I frowned at him. “Why?”
     
    “All the drama, the clues, the various scenarios. If a man wanted Max dead, he would’ve just shot him. But this person—this woman, I’m guessing—wants him exposed. She’s letting go of clues inch by inch. It’s theatrical. Messy. Not straightforward. In other words, female.”
     
    “So you’re saying women are sneakier than men?”
     
    He grinned. “No, I’m saying women are more clever, more complicated. Men are basic. Easy.
Un
complicated.”
     
    “Stupid?” I suggested with a smile.
     
    He chuckled. “Sometimes.”
     
    “I’m kidding, sort of,” I said. “I see your point about women, but I happen to know a lot of complicated men. Three of them are here in this room.”
     
    Gabriel glanced around and shrugged. “Maybe so, but I still think it’s safe to say that none of us would go to this much trouble to kill a man. Personally, I would take out a gun and shoot him in the head.”
     
    I winced. “That’s sweet.”
     
    “No, that’s simple.” Gabriel glanced around the room. “Am I right?”
     
    “Fairly accurate, I’d say,” Derek said.
     
    “I agree with what you’re saying,” Max said, “but I’m also hedging my bets. There’s a guy in my past who could have come up with all the clues and scenarios you’re