One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

talking about. He thrived on that crap.”
     
    Derek’s expression was guarded as he asked, “Is this the man who caused you to stage your own death?”
     
    Max’s jaw clenched and he seemed to debate whether to answer Derek’s question. He didn’t have to. It was obvious to all of us that the answer was yes.
     
    “Yes,” he said at last.
     
    I wasn’t surprised, but it saddened me that someone in Max’s past had hated him enough to destroy his life. It also bothered me that as close as I’d been to Max back then, I still didn’t have a clue who he was talking about.
     
    “There are two people, actually,” Max said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “A man and a woman. Both of them are capable of straightforward, gun-to-the-head murder, but they also have the kind of warped personalities that would get off on playing the kind of games you’ve been talking about.”
     
    “They sound charming,” I said.
     
    Max gave me a look. “They would’ve stopped at nothing to destroy me, even if it meant going after my family, my friends, my loved ones.”
     
    “I have to wonder why the police didn’t do more to help.”
     
    “The police were useless,” he insisted. “They didn’t believe me because my enemies were pillars of society and I was…well, I wasn’t a pillar of anything.”
     
    I took hold of his arm. “You were a respected artist. A teacher. You gave lectures and classes all over the country.”
     
    “Yeah, that and five dollars will get you a grande latte.” He went back to stirring his sauce.
     
    “Who were these people, Max?” I asked. “I swear you can trust us. We’re here for you.”
     
    “Brooklyn’s right,” Derek said. “It’s time you let us know who you’re afraid of. We can help.”
     
    Max wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me for comfort. I gazed up at him and said, “Not all police are like the ones you dealt with. We’ve been working with a pair of San Francisco detectives who won’t give a damn how powerful your enemies are. If the people you’re talking about killed Joe, these two detectives will take them down.”
     
    Gabriel leaned his hip against the counter by the sink. “I’m not a great lover of cops, but I still don’t get why they wouldn’t help you. Was there something else going on back then?”
     
    “Yeah.” Max went back to his saucepan and studiously avoided making eye contact with me. “I was kind of into drugs back then.”
     
    “But wasn’t everyone?” Gabriel said. “Why would they single you out?”
     
    Max clenched his teeth. “I’d gotten busted a few years earlier. One of the local cops decided to hold a grudge.”
     
    “You were into drugs, Max?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice.
     
    Max turned and rolled his eyes at me. “Yes, Brooklyn. And so was everyone else. Except you, Miss Goody Two-shoes.”
     
    “That’s not fair,” I said. “I wasn’t like that.”
Was I?
     
    Derek gazed at me from across the center table. “You never did drugs, Brooklyn?”
     
    “No. I never wanted to.” I frowned and tried to explain away my deep, dark secret. “You’ve met my parents. Who needs drugs with them around?”
     
    Gabriel smirked. “There’s definitely a natural high going on in that house.”
     
    “I know, right?” I smiled but still felt a little defensive, so I folded my arms across my chest. “Look, despite my parents’ wackiness, they were always happy. They raised us to enjoy life. I think we all do that pretty well now. I mean, clearly I’m not perfect—far from it. But I just never felt the need to get high.”
     
    Max grabbed plates from the cupboard. “Some of us weren’t that lucky.”
     
    “On the other hand,” I added quickly, “my family makes wine and I do love to drink it. So I guess you could call that my drug of choice.”
     
    “You’re a wild woman, Brooklyn Wainwright,” Gabriel said, grinning at me.
     
    “Yeah, right,” I said, scoffing.
     
    Derek smiled at me and winked. Okay, he was wild enough for both of us.
     
    The cat came walking up to me so I stooped to pet its soft fur. I could hear him purring as he rubbed against me. “I think Clyde likes me.”
     
    “Pasta’s ready,” Max said, and drained the contents of the pot into a colander. “Three-minute warning.”
     
    Derek turned on the broiler, then squatted down to check the level of the flame. Standing, he turned to Max and said, “To get back to the original