One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

attention to things going on around them. They see things. They worry. They talk. This is the perfect place to ask questions.”
     
    He shook his head but said nothing, so I continued. “I figured I’d walk around town, talk to people. My sisters might know something. They both took classes at the institute. We’ll noodle around, ask a few questions, and find out what’s going on with Solomon and Angelica.”
     
    Derek leaned his elbow on the table—a very un-British thing to do—and stared at me.
     
    “What?” I asked finally.
     
    He rubbed his jaw in frustration. “You do realize these are the sorts of conversation that scare the hell out of me?”
     
    “But this isn’t dangerous,” I said, grabbing my mug and taking a long sip of coffee. “It’s going to be easy. And we need to find out who was shooting at us yesterday.”
     
    “Somebody was shooting at you?” Mom cried.
     
    I clamped my mouth shut.
Crap! I am a loose-lipped nincompoop!
Glancing sideways at Derek, I could see he agreed.
     
    “Nobody, Mom,” I said quickly. “It was a hunter who was in the wrong…um…”
     
    “Oh, stop trying to lie,” she said. “You’ve got to be the worst liar in the world.”
     
    “I get that a lot,” I muttered.
     
    “This is why I don’t want you asking questions around town,” Derek said. “It’s dangerous, and now you’ve upset your mother.”
     
    “Darn tootin’, I’m upset,” Mom said. She pressed herhands together in a yoga mudra, closed her eyes, and began to breathe deeply.
     
    “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “Okay, yes, someone did take a shot at us out at Max’s farm. Derek’s right. It’s too dangerous to have you asking questions around town. You could get hurt, and I would never forgive myself.”
     
    She popped one eye open. “What kinds of questions are you talking about?”
     
    “Um, well, I was thinking we could ask if there’s anyone in the area who reloads their own ammunition. I’ll pretend I want to learn how.”
     
    “But that’s a lie,” Mom said, opening both eyes and reaching for her teacup.
     
    “Of course it is.”
     
    “You’re no good at lying, remember?”
     
    “I’m working on it, Mom.”
     
    She thought for a moment. “Maybe we should all learn how to reload.”
     
    “Better if you don’t,” Derek said.
     
    “Anyway,” I continued, “if someone gives us a name or two, I thought I would then mention casually that I seem to recall that one of the teachers out at the Art Institute used to do his own reloading.”
     
    “Who’s that?” Mom asked.
     
    I hesitated. Did I really want to get my mother involved in this whole nasty situation?
     
    “She might as well know what she’s getting herself into,” Derek said, taking the decision away from me. “His name is Solomon. He goes by the one name only. He’s dangerous. Do not mention his name to anyone you speak with.”
     
    Mom frowned. “Is he the one who took a shot at you?”
     
    “Possibly.”
     
    She raised her fist in the air. “Then let’s get him.”
     
    “Rebecca, I’m not sure—”
     
    “Don’t you worry about me, sweetie,” Mom said, waving away Derek’s fears. “I’ll just be my friendly old self, nattering up my neighbors. You know, people in smalltowns do like to talk. And you wouldn’t believe the things they know about their neighbors.”
     
    “I would believe anything at this point,” he said. “I just wish you both would opt for more caution.”
     
    “But we need to move fast,” I said.
     
    “Yes, I agree. But I’m concerned for your safety. The fact is, someone with extremely evil intentions is behind this operation. Don’t forget that they’ve already killed one person and tried to kill one of us.”
     
    “That’s right,” Mom said. “Your bookseller friend was killed.”
     
    Derek nodded. “Yes.”
     
    “Then we need to get on with it,” she said with a determined nod.
     
    I squeezed Derek’s arm. “Besides, you’ll be around to keep watch on things.”
     
    “But I won’t be, darling,” he murmured, touching my cheek. “I have to go back to the city.”
     
    “Oh. Right.” I tried not to show my disappointment, but it was impossible. I hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but I’d hoped…But of course he had to go back to the city. It was Monday, a workday. My sense of time had flown out the window with my phone’s dead battery. I used the phone as both a clock and a calendar.
     
    “I’m