One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

place.”
     
    “It’s simple enough for me to drive out to his house,” Mom said. “I hate to inconvenience him when he’s doing me a favor.”
     
    Crystal made a face as she held up her hand. “Let him come to you, Mrs. Wainwright. His place is always a mess. I’ve been there, so I know it’s true.”
     
    “Crystal, do you think Bennie’s a good teacher?” Mom’s tone was confidential. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, so I don’t want him to get too frustrated with me.”
     
    “You’ll be fine.” Crystal patted Mom’s forearm. “I know for a fact that he recently taught one of our church deacons how to reload ammo.”
     
    “Well, if he’s patient enough to teach your deacon, he should be perfect for me.”
     
    “Oh yes,” she assured Mom. “Our deacon is very demanding. A wonderful man, but demanding.”
     
    “I’m not sure I know who that is,” Mom said artlessly.
     
    “He keeps to himself so you probably don’t know him, Mrs. Wainwright.” Crystal arranged more pineapple slices on a plate and began to munch on them herself. “His name is Solomon and he’s a professor out at the institute. Have you heard of him?”
     
    I just about fell over onto a plate of dried apricots, but I managed to keep my cool as I jumped into the conversation. “I taught a bookbinding class out there a long time ago and I met Solomon. He’s really something, isn’t he?”
     
    “Oh yes.” Her sigh was close to orgasmic. “So you know how virile he is. I shouldn’t say such things about a church deacon, but I confess I’m half in love with him.”
     
    “I remember he was very handsome,” I said, biting my tongue. “How did he and Bennie get to be friends?”
     
    “Well, they’re both Ogunites, of course,” she said offhandedly. “But also Bennie and Stefan work in the stock-room of the Art Institute’s museum store, so they see Solomon every day.”
     
    “That’s convenient,” I said lightly, but inside I was reeling from the revelation that Solomon was a member of the Church of the True Blood of Ogun. And he was a
deacon
. I knew the Ogunites weren’t particularly religious—they were more wrapped up in the worship of nature and earthly arts—but this was ridiculous. If what I suspected of Solomon was true, the man was a cold-blooded killer.
     
    “Yes,” Crystal said, slipping another fruit slice into her mouth. “A number of our people work for the Art Institute and, of course, some of us take classes there.”
     
    “That must be nice for you,” I said. “I remember there was a real sense of community at the institute.”
     
    “I love taking jewelry classes there and I’ve sold a lot of my fruit jewelry to the other students.” Crystal smiled softly as her cheeks turned rosy. “And it doesn’t hurt that I get to see Solomon every day.”
     
    I said with some surprise, “You really like him.”
     
    Her eyelashes fluttered. “Is it that obvious?”
     
    “Only to us,” Mom said with a wink. Sobering, she asked, “Is he a nice man, Crystal? Is he good enough for you?”
     
    Crystal wiggled her finger at us. “Come over here and look at this.”
     
    Mom and I followed her like two puppies.
     
    “This is the Monarch 5000.” She ran her hand across the top of a boxy white plastic dehydrator. “It’s the very same model that Solomon bought last week. The top of the line. Deluxe. It’s got a timer and temperature gauge for all your food groups, and it comes in five- or nine-shelf models.”
     
    “Nine shelves,” Mom said. “That’s impressive.”
     
    “Isn’t it? Solomon took the nine-shelf unit.”
     
    Mom nodded. “Of course he did.”
     
    “It works with meat and fish, and makes the best squirrel jerky you’ve ever tasted in less than six hours. Nobody can touch that time. Solomon knew it and grabbed it. He’s smart, he’s strong, and he has the best taste in everything.”
     
    Mom gave a thumbs-up. “He knows his dehydrators. That’s for sure.”
     
    “He does indeed,” Crystal said, then flashed a smug smile. “I also sold him the newest water-filtration pen that all the Ogunites are excited about. My point is, Solomon will survive wherever he goes. And what woman doesn’t find that an attractive quality in a man?”
     
    “The survivalist instinct,” Mom said, pondering the words. “It certainly speaks to our most basic needs as women.”
     
    Cave
women
, I thought, but didn’t say it aloud.
     
    “I