One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

of wine from him. I took a sip and checked the wall clock for the tenth time. Derek hadn’t yet called to say he was on his way, and I was feeling edgy. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I’d been driving around playing private eye all day. I got up from the table and moved around the kitchen, checking the refrigerator, checking the soup on the stove, glancing out the window.
     
    I went into the living room and tried Emily’s phone number again. Even though her principal had verified that she was on a leave of absence, she would still be checking her messages. Wouldn’t she? So maybe my first message got lost in the telephone-answering void.
     
    Listening to the sound of her voice on voice mail again brought back memories. The first time I called, I wasn’t absolutely certain it was her, but now I knew for sure. I left another message with my home and work numbers. I told her I lived in the city and could drive out to meet her anytime she wanted. I just really needed to talk to her, I said, then realized I was starting to sound desperate, so I hung up the phone.
     
    I was agitated about more than just Emily not contacting me and Derek being late. I was homesick for my apartment, for my work, for the city. I’d been away from home too long. I imagined my mail piling up and deadlines being missed, even though my neighbors were collecting my mail and my clients had all been alerted that their books would be ready in the next two weeks. Iloved my parents, loved my hometown, but I still ached to get back to the city.
     
    I came into the kitchen and idly tore a piece of paper from Mom’s notepad. I began folding it, first forward, then back, turning and twisting and making tiny folds. This was what I did when I was nervous. Within two minutes, I’d made an origami stork.
     
    “For you.” I held it out to Dad.
     
    He chuckled as he took it from me. It wasn’t much bigger than his thumb, but he held it carefully in the palm of his hand and shook his head in amazement. “You’re a genius.”
     
    “Hardly.” It was my turn to laugh. “I do make an awesome paper bird, though.”
     
    “A work of art,” Mom said lovingly.
     
    The phone rang and Dad picked it up, listened, then handed it to me. “It’s Derek.”
     
    I grabbed the phone. “Hi.”
     
    “Darling, I can’t make it out there tonight. There’s simply too much going on.”
     
    “You sound tired.
     
    “Just aggravated.”
     
    “I’m sorry.”
     
    “Yes, I am, too. I want you to be extra careful. I don’t like to leave you alone at night.”
     
    “I don’t like it, either.”
     
    I asked him if he’d unearthed any information on the Ogunite church or the survivalists, but he confessed that he had been too busy to deal with any of that. We spoke for a few more minutes; then I hung up and called Gabriel to give him the news. He assured me he would stay at Jackson’s tonight and we would all talk tomorrow.
     
    I hung up the phone and immediately felt lonely. And that was ridiculous. I couldn’t go one night without seeing Derek? What was wrong with me? I had a rich, full life and was perfectly capable of entertaining myself. I enjoyed my time alone. Besides, I wasn’t actually alone. My parents were both watching me carefully.
     
    “Derek can’t make it tonight,” I said. “He’s still at work and it sounds like he’ll be there for a while.”
     
    “In that case, we’ll just have to play three-handed Bananagrams,” Mom said.
     
    The next day, I decided it was time to make a bold move. I asked Mom for the keys to her car, but when she found out where I intended to go, she refused to be left behind.
    “All right,” I said, “but this isn’t a carefree stroll in the park. We’ll take one quick walk around the campus, gather whatever empirical data we can glean, and then we’re out of there.”
     
    “Aye, aye, captain,” she said, saluting smartly.
     
    “And don’t wear anything too colorful,” I warned. “We don’t want to attract any attention.”
     
    “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll dress just like you,” Mom said.
     
    I looked down at my dark jeans and slim, black leather jacket, then back at her. “Ouch, Mom.”
     
    She waved me off. “Oh, you know what I mean. You always look beautiful.” Then she ran down the hall to change clothes.
     
    I wasn’t so sure she meant that, but ten minutes later, she came out in blue jeans, a thin red sweater, and a cropped navy jacket.
     
    “Mom, you