One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

you?”
     
    “I do,” I said as I handed her my money.
     
    “If you’re a student, you can get discount tickets to the retrospective.”
     
    I frowned. “I’m not a student.”
     
    “Me, neither,” Mom said.
     
    “Oh,” the girl said, looking disappointed. But she perked up again. “Well, you should buy them, anyway, because it’s going to sell out. The buzz has been incredible.”
     
    “Really? What are you hearing about it?”
     
    “It’s all his most important work, plus a lot of photographs of him during his lectures and appearances. He was so hot, you know? And rumor has it that somebody really important will make an appearance. I hear he worked with celebrities a lot.”
     
    “Sounds exciting.”
     
    “Oh yeah. Everyone on campus is crazy about Max Adams. It was an absolute tragedy that he died so young, so we’re all determined to keep his spirit alive.”
     
    “That’s so beautiful,” I said.
     
    “Yeah. Max rocks.” She turned to the cash register. “You can buy the retrospective tickets here if you want.”
     
    I looked at Mom, who nodded, so I asked how much they were, and the price was reasonable enough. Not that it mattered. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. “Okay, I’ll take six tickets.”
     
    “Who’s invited to the opening-night party?” Mom asked.
     
    “It’s free and open to the public, so it’s going to be insanely crowded and stupid,” she said. “I’m totally going!”
     
    As we were leaving the sales counter, two young guys in green shirts and matching baseball caps walked into the store, pushing a cart loaded with boxes. I grabbed hold of Mom to stop her, just as the skinnier guy called out to the salesgirl, “Where do you want these, Shelley?”
     
    “Stack ’em over here behind the counter, Bennie,” the salesgirl answered.
     
    “Hey, Bennie,” I said, stepping closer. “Do you remember me? I’m London Wainwright’s sister Brooklyn.”
     
    He looked me up and down, and his mouth curved ina lopsided grin. “Sure, I remember you, Brooklyn. How you doin’?”
     
    “Benjamin Styles?” Mom said. “Is that you? Hello.”
     
    Bennie Styles was at least six feet tall and as gangly as a chicken. He still had adolescent pimples on his face and neck. It was hard to believe that this was the weapons expert who’d taught Solomon everything he knew about ammunition, guns, and survival.
     
    Bennie blinked at Mom; then his eyes widened. “Mrs., uh, Wainwright. How you doin’?”
     
    “I’m dandy, thanks,” Mom said.
     
    Bennie’s coworker elbowed him and Bennie jolted. “Oh, uh, this is my friend Stefan. This is Brooklyn and her mom.”
     
    “Hey, nice to meet you,” Stefan said, flashing us a grin. Melody was right. He was really cute. He winked and gave us both a thumbs-up before grabbing the cart and rolling it over to the counter to stack boxes.
     
    “So, what’re you guys doing here?” Bennie asked.
     
    “We were just purchasing tickets to the Max Adams Retrospective,” Mom said. “Are you going?”
     
    Bennie slapped his forehead in disgust. “If I hear that guy’s name one more time, I’m gonna punch somebody.”
     
    Mom took a half step back. “Why is that?”
     
    “Everybody’s gone crazy over him, that’s why. Especially the girls around here. Hello, the guy made paper. You know how he did it? With
paper
!” He waved his hands crazily. “Hello, I already got paper! There’s paper everywhere. Who needs more paper? Well, toilet paper, maybe. But what’s the big effing deal about this guy? Pardon my French.”
     
    “I appreciate your opinion, Bennie,” Mom said carefully.
     
    He pointed his finger to make a point. “Oh, it’s not just mine. One of the professors here is totally pissed off about all the publicity this Max Adams dude is getting. I swear, if the guy wasn’t already dead, Professor Solomon would’ve…Well, anyway.” He scratched his neck, unsure where to go from here.
     
    “Professor Solomon?” Mom said, her tone guileless. “I’m not sure I know who that is.”
     
    “Doesn’t matter.” Bennie’s lips twisted up in a grimace. “Sorry I was rude. I got a big mouth sometimes. I better get back to work.”
     
    “Wait, Bennie,” Mom said, stopping him. “Crystal Byers said you might be willing to teach me how to reload my ammunition. Can you still do that for me?”
     
    “Oh. Sure. Yeah. I mean, yes, ma’am. Crystal was say-
in’ you needed some help with