One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

for a few seconds, then frowned. “Angelica—that was her name.” I’d heard Max call her Angel once, but she was the furthest thing from an angel I’d ever met.
     
    “Max’s friends couldn’t stand Angelica, so when he finally broke up with her, then met and fell in love with Emily, we were all overjoyed. They threw a party in Dharma to announce their engagement, and I needed to bring a gift. I’d had this copy of
Beauty and the Beast
for years, and I thought it would make a perfect gift.”
     
    “For an engagement party?”
     
    “I know.” I smiled ruefully as I sat back down at the conference table. “But it was the perfect gift for Max. You remember how big and brawny he was. He reminded me of that bear in the frontispiece.”
     
    Ian picked up the book and opened it to the engraved illustration of Beauty serving tea to the Beast. “Okay, whatever. That’s sweet, I guess. But, seriously, you gave them a fairy-tale book for their engagement?”
     
    “Come on,” I insisted. “We’re all book people. That’s what we do.”
     
    “I’m teasing you,” he said with a grin. “Sort of. It’s sweet, as I said.”
     
    I sighed deeply. “I cornered Max alone and gave him the book. I told him I would be glad to rebind it as a more appropriate engagement gift for Emily, but he wanted it kept exactly as it was.”
     
    “Why?”
     
    “He said he was a scruffy old beast and the book would always remind Emily of him.”
     
    “I don’t recall him being particularly scruffy,” Ian said, his eyes narrowed in thought.
     
    “He wasn’t, but he was a big guy—remember? Whenever he came back from a camping trip, his beard was so bushy, the first thing he would do was shave it off. Otherwise, his mother wouldn’t let him in the house.” I smiled at the memory. “Anyway, he loved the book and didn’t want any changes made. Emily was so sweet and petite and proper, she was the ideal Beauty to his Beast.”
     
    “Sounds like a man in love,” Ian said.
     
    “He had a great laugh,” I said softly, then turned to the flyleaf and tapped the inscription. “I watched Max write this to her.”
     
    Ian picked up the book and read the words aloud. “
To my beloved Beauty from her devoted Beast
.” It was signed and dated, as well.
     
    Ian looked at me sideways. “That little scribbling probably decreased the book’s value by thirty percent.”
     
    “Would you shut up? You’re so cynical.” I sighed. “Emily loved the book. She kept it clutched in her hands all during the party. Then a month or so later, Max was killed in a car crash.”
     
    Ian cringed. “I remember that part. It was tragic.”
     
    “It was,” I said. “At his funeral, I offered again to restore the book for Emily, but she wanted it to remain the way it was in memory of Max.”
     
    “So that was it, then?”
     
    “Sadly, no. A few weeks after Max’s death, Emily called to tell me her house had been broken into and someone had stolen the book. She could barely speak, she was so upset. And that’s the last time we ever spoke.”
     
    “I’m really sorry, Brooklyn,” Ian said. He sat down and pulled his chair close so he could wrap his arm around my shoulders. He gave me a little squeeze and said, “I guess seeing the book again is bringing up a lot of old memories for you.”
     
    “Yeah, it is.” I pulled a tissue from my bag and blew my nose.
     
    He sat back and gazed at the book for another long moment, then waved his hand in frustration. “Damn it, Brooklyn, do you know how much money I paid for this book?”
     
    I smacked his shoulder. “You couldn’t pretend to be sensitive to my pain for another minute or so?”
     
    “Sorry, kiddo. But what about my pain?”
     
    I knew he was kidding, trying to coax me out of my funk, so I tried to smile. “I’m just glad the book has resurfaced.”
     
    It was his turn to sigh. “I guess you’ll contact Emily now.”
     
    “I will.” I folded my hands on the table. “Look, she might not even want it back. She could be married with a kid by now and not even give a hoot about the book or Max.”
     
    “It’s possible,” he said, his tone skeptical.
     
    “Tell you what,” I said. “Once I find her and let herknow the book’s been recovered, I’ll ask her to consider donating it to the Covington.”
     
    Buoyed by the possibility, he nodded. “I would appreciate that. Thanks.”
     
    “I just wish I knew where to start. I must have an old