One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

on?”
     
    “I’m right outside,” he said. “Let me in. I want to say hi and see the book.”
     
    “Um, sure. Great. Here you go.” I pressed the code numbers to release the door lock, then raced upstairs to the roof.
     
    “Max,” I yelled, since the wind made it hard to hear. “Someone’s coming to see me, so stay up here, okay? Don’t come downstairs.”
     
    “Okay, no problem,” he said, waving me off, as casual as could be. “Let me know when it’s safe to come down.”
     
    “You got it.” I went running back down the stairs and closed the door that led to the roof, wondering how the hell he could be so laid-back when I was running around like a crazy person.
     
    Ian stayed for almost an hour. I showed him the leather I’d chosen for the cover, and we discussed the ideas I had for gilding the leather. He suggested an elaborately gilded, highly stylized cover with curlicues ineach corner. Since the book was from the Victorian era, I went along with his idea for a fancy design.
     
    While he was here, I pulled more cookies out of the oven. Ian grabbed two while they were still warm. Shortly after that, he took off, and by then I was ready to collapse. All this running around and worrying was taking its toll. The PVA had hardened, so I would have to make another batch. But not right away. Just now, I felt like taking a nap. Maybe I would take the rest of the day off, eat cookies, and read a good book.
     
    I was starting up the stairs to let Max know the coast was clear when the phone rang twice and stopped again.
Someone else is at the front door? What the heck?
I ran to the kitchen phone to answer it.
     
    “Hey, Brooklyn. It’s me, Ian.”
     
    “Did you forget something?”
     
    “Nope, just wanted to let you know a delivery guy is here with a huge box for you. I let him inside.”
     
    “Oh, my bookshelves. Thanks, Ian.”
     
    We hung up, and it was a full minute later before I heard our building’s ancient industrial freight elevator chug into action.
     
    I cleaned off my worktable and tossed the PVA in the trash can.
     
    The elevator shuddered to a stop and a few seconds later there was a knock on my door. That was one speedy deliveryman.
     
    Max was hidden away on the roof and everything was fine. I took a few deep breaths to steady my heart. I really wasn’t cut out for a life of intrigue.
     
    Oh, who was I kidding? I thrived on intrigue, but this day was driving me batty.
     
    “Brooklyn, yoo-hoo!” A voice called through the door. “You are home?”
     
    My neighbor Vinnie? I ran to open the door.
     
    “Hello, my friend,” she said, and stepped inside.
     
    I wrapped her in a warm hug. “Where’s Suzie? How are you? I haven’t seen you all week.”
     
    “We are fine,” she said in her chirpy voice. I held her at arm’s length to take in her outfit of black bustier, denim cutoffs, and army boots. On her it all worked.
     
    Then I realized there was someone standing behind her.
     
    “Delivery for Wainwright?” he said, parking his furniture dolly while he wiped his forehead with his baseball cap. Towering over him was a large brown box, about six feet tall and almost three feet wide. No wonder he seemed out of breath.
     
    “Right,” I said, grinning. “My bookshelves. Come on in.”
     
    I led the way, and Vinnie followed me from my workshop studio, where my front door was, through the short hall that led to my living room. I pointed to the wall on the left that was bare. “You can leave the box right there.”
     
    “That is why I am here, Brooklyn,” she explained in her lilting Indian accent. “I saw this man stepping off the elevator and I told him I would show him the way.”
     
    “Yo, Brooklyn?”
     
    “There’s Suzie,” Vinnie said, then cried out, “We are in here, Suzie.” Suzie and Vinnie were a loving couple as well as business partners in chain-saw artistry.
     
    “I knew it, you sneaky bitch.”
     
    That wasn’t Suzie’s voice. A sharp pain in my neck made me gasp aloud.
     
    Minka?
     
    She pushed her way past the delivery guy, lumbered right up to me, and smacked my arm. “How dare you?”
     
    “Hey,” I said, rubbing my arm. “What are you doing here?”
     
    “I followed Ian over here. I was sure he was up to no good.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
Ew. What a slob.
“When he left just now, he let this delivery guy in, so now I’ve caught you in a lie you can’t slither out