One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

doorbell. Again.
     
    “I’m afraid to answer it,” I said, flashing Derek an apprehensive look. But I picked up the phone anyway and said hello.
     
    “Hey, babe.”
     
    Gabriel.
My stomach relaxed and I buzzed him in. He bypassed the slow freight elevator and took the stairs and arrived at my door in a minute flat.
     
    I couldn’t bear to sit in the living room where Angelica’s body had lain for the past three hours (memo to self: grab some of Mom’s cleansing white sage to purify and chase away the dead-body vibes in my living room), so we moved into my workroom and sat at the high table. I’d taught private classes in my home, so there were four comfortable high chairs. If someone else showed up, they would have to stand. I doubted that would be a problem.
     
    I served hors d’oeuvres: more cookies, plus the last of some Brie I had in the fridge and half a bag of potato chips. Wine for me, beer for the guys. Nobody complained.
     
    We amused Gabriel with the horrific story of the body in the box, plus the murdered delivery guy.
     
    “Sorry I missed the fun,” Gabriel said with black humor.
     
    I gave him a dark look, but conceded, “This means that Solomon is a sure bet for Joe Taylor’s murderer.”
     
    “Not necessarily,” Derek said.
     
    Max leaned his elbows on the table, looking puzzled. “Who else could’ve done it?”
     
    “Angelica,” Derek said cryptically as he swirled his wine.
     
    “Meow.” I glanced down and saw Clyde staring up at me. He’d spent the day hiding in Max’s room and I couldn’t blame him.
     
    “Do you want to come up?” I asked.
     
    “Meow.”
     
    I figured that meant yes, so I pushed my chair back from the table a few inches. He crouched, then jumped up onto my lap in one amazingly smooth move. He took his time getting comfy, staring up at me, rubbing his face against my chest. Then he circled around and wiggled a little until he found just the right spot, and plopped himself down.
     
    “I love this cat.”
     
    “And he loves you,” Max said easily.
     
    I gazed down at my fuzzy friend and stroked his pretty orange fur. “You don’t understand. Cats don’t like me.”
     
    “Where’d you get that idea?” he said, and leaned over to scratch Clyde’s neck.
     
    From every other cat I’ve ever known,
I thought grimly, but didn’t say. Instead, I glanced across at Derek. “You still think Angelica could’ve killed Joe?”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    “But why? And what do you think happened afterward? Did she and Solomon have a falling-out and he killed her?”
     
    “Yes,” Max said.
     
    Derek nodded. “It’s the most likely scenario.”
     
    “A lover’s spat,” Gabriel mused.
     
    Max’s face soured in disgust. “Those two would stop at nothing to destroy everyone else. Why not destroy each other?”
     
    “Poetic justice?” I said.
     
    “Works for me,” Gabriel said, grabbing a handful of chips.
     
    “But it could just as likely be Solomon who killed Joe,” Derek conceded.
     
    “We need to talk to him,” I said.
     
    “There’s no
we
here,” Derek said testily. “You’re going to stay as far away from him as possible.”
     
    I rolled my eyes, looked around the table, and palmed another cookie. “So what do we do right now?”
     
    “I’m going to get another beer,” Max answered. “Anyone else?” There were no takers, so Max strolled out to the kitchen.
     
    Someone knocked on my front door and I flinched, disturbing the cat enough that he turned and grunted at me and his claws came out. If I nudged him off, would he ever speak to me again? Could I live with that?
     
    “I’ll get the door, darling,” Derek said, already halfway there. “Don’t disturb your new friend.”
     
    “Clyde thanks you,” I said, smiling gratefully. “It’s probably one of the neighbors wanting to commiserate.”
     
    Derek glanced through the peephole and gave me a look. “It’s a woman I don’t recognize.”
     
    “As long as it’s not Minka, go ahead and open it.”
     
    “I hate to disrupt the cat,” he said, “but I’d rather you confirm that you know her first.”
     
    “Okay.” I gently nudged Clyde off my lap and walked over to the door, where I squinted through the peephole at the woman waiting in the hall.
     
    My jaw dropped to the ground and my heart stuttered in my chest. But I managed to recover enough to whisper, “Emily?”
     

Chapter 21
     
    “One of your neighbors let me into the