One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

her. Even though he towered over her and outweighed her by a hundred pounds or so, she showed no fear.
     
    “Never mind,” she repeated, nodding her head in double time. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
     
    I choked on a laugh. Max was three for three in the gut-punching sweepstakes. I happened to glance at Gabriel, who was grimacing as he unconsciously patted his own stomach. That’s when I lost it and laughed out loud.
     
    “Stop that,” Max said, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You’re enjoying this too much.” Then he turned on Emily. “And you. You’ve never been a violent person. What was that for?”
     
    “What was tha—? Are you kidding? You drove over a cliff and died! You left me alone for three years!” She pointed her own finger in his direction. “You’re right. I never was violent before, but I’m feeling it now. I thought you were dead. But you weren’t. You just left. I wasn’t worth a call? A note? You couldn’t text me?” She shook all over in anger. “You should be glad I only hit you in the stomach.”
     
    He looked uncomfortable at that, but then stubbornly insisted, “I couldn’t tell you.”
     
    “You didn’t trust me.”
     
    “I was protecting you,” he said hotly. “And if you’d seen that body in the box that showed up here a few hours ago, you’d understand exactly what I was dealing with back then and why I was trying to protect you.”
     
    “Oh, please. What body in the box?” she asked, her voice tinged with sarcasm.
     
    He whipped around and looked straight at me. “Tell her.”
     
    I stared at him for a second or two, then turned to Emily. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
     
    “Yes,” she said irately, and followed me into the 11 kitchen. “A big one.”
     
    I grabbed a glass from the shelf, then turned to her. “Are you okay?”
     
    She scraped her hair off her face, fell back against the refrigerator, and shut her eyes tightly. “Oh, God. I’m…I’m furious.” She opened her eyes and watched as I poured the wine.
     
    “I was furious, too,” I confessed. “And the only reason I was laughing a minute ago was because when I first saw him, I punched him in the stomach, too. And so did my mother.”
     
    “Good,” she said viciously. “God! I don’t think I’ve ever been this down-to-the-bone angry.”
     
    “Well, maybe a few sips of wine will help.”
     
    “Thanks.” She took a sip and placed the glass on the counter. She had to lean against the fridge for another moment. “Oh, God, I’m so mad at him.”
     
    I rubbed her shoulder. “I understand, sweetie.”
     
    “But, Brooklyn, I’m so…so…” She pressed her hand to her mouth and her eyes began to water again. She whispered, “I’m so happy.”
     
    “Oh, Emily.” I wrapped my arms around her. “I’m happy, too.”
     
    An hour later, we all sat in the living room, talking. Max and Emily sat close together at one end of the couch, but I sensed plenty of nervousness from both of them. There were the occasional pats on the knees and shoulders rubbing together, but otherwise they barely made eye contact. When Max snuck a glance, Emily would look away. And vice versa. Essentially, they were strangers. I knew—well, I
hoped
, anyway—that they would work things out, but it was going to take some time. Unfortunately, there was a killer on the loose, and that could put a damper on any immediate plans of Max’s to rush Emily back into his life.
    I sat at the other end of the couch, close to Derek, who’d taken the big red chair. Gabriel had pulled over one of the leather Buster chairs and we all had our feet up on the coffee table and were thinking about ordering pizza.
     
    Because Max had insisted, Derek and I had started the conversation by describing to Emily the gruesome details of what happened when we opened the box I’d thought would contain new bookshelves. I still shivered when I pictured Angelica inside that box, her lips blue, her skin devoid of color, her lifeless body arranged so demurely in a long velvet dress with dying flowers strewn all around her.
     
    “How sick can you get?” Emily said, frowning deeply.
     
    I briefly described how the Covington had obtained the stolen
Beauty and the Beast
and what happened when I got to Joe Taylor’s bookstore.
     
    Then Max told her everything he’d endured three years ago and why he’d concluded that his only option was to stage his own death.
     
    “I wish you’d