Peril in Paperback: A Bibliophile Mystery

get completely riled up at her. I was used to people undervaluing books, especially these days when you could download a classic novel onto your phone for free. But it was frustrating to know that my own sister couldn’t recognize the book’s value. Savannah was many things: chef extraordinaire, bald as a baby, free spirit, vegetarian. But book lover? Nope, not Savannah. Not in this lifetime.
    Ignoring her, I inspected the book’s table of contents and couldn’t help smiling at some of the old-fashioned terms used for the various chapters:
    “Mutton Flesh: A Primer”
    “Drying and Salting of Flesh and Fyshes”
    “Collaring, Potting and Pickling”
    “Fricassees”
    “Syllabubs and Jellies”
    I wondered again how Savannah had come into possession of this intriguing cookbook. On the spot, I decided I would swing by the Covington Library tomorrow and show it to Ian McCullough, my old friend and the Covington’s chief curator. I so enjoyed making him drool with envy.
    “Earth to Brooklyn.”
    “What? Oh, sorry.” I closed the book reluctantly and set it on top of the Pucci scarf. “Okay, look, I’ll clean and repair it, and I’ll tighten these joints and hinges that have loosened, but I can’t give it a pretty new cover.” I held up my hand to stop her from saying something snottier than she already had. “It wouldn’t be ethical. This book is bound to be historically significant, which makes it extremely valuable in its present state.”
    She made a pouty face, but it was mostly for my benefit. “You’re probably right.”
    “But I can make a pretty jewel case box for it.”
    The storm clouds disappeared from her eyes and sherelaxed a little. “Really? Okay. Good. Can you make it sort of manly looking? Nothing frilly.”
    “Sure. I can use some of the beautiful dark endpapers Derek brought me back from Brussels.”
    “How romantic of him.”
    “Hey, he knows me.”
    She smiled fondly. “That’s nice.”
    “So when do you need it done?” I asked.
    “Two weeks from tomorrow.”
    I wrapped the book in the scarf and tied the ends protectively. “Who are you giving it to?”
    “Do you remember Baxter Cromwell?”
    “Of course.” I frowned. “Wait. You’re not giving this book to Baxter. Why in the world would you do that?”
    “Why not?”
    It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Because he’s a scumbag jerk?”
    Baxter Cromwell was an old friend of Savannah’s from her time in Paris. They had attended Le Cordon Bleu together and dated for a few months. I knew that because I had visited Savannah while she was living in Paris, where she had shared a flat with three other students, one of whom was Baxter.
    I had begged for a place to stay for a week, and Savannah had offered to let me sleep on her floor. I had seized the opportunity, because even though I would be sleeping on the floor, at least I would be sleeping on the floor
in Paris
. With the money I saved on a hotel room, I could buy more baguettes, croissants, cheese, wine, and chocolate. It was a no-brainer.
    But one night while there, I awoke to find someone crawling into my sleeping bag. He already had his hands on me by the time I woke up and started screaming. It was my sister’s so-called boyfriend, Baxter Cromwell. That scumbag jerk!
    Despite my outrage, Savannah didn’t take his betrayal very hard. She brushed it off at the time by admitting that she should’ve expected it. “That’s what I get forhooking up with a charming bad boy,” she’d said. And yet she had remained a loyal friend to him.
    After graduating, Baxter had combined his Cordon Bleu education with some family money and opened a small chain of upscale restaurants in and around London. He quickly gained a reputation as a raging jackass—no big surprise. But instead of ruining his career, his outlandish personality helped turn him into a reality show star. A female producer for one of the cooking networks met him and declared his food better than Gordon Ramsay’s—and he was much cuter! That was not a particularly high bar to reach, according to my best friend, Robin.
    Over the next few years, in addition to the television shows, Baxter worked relentlessly to expand his restaurant empire, opening new bistros and grand food palaces all over the world. Now the aforementioned scumbag jerk was a household name. But at least he was cute. Ugh.
    I looked at Savannah curiously. “Are you traveling to London?”
    “No, he’s coming here. He’s opening up a