Peril in Paperback: A Bibliophile Mystery

with this world?
    I knew my questions would sound ridiculous to anyone who didn’t care about books as much as I did. For some reason, that thought depressed me even more thanthe missing books themselves did. I sighed, then opened my eyes and straightened up. Nathan Hayes stood nearby, watching me. Brave man. I almost felt sorry for him. It was obvious he thought I had gone off the deep end and now he was stuck with me for seven days.
    But I was too livid to care about his feelings just then. I was more concerned about myself, frankly. I knew this anger had less to do with finding these books than with that blasted phone call earlier. But admitting it, knowing it, did nothing to calm the fury still burning in my chest.
    The irony of the situation was almost funny. I had come to Grace’s party to relax, have fun, and avoid dead bodies. But now the only thing I wanted to do was murder someone.

Chapter 3
     
    “Let me help you up,” Nathan insisted, grabbing my elbow and lifting me off my knees.
    “Thanks,” I muttered, steadying my legs as I stood. I had completely embarrassed myself again, but I didn’t care. This was the kind of embarrassment I could handle. When it came to rescuing books, I was willing to do whatever it took. I pulled at my sparkly sweater to straighten it and brushed a few carpet fibers off my black slacks.
    Nathan stopped a passing waiter and grabbed two fresh glasses of champagne from the tray. “Here. You might need this.”
    “You’re right.” I tucked the books under my arm and took the flute gratefully.
    “Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass to mine. “Here’s to finding books where you least expect them.”
    “I’ll drink to that.” I took a sip of the expensive champagne, but I could barely taste it. And that was just sad. I’d lost the urge to indulge. I blamed it on the trauma of finding that poor book holding up the table.
    “So what are these books?” Nathan asked, his tone tentative. He was probably scared to death of setting me off on another rant. And who could blame him?
    “Oh, sorry.” I hadn’t even given him a chance to lookat the books, so I handed him
Pilgrim’s Progress
. I set down my champagne glass and looked at the other book more closely. Its cover was tan speckled calfskin and the title and author’s name were gilded onto the black morocco spine.
Gulliver’s Travels
. I opened it up and found the date on the title page was 1726.
    Holy Mother.
    I closed the book quickly. My head was in danger of exploding and I didn’t want to damage the precious vellum.
    “This dent in the front cover is unacceptable,” Nathan said, scowling as he handed
Pilgrim’s Progress
back to me. “But it’s a stunning book. Do you want me to take it to the library with me?”
    “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. But you ain’t seen nothing yet,” I muttered, opening
Gulliver’s
to show him the print date.
    “Whoa. Are you kidding?” he said, then quickly lowered his voice as he took the book and examined it. “What was it doing behind the couch?”
    “That was my question.”
    “Wait,” he said, squinting at the book’s spine. “This says it’s volume two.”
    “Let me see.” I took it back and stared at the spine. It wasn’t gilded so I’d missed it the first time. But now I saw the faint indentation in the pale leather. VOL. II .
    “So there’s at least one more volume around here somewhere.” I clenched my teeth together to keep from squealing again. “This one book has got to be worth thousands, so if there are two volumes, they belong in a museum.”
    “Yeah, I get that.”
    My exhaustion was growing, not only from the adrenaline rush of annoyance at finding the books, but also from my numerous attempts to keep from reacting to that silly phone call. My stomach hurt, too. “I’m hungry.”
    Nathan laughed. “Now, there’s a non sequitur.”
    I shot him a quick look. “Did I say that out loud?”
    “Yeah, but don’t worry. Grace likes to eat early, so dinner should be announced any minute now.”
    “Good. I skipped lunch.” And that was a sentence I’d rarely uttered in my whole life. How had that happened? I never missed meals. But now I remembered I’d been running around the house, packing and getting ready to leave for a week. I must have forgotten to eat.
    “I could sneak you into the kitchen,” he said with a grin. “I’ve gotten to know the chef pretty well.”
    I glanced around the room and saw Grace going from group