Peril in Paperback: A Bibliophile Mystery

without her tablet computer, on which she made notes about her latest ideas.
    “Such an odd creature,” Sybil murmured.
    “Yes. Isn’t she?” Harrison said, but his tone was cheerful. He caught me watching him and winked. I had to admit I liked him even more today.
    Madge saw the wink and scowled. Pushing her chairback from the table, she stood. “I’m going for a walk in the woods.”
    Harrison stared at his half-eaten plate of food, then sighed and stood. “I’ll go with you, my dear.”
    “Don’t bother,” Madge said sharply.
    He laughed and turned to the rest of us. “She’s kidding.”
    Madge grumbled something under her breath, then stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Barely a second later, Merrilee opened the door and walked in, looking a little dazed. Clearly, Madge had shoved the door closed rather than keep it open for the housekeeper.
    Madge was so offensive! In that moment, I wanted to track her down and slap her.
    Despite the affront, Merrilee flashed me another bright smile. “I see you found our buffet.”
    “Yes, and your homemade doughnuts,” I said. “Thank you.”
    Sybil stood, ignoring me as she walked out of the room.
    “We’re off to explore the conservatory,” Peter said, as he pushed away from the table.
    “Enjoy,” I said, but wondered how he could enjoy anything, being married to that woman. I felt the same way about Harrison. How odd to be in the company of two such genial, successful men who were both married to horrid wives. I suppose there was a lesson in there somewhere, but I couldn’t begin to figure it out.
    I was about to take the last bite of my buttermilk doughnut when I remembered last night’s tarot card reading and Vinnie’s dire warning that Sybil could be in danger and should be watched. Should I follow them? I stared at my doughnut and reasoned that since Sybil would be in the company of her husband, who appeared stalwart enough to protect his wife, I would leave them alone. So after gulping down the last of my coffee I escaped back to my own room.
    Still feeling a little groggy from the lack of sleep, I took a long shower in the hope that it would revive me. It worked to some extent, and as I dried my hair and dressed for the day in black jeans, ankle boots, and a red turtleneck sweater, I considered my next move. I could always track down Vinnie and Suzie and see what they were up to. I also had big plans to get a massage, but that could wait until tomorrow. And I wanted to go to the library and see what progress Nathan was making on the book cataloging.
    That reminded me of my promise to hunt down any wayward books and return them to the safety of the library.
    I decided to start with my own room.
    “A daunting task,” I muttered as I glanced at all the books. But I could at least skim the shelves for anything of real value that might be better off and safer in the confines of the library. Plus I was anxious to check out those cool ceiling racks.
    “Cool in the light of day, that is,” I said aloud, reminding myself that I’d been scared boneless last night when I thought they were going to suffocate me.
    Twenty minutes later I’d found six books on the shelves that I deemed too valuable to remain outside the library. I set them on the coffee table in front of the couch, then grabbed the remote control that operated the shelving up near the ceiling. I felt some trepidation after my first experience with the moving shelves and also because Vinnie had planted the seeds of suffocation in my susceptible little brain. But I forged ahead and pushed the power button, then pressed the button marked Number One on the panel.
    I watched the shelf descend and marveled at this genius setup. I still wasn’t sure why Grace had gone to all this trouble. Maybe she simply enjoyed a new challenge. Maybe one day she looked up and said,
Hmm, I’ll build an elaborate yet nonsensical bookshelf on the ceiling. Why not?
    I could see her with her computer notepad, sketching out a fancy design with her stylus. She liked pretty things, so the shape would have to be attractive and swirly. The wood itself looked expensive and intricately sculpted, and the pattern of fluttering petals sweeping across the ceiling like a surrealistic flower had probably appealed to her sense of whimsy. I would have to ask her where the idea had come from. In the meantime, it was a mystery, but a fun one.
    As soon as the shelf was lowered to my waist level, I pressed