Peril in Paperback: A Bibliophile Mystery

food, and wine, and lately, doughnuts. I had driven up to Lake Tahoe that morning with my two favorite neighbors, Suzie Stein and Vinnie Patel, to spend the week at the home of Suzie’s wealthy,eccentric aunt Grace Crawford. We were here to celebrate Grace’s birthday. It was the Big 5-0, and Grace wanted to do it up in style.
    Grace’s good friend, Ruth Kinsley, had convinced Grace to celebrate her fiftieth birthday with an old-fashioned house party on the lake. In her engraved invitation, Grace had promised her guests that this weeklong party would be the most delightful, most fabulous shindig ever, the sort of party we’d all still be talking about for the next fifty years.
    I was looking forward to the party atmosphere, but I also hoped I might get some quiet relaxation time. After all, I was about to spend seven long days in a gorgeous home with little else to do all day but sit around and enjoy the beauty of its idyllic lakefront setting. Sounded good to me. I’d been working too hard lately and the long hours were starting to catch up with me. In fact, watching Grace refold the cashmere throw at the end of the bed made me want to lie down and take a nap.
    “I looked over my list of guests,” Grace said, fluffing one of the pillows. “And I couldn’t think of anyone who would appreciate this room more than you.”
    “That’s sweet, Grace,” I said, hoping she could hear the sincerity in my voice as I parked my rolling suitcase near the foot of the bed. “You know how much I love books.”
    “You and me both,” she said, laughing as she glanced around. “I guess that’s pretty obvious.”
    I laughed with her. It would be rude not to, right? I continued my slow turn, gazing at the four walls that were covered in bookshelves crammed with books. There was the occasional window, thank goodness, and a few pieces of necessary bedroom furniture: an elegant dresser and mirror; a small but comfortable love seat that faced two matching chairs at one end of the large room; and a sumptuous bed with an ornate paneledheadboard filled with—you guessed it—more books. Other than those items of furniture and the windows, it was bookshelves that occupied every inch of wall space. Even the dresser held a row of books lined up beneath the matching mirror.
    “I had no idea you had so many,” I said.
    She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “I can’t seem to quit collecting.”
    Time to seek professional help,
I thought, not unkindly, as I continued to survey the room. I knew Grace was a book lover. That was how we’d met. About a year ago, Grace had mentioned to her niece, Suzie, that she wanted some of her favorite books rebound, so Suzie had recommended me. Since then Grace and I had done business several times. I’d visited her home once before and we’d had afternoon tea in her grand salon.
    Grace Crawford was nothing like what I’d expected. I had imagined a genteel, gray-haired granny type who knitted quietly, surrounded by her twelve cats. For excitement, she might play a mean game of canasta.
    Instead, Grace was down-to-earth and fun. A ball of energy, she was petite, like Suzie, and wore her dark brown hair cut in a sassy bob. She favored bright, loose clothing, long dresses and flowing tops that billowed dramatically when she walked into a room. The first time I met her, I’d had the instant impression of a colorful tropical bird in perpetual motion. I liked her.
    Except for this massive home perched on twenty private acres overlooking Lake Tahoe—well, and the gazillions of valuable books and all the lovely, expensive furniture and furnishings and artwork inside the house—you would never know that Grace Crawford was a self-made billionaire. She had amassed a fortune in the computer games industry and was recognized among her family and friends and most of the world at large as the original geeky game girl. In personality and demeanor,she was the oddest blend of Old World elegance, laid-back sixties cool, and nerdy earnestness. I liked all those aspects of her. And Grace’s quirky sensibilities—such as putting a suit of armor in the powder room, or serving bite-sized Twinkies next to the delicate cucumber sandwiches at afternoon tea—never failed to make me smile.
    Plus, she’d given me a lot of business lately. I liked that about her, too, naturally.
    Vinnie had often referred to Grace as a book hoarder, but I’d dealt with a true hoarder recently and couldn’t agree with Vinnie’s