Peril in Paperback: A Bibliophile Mystery

at him. “Not exactly, but I suppose she might have an inkling. She’s not a stupid woman.”
    “She handed you the poisoned drink,” I said.
    “That doesn’t mean she was the one who added poison to the glass.” Grace shook her head vigorously and refused to look at either of us. “No. It had to have been done by someone else.”
    “So someone else poisoned the drink and handed it to Ruth to give to you?”
    “Yes. That must be what happened.” She stared intently at her fingers as she fiddled with her rings. “Something like that, anyway.”
    “Grace, who do you think would do that?”
    She looked up and her eyes were damp with tears. “I haven’t got a clue.”
    *     *     *
    Merrilee updated us with the latest information from the police dispatcher. There had been a major traffic accident on Highway 89, so the police wouldn’t be able to make it to Grace’s place before morning.
    I stared at Gabriel, knowing what he was thinking. There was no way we could leave Bella’s body unattended in that warm upstairs room all night.
    I had taken at least a hundred pictures, so the police couldn’t complain that we were mucking with the crime scene. Well, they could complain, but it was their own fault for not going to the trouble to get here faster.
    I enlisted Suzie and Vinnie for help, and the three of us wrapped Bella’s body securely in a clean white sheet. This time Gabriel snapped photographs, memorializing every step we took. Then Gabriel and Nathan carried Bella downstairs and outside. We all walked with them around the house to the root cellar located beneath the conservatory. It was below freezing and snow was still falling, so if my rudimentary knowledge of forensics was correct, Bella’s body would decompose more slowly down here.
    That thought gave me shivers. You’d think I would have become used to the realities of dealing with dead bodies by now, but no.
    More pictures were taken inside the root cellar; then Gabriel locked the door with Grace’s key and our small, intrepid group trundled back inside the house.
    After Merrilee had arranged for a bedroom for Gabriel, she and Grace and the rest of the guests retired for the evening. I was wide awake, so I asked Gabriel if he would like to stay up and talk for a while.
    He grabbed a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses while I snagged a plate of leftover appetizers and led the way to the cozy TV room I’d found earlier that day. It was a comfort to see that the short knight in shining armor still stood guard in the corner. He was a lot less scary now that I had company with me.
    I sat on the couch and watched as Gabriel poured twoglasses of wine. He first took a sip of the wine, then handed me the other glass and sat in the nearby chair.
    “So what are you doing here, really?” I’d been wanting to ask him that question all evening and finally had the chance.
    He stretched out his legs. “Grace invited me.”
    “But how? I can’t believe you know her. Is this a small world or what?” I tucked my legs underneath me and nestled into the corner of the couch.
    “She and I share a passion for books,” he said, his smile enigmatic.
    I narrowed in on him. “Did you steal one for her?”
    “Brooklyn, Brooklyn.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Let’s just say we’re old friends and leave it at that.”
    It was a reasonable question, given that shortly after the first time I ever met Gabriel he somehow managed to steal an extremely valuable book from my home. The book didn’t belong to me, so the fact that I later discovered it in the home of the very person I had meant to give it to was somewhat mollifying. But still, I had little doubt that Gabriel was a thief for hire, among other occupations.
    I sipped my wine for a moment, then decided to take his advice and change the subject. “So how did you figure out that Bella was poisoned? Can you smell cyanide? I don’t think Marko smelled it. And how in the world did someone get cyanide into the house?”
    He shrugged. “It’s not that uncommon an ingredient. And I happen to have a good sense of smell. Only about forty percent of the population can detect the scent of cyanide.”
    “Really? I guess we’re lucky you’re one of them.”
    He said nothing, just took a sip of his wine.
    “But seriously, Gabriel. Cyanide poisoning? Sounds like something out of the Cold War, don’t you think?”
    “It does. But it’s still used all the time in herbicides and drain