Peril in Paperback: A Bibliophile Mystery

heavens, no,” Grace said, laughing. “Suzie’s not that dim.”
    I laughed with relief. “I’m glad to hear you say so.”
    Grace paused, thinking, then said, “It was probably Celeste.”
    I had to think for a second before recalling that Kiki had an older sister who couldn’t make it to Grace’s party this week.
    “Next time she’s here,” Grace continued, “I’ll tell her to be more careful with my nice things.”
    “On behalf of your books, I thank you.”
    She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
    “There’s one other thing I wanted to ask.”
    She sat back in her chair. “What is it?”
    “I’ve told you before what I think of your collection, right? It needs a little organizing, but the books themselves are fabulous.”
    “That means so much to me, coming from you.”
    I held out
Pilgrim’s Progress
again. “Grace, you might not realize, but this book is very rare and worth a lot of money. It’s more than two hundred years old. The printer, Isaiah Thomas, is legendary in the history of bookmaking, too. And except for that stupid dent in the cover, the book is in excellent condition. It should be in a museum or a library collection.”
    “Well, that’s wonderful.” But she frowned and added, “Do you really think so?”
    “I do, yes. If you were willing to part with it, I’m certain the Covington Library would pay a lot of money to have it. And then everyone who visits there could enjoy it.”
    As Grace pondered that possibility, I watched Shelly finish straightening up the bedroom area and then open the French doors to the terrace. She grabbed the broom leaning against the bedroom wall and began to sweep the ground, gathering up bits of dirt and grime with a dustbin.
    “I’m sorry, Brooklyn,” Grace said finally, “but I don’t think I could ever sell my books. I love having them around me and I just don’t need the money.”
    I leaned forward, undaunted. “Then you could make it a loan, or you could simply donate them. Your name would be whispered in reverent tones throughout the halls of the Covington Library forever.”
    She laughed. “I do like the sound of that. Let me think about it.”
    “I’m only talking about five or six books. Less than ten, anyway.”
    “I suppose I should be able to part with ten books. Shouldn’t I?” She shuddered and rubbed her arms briskly. “It’s getting chilly in here.”
    “The terrace doors are open,” I said. “Do you want me to close them?” Without waiting for an answer, I stood and walked over to the doorway.
    “Oh, I’ll be fine,” Grace said mildly. “Let Shelly finish out there. She’ll only be another minute.”
    Shelly squatted down to sweep the last of the dust into the bin. Then she grabbed hold of the railing to pull herself up.
    It was like watching a horror show in stop-action photography. The railing wobbled in Shelly’s hand. Then one end snapped off the stone wall.
    Shelly screeched in shock and fear as the entire railing swung out over the ledge with her hanging on precariously.
    Grace screamed even louder.
    “Hold on!” I cried. I raced out and lunged for the railing itself, but it veered too far from the balcony. I had to scramble backward to keep from falling off the ledge myself.
    The other end of the railing was still attached to the opposite wall, but the heavy metal hinge was being pulled away from the stone with every second that passed.
    “Help me!” Shelly shrieked as she dangled in the air.
    “Keep holding on,” I shouted. “Grace! Call for help!”
    Grace ran screaming into the hall.
    I grasped the other end of the railing still attached to the wall. The screws were starting to give way from the extra weight of Shelly and the swinging motion of the rail itself. I wasn’t sure I could hold it together.
    Seconds later—although it felt like an hour—Gabriel rushed out to the terrace. “Don’t let go,” he told me.
    “Hurry!” I said.
    Shelly’s screams made it impossible to hear anything, but who could blame her? She was swaying in midair almost three floors above the ground. If she fell, she would break every bone in her body. Or worse.
    “Stop crying and listen to me,” Gabriel said in a firmvoice, and Shelly immediately quieted. As he flattened himself out on the terrace floor and stretched one arm over the edge, he continued to speak in a steady, serious tone. “Hold tight to the rail with both hands. I’m going to lift you up and onto the balcony and you’ll be safe.