Peril in Paperback: A Bibliophile Mystery

measure, then crossed the room. “Maybe we could do something together.”
    “Really?”
    “Sure. I was going to pass on the whole thing, but we could figure something out.”
    I remembered my original idea from earlier that day. “Let’s go to the music room. I want to see if Grace has any bongo drums.”
    “You play bongos?” Suzie said, as we walked out of the game room and down the hall to the music room.
    “Well, sure,” I said, staring at the huge metal cutoutsof musical notes that decorated the walls. “Anyone can play bongos.”
    “Hey, I have a great idea.” Suzie picked up a shiny silver flute from the bandstand in the center of the room. “You play bongos and I’ll accompany you on the flute.”
    I blinked. “You play the flute?”
    “Well, yeah,” she said, frowning at me. “Anyone can play the flute.”
    “Shut up.” But I was laughing now, too. Suzie’s answer did not bode well for Grace’s talent show that night, but maybe by performing together, the two of us would be able to provide some laughs. Laughs would be nice after everything that had happened around here in the past twenty-four hours.
    I came across three old sets of bongos and tested them all briefly. I picked out the prettiest-looking one since they all sounded the same. And I sounded like a fool trying to imitate the beatniks I’d seen in those beach-blanket movies, but that was okay. I would just channel my dad, who easily could have been one of the original beat poets in a former life.
    We ran downstairs to my bedroom to rehearse, but spent most of the time laughing so hard, our stomachs ached. After almost an hour of silliness, we had our act finalized. Suzie left to find Vinnie and get ready for the evening ahead.
    I had more than an hour and a half to get ready, so I took a moment to jog down the hall to the library, just to check on things. Nathan’s desk was closed and locked, so I assumed he was done for the day. I picked up a few of the books that were scattered on the reading table and began to shelve them.
    “Oh, good. I was hoping I’d find you here.”
    I turned and saw Kiki standing in the doorway.
    “Hi, Kiki. Come on in. Were you interested in finding a particular book?”
    “No, just looking.” She wandered around the room, studying the knickknacks and reading book covers, so Icontinued putting the books away. I had to stand on tiptoe to reach one of the higher shelves that Nathan had designated for nonfiction, and shoved a tattered copy of Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography in its place between Michael J. Fox’s latest memoir and Mahatma Gandhi’s life story.
    I heard Kiki suck in a big gulp of air before finally speaking. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
    I stopped working and rested my hip against the table. “Okay. Go ahead.”
    “How do you know Gabriel?” She shook her head in frustration and started over. “What I mean is, what do you know about him? I mean, he’s not your boyfriend, is he? Is he nice? He seems really nice. But sort of mysterious. Oh, God.” She buried her face in her hands.
    I swallowed a chuckle. So Kiki had a little crush on Gabriel. How fun for me. “He’s not my boyfriend, Kiki.”
    She looked up right away. “He’s not? Oh, thank God.” She cringed. “I just mean…”
    “It’s okay, Kiki,” I said. “Gabriel’s a great guy.”
    “No. He’s beyond great. He’s awesome. He’s so handsome. He’s…I’m…”
    I glanced at her sideways, afraid she might hyperventilate. “You like him.”
    She gaped at me as though I were some kind of a genius for figuring that out. “Oh, my God. I do. You can tell?”
    Now I laughed. “Yes, I can tell.”
    She stopped in the middle of the room and let her head drop to her chest. “I feel like such a dolt.”
    “You’re not.” To distract her a little, I handed her a book and pointed at the wall. “Can you put that book back? It belongs on the third shelf up, right in the middle.”
    She took the book. Once it was shelved, she returned to the reading table. Her expression was deadly serious. “The thing is, Brooklyn, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know I’m alive. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s always toobusy and, well, I lose my courage. I was wondering…could you put in a good word for me?”
    I gazed at her for a moment, but she took my silence the wrong way.
    “You’re right,” she cried, throwing her hands up in the air. “I’m being an idiot. Never