Peril in Paperback: A Bibliophile Mystery

smile didn’t fool me. He wasn’t happy. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he turned his back on me to speak with Grace.
    He wouldn’t make eye contact with me after that. I tried not to take it personally as I twirled a few delicate strands of homemade fettuccine onto my fork and savored the mix of cream, butter, and pungent Parmesan cheese. Spectacular pasta, as usual, and the Kosta Browne pinot noir I’d found in the wine cellar was an exquisite pairing.
    Fantastic food, wonderful wine. A darling new baby in our midst. Who could be unhappy when we had all that to celebrate and enjoy?
    So why was Nathan so irritable? Was his computer still on the fritz? Maybe, but I was pretty sure his chilly response to me had nothing to do with his computer. He’d made it more than clear that he didn’t want to talk to me. Was it something I’d said? Or was I just being overly sensitive?
    Fowler’s presence had cast a dark cloud over the table, but this change in Nathan wasn’t related to Fowler.
    And just like that, I was suspicious again. Was Nathan not speaking to me because of what Vinnie and Suzie had said about my detecting skills last night? Maybe that’s why he’d decided to stay and watch me build that book box. Maybe he’d been keeping an eye on me. Washe worried? Or fearful of my tendency toward rooting out bad guys and bringing them to justice?
    Even if Nathan was afraid or guilt ridden, I was tired of being suspicious of everyone. Tired and fed up. Why couldn’t I just relax and enjoy life? Why was suspicion my semipermanent state these days?
    Well, there
had
been a murder, I reminded myself, along with any number of suspicious acts since then. Who
wouldn’t
be suspicious?
    Fine. I couldn’t snap my fingers and make my suspicions go away, so I decided to fiercely embrace them. All through the salad course, I pondered what might be wrong with Nathan. What had changed? Why was he avoiding me? Did he have something to hide? Like, say, a cassava root mixed in with his gym shorts?
    For most of the meal, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was distracted tonight, overly friendly one minute, moody the next. When Marko asked him about a football game airing that weekend, Nathan scowled and told him football wasn’t everything. Huh? The world’s biggest football fan was turning down an invitation to watch the game? Was he angry at Marko, too?
    Strangely enough, it comforted me to know that it wasn’t just me he was angry with. The only person he was genuinely happy to talk to was Merrilee. But that didn’t mean anything. Everyone was friendly with Merrilee. Except for Sybil. And Madge, of course. It went without saying that Madge didn’t like anyone, but Merrilee seemed to garner a large portion of her wrath. Probably because she was so nice. Or maybe it was because she was “the help.”
    Now, Madge was a person who deserved my suspicion. She hated everyone and everything. She criticized the staff, whined about the weather, even complained about the pasta. The pasta! Oh, it didn’t taste
bad
, she insisted. There was just too damn much of it.
    The fact that she’d asked for second helpings twonights in a row wasn’t a detail anyone was willing to mention.
    She was bad tempered, condescending, and not very bright. A deadly trifecta. Sadly, though, I couldn’t see her experimenting with a cassava root. I wasn’t even sure she’d know how to pronounce it.
    It made me wonder all over again just what Harrison saw in her. But then, the reasons why couples got together and stayed together were a mystery for the ages.
    That thought made me glance at Peter and Sybil Brinker. In a way, Sybil was almost worse than Madge. Her passive-aggressive reaction to events was creepy. She tried to come across as pleasant, but she was just plain icky. There was no other word I could come up with. At least not after drinking two glasses of wine.
    Happily, though, suspicion didn’t slow my appetite down any. As I finished the last bit of my tiramisu and drained my coffee cup, Grace took pity on all of us and stood, signaling the end of the dinner hour.
    “I’ll be in the card room doing tarot card readings,” she announced, clutching the back of her chair. “And Harrison has promised a rousing game of backgammon with anyone willing to take a trouncing. We’re also showing the new Scorsese film in the media room at the far end of the third-floor hall. Oh, and the music room is open, as