Peril in Paperback: A Bibliophile Mystery

about it. “I’ve got a vague memory of that. It happened years ago when I was pretty young. I remember my mom and dad talking about it. They said Grace lost millions of dollars, but more importantly, she lost a video game to a competitor. I think that hurt her a lot more than the money.”
    “I’ll bet.”
    “So you’re enjoying Grace’s book?” Vinnie said.
    “I am,” I said. “I didn’t think it would be as good as it is, but it’s fascinating. I’m just trying to figure out what’s real and what’s fiction.”
    “You should ask Grace,” Suzie said. She pulled the bottle from Lily’s mouth to check how much was left. “She loves talking about the book.”
    “I will. I guess she would love to hear that I’m enjoying it.”
    “Oh, you know she would.” The baby began to fuss and Suzie quickly plugged the bottle back into her mouth.
    “She is a good little eater,” Vinnie said fondly, then smiled brightly at Suzie. “She reminds me of our neighbor, Brooklyn.”
    Suzie laughed. “Another good eater.”
    “Hey, I like food.”
    “It is one of your finest qualities,” Vinnie said.
    “Thanks a lot,” I said wryly, then gave a gentle tweak to Lily’s cheek. “At least I’m in good company.”
    The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind. Everyone was excited about Grace’s party and there was lots of speculation about the big surprise she planned to announce tonight. It felt as if a month had passed since she first mentioned her big announcement, but it had been only five days.
    It was wild, really. Being at Grace’s home was like being on another planet or something. Time seemed to move differently here. But now I was beginning to wonder what kind of announcement would be coming from Grace that night and what effect it would have on the gathered throng. She had already told us about the book she’d written. We knew why she had invited Stephen Fowler. So what was left? Suzie had been so worried that it would have something to do with her aunt changing her will. I was glad that that issue was off the table.
    I really hoped that Grace’s announcement would bea happy one. We could all use some upbeat news after the week we’d been through.
    I dressed for the occasion in black palazzo pants and a short, shimmery silver jacket. Everyone else kicked their wardrobes up a notch, too. Both Peter and Harrison wore tuxedos, and Kiki glided in wearing a slinky red gown. It almost resembled an old movie set. Unfortunately, I couldn’t forget that one of us was a murderer, and the old, suspicious Brooklyn peeked her head out for a quick look around at her fellow guests.
    We had gathered for the birthday festivities in the elegant Gold Salon. The five members of Chef Tang’s kitchen staff were dressed in tuxedos today in honor of Grace’s special day. The bartender began popping champagne bottles and two waiters walked through the room with trays of flutes filled with the bubbly.
    Harrison, Grace’s always genial brother, shushed everyone so that he could make the first toast. He held up his glass and asked us all to do the same.
    “To Grace,” he said. “A beautiful eccentric, a freaking genius, a hell of a good tennis player, and the best sister a man ever had.”
    Everyone laughed and cheered, and Harrison finished by saying, “Happy birthday, sis. Here’s wishing you many more years of health, wealth, and happiness.”
    “Aw,” Grace said, as tears sprang to her eyes. “Thank you, Harry.”
    Even I got a little sniffly—big surprise. I dabbed at my eyes to keep the tears from actually falling and cursed the gene that had endowed me with such sympathetic tear ducts.
    “Cheers!” Harrison shouted, and we all clinked glasses and drank to Grace’s good health.
    After a second round of champagne and several more toasts, Grace announced that Ruth had a new poem to read.
    “I hear it’s a doozy,” Grace added.
    I really liked Ruth a lot and seriously hoped she waseverything she seemed to be. I didn’t think Grace could take it if she found out her dearest friend was a killer. But what in the world had the woman been doing with that shovel the other day? Had she been digging up a dead bird? Or perhaps burying a cassava root?
    I shooed suspicious Brooklyn away as we all took our seats. Ruth stood alone in the center of the room, looking serious and dignified as she faced Grace. She cleared her throat, and began:
    “There once was a lady from Tahoe,
    Whose friends, when they saw her,