Homicide in Hardcover

But I couldn’t concentrate on the beauty of the garden. Instead, my mind wandered to Gabriel. He’d saved my life, so I owed him something, but I wasn’t about to give up the Plutarch simply because some unknown “client” of his wanted it. Yes, so maybe I’d come into possession of the book through illicit means-okay, I took it-but that didn’t mean I’d let it go without getting a few questions answered first. And besides, how did Enrico get his hands on it? Had he stolen it? Probably. But that didn’t make my action any less wrong.

Did the Plutarch have anything to do with Enrico’s death? Impossible. The book had been sitting in plain sight on the table. If that was what the killer was after, he would’ve taken it right then.

As I passed the ornate brass sundial in the center of the well-tilled herb garden, I heard a leaf snap somewhere behind me.

I wasn’t alone.

My heart pounding, I whipped around, ready to face anything. Oh, who was I kidding? I was scared to death and my throat was threatening to close up on me. There was no one in sight, but that didn’t mean anything. Someone was watching me. I ran faster than I’d ever run, all the way to the front door of the library.

I decided I’d work at home the next day. I knew I could finish the book faster if I had fewer interruptions, such as people attempting to kill me everywhere I went.

I found Ian’s secretary, Marissa, in his office, organizing files. She called Ian’s cell to get approval. Since the Faust was currently in a hundred different pieces, and fully insured, Ian gave his okay.

I spent another hour in the workroom, packing up the wood press that still held the Faust text block in its grip, boxing up all the pieces and all the tools I’d need tomorrow. I borrowed a small hand dolly from Marissa and lugged everything out to my car. By the time I got home, my body was down for the count. But when I opened the door and saw my studio still in shambles, I couldn’t stand it.

I locked the door and parked the dolly next to my desk. As I removed my jacket, I caught a disturbing whiff of soy sauce.

“First things first,” I said. Checking again that my front door locks were set, I headed for the bathroom where I peeled off my broth-soaked clothing and took a long shower. I dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, satisfied that I no longer reeked of Chinese noodle bowl.

Back in the studio, I noticed the red light flashing on the phone and played back the messages. Doris Bondurant had called to offer me a job rebinding a vintage Alice in Wonderland she’d found recently. I understood it would be a test to see whether I passed muster with her. I felt a pang of sadness, knowing Abraham had been responsible for my co

There was also a message from Robin, who called to let me know she’d bought me some cute pajamas so I would no longer embarrass her on our sleepovers. The third message was from Carl, Abraham’s lawyer, who wanted to meet and hash out my new financial condition. I made a face. I’d honestly forgotten I had a new financial condition. Not that I wasn’t grateful, you understand. I could always use more money. But it still felt odd to be the lone recipient of Abraham’s entire fortune.

I left Carl a message, putting him off for a week or two. I could only concentrate on one or two major upheavals at a time.

Grabbing a trash can and a broom, I began the cleanup. I threw away the stacks of torn and crushed endpapers, gathered my scattered tools and organized them precisely as they’d been before, picked up every spool of thread and put them back in color order in the narrow shelves I’d had built for that purpose. I rolled up the leather skins and stacks of cloth that weren’t damaged and put them back in their rightful places.

An hour later, I looked around, pleased that things were almost back to normal. I would need to order more marbled paper and a new set of glue brushes, plus two of my bone folders were missing, but that was the only real damage I found.

Except for Robin’s vase, which had been crushed to smithereens.

Despite that minimal damage, I could tell that whoever was behind all this destruction had been in an absolute rage, and that was the most frightening part of this ordeal. I just couldn’t picture anyone I knew being capable of such behavior.

I thought of Abraham’s studio up in Sonoma. Someone had gone through there in a similar fashion. But who? And what had they been looking for?

Whoever it was, they hadn’t found it, and I guessed that was why they’d struck back with violence. But at least they hadn’t destroyed my books. That would’ve been a lot more painful to me.

So whoever it was, they didn’t know me. As strange as it sounded, that was a comforting thought.

I was exhausted and nearly half-asleep when I checked the locks again, then shuffled off to my bedroom. As I reached to pull back the bedspread, something on the pillow caught my eye and I jumped back.

On my pillow was a long-stemmed red rose. It looked fresh, with dew still clinging to its outer petals. An elegant note card was placed next to the rose. Without thinking, I picked up the card and read the one-word sentiment.

“Soon.”

Chapter 17

I cried out in shock, threw the rose down and ran from the room. Shaking like crazy, I ran from room to room, checking the locks on every window and the front door. I ran up the narrow stairs that led to the rooftop garden to make sure that door was secure.

It wasn’t. The door had been jimmied open.

I started to panic. Was the killer still inside my loft? Was he hiding up on the roof? I wasn’t about to walk out there.

Summoning every ounce of courage I had, I ran down the stairs, found my cell phone and called the police.

The dispatcher said it would be about a half hour since the intruder wasn’t on-site. How the hell did she know?

And just because I’d checked the entire apartment and knew in my gut there was no one here but me, it didn’t mean I felt safe.

Soon.

What the hell did that mean? I thought of Gabriel and the last word he’d said to me earlier that day. No, I refused to believe he’d had anything to do with this. I’d known him for only an hour, but I knew in my heart he wasn’t warped enough to break into my place just to leave a rose on my pillow. Maybe to steal the Plutarch, but never-

“Oh, hell, the Plutarch!”

I grabbed my keys and ran to unlock the hall closet. In the old corset factory, this closet had housed a rope-and-pulley shelving system that moved supplies up and down between the floors. Like a dumbwaiter, I guess. Now the dumbwaiter function was disco

And the Plutarch.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. It was still there. That didn’t rule out Gabriel as the intruder, of course, but I knew it wasn’t him.

I paced around, wondering whether Vi

I knew who I wanted to see. Summoning up a few more ounces of courage, I found the business card and made another phone call.

He answered on the first ring. “This better be good.”

“It’s Brooklyn.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone broke into my house.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I stared at the phone, hearing nothing but a dial tone.

Having taken some action, I felt more relaxed. I looked down at my threadbare pink kitty jammies. Robin would be appalled. I needed to change into something normal.