One Book in the Grave

Hmm.

Speaking of drama, it occurred to me that ever since I’d met Derek, we’d been overwhelmed by high drama. Namely, murder. Victims. Suspects. I’d been involved in so many criminal investigations, I’d lost count. The fact was, I had never even seen a dead body until I met Derek. Had he brought the murder magnet Karma into my world? Or had he simply entered my world right when I needed him most?

I’d have to give that more thought.

“Di

“Not go

“Thanks.”

“The bread is ready to go in the broiler,” Derek said. “Give me a three-minute warning and I’ll turn on the heat.”

“Perfect,” Max said.

“Now, while I was outside,” Derek said, switching subjects, “I dug the spent bullet from your veranda out front.” He pulled a flattened bullet from his pants pocket, held it up to the light, then placed the chunk of mangled brass on the chopping-block surface.

Gabriel moved in, picked up the bullet, and studied it. He pulled out a small pocketknife and scraped at the edges.

“Hand loaded,” he said, casting a meaningful glance at Derek.

“Yes,” Derek said, nodding as though he’d already come to that conclusion. Nothing much got past him.

“Risky,” Gabriel mused.

“What’re you talking about?” I asked.

“Our shooter packs his own bullets,” Gabriel explained.

Max stepped closer now, picked up the bullet, turned it over in his hand. “Oh yeah. Hand packed.”

“How can you tell?” I asked.

With the tip of his knife, Gabriel pointed out minute grooves in the bullet’s surface. “Shape of the bullet. The crimping pattern along the seal. Lot of ways to tell the difference.”

“Right.” I stared at it but still didn’t have a clue. Maybe it was a secondary sex characteristic that allowed men to more easily recognize a hand-packed bullet. Like male pattern baldness, this was something I would never have the joy of experiencing.

“Why would anyone hand pack a bullet?” I asked. “It can’t be any cheaper, can it? Are they zealots? Control freaks? I don’t get it.”

“It does have something to do with control, darling,” Derek said. “An experienced gun enthusiast will load his own cartridges, increasing or decreasing the amount of powder in order to add to his accuracy or to customize the performance of a particular shotgun or rifle. In the long run, for serious gun owners, it can be cost effective.”

“Good to know,” I said, astonished by his knowledge of such matters. I smiled at all three men. “Okay, ’nuf said about guns. Are we absolutely sure there’s no one out there?”

Gabriel shot me a look. “If he’d still been out there, we would’ve found him.”

Derek met my gaze and nodded reassuringly. “Yes, he’s gone, love.”

“Or she’s gone,” Max muttered, his tone edgy with anger.

What?

Oblivious, Max continued stirring the sauce until he finally turned around and flinched at the sight of three pairs of curious eyes staring back at him.

Chapter 10

“You think it’s a woman?” Derek said in surprise.

“Possibly.” Max kept stirring. “Could someone grab two bay leaves from the jar in the pantry and throw them in here?”

I looked around and my two companions stared back at me with blank faces. Okay, fine. I raced to the pantry, then returned and slid two leaves into the tomato sauce. “Come on, Max. Tell us who you think is behind this.”

“It makes sense that it’s a woman,” Gabriel said with a nod.

I frowned at him. “Why?”

“All the drama, the clues, the various scenarios. If a man wanted Max dead, he would’ve just shot him. But this person—this woman, I’m guessing—wants him exposed. She’s letting go of clues inch by inch. It’s theatrical. Messy. Not straightforward. In other words, female.”

“So you’re saying women are sneakier than men?”

He gri

“Stupid?” I suggested with a smile.

He chuckled. “Sometimes.”

“I’m kidding, sort of,” I said. “I see your point about women, but I happen to know a lot of complicated men. Three of them are here in this room.”

Gabriel glanced around and shrugged. “Maybe so, but I still think it’s safe to say that none of us would go to this much trouble to kill a man. Personally, I would take out a gun and shoot him in the head.”

I winced. “That’s sweet.”

“No, that’s simple.” Gabriel glanced around the room. “Am I right?”

“Fairly accurate, I’d say,” Derek said.

“I agree with what you’re saying,” Max said, “but I’m also hedging my bets. There’s a guy in my past who could have come up with all the clues and scenarios you’re talking about. He thrived on that crap.”

Derek’s expression was guarded as he asked, “Is this the man who caused you to stage your own death?”

Max’s jaw clenched and he seemed to debate whether to answer Derek’s question. He didn’t have to. It was obvious to all of us that the answer was yes.

“Yes,” he said at last.

I wasn’t surprised, but it saddened me that someone in Max’s past had hated him enough to destroy his life. It also bothered me that as close as I’d been to Max back then, I still didn’t have a clue who he was talking about.

“There are two people, actually,” Max said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “A man and a woman. Both of them are capable of straightforward, gun-to-the-head murder, but they also have the kind of warped personalities that would get off on playing the kind of games you’ve been talking about.”

“They sound charming,” I said.

Max gave me a look. “They would’ve stopped at nothing to destroy me, even if it meant going after my family, my friends, my loved ones.”

“I have to wonder why the police didn’t do more to help.”

“The police were useless,” he insisted. “They didn’t believe me because my enemies were pillars of society and I was…well, I wasn’t a pillar of anything.”

I took hold of his arm. “You were a respected artist. A teacher. You gave lectures and classes all over the country.”

“Yeah, that and five dollars will get you a grande latte.” He went back to stirring his sauce.

“Who were these people, Max?” I asked. “I swear you can trust us. We’re here for you.”

“Brooklyn’s right,” Derek said. “It’s time you let us know who you’re afraid of. We can help.”

Max wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me for comfort. I gazed up at him and said, “Not all police are like the ones you dealt with. We’ve been working with a pair of San Francisco detectives who won’t give a damn how powerful your enemies are. If the people you’re talking about killed Joe, these two detectives will take them down.”

Gabriel leaned his hip against the counter by the sink. “I’m not a great lover of cops, but I still don’t get why they wouldn’t help you. Was there something else going on back then?”

“Yeah.” Max went back to his saucepan and studiously avoided making eye contact with me. “I was kind of into drugs back then.”

“But wasn’t everyone?” Gabriel said. “Why would they single you out?”

Max clenched his teeth. “I’d gotten busted a few years earlier. One of the local cops decided to hold a grudge.”

“You were into drugs, Max?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice.

Max turned and rolled his eyes at me. “Yes, Brooklyn. And so was everyone else. Except you, Miss Goody Two-shoes.”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “I wasn’t like that.” Was I?

Derek gazed at me from across the center table. “You never did drugs, Brooklyn?”

“No. I never wanted to.” I frowned and tried to explain away my deep, dark secret. “You’ve met my parents. Who needs drugs with them around?”