Books of a Feather (17 page)

I glanced around at the motley crowd. Did someone here know about the damaged book? Had they confronted Jared Mulrooney at the Covington that night?

I shook my head in disgust. I'd forgotten that the same person who killed Jared Mulrooney had also killed Goose. So how in the world could Goose's killer be one of these bird-watchers? Unless Jared had told someone I had the book and they'd decided to come looking for it. With a dagger. Wearing a mask.

Stranger things had happened, but that theory seemed far-fetched, to say the least. Didn't mean it didn't happen that way, though.

Socrates announced he was making a break for the food table and waved good-bye to me. I glanced around for Derek and Ian and saw both of them talking to different people, so I wandered over to the nearest window to check out the view.

It wasn't long before I heard the sound of high heels tip-tapping against the wooden floor, and they were moving in my direction. Turning, I saw Marva Pesca approaching.

“Hello,” I said.

“You don't look familiar.”

Well, that was one way to greet a visitor, I thought.
Bossy old cow
might have been an apt description.

“I'm just visiting,” I said cordially. We introduced ourselves
and I practically had to force her to shake my hand. “I met Jared at the Covington Library the other night and he told me about your organization. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

She scanned me slowly from head to foot. “I specifically told people not to wear all black. I hate funerals. I wanted this to be a celebration.”

I hated to be rude, but I really didn't like Marva Pesca very much. And besides, she was wearing black, too, so who was she to judge me? Okay, she also had big yellow stripes to break up the black, but really, who died and made her the arbiter of all fashion? I looked down my nose at her and said, “I was invited by the head of the Covington Library. He didn't mention a dress code.”

“Fine,” she said. “Whatever.”

And yet she stayed by my side. Since she wouldn't walk away and leave me alone, I decided to try to get some information from her. “How did Jared die? If you don't mind my asking.”

“He was killed in the line of duty,” she said somberly. “He died protecting the beautiful Audubon book on display that night.”

I blinked. “The line of duty? Really? Was someone trying to steal the book?”

“That's what the police told me.”

So Marva Pesca thought Jared was protecting the book, and Socrates thought he was trying to steal it. Was one of them correct, or were they both crazy?

Marva sighed and patted her chest. “It was just like Jared to put himself in harm's way like that. He loved birds, even the ones in books. He was such a special man.” She began to sniff and gulp and her eyes teared up.

“Oh dear. You're going to ruin your makeup.” I grabbed a napkin from a nearby side table and handed it to her.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I haven't stopped crying for days. Jared was a good person. So devoted to birds.”

“He did seem like a nice guy.” And so Big Bird–like, I thought. “But is it true he had a drinking problem?”

She gasped. “What a terrible thing to say!”

She was right and I felt bad, but I had to try to shake her up a little. Since she was clearly unwilling to discuss it, I changed the subject quickly. “I couldn't help noticing that the glass display case over there is empty. Is there usually something inside it?”

She was still sniffing, but from outrage this time. Yet she managed to spit out an answer to my question. “Yes. There's usually a very special book on display in that case, but right now it's being appraised by our auditors and will be returned in the next week or so. You'll have to come back and see it.”

I didn't believe her invitation was sincere, but I left it alone. “It must be a book about birds.”

“Yes, it is. It's filled with beautifully painted Audubon birds, similar to the big book on exhibit at the Covington, only much smaller. And simply delightful. Audubon is such a genius.”

Clearly, she wasn't a Wilsonian like Socrates McCall.

“I'll look forward to seeing it,” I said. “Thank you so much for spending time with me, Ms. Pesca.”

She nodded regally. “Do enjoy the cake.”

•   •   •

An hour later, Marva gathered the members and visitors together on the spacious balcony, where a cold breeze rustled the branches of the tall trees lining Golden Gate Park. She instructed us to hold hands and share our memories of Jared. It took a few
minutes to get the ball rolling, but finally one lady said, “He did love the birds.”

That was followed by a few titters and snickers and I wondered if it was a double entendre. Did Jared like the ladies as well as the occasional alcoholic beverage?

“Jared was a great president and the life of the party.”

“He was tall. I like that about him.”

“I miss him so much,” a soft-voiced woman in the back said.

“Remember his crazy laugh?” another said. “It always reminded me of the plaintive cry of the red-footed booby.”

A few people chuckled softly at the sentiment and someone added, “After a few drinks, he walked like a booby, too.”

“Jared devoted his entire lifetime to searching for the small-headed flycatcher,” one man said reverently. With that, a few people sniffled.

“Waste of damn time,” Socrates muttered. “Everyone knows there's no such thing as a small-headed flycatcher.”

“Oh, cram it, McCall,” the other guy said. “Just because your precious Wilson never saw one doesn't mean the thing doesn't exist.”

“You cram it, Harold,” Socrates griped. “You know darn well Audubon never saw one, either, but he went ahead and painted it anyway. He was just a big faker.”

“And Wilson was a loser,” Harold said.

“Audubon was a thief! He stole the idea of an illustrated book of birds from Wilson.”

“Wilson was lazy.”

“Audubon was a draft dodger!”

“Wilson was a bore!”

“Don't you say one more word about Wilson,” Socrates shouted,
shaking his finger in Harold's face. “You're not good enough to utter his name.”

“Ah, shut up, you old goat.”

Socrates raised his fists and started to rush toward Harold. A woman screamed and Derek and Ian jumped between the two men to hold them back.

Another old guy shouted, “Fight! Fight!” A few others joined in, clapping along. “Fight! Fight!”

Marva stomped her foot to little avail. “Gentlemen! I insist you stop fighting right now. This is neither the time nor the place for squabbling. Poor Jared is barely in his grave and you—”

Before she could say another word, Socrates managed to pull away from Ian and he shoved Harold hard. The old guy fell back against a very large wooden box, and the box began to quiver and shake.

A young man dressed in a red sweater vest ran over and grabbed hold of the box to steady it. “Oh, dear Lord, now you've done it!”

The box took on a life of its own, shaking so much that it began to move across the balcony floor. We could all hear something inside, like a beating pulse or some kind of motorized engine. It grew in decibels. It was alive.

“It's too late now,” the young man cried. “I can't hold them back!” And he yanked the lid off the box. Hundreds of white doves rushed out and went flying into the sky.

“Oh,” I whispered. “That's cool.”
Except for the part where they were all stuck inside that box for a few hours,
I added to myself.

There was a chorus of oohs and aahs as the graceful birds filled the sky.

“So pretty,” one woman said.

The two fighters were instantly distracted and stared up, watching the birds fly in formation, zigging one way and then zagging
the other. It was beautiful, really. If only their premature takeoff hadn't been brought about by two bickering old coots. But thinking of the fight made me wonder again who this Alexander Wilson person was. An ornithologist, according to Socrates. A competitor and a contemporary of Audubon's, clearly, but why had I never heard of him?

Marva stomped her foot again. “I had a whole speech prepared and you two geezers ruined it.”

Harold waved his hand at her. “Who cares about hearing a speech anyway?”

“Yeah, cut to the chase, Marva,” Socrates said, scowling.

At least they'd found something they could agree on.

“Fine.” Marva took a deep breath and struck a pose, once again looking like an industrious bumblebee in her striped dress. “May he rest in peace. Amen.”

•   •   •

“I need some fresh air,” I said. “Can we walk in the park for a few minutes?”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Derek said, glancing up and down the street. “You're not out of danger yet.”

“Just for a few minutes?” I said. “What can go wrong with you by my side?”

He flashed me a suspicious look. “We'll make it a very short walk.”

We jogged across the street and entered Golden Gate Park using a narrow pathway. It meandered through the tall trees and scrub brush until it opened up onto busy Crossover Drive.

“A four-lane highway running through the park?” Derek said. “So much for fresh air.”

“I thought we would end up closer to the lake,” I said, glancing around. “I give up. Let's go home.”

On the way out of the park, Derek said, “What did you learn today from the bird-watchers?”

“Some people thought Jared had a drinking problem, and I suppose I would agree, seeing as how he ruined the book by sloshing wine on it.”

“It could've been an accident.”

“True,” I said. “It doesn't mean he was a lush. Anyway, according to the members I talked to, either he was killed because he was trying to
steal
the big Audubon book, or because he was trying to
protect
it from someone else who was trying to steal it.”

“Interesting,” Derek said. “Neither is true, of course.”

“Of course not. There was no way anyone could steal from the Covington. But I think they all want to believe his death was somehow connected to the Audubon book.” We crossed Fulton and strolled back to the car along Twenty-third Avenue, where we could enjoy the pretty trees growing on the median strip. “I know in my heart that he was killed because of some connection to the book he gave me. How could it be anything else?”

“Tell me about the other books you're working on,” Derek said.

I named them off.

He gave me a puzzled look. “There are quite a lot of bird titles in that list.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not all of them, of course,” he said, coming to a stop at Divisadero Street. “But see here. You've got a
Cuckoo
and a
Robin
, and a
Dove
and a
Falcon
. Even
Dracula
turned into a flying creature.”

I gaped at him. “That's just bizarre. Why didn't I ever notice that?”

“Because you're too close to the books.” He squeezed my hand. “It doesn't mean anything. Simply something I picked up on as you named them.”

“And the book from Jared is literally all
about
birds, so there's one more.”

“You're for the birds, darling.”

“Thank you,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You sound like Socrates McCall with his little bird joke.”

“I do like his name, even if he is a curmudgeon.”

“He was a real character. I learned about another ornithologist who was apparently a competitor of Audubon's.” I gave him a brief recap of what Socrates had told me.

“Fascinating. Is that what those two old rascals were arguing about?”

“Yes. Oh, and Socrates is one of the members who considers Jared a big drinker. Of course, I don't think Socrates drinks at all, so we'll never be close.”

“Some teetotalers consider one drink to be too many.”

“He did sound pretty strict on the subject. Kind of odd for a Scotsman, but it takes all kinds. Thank goodness nobody knows how that book really got damaged.”
Demon Wine,
I thought. “And according to Marva Pesca, the book is at the auditor's office being appraised.”

“So she doesn't know the truth,” Derek murmured. “Do you think anyone in that group knows the real story about the damaged book?”

I thought about it. “Someone must know. It just makes sense that Jared's killer is one of the bird-watchers. Who else would care that much about a little book?”

“Someone cares a great deal,” Derek mused, his expression growing darker as his jaw tightened. “Because after they killed Jared, they broke into our home and killed Goose.”

“That's right,” I said, clutching his hand tighter. “I think it's time we got to know those bird-watchers a lot better.”

Saturday morning, I drove to Alex's gym, located in a modest minimall in Hayes Valley, north of Market Street and a few blocks west. I had been working out with her for a few months before I took a break to relocate to Dharma. Today I knew my muscles were going to suffer because of all that time away, and as soon as I walked into her no-frills gym, Alex confirmed it.

“We'll be starting from scratch,” she said, handing me a long piece of rubber tubing with handles on each end. It looked like a pink jump rope, only stretchy.

“Is that necessary?” I asked. “I did a lot of walking in Dharma.” I was hoping she'd give me credit for something.

“I'm glad to hear it,” she said. “Walking is aerobic, so that means you're breathing a lot and moving your muscles. It's really good for you.”

“So why are we starting from scratch?”

“Because you probably didn't practice a lot of self-defense moves, right?”

I hung my head. “I didn't.”

“And that's what you're really here for, right?”

“Right.” I held up the pink rubber thing. “So why am I holding a jump rope?”

“First of all, it's not a jump rope. It's a resistance band. In a few minutes I'll show you how to use it and you're going to love it.”

“Love is an awfully strong term.”

“There's another reason we're starting from scratch,” she continued, effectively ignoring me. “The ability to defend oneself begins with a healthy body. Balance and coordination are essential. Building some muscle mass is essential, too. It's great that you did a lot of walking. I hope you keep it up. But today I want to incorporate some stretching and isometric exercises. I want to show you how to breathe. And I want you to do all this stuff at home, every day. We'll work on the self-defense moves you've already learned and get you back up to speed. And then when you come in next weekend, we'll move forward. Okay?”

“Okay. Sounds good. I can do that.”

“Of course you can. So as I said, today we'll concentrate on the balance and breathing, but I want to throw in a few of those self-defense moves to get you back into the habit of thinking about your surroundings and reminding yourself that there are people out there trying to kill you.”

“Thanks. I love you for that.”

She laughed. But only for a millisecond. After that, my black-belted friend was all business, and for the next ninety minutes, she systematically kicked my behind from one side of the padded-floored, mirror-lined, utilitarian room to the other. There was no friendly chitchat, no talk of men or food or shopping or movies. There was just the serious business of creating a stronger body for me. It wasn't pretty or fun, but it was effective. And I really did
like my new pink stretchy band so much that she gave it to me to use at home. I was pitifully grateful for her help, even if it was hard to say so at the time. Mainly because I'd completely lost the ability to catch my breath.

•   •   •

Later that afternoon, after soaking in a hot Epsom salts–infused bathtub to ease my aching muscles, I got all dolled up for Derek's office party. Thanks again to Alex's guidance, I'd recently gone shopping to buy several outfits for dressy occasions and had actually found a few that I liked. This was a big change. I'd never enjoyed shopping because I didn't have a clue what looked good on me. My best friend, Robin, another fashion expert, had joined forces with Alex to finally drum some basic style and fashion guidelines into my head.

I was to follow five rules: number one, employ the store's personal shopper whenever possible, since I didn't have a clue where to find anything or what to try on; number two, alternatively, go shopping with Alex or Robin whenever possible; number three, always buy well-designed undergarments that fit perfectly and feel fabulous—and wear them while shopping; number four, with every outfit you try on, picture Derek's expression when he sees you wearing it; number five, have fun and laugh a lot.

Rules to live by, or at least to shop by. And they seemed to have worked for me.

Tonight I was wearing what Alex called an LBD, a little black dress. It was so sexy and cute—if a dress could be both—that it still shocked me to look at myself in the mirror. The dress was short but not appallingly so, and it somehow made my legs look a mile long. Derek seemed to like it. I mean, a lot.

I added a single twisted gold chain, earrings, and a pair of shiny black heels. Not stiletto heels like the ones Alex wore, because I'd tried them and they were just too hard to stand in, let alone walk in for any distance. I was willing to sacrifice a lot to look fabulous, but I had long ago decided that my shoes had to feel right or I just wouldn't have a good time.

When it came to shoes, Robin had washed her hands of me, convinced that my years of wearing Birkenstocks had molded my feet into the shape of a hobbit's. Alex, however, was willing to work with me, and after watching me try on most of the shoes in the Nordstrom shoe department, she suggested that I settle for a pair of lovely three-inch heels with a half-inch platform, which gave the illusion that they were higher than they really were. She then insisted I buy them in five different colors, including two in black, just to be on the safe side. But since I spent most of my time wearing Birkenstocks, I compromised and bought one pair in black and one pair in red. Alex approved.

So, here I was, fluffed and dressed and only slightly aching after my torture session with Alex. Derek was very happy with the results. And he looked simply spectacular in his gazillion-dollar suit, white shirt, and flashy silver-and-black-striped tie. Gazing at him, I decided it was really fun to play dress-up once in a blue moon.

Derek had suggested that he and Crane arrive at the party half an hour late so that things would get rolling more easily without the boss and guest of honor standing around, waiting and watching. I thought it was a brilliant strategy and wondered if it had actually been his assistant Corinne's idea.

We parked in front of the four-story building that was designed in the classic Mediterranean style and located on California Street near the top of Nob Hill. As I walked into Derek's offices, the first
thing I noticed, as always, was the room itself. I really loved this place with its high ceilings and exposed brick walls. The city views from the massive plate-glass windows in the wide-open two-story reception area were spectacular.

Corinne and her husband, Wallace, were the official greeters, and they'd stationed themselves by the wide archway leading into the reception lobby, where a lively scene was already happening. The couple was in their fifties and so down-to-earth and friendly, I had glommed onto them the first time I ever met them.

Two years ago, Corinne had accompanied Derek from his London office to help set up the San Francisco office. She and Wallace had fallen in love with the city and had emigrated without a qualm, settling in the Sunset District near Golden Gate Park. They were close enough to the ocean to get a hint of a sea breeze every afternoon. They also lived in the famous Fog Belt, but Corinne didn't mind a bit.

“Reminds me of London, doesn't it?” she'd said, the last time we talked.

Corinne and Wallace both gave me hugs and I relaxed instantly.

“Everything looks perfect, Corinne,” Derek murmured.

“Thank you, Derek,” she said, nodding. “I'm glad you approve. Otherwise, heads would roll and it would become quite messy with bloody brains and bits flying everywhere.”

“Exactly,” he said. His wink belied the ruthless businessman demeanor and Corinne was chuckling as we strolled into the party.

He stopped a wandering waiter and grabbed two champagne flutes, handing me one and clinking my glass with his. “Thank you for being here,” he said.

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else,” I murmured, and we both took a sip of the rich, bubbly liquid.

“Time to mingle,” he whispered in my ear. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be.”

“That's my girl.”

We turned and faced the crowd of people. I recognized most of them, but there were a few new ones here and there.

Derek's partners and several of his longtime clients greeted us both effusively. I was grateful that most of his employees were lovely, smart, and helpful. I was doubly thankful that he'd managed to cull some of the snarky women I'd met at the first party. The “mean girl” clique was no longer operational and I couldn't be happier.

Please understand me. Those women didn't have to be culled because they were mean. They had to be culled because they were stupid. Because think about it: a group of haughty women standing around, loudly dissing their boss's new girlfriend at a company party? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Since that first time, things had improved. I mean, maybe the women in his office still hated me, but they knew better than to voice their feelings in front of me. I still enjoyed watching people trying to impress Derek or just trying to get close to him. I couldn't blame them, because objectively speaking, Derek was awesome. The role of the boss, or CEO, or Commander came naturally to him. He was intelligent, confident, strong, and fiercely loyal to the people who were loyal to him in return. He had a wonderful sense of humor, he could handle constructive criticism, and he rewarded innovative thinking.

And of course, he was always the most handsome man in any room he walked into. Why would I want to be anywhere else?

We'd been mingling and chatting for about fifteen minutes when I noticed George Thompson walk into the room. I nudged Derek and we both went to greet him.

“How are you feeling?” I said, concerned that I hadn't seen him since he left for the hospital with the two police officers last week.

“I'm completely fine,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. Except for the residual humiliation factor.”

“Please don't feel that way,” I said. “Turns out, we're dealing with a pretty ruthless creep, so I'm just glad you weren't injured too badly.”

“Thanks, Brooklyn. I heard about the fellow who died in your house. I'm sorry.” He glanced at Derek. “If there's anything I can do, boss, just call me.”

“Thanks, George,” he said. “There's no one I trust more than you.”

He seemed overwhelmed for a moment. “I really appreciate that.”

A moment later, George excused himself to get a drink and that was when Derek glanced toward the front of the lobby. “Ah. Here's Crane.”

I turned in time to see the second-most-handsome man walk into the room. He, too, wore a beautifully fitted business suit and once again, each woman in the room had her gaze fixed firmly on him as he crossed the wide lobby to where we were standing.

“Perfect timing,” Derek said, shaking Crane's hand with enthusiasm. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Crane said. “I'm grateful. And now I suppose it means I owe you.”

Derek chuckled. “I'm happy you understood that.”

“Absolutely. Goes without saying.” Crane laughed. “But seriously, you'll both come to Beijing and I'll treat you like royalty.”

“I'd love to visit Beijing,” I said.

He flashed Derek a cocky grin, then turned to me. “Well, if the old man can't make it, I'll be happy to show you a good time.”

Derek glared at him. “I'll be there.”

He sighed. “Always ruining my fun.”

It was great to see everyone smiling and ready to enjoy the evening. Derek picked up a fork from one of the nearby catering stations and tapped it against his glass to get everyone's attention.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “It's an honor to have my oldest and dearest friend, Crane, visiting this week. I can't think of a better excuse for a party, and I knew that a friendly gathering like this would be the perfect way to introduce him to all of you. I hope you'll take the time to stop and talk with him, because I know everyone here, including me, can benefit from his unique outlook and expertise in the Asian markets. Besides that, he's a great guy, even if he does cheat at poker.”

Everyone laughed and Derek had to shout out his last sentence. “Please help me welcome Crane.”

There was roaring applause and shouts of “Welcome.”

With his hand over his heart, Crane gave slight bows in three directions. “Thank you so much, Derek. Thank you all.”

Within seconds, he was surrounded by Derek's partners and clients and some of the other businessmen Derek had invited to the party.

“That was a lovely speech, Derek.”

I turned and saw a woman I didn't recognize standing too close to my fiancé.

She was a tall, willowy, and very beautiful Eurasian woman with a melodious voice and a bewitching smile that seemed designed to promise ineffable pleasure.

“Thanks, Lark,” Derek said. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, very much. I so appreciate being invited.”

“You're part of the team now, so of course you belong here.”

“Really, I'm so grateful. I won't ever let you down.” As she said the words, she touched the lapel of Derek's jacket.

The room began to shrink as I focused on her delicate hand. On his very expensive jacket.

I felt my eyebrows rising and my teeth clenching. Was I going to have to kill her? I'd never been jealous in my life until I met Derek. No, that wasn't quite accurate. It was only when he started taking me to his office parties that my hackles would go on red alert. These women were ruthless!

I watched as Derek glanced down and Lark slowly removed her hand. He looked mildly irritated and she smiled innocently. Or tried to, anyway. I was pretty sure she didn't have an innocent bone in her body. But her smile really was lovely and I wondered what she would look like with her two front teeth punched out.

Alex would be proud to know I was considering using some of the moves she'd taught me.