The Book Stops Here (5 page)

“But they have Lily now.”

“They won’t mind,” Derek said, tucking me closer to him.

“Of course they won’t,” I said. “And speaking of neighbors, I met Alex tonight.”

“Alex?”

“She’s the one who’s subletting Sergio’s place.”

“I’ve yet to see her,” he said. “Do you like her?”

“I do. Even though she’s tall, smart, and gorgeous. She wears fabulous shoes and pink suits and still manages to look powerful and perky at this hour of the night. I should hate her, but apparently she bakes wonderful cupcakes.”

“Ah,” he said, finally reacting. “Cupcakes.”

I laughed. “Yes, that got my attention, too. So far, it’s her most outstanding quality.”

He laughed, too. “I look forward to meeting her.” He reached to pick up his wineglass.

“I should tell you something,” I said.

He swallowed a sip of wine and studied my expression. “Yes, you should.”

I related the conversation I’d overheard between the two producers and Randolph, the host. “Randolph was really upset, but Tom and Walter seemed unfazed.”

“He believes someone is out to kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Have you any idea what occurred before you came down the corridor and overheard them?”

“Not really.” I mentioned the producer’s throwaway line about Randolph tripping over a broom. It seemed a little silly, but given Randolph’s reaction, it might be an important detail. Had he really tripped over a broom? Or was the producer being sarcastic? “I get the feeling from their looks and comments that they consider Randolph a prima donna who whines about everything.”

“Does he seem that way to you?”

“No.” I thought again of that moment when the two
producers saw me in the hall. “And until Tom and Walter walked out of the dressing room, they didn’t come across as insensitive, either. So I’m not sure what to believe. But I’m concerned.”

Derek’s lips twisted. “So am I.”

Because of my penchant for finding dead bodies and facing down their craven killers?
I didn’t have to say the words aloud. They hovered in the ether and spelled out the reason for Derek’s alarm. Mine, too.

“Let’s change the subject.” I grabbed the remote and switched on the television. The evening news was just getting started and I was happy to be distracted. The kitten diverted me, as well, trekking fearlessly up Derek’s arm and across his wide shoulders.

The major news headlines had been covered and I was ready to call it a night when the anchorman switched to a more jocular tone. “And now here’s Teddy to show you what’s happening around San Francisco today.”

The next thing I saw was a full-screen shot of hundreds of people standing in lines, clutching antiques and odd collectibles. Some pushed dollies that held larger pieces of furniture.

“Oh, my gosh, this is my show,” I said, sitting up straighter.

The camera zoomed in on the line of people as a voice-over announcer said, “The popular antiques show
This Old Attic
has come to San Francisco, and if you’re lucky, you could be invited to have your hidden treasures and old family heirlooms appraised by experts on TV.”

The camera focused on a small leather case in the man’s hand. He opened it to reveal several human molars.

“Maybe like this fellow, your great-grandfather was a dentist who swore he owned two of George Washington’s teeth.”

The video switched to a dignified-looking woman carrying an old-fashioned portfolio, and the jovial announcer continued. “Or you might have inherited a faded map of Africa that your aunt believes once belonged to Dr. Livingstone. You know, as in
Dr. Livingstone, I presume?
Yeah, that guy.”

The camera pulled back to include the hundreds of people waiting in lines to talk to the producers. “Whatever your family treasure happens to be, bring it in. You could wind up having it appraised on camera by an expert. Like this woman did.”

And suddenly, I was watching myself on television.

Derek grinned. “What a lovely surprise.”

It was a surprise, all right. I watched myself pick up
The Secret Garden
and say, “What makes this even more outstanding is that this illustration is actually an original painting on canvas.”

This was followed by a quick montage of camera shots and audio blips, ending with Vera saying, “It cost three dollars at a garage sale last Saturday.”

Finally the camera cut to a close-up of the book with my voice-over saying, “And with the author’s original signature included, it’s my expert opinion that an antiquarian book dealer would pay . . .”

My voice cut out, and they went to Vera’s reaction of stunned disbelief.

Suddenly the anchorman was back, wearing a big smile. “We promised the show’s producers that we wouldn’t reveal what the book is actually worth, but let’s just say it’s enough to feed a family of four for at least two years. Maybe more.”

The anchorman began to chat with the weatherman, so Derek muted the sound.

I was wearing a silly grin as I reached for my wine. “That was so weird.”

“It appears that you made someone very happy today,” Derek said. “And you didn’t look nervous at all.”

“I was shaking like crazy, but the nerves faded away as soon as I started talking about the book.”

“Of course they did,” he said easily, as the cat tugged on his shirtsleeve.

I took a last sip of wine. “So, that’s what I’ll be doing for the next three weeks. What do you think?”

“I think they’re lucky to have you. You came across as the consummate professional.”

I gave him a big, smoochy kiss. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His expression turned speculative as he added, “I also think the television studio will be crawling with newly excited book owners by tomorrow morning.”

I pictured the place crawling with book owners and chuckled in anticipation. “Sounds like a good time.”

“Yes, it does,” he said, his lips pursing in thought. “And I plan to be there, as well.”

Chapter Three

The next morning I was toasting bagels when Derek joined me in the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. I watched him and managed to keep breathing, even though the man could take my breath away without trying. He was dressed for work in a perfectly fitted gazillion-dollar black suit, crisp white hand-tailored shirt, and gorgeous dark gold and black paisley silk power tie. Not that Derek needed a power tie to feel powerful. That came naturally. He was six feet tall with the lean, athletic build of a boxer. His hair was dark and he wore it cut short. His deep blue eyes gleamed with intelligence and wry humor and he had a commanding presence when he walked into a room. And he was hot, too. I was a lucky girl.

But, then, he thought he was pretty lucky for having found me. So I guess that made me even luckier.

I smiled as I slathered cream cheese on the bagels.

“Are you making breakfast, then?” he said.

“Yes. I figured it was my turn since you’ve done it three times in a row.”

“How lovely.” He kissed my neck, causing me to fumble the
knife. With a chuckle, he stepped away from me. “I’ll let you get on with it.”

“That would be smart.” I slid the bagels back into the toaster oven to keep them warm. “Do you still plan to come by the studio today?”

“Yes. Not sure when I’ll get there, though.”

“As long as I know you’re coming, I’ll leave your name at the front gate.”

He nodded as he sipped his coffee. “I’ll call or text you when I’m on the way.”

“Sounds good.” I melted butter in a small frying pan, then cracked three eggs into a bowl and whipped them up. “I might have my phone turned off, but I’ll let the guard know you’re coming.”

“Good.” He took his coffee over to the dining room table, where a few days ago we had rolled out several sheets of architects’ blueprints to study.

Derek had recently purchased the smaller loft next door to mine and our plan was to open up walls to enlarge the living area. We would also turn the master bedroom in the second loft into an office for Derek and create a guest suite with its own kitchen for our visitors. It would be an ideal place for members of my family to stay when they came to the city and I was also hoping we might persuade Derek’s family to visit from England more often. After all, the last time his brother was in town, things had gotten very interesting. I couldn’t wait to meet the rest of his family.

The only thing we hadn’t decided on was where we would live for a few months during the most destructive and noisy phases of construction. We had already debated several choices. We could rent another apartment nearby or stay in a hotel. Neither of those options appealed to us.

Derek’s company owned several hotel-type suites on the top
floor of their building, for visiting clients and corporate officials. We could live there for as long as it was necessary. I could commute to my home workshop and simply put up with the construction noise all day. Or we could both stay with my mom and dad in Dharma up in Sonoma County, where I grew up.

My parents still lived in their big ranch-style home, where they’d raised six children. Obviously, there would be plenty of room for Derek and me. It would be nice to spend quality time up there, and I could work in my old mentor Abraham’s bookbinding studio, right down the street from my parents’ place. But Derek would have to commute into the city and might be able to visit only on the weekends, so I wasn’t happy about that choice, either.

The kitten played with a squeaky toy as we munched on our scrambled eggs and bagels with cream cheese and strawberry jam. “I’m nervous about taking little Snowball to Dharma.”

“She’ll be fine,” he said absently as he studied one section of the blueprints.

“I’m probably being overprotective.”

“Yes. If you’re truly worried, just keep her inside.” He flashed me a look. “And there’s no way in hell she’ll be named Snowball.”

I bit back a smile. “I didn’t think you heard me.”

“I heard you.”

I thought for a moment, then said, “What about Snowflake?”

He grunted in disgust. “Allow the poor creature some dignity, will you?”

I picked up the kitten and snuggled her soft, furry neck. “But she’s just a widdle kitty.”

“I see,” he said, as he cut his bagel into smaller bites. “You’ve lost all your own dignity, so how can you possibly be expected to pass any along to the cat?”

I laughed and nuzzled her tummy. “It’s hard to maintain much dignity around such a little cutie.”

“I disagree. Watch and learn.” He set down his knife and held out his hand for the cat. “Come here, Marlborough. There’s a good lass.”

“Marlborough?” I snorted a laugh, but handed the tiny creature over. “Sounds like the name of your butler.”

“Hmm.” He studied the cat. “Charlemagne, then.” The kitten began to lick Derek’s finger with its tiny pink tongue and he softened instantly. “Would you look at that? I’d say she approves of Charlemagne.”

“No, she doesn’t,” I said, as I stood and stacked our empty plates. “But she loves you, anyway.”

He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. “We could call her Charlie.”

I considered it as I carried the dishes into the kitchen. Charlie was a cute name, especially for a girl kitty. “I’ll think about it.”

•   •   •

A
fter Derek left for the office, I poured myself another cup of coffee and headed for my workshop, anxious to get started. I’d left
The Secret Garden
on my worktable the night before and now I rummaged through drawers and cupboards, pulling out the tools I would need to do a more thorough examination of the book: a metal gauge for measuring, a small scale for weighing, a super-high-powered magnifying glass to take a close-up look at its flaws. I grabbed my camera and began snapping pictures of the book from every angle, including the interior pages.

In only a few hours I needed to get ready for my day at the studio, but that would be enough time to study the book and write up an invoice. The sooner I gave Vera an estimate of the work I wanted to do, the sooner she would pay me. And then I could get started on the job.

I had long ago perfected the art of eating chocolate without
getting any on my hands, so after popping two chocolate mint kisses into my mouth, I got down to business. The preliminary details came first. The book measured ten inches tall by seven and a quarter inches wide by two inches thick, and it weighed just over nine hundred grams, or almost two pounds. That was heavy for a children’s book, but, then, any parent who would buy an exquisite book like this for their kid to play with had no idea what was appropriate, anyway.

I weighed and measured in order to establish a base of information. Once the book was finished I would do it all again and compare the original with my final work. My goal was to end up with the exact same numbers I’d started with.

In my notes, I listed the book’s qualities as a conservative book dealer might describe them, which meant keeping my enthusiasm to a minimum.

Full goatskin binding, except for cutout on front.

Front cover with original painting on canvas signed by the artist M. L. Kirk.

Spine divided into six panels with raised bands between, each panel decoratively tooled and title lettered in gilt.

Fine condition externally, with crushed dark green Levant morocco leather decoratively tooled and gilded in a vine-and-rose pattern.

Gilded vine pattern extends to inside board edges with turn-ins decoratively bordered.

Leaf-pattern watermark on endpapers with date and unknown signature on flyleaf.

Sporadic light foxing internally, but otherwise paper clean and bright.

Eight tissue-guarded color plates by M. L. Kirk.