One Book in the Grave (11 page)

I’d have to give that more thought.

“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes,” Max said as he filled a large pot with water for pasta. “Then we’ll have a nice conversation about you all leaving.”

“Not gonna happen,” Gabriel said amiably, “but the dinner invitation is appreciated. That pasta sauce smells incredible.”

“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.

“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 grinned. “No, I’m saying women are more clever, more complicated. Men are basic. Easy.
Un
complicated.”

“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?”

Gabriel smirked. “There’s definitely a natural high going on in that house.”

“I know, right?” I smiled but still felt a little defensive, so I folded my arms across my chest. “Look, despite my parents’ wackiness, they were always happy. They raised us to enjoy life. I think we all do that pretty well now. I mean, clearly I’m not perfect—far from it. But I just never felt the need to get high.”

Max grabbed plates from the cupboard. “Some of us weren’t that lucky.”

“On the other hand,” I added quickly, “my family makes wine and I do love to drink it. So I guess you could call that my drug of choice.”

“You’re a wild woman, Brooklyn Wainwright,” Gabriel said, grinning at me.

“Yeah, right,” I said, scoffing.

Derek smiled at me and winked. Okay, he was wild enough for both of us.

The cat came walking up to me so I stooped to pet its soft fur. I could hear him purring as he rubbed against me. “I think Clyde likes me.”

“Pasta’s ready,” Max said, and drained the contents of the pot into a colander. “Three-minute warning.”

Derek turned on the broiler, then squatted down to check the level of the flame. Standing, he turned to Max and said, “To get back to the original question, who do you think is behind all this?”

Max poured the drained pasta into the large pan with the sauce and tossed everything together. “I would be willing to swear it’s one of two people, or it might be both of them working together. My old boss, Solomon, and an ex-girlfriend, Angelica Johansen.”

“Oh, my God. I know them,” I said. “Are you sure?”

“Does Solomon have a last name?” Gabriel asked, already typing something into his smart phone.

“Probably, but he never used it. Just went by Solomon. I think he tried to get his name changed legally but the court wouldn’t go for it. I don’t think anyone knew his last name.”

“Huh. Like someone else I know,” I said, casting a long look at Gabriel, who’d never revealed his last name to me. Even his business card simply read GABRIEL.

Derek checked on the toasting bread, then turned to me. “What did you know of these people, Brooklyn?”

I finished setting napkins and flatware around the kitchen table as I told them of the brief time I worked with Solomon and Angelica.

It was at least ten years ago, when I was twenty-one or twenty-two. I was an overachiever so I’d already gotten my master’s in art, and Max knew I was thinking of becoming a teacher. He was a rising star at the Sonoma Institute of the Arts and he recommended me for a summer job teaching a bookbinding class. It was a great opportunity for me and I was thrilled. But first I had to meet his boss, Solomon, the head of the department.

“I liked Solomon a lot at first,” I said as I took the bowls Max filled and put them at each place setting. “He came across as funny and charming. I watched him teach, too, and he was charismatic, very attractive, and really artistic. But over the weeks I saw that he could also be demanding and mercurial. I tried to stay out of his way as much as possible, but he threw these Friday-night parties and expected the entire staff to attend, so I had to deal with him on those occasions. It was uncomfortable.”

“Did that bastard hit on you?” Max demanded.

Gabriel opened a bottle of red wine, and Derek brought out the bread, golden brown and fragrant. He tossed all the slices into the bread basket Max had provided. I smiled at him as we sat down to eat. Everything looked and smelled heavenly. I had to take a bite before I could do anything else.

“This is fabulous,” I said. Seemed like I hadn’t eaten in hours and that just wasn’t right. The sauce was tangy, rich, and chunky, and it made me and my taste buds stand up and cheer.

“Anyway, yes, he did hit on me. Frankly, he hit on every woman,” I admitted finally. “But I just played dumb. It wasn’t hard to do since I was such a newbie. I got out of more than a few awkward situations by acting like I simply didn’t know what in the world these guys were talking about.” I batted my eyelashes to demonstrate.

“He was an arrogant jerk,” Max said.

I stared at him. “I just now realized why everyone was always leaving the party to go to the bathroom. That’s where the drugs were, right?”

“Good guess.”

“Just like every other party in the known universe,” Gabriel said, then added, “This pasta is fantastic.”

“Thanks,” Max said, then peered at me. “You really were a youngster back then.”

“Young and ridiculously naive.”

“Darling, thinking back, can you imagine Solomon killing someone?” Derek asked.

I thought about it as I scooped up another bite of pasta, then shook my head. “He was creepy, but not in a murderous way. Not back then, anyway.”

“Tell us about the woman,” Derek said, pouring a bit more wine into my glass. Ah, cabernet.

Max swallowed a bite of pasta, then said, “Angelica was a renowned letterpress artist and teacher. Her résumé was awesome.”

“Her résumé,” I said, choking back a laugh. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Very funny,” he said, making a face.

I turned to Derek. “She was nutso.”

Max chuckled. “Well, now I might agree. But back then, I just thought she was a little intense.”

“You say
tomato
.” I put my fork down. “Come on, Max. She never let you out of her sight. Her possessiveness was weird. Verging on psycho, really. She was especially vigilant whenever I was around.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Because she didn’t show you that side of her. But I caught the vibe right away.” I popped a warm chunk of bread into my mouth and savored the flavor. “You know I always looked up to you, Max. We were friends. I hate to say it, but Angie seemed jealous of our history together.”

Gabriel leaned forward. “Did you spend much time with her?”

“God, no,” I said quickly. “Whenever I came around,
she would make up an excuse to leave, always dragging Max off with her. The few times I spoke with her alone, she mostly issued veiled threats.”

“I’m sorry to say, I can believe that,” Max said.

“She threatened you?” Derek looked aghast. “You can’t be serious.”

“It was usually vague,” I said, “but basically she warned me not to hang around Max and their friends, or she’d make me sorry I was ever born.” I took a sip of wine. “Now that we’re talking about it, I remember being scared to death of her. I was afraid she would slip something into my drink someday, so I stopped going to the department parties.”

“I’m sorry,” Max said, then slid into a thoughtful silence.

“It’s not your fault,” I said after a minute.