A Cookbook Conspiracy (14 page)

Poor
Jane Eyre
had required extensive examination before I was able to reach a diagnosis: bad bookbinding.
Yes, there were sloppy bookbinders out there, and this pitiful creature had suffered
because of it. To begin with, the boards were crooked, having been unevenly fitted
to the spine. Also, the book was wider at the fore edge than it was at the spine.
This meant that over the years, as the book was opened and closed, the text block
and the boards worked against each other, ultimately resulting in the hinge popping
loose.

I supposed it was unfair to blame this uneven structure problem entirely on the bookbinder.
A century or two ago when the book was made, this type of design had been considered
visually pleasing. Nowadays, though, it was one of the top five reasons a book was
rushed to me for restorative surgery.

Along with all the skeletal problems
Jane Eyre
had suffered, it had dermatological issues as well. Its forest green, three-quarter
morocco binding was peeling and rotted out. Part of it had turned
to leather dust. The book would require a brand-new cover, obviously. It hurt my heart
to see all the damage that had been done to the book, but knowing I could make it
look beautiful again was a point of pride.

I decided to save this book for later and turned to the others that needed work. These
last four were a matched set of Ann Radcliffe’s formidable series,
The Mysteries of Udolpho
, published in 1794. The four books were extremely rare and antiquarian, and I was
honored to be working on them. Ian had insisted that they were in good condition,
given their age. I suppose “good” was a matter of interpretation, since all four brown
leather spines were rubbed bare of any gilding. Two covers were severed from their
texts and the inner hinges on all four books were tender.

It was remarkable that despite the damage, there were no loose signatures. But the
corners of each book were worn through to the boards. The pages were untrimmed and
browned and there was foxing throughout.

The books had been rebound once before, so my strict book conservationist self felt
free to construct new bindings. Although I would stick with historical accuracy, I
planned to make them shine, adding new endpapers and retooling the spines with fresh
gilding and raised bands.

In the box of books he had sent me, Ian had included a lengthy write-up for each volume.
I enjoyed reading his comments and often gleaned some good historical perspective
to guide me in my work.

This was one of the best things about the Covington Library exhibits—besides the books
themselves. Ian and his team of curators took great care to give visitors a detailed
picture of each book on display and the history behind it. They always included background
information on the physical book: Who published it? When and where? Who was the bookbinder?
What school of bookbinding did he follow? Why was a particular gilding tool or design
popular at the time? What about the stitching? Was it
unique to a school or a time in history? What was the provenance of the book? Who
first commissioned it? Who had owned it subsequently?

Alongside that information were details about the story itself and the author’s life:
What genre did the book represent? What themes ran through the plotline? Who were
the author’s influences? What was happening in history during the time she wrote the
book? Whom did she inspire?

I scanned the page Ian had sent on
The Mysteries of Udolpho
. Some of the descriptive information had to have come from the bookseller or auctioneer,
such as the condition of the leather and vellum. But there was information about the
author, too. I had never read
Udolpho
, so I was fascinated to discover that Radcliffe was credited with establishing the
Gothic genre of fiction and had directly influenced Jane Austen’s
Northanger Alley
and Charles Dickens’s
Little Dorrit
, among many others.

My skills would be tested on these four volumes, mainly because they all had to match
exactly. But that would come later.

I picked up the first one and began with the simple task of brushing each page until
the book was completely free of dust, dirt, and the occasional tiny bug carcass. Some
bookbinders preferred a soft brush, but I liked to use a slightly stiff, short-bristled
brush to get at every tiny grain that tended to gather in the center folds.

As I worked, I munched on my favorite snack, caramel chocolate kisses. I had become
adept at unwrapping the little treats and popping the candy into my mouth without
actually touching the chocolate, so I was able to keep my hands clean.

This was an advanced skill. I wouldn’t recommend it to amateurs.

It was almost four o’clock before I realized I was starving for real food and more
than ready to make dinner. I covered the books with a white cloth, hopped off my high
work chair, and walked back to the kitchen.

I checked the fridge to see what I could make and found leftover chicken and tortillas.
There was still time to run to the market to buy the rest of the ingredients for tacos.
Yes, I was actually capable of making tacos. I could shred the chicken and chop veggies
and grate cheese. It was just cooking and baking that required more skill than I possessed.

Making a mental list, I grabbed my purse and keys and left the house, carefully locking
the door behind me.

At the market, I picked up all the necessities for tacos. Then, on a lark, I wandered
down a few more aisles to gather the ingredients to make another syllabub. I couldn’t
screw it up any worse than I’d already done. It was essentially a pudding, for God’s
sake. My mom used to make pudding all the time when I was a kid. Although, to be honest,
it came in a box and she just added water. But still, I knew I could do this. And
if I succeeded this time, Derek wouldn’t look so squeamish the next time I mentioned
I was cooking dinner.

*   *   *

T
he syllabub was a disaster. Again.

How was it possible to make something that was lumpy in some spots and runny in others?
It was a puzzle. But at least it didn’t curdle like it had the last time. That was
nasty.

And luckily for me, Derek spent the hour before dinner on the phone with one of his
brothers, Dylan, who was on his way to Singapore for some sort of international man
of mystery conference. That’s what I imagined, anyway, since Derek and his brothers
had all held exalted positions in the military or government service in the past,
and some of them currently.

So while Derek was preoccupied with his phone call, I’d prepared the taco ingredients,
putting each in its own bowl. After whipping up a batch of margaritas, I’d experimented
with dessert.

I was stuffing the lumpy, runny, pudding-y mess down the
garbage disposal, swearing and muttering under my breath, when Derek came into the
kitchen.

“Perfect timing,” I said, pasting a bright smile on my face. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Everything looks delicious,” he said. Brushing my hair off my cheek, he kissed my
temple and my ear, sending zings and shivers through my system.

“Can’t miss with tacos,” I said lightly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help,” he said, then helped immensely by pouring me my first
margarita.

*   *   *

T
he next day, over coffee, I read more of Obedience Green’s diary. These pages were
so much easier to read than her recipes, which I didn’t seem to be able to fathom
at all.

Who didn’t like bacon? I thought with a happy sigh.

I put the diary pages aside and headed for my workshop, where I spent the rest of
the morning cleaning up the four
Mysteries of Udolpho
volumes. I was so tempted to stop working and start reading the story, but the work
came first. Plus, if I finished these books, I could start tearing apart the
Jane Eyre
. That was where the real fun happened.

I yawned. I hadn’t slept well, and while tossing and turning, I decided I wanted to
re-create the book box I’d made for Baxter. I’d slipped out of bed and spent an hour
in my studio, searching through swatches of leather hide, trying to decide if I had
enough of the exact color I’d used before. Derek finally woke up and dragged me back
to bed.

So now I was a little obsessed with making a new book box. Before I could do that,
though, I would have to finish these books for Ian. But since I needed to wait for
the glue to dry on one of the volumes, I took a quick break to study my leather pieces
again to see if I had the perfect piece for a new box. Only a true book lover could
relate to the excitement I felt at that moment. I could be such a geek sometimes.

I headed back to the kitchen to pour myself another cup of coffee and was returning
to the studio when the phone rang. It was Inspector Lee.

“Hey,” she began, “I wanted to thank you for sending those photos of the book.”

“You’re welcome. I thought about delivering them in person, then realized e-mail would
be faster.”

“Gotta love modern technology.”

“So I don’t suppose you’ve found the missing book yet,” I said.

“Give me a break with the damn book, will ya? I’d like to find the killer first.”

“Find the book and you’ll find the killer,” I said in my best Obi-Wan voice.

“It doesn’t always happen that way, Grasshopper.”

“I know,” I muttered. Inspector Lee was being way too polite, even as she disagreed
with me.

“So, listen, I need some more info,” she said, finally getting to the reason she’d
called.

I’d figured she wasn’t just calling because we were new best friends. “Sure, what
is it?”

“I need to know how big that book box thing was,” she said. “I couldn’t tell from
the pictures you sent.”

“I should’ve given you the dimensions in the e-mail. Sorry about that. The box is
twelve and a half inches long, nine and three quarters inches wide, and three and
a half inches deep.”

“Just happened to have those measurements on you, huh?”

“Sure did.” They were fresh in my mind because I’d been measuring leather scraps for
the new book box. If I wanted to cover it in black leather, I had enough in stock.
But if I wanted to repeat the dramatic dark red I’d used for Baxter’s gift, I would
have to order more.

“Okay, thanks, Wainwright,” Lee said. “Talk to you later.”

“Wait,” I said. “What’s happening with the investigation? Did you talk to the other
chefs yet? Do they all have alibis? Have you arrested anyone?”

There was a pause, and then she asked, “Did you graduate from the police academy and
forget to tell me?”

“No,” I said, drawing the word out. “But my sister’s involved, so I’m curious. Besides,
I thought we were friends.”

She snorted a laugh. “Good one. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Promise?”

She was still laughing as she hung up.

The next day Savannah called me. “I’ve invited the chefs to Arugula for dinner next
Monday night. You’re coming, too.”

I was puzzled but pleased by the invitation. “Are you having some kind of a wake for
Baxter?”

“We’ll do something more official later in the week. But this dinner is just a chance
for us to get together for old times’ sake.”

Who was I to turn down dinner at Arugula? Savannah did the most amazing things with
veggies, even for a die-hard red-meat fan like me. “I’d love to, but I’ll have to
check with Derek first. Can I call you back?”

“Derek already knows,” she said.

Well, that was weird. “You already talked to him?”

“Yes.”

Now I was just plain puzzled. “What’s going on?”

She huffed. “You know how that detective told me not to leave town and then Derek
told him I live up here in Dharma and I own a restaurant so everyone knows who I am
and where I can be found most of the time?”

“Yes.” I remembered all too well what Jaglom had said.

“Okay. So I thought it would be nice to invite everyone up here to see my place and
have dinner. I called Kevin first and found out that the cops told her and the others
the same thing. Like, don’t leave town. So nobody is allowed to leave San Francisco,
which is a complete drag. So I called Derek.”

She called Derek before calling me? I guess I couldn’t blame her. I would’ve called
him first thing, too. It was sort of like having a doctor in the family. If you were
having sharp pains in your side, you called your brother-in-law the doctor, right?
So if somebody in my family was having trouble with the cops, who else would they
call but Derek? It made perfect sense.

“So what happened?” I asked.

“Well, Derek calls the detective and next thing I know, Kevin calls me back and says
the cop called her to say they can all come for dinner, as long as Derek is here as
our chaperone.”