If Books Could Kill (17 page)

“Yeah, she’s the beeyotch who stabbed you,” she hissed, referring to an incident in my past when Minka had tried to injure me as a means of getting me out of the way so she could move in on my boyfriend at the time. She’d been dogging me ever since.

“Yeah, and did you see how she tried to sit with us?” I said, suddenly feeling as if I’d been transported back to high school, to the times when we used to gossip and giggle with our pals.

“I saw it, my friend,” Robin said. “She’s, like, such a loser.” She grinned and added in a more hushed voice, “It’s because we’ve got the cute guys at our table.”

“You betcha.” I glanced at the three interesting men and was impressed despite myself. And maybe I had regressed to high school, because I suddenly felt like I might pass out. Whether it was from the Scotch, my aches and pains, or the men, I couldn’t say, but I had to take a few fortifying breaths to get myself back on track. Passing out would be tacky and a bad way to end a really fun day. Well, fun except for a murder attempt or two.

“Three cutie-patooties,” Robin said, slurring her words. So it wasn’t just me. She took a quick peek at the other table and rolled her eyes. “Minka keeps laughing too loud, then looking right at this table. It’s like she’s dying for attention.”

“That’s exactly what she wants,” I said. “Just don’t make eye contact.”

“Okay.” But Robin couldn’t help casting another glance Minka’s way, then flinched when the evil woman held up her claw and raked the air as she glared daggers back at Robin.

“Gah,” Robin said, staring wide-eyed at me. “Me scared.”

“I warned you,” I said, draining my glass. “Never underestimate the fearsome power of the cow bitch.”

As Tommy called the waitress over for a second round of drinks, I happened to make eye contact with Derek.

Without a word, he stood, held his hand out and helped me up.

The speakers in the pub were blaring vintage U2, so I waved to everyone and said loudly to Robin, “Good night.”

She pouted. “Does this mean I have to leave, too?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. As if she would. “I’m just beat, and I have a class to teach tomorrow afternoon, so I’d better hit the sack.”

“I’ll walk you up,” Derek said, as though anyone doubted his intentions.

“Thank you,” I murmured. I weaved my way around the tables scattered throughout the dark pub and Derek followed closely, his hand touching the small of my back.

Little sparks were igniting inside me, and I was pretty sure it was due to him. I wondered what was about to happen and had to take some deep breaths as we left the pub-and ran right into Mom and Dad.

“Hey, sweets, you look pretty,” Dad said, and kissed my cheek.

“She always looks pretty,” Mom said, kissing my other cheek. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Derek?”

Oooh, boy. Exactly how much wine had they consumed during their anniversary dinner?

“She’s devastating,” Derek said, his voice so deep my toes tingled.

Mom’s eyes widened and she elbowed Derek. “Oh, woof, you sexy beast.”

I gasped.

“How was your dinner?” Derek asked, a broad grin on his face.

“Hey, that place is a gas!” Dad said. “We had a Jordan cabernet tonight that blew me away.”

“Good, I’m glad it worked out.”

“Um, how many bottles did you go through?” I asked cautiously.

“Two, but who’s counting?”

“And a groovy little after-dinner drink,” Mom added. “What’s it called, Jim-Jim?”

Jim-Jim? So not a good sign.

“Drambuie, Louie,” Dad said, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Yumbo,” she said in as sultry a voice as anyone could muster while saying
yumbo.

“Oh, my God.” This was just too much to take.

Mom laid her head on my shoulder. “I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” I said, frowning at Derek, who was taking way too much pleasure in my parents’ state.

Mom turned to face me and gripped my shoulders. “Now listen, sugar bean: I want you to come with us to Rosslyn Chapel tomorrow. All those ancient Templar vibes will help boost your auric field.”

Trying to get past the shock of being called
sugar bean
, I finally managed to stutter, “I-I’m not sure I-”

“Either that,” she continued as if I hadn’t said a word, “or we take advantage of the two-for-one irrigation special at the green spa. My treat!” She turned to Derek and confided, “I always say, an impacted colon is one bummed-out pooper shooter.” Then she turned back to me. “Whaddaya say, hmm?”

Derek sputtered with laughter.

“Rosslyn Chapel it is,” I said brightly.

“Dandy!” she said.

“Cool!” Dad said. “See you in the morning, kiddo.” Then he grabbed Mom and nudged her toward the pub. “Come on, baby, what say you and me liven up the place with a little conga line?”

“Ooh, conga!” Mom cried, and swung her arms in the air as she danced her way into the pub.

“Oh, dear God,” I whispered.

“They’re plastered,” Derek said with a laugh.

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell,” I muttered.

The next morning, I awoke feeling refreshed and happy.

And alone.

Okay, not so happy. I stared at the ceiling and thought back to the evening before. My life might’ve been notably different this morning, I suppose, if we hadn’t run into my parents.

Talk about a buzz kill. The way I saw it, one minute Derek and I were insanely hot to jump each other, and the next minute, well, he was howling with laughter and I was mortified and searching the lobby for a potted plant to hide behind.

He assured me in the elevator that my parents were the loveliest and most honest people he’d ever met, but let’s face it, my mother had uttered the phrase pooper shooter, and nothing would ever be the same again.

I understood my mother’s need to maintain regularity while she traveled, but for God’s sake, did she have to bring up the subject in front of the man I might’ve awakened next to this morning? I dare anyone to feel sexy with those two words lingering in the air.

Still, Derek’s kiss at the door to my hotel room managed to curl my toes and heat up my insides so completely that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see sparks fly out of my ears.

He pressed his forehead against mine, stared soulfully into my eyes, and smiled. I smiled back and was about to drag him inside my room, when his smile turned to a grin and he chuckled. Then he guffawed, and seconds later he was leaning against the wall, holding his stomach, laughing and begging for mercy.

So much for the famous unruffled calm of the British secret agent.

“Pooper shooter!” He gasped. “Christ on a cross, she’s priceless!”

That was when I thanked him for the good time and called it a night.

As I rolled out of bed, I felt a small twinge in my lower back, probably from landing smack-dab on my ass more than once yesterday. I did some slow stretches, bringing my knees up, then bending right, left, then over. They seemed to help. The hot shower helped, too.

My sore ankle barely even registered on the pain-o-meter, so that was something to be thankful for.

I popped two ibuprofen and drank my cup of hot chocolate as I dressed. Frankly, I was ecstatic to feel only a slight throbbing in my head, considering the half bottle of wine and Scotch nightcap I’d consumed the evening before. Okay, maybe it was a little more than half a bottle of wine, but the hangover gods must’ve taken pity on me anyway. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the astral plane, where I figured most hangover gods hung out during the day.

My luck ran out when I stepped into the elevator and saw the only other passenger inside: Martin Warrington, Helen’s estranged husband. For once, he was alone, without Helen to hide behind.

“Hello, Martin,” I said, unable to be completely rude and ignore him.

“ Brooklyn,” he said. “I’m glad I ran into you.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I made a face. I guess I could be a little rude, after all.

“No.” He smiled contritely. “I’ve been meaning to track you down and force you to listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to apologize.”

“Apologize?” I said. “For what?”

“For being a consummate clod, of course.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “This isn’t easy to admit, but when Helen and I first got together, I was jealous of all her friends and I acted like a complete ass.”

“Well,” I started, but didn’t know what to say next. I couldn’t dispute his words, because they were true, and frankly, I was still suspicious of his motives.

He chuckled. He had to know what I was thinking. “I screwed up,” he said. “I admit it. But I’m trying to make up for lost time. I love Helen, and I’ve spent these last few days realizing how unhappy I made her, and I hate myself for it. I just want her to be happy.”

“I want that, too,” I said cautiously.

He smiled and it seemed sincere, not the least bit reptilian or smug. “You’re a good friend of hers and your opinion matters to her, so I’m hoping it’s not too late for us to be friends.”

“That might be asking a lot,” I said, but I tried to smile as I said it.

He grinned, relaxing a bit more. “I completely understand. Perhaps we can start over as semifriendly acquaintances, then.”

He held out his hand, and after a moment of consideration, I shook it, then said, “I’m not sure Helen cares what I think of you, Martin.”

“She cares,” he said. “A lot.”

“Okay, then here’s the deal. If you do anything to make her unhappy, all bets are off.”

“I love her,” he said simply. “I don’t want her to be unhappy.”

We stood in silence. To fill the void, I asked, “I guess this means you two aren’t filing for divorce?”

He smiled tightly. “She told you about the divorce?”

“She mentioned it.”

He exhaled heavily again. “Let’s just say I’m determined to change her mind.”

I studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Well, good luck with it.”

He laughed. “Thanks, I’ll need it.”

That might’ve been the first time I ever heard Martin laugh. A small miracle.

Bemused, I walked away from the elevator. That was weird, I thought. But good, I guess. I’d actually seen a glimmer of the nice guy Helen had always said he could be.

I walked into the restaurant and found my parents and Robin eating fresh fruit and oatmeal.

“What’s with the oatmeal?” I asked Robin as I sat. She never ate oatmeal, and I was in the mood for French toast and bacon.

“It’s good for me,” she mumbled.

“Since when?”

“Since your mother swears by it.”

I frowned at Mom. “You do?”

She nodded resolutely. “Robin needs more fiber.”

Robin smiled weakly. “I seem to be experiencing psychic energy interference.”

Glancing back at Mom, I said, “That’s not another euphemism for the colon thing, is it?”

She pressed her hands together in a prayer pose. “All is connected,” she said, evading the question. Which I guess meant, yeah, it all came back to the colon thing.

I turned back to Robin. “Are you sure you don’t just have a hangover?”

She yawned. “Probably. I was up kind of late.”

I sighed. “Okay, I’ll have the oatmeal.”

“Solidarity,” Robin whispered, and held out her fist to bump mine.

“Tomorrow, we’re starting a juice fast,” Mom said. “Then we’ll join the screaming prayer circle that meets at sunrise on the Salisbury Crags. Are you in?”

I coughed. “ Sunrise?”

“Absolutely,” Mom said. “That’s when the core fire of enlightenment is most rampant.”

“But that’s, like, in the morning.”

“Exactly.”

“No, thanks.”

“Your father will be there.”

“Really?” I turned to him. “Dad, are you going on a juice fast?”

“Sure,” Dad said, spearing a thick piece of bacon. “If cabernet is considered juice, I’m there.”

They didn’t seem to be suffering any lingering effects from the alcohol they’d consumed last night. Maybe there was something to the whole colon thing, after all.

I shivered as I remembered Mom’s statement from the night before. On second thought, I was going to forget I ever had that thought.

After breakfast, as we waited for the valet to bring the minivan around, a taxicab pulled up and Helen climbed out of the back, carrying three Jaeger shopping bags. She paid the driver, then rushed over to Mom and gave her a big hug.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in days,” she said, then laughed. “It’s crazy how life can change in a day.”

“It’s so funny you should say so,” I said as I pulled her away from the family and walked with her toward the wide sliding doors of the hotel. “Because I rode down in the elevator with Martin a little while ago.”

Her smile wobbled. “Oh, dear. Should I apologize?”

I frowned, then shook my head and chuckled. “No, strangely enough, he took care of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He apologized to me,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “That’s weird.”

“I know.” I laughed. “But he did. He was actually nice about it, said he’s determined to talk you out of the divorce and make your relationship work. And he wants us to try to be friends.”

She tensed up. “He mentioned the divorce?”

“Just that he wants to change your mind about it.”

“And what did you say?”

“I wished him luck.” I frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She breathed again. “I’m just surprised he approached you.”

“It couldn’t be avoided. We were stuck in the elevator together.”

She smiled. “At least he made the effort.”

I studied her. “Helen, are you going to go back to him?”

“I don’t know,” she said, waving her hands in frustration. “I’m so confused. He’s been on his best behavior. I should go find him.” She checked her watch. “Phooey. I think he just started a two-hour meeting.”

“If you’ve got two hours to kill, why don’t you come with us to Rosslyn Chapel?”

“Is that where you’re all going?”

“Yes.”

“It sounds like fun,” she said hesitantly.

“Fun and educational.”

She laughed. “I’d love to. I’ll give my bags to the bellman.”

“I’ll go with you.”

We checked her shopping bags and walked across the lobby. I hesitated, then finally asked what I’d wanted to know for days. “So, Helen, what about the thing with Kyle?”

“For goodness’ sake, Brooklyn, he was married.” She shook her head in distress. “What was I thinking? My feelings for him were obviously one-sided.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said lamely, having been there, done that. “He was an adorable cad.”

“I suppose so, but I completely deluded myself.”

“You thought he was in love with you.”

“Yes, and how pathetic does that sound?” she said, clutching my arm as we walked over to the valet station. “I’ve had to do some serious soul-searching in the past day or so. Was I really in love or was Kyle just the excuse I needed to leave Martin? Was I looking for another guy to take care of me? Am I that helpless? What do I really want? Martin and I had a good relationship in the beginning. Do I want to throw that away?”

“That’s a lot of questions.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Give yourself a break. You don’t have to do anything right this minute.”

She pursed her lips in thought, then nodded in agreement. “You’re right. I’m just going to enjoy the ride for now.”

“Great.”

“It feels good to talk to you about this. I’ve been so conflicted.”

“I’m always here for you,” I said, hugging her. Not that I could help much, because let’s face it, I was the last woman on earth to be writing the advice-to-the-lovelorn column. Never seemed to stop me, though.

The minivan had finally arrived from the parking garage and Robin was already at the wheel. Mom had the front passenger seat, so Helen and I climbed in the back with Dad.