The Book Stops Here (30 page)

It was a single oil painting. I pulled the curtain back farther to catch the light and saw a startlingly lifelike depiction of Mae West and Edward Strathmore in a romantic embrace.

“Whoa.” It was obviously somebody’s idea of a fantasy, since the two appeared to be contemporaries and both looked young enough to be in their late twenties. Her platinum blond hair was curled around her in sexy disarray. He wore a tuxedo and was as wildly handsome as a movie star.

Definitely a fantasy,
I thought. Especially since Mae West had died years ago and Edward, despite his Old World manners and frailty, was probably only in his late sixties.

I stared at the painting and realized something else was odd about it, beyond the creepy fantasy factor. What was I missing?

I heard Edward’s footsteps on the hardwood floor of the hall and quickly returned to my study of the Shakespeare folios.

“I should probably be going,” I said, as soon as he walked back into the room. “I’ve enjoyed myself so much, but I think I’ve taken up enough of your time today.”

“It was a pleasure,” he said, with a slight bow. He slipped his
arm through mine again and led me out of the room. “You’re a delightful girl.”

“Thank you. I’m so grateful you allowed me to see your library.”

“I don’t let every Tom, Dick, and Harry come in there.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said. “You have so many treasures and not everyone would appreciate them.”

“Exactly so.”

“And thank you again for all of your insight into Mae West. It was so helpful.”

“Oh, my dear,” he said, “anytime I can talk about Mae is a special day for me. Never a chore.”

“I’m glad.”

As we headed back down the hall toward the front door, he said, “We’re having a party next Saturday. I know it’s late notice, but I would be so honored if you could come.”

That took me by surprise. “I would love to.”

“Be sure to bring your husband or your beau.”

I smiled. “He’s my beau.”

“Wonderful,” he said with enthusiasm. “It’s going to be quite a get-together. Lots of movers and shakers, as they say.”

“It sounds like fun.”

He squeezed my arm in a friendly gesture. “It will be, as long as you’re here.”

Chapter Seventeen

Early Sunday evening, Derek stayed home with the kitten, the latest James Bond film, and a briefcase filled with work, while I walked across the hall to Vinnie and Suzie’s place for an impromptu ladies’ night. It was the three of us and our new neighbor, Alex.

In the good old days, Vinnie and Suzie used to go out for dinner every night of the week. I loved those old days because they usually brought me their leftovers.

Now that they had baby Lily, though, the two women had turned into homebodies. Vinnie had become addicted to the Food Channel and was always experimenting with new and strange meals, much like my own experimentation with food. The difference was, Vinnie had talent. Everything she tried turned out to taste really good.

The same couldn’t be said for me and my experiments. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d tossed a pot of mushy pasta into the trash or poured a watery pudding disaster down the drain. It was so unfair.

Vinnie opened the door seconds after I knocked. “Brooklyn is here,” she cried. “Come in.” She led the way into their two-story living room and I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of the most
amazing wood sculpture I’d ever seen. And that was saying something, because Vinnie and Suzie were talented chainsaw artists whose unique works were on display all over the country.

The piece stood in the middle of their high-ceilinged living room and looked like it had been carved from a ten-foot-tall, two-foot-thick square slab of redwood. The top half of the thick wood piece had been sliced and split into hundreds of thinner pieces. These had been painstakingly bent and curved and extended out from the center. The thinner pieces were split even farther, and farther still, and so on, until the entire piece ultimately resembled a tree, with a thick tree trunk and branches spreading out in all sorts of wild directions. The branches sprouted smaller and thinner boughs and limbs that grew and spread out every which way. The ends of some of those limbs were as thin as a splinter.

“It’s fantastic,” I said. “So you started with a tree and you ended up with a tree.”

“Exactly so. We call it
Endings and Beginnings
.” Pleased, she took hold of my arm. “Come have a margarita.”

Alex was sitting at the bar, and the first thing I spotted was a tray of cupcakes on the counter. So this party was already a big success.

“Brooklyn!” Suzie cried. “The party is now official. I’m revving up the blender.”

“I wish you had let me bring something besides chips and salsa,” I said, setting my shopping bag on the kitchen bar.

“But that was the only thing we were missing,” Vinnie insisted.

“I brought homemade guacamole, too.” I pulled everything out of the bag and set it on the counter. I’d brought matching bowls from home so they wouldn’t have to clean more dishes than necessary.

“You made this?” Vinnie’s eyes were wide and I sensed a touch of fear in her voice.

“Yes. And it’s good,” I said defiantly.

She pursed her lips and stared at the green substance.

“My sister Savannah loves my guacamole,” I said, bringing all the umbrage I could muster to the statement. Savannah was a world-class chef, so, in theory, if she liked something, it had to be good.

“Hmm.” Vinnie exchanged a glance with Suzie.

“Sounds great,” Suzie said doubtfully.

“You’ll love it and you’ll be sorry you mocked me,” I promised.

Vinnie grabbed me from behind in a quick hug. “You know we love you, Brooklyn.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just taste the damn guacamole.” I went and sat down on one of the barstools. “I’ll be waiting over here for your apologies.”

Alex had been watching the scene with a hesitant look on her face.

“We kid,” I explained.

“Brooklyn is a lovely person,” Vinnie said, her lyrical Indian accent strong as she explained herself. “But she cannot cook, poor thing, though she does try.”

“I’m sitting right here,” I said, laughing. “I can hear you.”

“Here,” Suzie said, thrusting an icy margarita into my hand. “I think you deserve the first drink.”

“Thanks, Suz.”

She passed the glasses around and we all clinked, then sipped.

“Oh,” Alex moaned. “So good.”

“Delicious,” I agreed.

Suzie dunked a chip into the guacamole, took a bite, and her eyes widened. “Wow, Brooklyn. That really is delicious.”

“Really?” Vinnie bent over and stared into Suzie’s face so she could gauge her sincerity. “Are you serious? Tell me the truth.”

By now I could tell that she was teasing me, so I sat and enjoyed my cocktail and chips, while they sampled my special dip.

We took turns telling everyone how our day had gone. When
it got around to me, I retold the story of my visit to Edward Strathmore’s odd home.

“I’ve met Edward a few times at various fund-raising events,” Alex said. “He’s charming and old-fashioned. I never would’ve guessed he lives in a shrine dedicated to Mae West.”

“Oh, it’s way more than a shrine,” I said, sipping my drink.

“Who’s Mae West?” Suzie asked as she poured more mixer into the blender.

There was silence as we all turned and stared at her.

“Are you kidding?” I asked.

Vinnie looked both horrified and worried. “Suzie, you can’t be serious.”

“I am serious,” Suzie said with a shrug, and squeezed limes into the mixture. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“Oh, my gosh,” Vinnie said. “I can’t believe it.” She raised her hands in surrender. “But, then, I cannot talk. You thought it was sad that I’d never heard of Ella Fitzgerald.”

“That
was
sad,” Suzie agreed.

“Vinnie, how did you hear of Mae West in India?” Alex asked.

Vinnie giggled. “It is a good question because we are such a puritanical country. And Mae West was a wicked woman with many lecherous moves and suggestive phrases. Her dresses were much too tight and her sense of humor was blatantly lewd. Naturally, my father was a huge fan.”

I laughed. “My father was, too.”

“I enjoyed her very much, as well.” Vinnie thrust her shoulders back slowly, let her head sway a bit, and before our very eyes, she switched personalities. She splayed her hands on her hips and began to sashay sensuously in Suzie’s direction.

“What are you doing?” Suzie asked, giving her a suspicious look.

Vinnie nudged her playfully with her shoulder. “Why don’t you come up sometime and see me?”

I let out a surprised giggle. Vinnie’s Indian accent, always so
cheerful and chirpy, was gone. Instead, she sounded low and sultry with a slight nasal quality. It was a surprisingly good imitation of Mae West.

“I’ve heard that line before,” Suzie said.

Vinnie nudged her again. “When I’m good, I’m very good. But when I’m bad, I’m better.”

Suzie laughed. “You’re very good, babe.”

She batted her eyelashes. “I’ve been in more laps than a napkin.”

I snorted a laugh. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Me, either,” Alex said.

Vinnie turned and winked at us. “I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.”

Alex actually giggled.

“Marriage is a great institution,” Vinnie drawled, swaggering around the kitchen. “But I’m not ready for an institution.”

Suzie laughed. “How do you know all these lines?”

“They’re from Mae West movies,” Vinnie said, dropping the character. “She’s famous for them. But if you did not grow up watching her movies, you probably missed them.”

“I missed the movies,” Suzie said, “but somehow I’ve heard a few of those lines.”

Vinnie strutted again. “I generally avoid temptation unless I can’t resist it.”

We all laughed, and I said, “Vinnie, you do a great impression of her.”

Suzie shook her head. “You never cease to amaze me, babe.”

Vinnie slipped her arm around Suzie’s waist. “That was fun. We will rent some of those old movies so you can see the real Mae West in action.”

“Good idea.” Suzie looked at me. “So, this guy you met today is an expert on Mae West?”

“Yes. It was really interesting.”

“And a little freaky?” Suzie said.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “He’s sweet and gentlemanly, but there was definitely a touch of the weird.”

“I can imagine,” Alex said. “With mannequins and wigs all over the place? You do meet the most interesting people in your job.”

“I do. Just wait till I tell you about the snake.”

They stared at me. Alex held out her glass. “I’m going to need a refill first.”

•   •   •

M
onday at noon Derek and I showed up at the television studio and met up with Randy in the parking lot.

“You look so much better today,” I said.

“I feel a hundred percent better,” he said. “I don’t know what hit me—maybe a little food poisoning or some twenty-four-hour bug—but it’s gone.”

“I’m so glad,” I said. “Make sure it stays gone, because none of us wants it.”

“I hear you,” he said with a smile, and strolled away to talk to the director. Derek and I took off toward the dressing rooms.

“Hey, Brooklyn,” Tom said, stopping us near the makeup room. “I’m glad you’re here. Let’s talk.”

Derek gave me a curious look and I shook my head. I had no idea what he wanted to discuss.

“The first show aired over the weekend,” he said as he led me back toward the studio door.

“I know.” Yikes, I had completely forgotten. “I taped it but I haven’t watched it yet.”

“Thanks to you and that first book you appraised, we’ve had a tremendous increase in requests from people who want to bring in rare books, so we’re going to add one more book segment to your day.”

“That’s great,” I said cheerily. “I just hope I’ll be able to do
justice to the appraisals. The research is what takes most of my time.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “We’ve hired two more prescreeners. One of them starts today and the other one will be here tomorrow. So now you’ll have more people getting the books from the owners and checking them out. They’ll write up their usual short reports and all you’ll have to do is a little fact-checking.”

I didn’t tell him that I would still be compelled to conduct my own research. I couldn’t make an appraisal based on someone else’s notes. It wouldn’t be ethical.

But he probably didn’t care, and why should he? The show was basically entertainment. He wasn’t worried about my ethical issues.

Still, I was happy. It was so good to hear that the show would feature more books. “That’s wonderful, Tom. I can’t wait to meet the new appraisers.”

“Yeah, let me introduce you to one of them right now.” He led the way outside and I saw the throngs of people lined up to enter the guest hall. Tom looked around and pointed. “There she is. You wait here. I’ll bring her over.”

He jogged off into the crowd. There were so many people standing around, I couldn’t catch a glimpse of who he was talking to.

Without warning, the sun slipped behind a dark cloud and I trembled involuntarily. I wasn’t cold, exactly, but I felt a darkness enveloping me.

A sharp spasm of pain stabbed at my stomach. What the hell was that?

As I rubbed at the pain, the woman talking to Tom turned to look at me. And I knew the dark forces had collected to try to destroy me.

“No, no, no,” I groaned under my breath.

Minka!

Like in the movie
Beetlejuice
, I usually hesitated to say her name aloud, just in case the devil was summoned forth. But despite my precaution, here was Minka LaBoeuf in person. My worst enemy.

She took one look at me and her upper lip curled in a snarl that only a mama dingo could love. She was wearing too much lipstick, as usual, in a shade of orange that could not be found in nature. From ten yards away I could see the oil slick it left on her front teeth.

She wore a plaid skirt seven inches too short, with black pleather boots that stretched up and over her knees. Her sweater was so tight that anyone in the immediate vicinity could be in danger of losing an eye if it unraveled and her boobs sprang loose.