Ripped From the Pages (17 page)

I would have to remember to ask Derek to check with Interpol soon. If nothing in the
caves had been reported stolen, we wouldn’t need Mr. Garrity’s services anymore.

But I knew Robson wouldn’t get rid of the odious man until he had done a complete
and thorough appraisal of everything found in the cave. Robson had expressed concern
that in the case of a family member dying and leaving no heirs, we would have to dispose
of the heirloom somehow. The most equitable way to handle it, we decided, was to sell
the item to a museum or reputable collector and divide the proceeds among the remaining
families. For that to be done fairly, an appraiser had to establish its value.

“Hey, you.”

I jolted, still nervous that Garrity might sneak up on me. But this was Robin, so
I relaxed instantly.

“Hi!” It was always good to see my best friend, and now I’d have a chance to introduce
Elizabeth to her as well. I gave her a big hug and shook off the residual effects
of Noland Garrity. “Are you working here today?”

“Not today. I brought Austin and Jackson in to see the photos.”

“That’s great. I know they’ll love them.”

My brothers were only a step or two behind Robin, and deep in conversation, probably
discussing dirt or something equally captivating.

“Hi, guys.”

“Hey, Brooks,” Jackson said, giving me a one-armed hug. I always got a kick out of
seeing Jackson after having him gone for so long. He’d spent ten years doing some
job he never talked about that kept him out of the country. Once he was back home,
Guru Bob enlisted him to travel for the Fellowship and the winery for two more years.
Again, the reasons for all that travel weren’t
mentioned, at least not to my mother and me. Apparently, Jackson was good at keeping
secrets. In any case, he was home for good now, and my family was glad of it. For
the past year, he’d been managing the vineyards and doing a great job.

I stared at the two men I’d grown up with and couldn’t help but admire them. They
were both tall and good-looking, with dark blond hair like my dad. Today Jackson wore
a faded denim jacket over a black T-shirt with black jeans and boots, the original
cowboy hunk. Austin was dressed a bit more in the “Sonoma style” with his chambray
shirt tucked into a pair of well-worn jeans. And boots. Either way, they were both
pretty hunky, if I did say so myself.

“What’re you doing here, Brooks?” Austin asked.

“I’m showing a friend of Trudy’s around town. We had lunch at El Diablo, and now we’re
checking out the exhibit. I’ll introduce her to you when she’s finished admiring Robin’s
photos.”

Austin glanced around the room. “Man, this is great. The photos are fantastic.” He
wrapped his arm around Robin’s waist. “You rock, Robbie.”

“Thanks, honey.” Robin beamed, and the twosome wandered off to admire more of Robin’s
work.

I looked around for Elizabeth but didn’t see her. There were three more aisles of
photographs, so there was plenty to look at. I figured I’d catch up with her in a
few minutes.

I thought of something and turned to my brother. “Do you want to join Derek and me
for dinner tomorrow night? I thought we’d take Elizabeth to Arugula.”

Jackson gave me a sideways glance. “This isn’t some kind of a setup, is it?”

I was taken aback. “No.” I started to laugh. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You’d be amazed to know how many people would.”

“Uh-oh. So now that Austin’s spoken for, you’ve moved to the top of the eligibility
list?”

“Exactly,” he drawled. “So don’t try it.”

“I didn’t even think of it. She’s in town for only a few days, and Trudy wants her
to meet people in hopes that she’ll visit more often.”

“Sounds reasonable,” he admitted.

“I’m going to ask China and Beau to join us, and Robin and Austin, too. I thought
we could make it a party. But I understand if you’d rather not.”

He frowned, probably because he realized he was misjudging my intentions. “Yeah, okay,
I’ll join you.”

“Great. Tomorrow night at seven.”

“I’ll be there.” Jackson walked over to the first photograph on the aisle in front
of us. “Robin did a good job with these.”

“I think so, too. The lighting is awesome, isn’t it?”

He grinned at me. “I take it you helped with the lighting?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, the lighting is phenomenal.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see Elizabeth, staring wide-eyed across
the room.

“Oh, there you are, Elizabeth,” I said as I went over to her. “I wanted to introduce
you to my brother.”

She was trying to swallow, and I wondered if she was about to choke on something.
I grabbed her arm. “Are you all right?”

But she couldn’t speak. Worried, I glanced back at Jackson.

But he was gone.

“What the heck?” I scanned the room to see where he’d wandered off to, but I didn’t
see him anywhere.

Now, that was weird.

I turned back to Elizabeth. “Did you see where he went?”

She gulped convulsively, still unable to speak.

I grabbed her arm. “Are you going to be sick? What’s wrong?”

She finally shook herself out of whatever state she’d fallen into, took a deep breath,
and exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry. I thought I saw someone I knew, but I was obviously
mistaken.”

“You mean, my brother? Tall, good-looking, denim jacket?”

“Who?” She still looked alarmed and a little dazed. “Oh. No, sorry. It was a woman.
I looked out the window and was sure I saw an old friend from . . .” She inhaled deeply
again and let it out. “Um . . . but it wasn’t her. Sorry.”

I wasn’t entirely sure I believed her because I thought she’d been reacting to Jackson.
But why would she lie? And where had Jackson disappeared to? “We can check outside
to make sure.”

“No, I already took a second look, and I was mistaken. But wow, what a shock. Sorry.”
She laughed ruefully. “That was weird.”

“Yeah, you looked completely flabbergasted. I hope you’re okay.”

“I’m fine now, thanks.” She linked her arm through mine, and we walked toward another
aisle of photos. “These pictures are wonderful.”

Clearly she wanted to get things back on track and so did I. But I was going to be
talking to Jackson about this. And Derek. Most definitely Derek. “Aren’t they cool?
Robin took them.”

“Robin?”

“Oh. Where’d she go?” I realized I hadn’t had a chance to
introduce them, so I glanced around but didn’t see Robin or Austin anywhere. Frowning
again, I said, “People seem to be disappearing right and left today. Anyway, you’ll
meet her tomorrow night if you’d like to join us for dinner.”

“I’d love to,” she said with enthusiasm. “You’re so sweet to include me. I’m having
such a good time.”

“I’m glad.” We spent another half hour at the exhibit before we both decided we were
ready to go home.

*   *   *

D
inner at Arugula the following night was a blast. Elizabeth regaled us with stories
of Trudy on a mission to find the best champagne-tasting venues in the region. “We
drove for miles over the mountains toward Napa. There were so many treacherous hairpin
turns, I didn’t think we’d make it out alive.”

“I hate that drive,” Robin said. “I’d rather go twenty miles out of my way than go
over the mountain.”

“I’ll never do it again,” Elizabeth said. “Trudy was driving as well as could be expected,
but still, it was scary. And then all of a sudden, in the middle of another turn,
she slammed on the brakes and whipped into this driveway. The tires were screeching!
I was clutching the dashboard for dear life. We were in the most remote area of the
forest and, I swear, it looked like something out of a horror film. And then this
tiny one-lane road opened, and suddenly we’d arrived at a beautiful little winery
surrounded by acres of vineyards, where they served the most wonderful champagne.”

“I’ve been to that place,” Austin said, nodding. “It’s really good, but you’ve gotta
want to go there. Sometimes I think the owner makes it tough on purpose so he won’t
have to share his champagne.”

“I don’t blame him,” she said, “but I’m glad we found it. Seriously, though, that
road is awful. Is that how you get rid of tourists? You send them up the mountain?”

“Every chance we get,” Austin said with a blasé wave of his hand, and everyone laughed.

Everyone but my brother Jackson, I thought with annoyance. He’d canceled on me at
the last minute, and I was still miffed. Did he really believe I was trying to set
him up with Elizabeth? Well, given her reaction to seeing him—or whomever she claimed
to have seen—at the town hall yesterday, I didn’t think he’d have to worry about her
trying to finagle a date with him. Elizabeth had looked absolutely horrified at the
sight of him. She’d insisted she was looking at someone else she’d seen walking outside,
but I had a feeling she was fibbing. After all, as soon as she made that face, Jackson
completely disappeared from sight. Maybe he saw her first and took off running.

Why?

I might’ve been imagining the whole thing. Either way, I accepted that it was none
of my business. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to find some answers. And it irritated
me terribly that I’d completely forgotten to mention any of it to Derek. As soon as
I got the chance to have a long talk with him, I was going to get his take on the
situation.

I was curious. This was my brother and my new friend. My instincts told me that there
was something going on there. Did they have some history between them? Maybe it had
ended badly. Was there some way I could intervene—or was I playing with fire? I wasn’t
ready to do anything about it just yet, but I would if the right moment presented
itself.

*   *   *

S
ince Derek had spent another afternoon dealing with the insufferable Noland Garrity,
he was bushed by the time we got home from dinner. In spite of that, he went for an
evening walk with me and Maggie before calling it a day and going off to bed. I spent
a few minutes playing with Charlie and Maggie and checking my e-mail for any messages
from my online group. There was nothing yet, but Claude had said to give him a few
days, so I would have to be patient.

Since I was online anyway, I stopped by a few of my favorite rare-book sites to find
values for comparable versions of
Journey to the Center of the Earth
. I wanted to be able to tell Robson what the book might be worth so he could make
an informed decision on its fate.

The first American version of the book published in 1872 had just sold for forty thousand
dollars. The description referred to it as “beyond rare,” not only because of its
age and its clean and bright condition, but mainly because no other copies of that
edition had ever surfaced.

I made notes and moved on, searching for a French version published in the same year
as my edition. I found one going for thirty-five thousand dollars and had to sit back
and take a breath. High prices like this no longer astonished me, but neither did
the fact that a book this rare and expensive was sometimes worth killing for.

Rather than dwell on that unhappy thought, I considered the story that the book told.
I admit I’d never read
Journey to the Center of the Earth
, but I’d seen the old movie version. It had been one of my all-time favorites when
I was young. I wondered again if young Anton Benoit and Jean Pierre Renaud had dreamed
of traveling all those thousands of miles to find the cave that would lead them to
the magical center of the earth. I believed they had had
that dream, because what child hadn’t? And I was especially convinced after I’d read
the blood oath they’d written inside the book.

As I closed my notebook, shut down my computer, and turned off the lights, I thought
how sad and oddly coincidental it was that the men’s friendship had come to an end
inside a cave so far away from their home. Had Anton known that Jean Pierre was dead?
Was he the one who killed him? It was awful to think that anyone related to Guru Bob
was capable of murder. But if it wasn’t Anton, then who killed Jean Pierre Renaud?

I made sure Maggie was comfy and cozy in her bed in the den, then cuddled Charlie
all the way to the bedroom, where I set her down in her little doughnut-shaped cat
bed. My tiny kitten was growing up too fast. She was a few inches taller, and her
pale fur was thicker and softer. Her face was just as adorable as ever, though, with
tufts of light orange across her forehead and cheeks and big, inquisitive blue eyes.
I gave her some light scratches behind her ears, and she purred as I gently admonished
her to stay in bed. At home, she loved sleeping in her little doughnut bed, but since
we’d been in Sonoma, she rarely stayed put all night. She hadn’t ventured out of the
bedroom and probably wouldn’t, but I had found her curled up on the comfortable chintz
rocking chair on more than a few occasions.

Derek woke up as soon as I climbed into bed, but he fell asleep almost as quickly
after I kissed him good night. I chuckled to myself that Derek rarely went to bed
this early in the city, but I guessed all this clean country air was wearing him out.
Or more likely, the horrible Noland Garrity was simply exhausting to be around.

Sometime during the night, a low-pitched ringing woke me up. I blinked a few times,
disoriented.

Derek sat up and grabbed his cell phone. I checked the alarm clock, saw that it was
two forty-seven a.m., and almost groaned. Nothing good ever happened this late at
night.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, and tapped the phone, ending the call.

“Who is it? What happened?” I had to shake my head back and forth to wake myself up.
“Is somebody hurt?”

“Not yet,” he said flatly. He was already out of bed, grabbing a shirt and pulling
on a pair of jeans. “Someone tried to break into the storage cave.”

“I’m going with you.” I threw on a sweater and jeans, then slipped my feet into a
pair of loafers, and we were out of the house in three minutes.

“I’ll bet it was Noland Garrity,” I muttered as Derek drove the three miles to the
winery.

“What makes you think it’s him?” he asked.

“He’s so arrogant. It just figures he would try to get away with something like this.
I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

“He’s arrogant, but he’s not stupid,” Derek murmured. “Let’s wait and see.”

I sat back in my seat and tapped my feet anxiously until we turned onto the winery
road. “Oh, hey, maybe it’s Henri. He was angry enough to pull something like this.”

“Perhaps, although he was on his best behavior during the tour of the cave.” Derek
turned into the lot and parked as close to the storage cave as we could. It was fifty
yards away, and I could see some activity with Gabriel and his men, but I couldn’t
make out any faces.

Gabriel met us halfway.

“Did you arrest him?” I asked.

“Him?” he said, then shrugged. “Not yet. Thought I’d wait for Derek to get here before
calling the cops. He’s our interrogation specialist.”

I looked up at Derek. “You are?”

He threw his arm around my shoulders and didn’t bother to confirm or deny, which pretty
much confirmed for me what Gabriel had said. “Let’s go see what we’ve got here.”

“A couple of clowns,” Gabriel muttered, which made no sense, unless he was teasing
Derek and me.

But as we got closer to the storage door and saw his men holding two people captive,
I realized what he was talking about.

“Ma’am, please remove your ski cap,” Gabriel said.

Ma’am?
I watched the woman yank the ski cap off her head to reveal her shocking red hair.

“Darlene?” My gaze switched to the short man standing next to her. “Shawn? What’re
you guys doing here?”

“Uh, hi, Brooklyn. Hi, Derek.” Shawn’s voice was meek as he scratched his head. “This
isn’t what it looks like.”

“He was using these when we got here.” With the tips of his thumb and forefinger,
Gabriel held out a small plastic case filled with a set of thin tools. I recognized
them because Derek had a similar set. They were used specifically for picking locks.

“I can explain,” Shawn said.

Darlene elbowed him. “You don’t have to explain anything.” She glared at me. “We’re
innocent.”

“Carrying a set of lock picks and actually attempting to use them seems to indicate
the contrary,” Derek told her.

“And then there’s this,” Gabriel continued blithely, pointing to one of his men, who
held up a crowbar in his gloved hand.

I scowled at Darlene. “You brought burglary tools and a crowbar, and you’re telling
me you’re innocent?” I tried to block out the image of the fun-loving pair we’d met
in the restaurant the other night. I needed to see them for what they were: petty
thieves. “It looks to me like you were trying to break into our winery.”

“That’s crazy,” Darlene said, trying to laugh. It sounded more like a harsh barking.
“These guys have no sense of humor. We were just looking around. We wanted to get
a close-up view of the whole area, the flora, the fauna, you know what I mean? It’s
our way of giving our readers the complete story.”

“At three o’clock in the morning?” I said.

Gabriel and the others stood behind the guilty pair, arms folded across their chests
as if they were all posing for the cover of
Dangerous Men
magazine, if only that were real. Gabriel was the only one who looked somewhat amused.
I didn’t see the slightest thing funny in any of this. I felt used.

“Well, yeah,” Shawn said, his voice a little whiny as he hitched himself to Darlene’s
dumb story. “Late at night’s the best time to experience the true sights and sounds
of a place. No crowds around, no distractions. We’re wordsmiths, Brooklyn. Creative
people. This is how we soak up the ambience of a place. We marinate in the total atmosphere,
becoming one with the setting. Our stories are better for it.”

“What a bunch of bull,” I muttered, feeling foolishly disillusioned and betrayed.
But why? Did I really believe they were my new best friends because they’d bought
us some wine? I needed to smack myself. I shook my finger at the security box in the
wall by the doors. “Don’t you get it? This place is locked up so tight, it squeaks.
What were you thinking?”

Darlene wore a sly grin. “Shawn’s got a knack for working his way around those pesky
security devices.”

I stared at her for a long moment, not quite believing what I’d heard her say. It
was as much of an admission of guilt as anything would ever be. “Not tonight he doesn’t.”

Derek nodded at Gabriel. “Call the police.”

*   *   *

“I
’m so bummed.” Now that it was just Derek and me in the car driving home, I was pouting.
“I never expected to see those two being dragged away in handcuffs. I thought they
were so friendly and quirky, you know? Turns out, they’re just common criminals.”

“Yes, they are.” Derek kept his eyes on the road, but I could see his teeth were clenched.
He was as angry as I was.

“It was creepy, wasn’t it? The way she was smiling there at the end?” I sighed. “I
guess I owe Noland an apology for assuming it was him.”

Derek glanced over at me. “No you don’t, darling.”

“Good, because I couldn’t stomach having to apologize to him. But I’m really bummed
about Darlene and Shawn.”

“I think you’d be wise to stay away from reporters from now on. You have a generous
heart, and they’ll take advantage of that. No matter how friendly they seem, they
all have their own agendas.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” I muttered. Really, I wasn’t so much furious with the thieving
twosome as I was disappointed in myself. I’d assumed the two bloggers were just as
innocuous as they’d claimed to be, and I couldn’t have been more wrong. What did that
say about my judgment?

Derek reached for my hand and held it during the rest of the ride home. We were both
exhausted, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep after putting up with an hour of
The
Darlene and Shawn Show
. They were grifters! I was still embarrassed that I’d fallen for their friendly act.

Honestly, with everything I’d seen in the last year or so, you would’ve thought my
rose-colored glasses would be a little dim. Guess not. Derek was right. I planned
to avoid all reporters from now on unless it was an official query related to the
treasures found in the cave.

My mind wandered back to the conversation I’d had with China on Tuesday. Had she already
introduced Josh to Annie? I hoped not. True, he seemed a lot more trustworthy than
Darlene and Shawn, but he was only here to obtain information, and he would do it
by any means necessary. And what if he turned out to
be no better than Shawn and Darlene? I didn’t want Annie to get hurt.

Once Derek and I got home and climbed back into bed, I found out I was wrong about
sleeping, too. I drifted off within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

I woke up hours later with a kitten sniffing around my face.

“Hello, little thing,” I murmured, and she head-butted my cheek, purring softly. How
could I resist such a wake-up call?

And how could I resist Derek when he had coffee and English muffins ready for me when
I finally dragged myself out to the kitchen?

“My life is good,” I said, setting Charlie on the floor where she immediately pounced
on Maggie, who didn’t seem to mind a bit. I was growing to love the sweet old dog.

Leaning against Derek’s back, I wrapped my arms around him.

“And so is mine,” he said, squeezing my arms affectionately.

A minute later, I sat at the kitchen table. Derek kissed the top of my head before
joining me. “What are your plans today?”

“I’m going to hide away in Abraham’s studio and work on a few projects. How about
you?”

“I’ll be toiling in the fields with the menfolk.”

It was a good thing I’d chewed and swallowed my bite of muffin because I burst out
laughing.

“Why are you laughing at the thought of my doing an honest day’s labor?”

“Because I think what you’ll really be doing is drinking a lot of wine,” I said, still
giggling. “Not that I have anything against that sort of toiling. But mostly I’m laughing
at the way you said it, with your upper-crust British accent, so erudite and sophisticated.”

“Now why does that sound like an insult?” he asked, his lips twisting into a wry smile.

“You know it’s not,” I said, scooting my chair closer and touching his cheek. “Your
erudite sophistication is just one more reason why I love you.”

“You’ve managed to save yourself this time,” he grumbled. “Pulling the ‘I love you’
card.”

I rested my head against his arm. “It’s my favorite card.”

“Mine, too.”

“So what’s going on in the fields today? They’re not starting the harvest yet, are
they?”

“Not yet. We’re going to walk the fields and check the grapes. Determine which area
they’ll harvest first.”

“There will be wine, I know.”

“It’s part of the job.” He stood, carried his dishes to the sink, and returned to
the table. Taking hold of my hands, he lifted me from the chair and planted a delicious
kiss on my lips. “I’ve got to be off. Think of me toiling under the hot sun, won’t
you?”

“I will. Mm, I can already picture you with your shirt off, all tanned and hot and
sweaty and—”

“You have an evil streak,” he whispered, effectively cutting me off as he kissed my
neck and the back of my ear. Happy chills skittered through me as his lips made contact
with my skin. I barely kept from melting into a puddle on the tile floor when he let
me go.

I looked up and caught his self-satisfied smile. With a friendly stroke of my hair,
he chuckled and walked out the door.

*   *   *

I
brought Charlie with me to Abraham’s studio to give her an intriguing new space in
which to play. She prowled and sniffed every inch of the workshop while I set myself
up at the center table, spreading out my tools before studying the job before me.

My friend Ian McCullough, the head curator at the
Covington Library in San Francisco, had given me a three-volume set of medical books
to refurbish. The subject matter was pathological anatomy, and this set was the first
English edition, published in 1772. The cloth bindings were in bad shape with tearing
along the edges of the spine and joints. The front covers were rubbed down to the
boards. The gilded titles on the spine had faded completely.

The set wouldn’t be put on display, but because it was historically significant to
researchers, it would be available in the library. For that reason, Ian had asked
me to replace the old cloth binding with sturdy leather.

I’d asked him to specify exactly how sturdy he wanted the leather to be, an important
consideration when price was the main factor. Cowhide, for example, was generally
the cheapest and most durable leather used in bookbinding, but it wasn’t as pretty
as goatskin or calfskin. It was also a little more difficult to work with because
it wasn’t quite as supple and thin as the more expensive hides. But again, because
of the historical significance of the books, Ian chose to go with the high-quality,
moderately priced navy blue morocco leather I’d suggested. With gold tooling on the
spines, the books would be both handsome and somber, as befitted their subject matter.

Replacing cloth with leather was going to be a relatively simple job. The tricky part
would be to make sure all three books remained a matched set when I was finished with
the repair. The key was finding a piece of leather big enough for three books—or having
two or more pieces with all the same characteristics dyed exactly the same color.
Since the leather I’d chosen had come from one hide—and therefore been tanned and
dyed at the same time—it wouldn’t be an issue. I’d just have to make sure the gilding
and binding were perfectly matched as well. I didn’t foresee any problems.

Since volume three was the least damaged of the set, I decided to repair it first.

The cloth covering the spine was in sad shape, dangling by threads along the front
joint. It was an easy job to cut away the rest of it and trim off the loose bits.
I measured and cut a piece of thin cardboard to use as a spine liner, about the weight
of a manila folder, and attached it to the spine with PVA glue. This would provide
a more solid base for my raised bands than the original threadbare spine.

I had decided to add raised bands to the spine, even though there were none on the
original clothbound book. These days, raised bands were mainly decorative unless the
book was handmade, but I thought the addition would provide a bit more support to
the spines of these books.

A raised band looked like a horizontal bump stretched across the spine of a book.
Back in the old days, the cords used to sew the pages together were tied in knots
and stretched across the spine. The leather binding was then stretched and molded
around the cords. Once bookbinding became mechanized, the raised bands were no longer
necessary to hide the cords, but the look was maintained because it was an attractive
feature.

Once I had the spine liner in place and the glue had dried, I cut the individual bands
from a long strip of leather, coated each piece with PVA glue, and attached them at
evenly spaced intervals across the spine. Later, when the leather cover was completely
finished, I would gild the book title, the author, and the volume number in separate
spaces on the spine.

Now that the bands were in place, I began to strip away the old cloth cover. I used
a razor, cutting it from the fore-edge and then pulling the cloth easily across the
board.

I was happy to find that the boards were still in good condition so I wouldn’t have
to replace them.

“Meow.”