Ripped From the Pages (18 page)

I glanced down and saw Charlie gazing up at me, her little head cocked as though she
were wondering what I was doing here since I wasn’t playing with her.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been playing with you, little one.” I’d kept an eye on her all
day, filled her water bowl, and made sure she didn’t hurt herself. Mostly, she pushed
her mouse around or napped in the rays of sunlight streaming through the windows along
the south side of the studio.

“You’ve been very good all day,” I said, checking my watch. “I think it’s time to
go home and see Derek.”

“Meow.”

“I’m glad you agree.” Smiling, I picked her up and nuzzled her neck. She was the sweetest
thing. I wondered if she would grow to ignore me someday, as cats sometimes did. I
hoped not, because I was just tickled by her affection. I set her down and cleaned
up my mess on the worktable, tossed the old book cloth into the trash can, gathered
up my sleepy kitten, and walked up the hill.

Because of our middle-of-the-night sojourn to the caves the evening before, Derek
and I had decided to spend a quiet evening at home. Thanks to Mom, we didn’t have
to make dinner. She’d prepared her famous taco casserole and had generously set aside
a second smaller pan for us. It was an embarrassingly easy dish to make in the microwave,
but I was still grateful that she’d done the work for us.

After dinner we took Maggie for another long walk along the ridge above my parents’
home. We had both fallen for Maggie and talked about getting a dog when we returned
to the city. If only we could find one just as sweet in one of the shelters around
town. The only thing holding us back was that we lived in SoMA, a busy section south
of Market Street in San Francisco. Would it be fair to keep a dog inside the apartment
all day long except for the occasional walk down our crowded sidewalk? We did have
a small park a block away, but was that enough? We decided to continue
talking about it and see how we felt once we returned to our remodeled apartment.

Monday morning, Derek and I were having our second cup of coffee and laughing at Charlie’s
pitched battle with her new stuffed mouse. Maggie got in on the action, bumping the
mouse with her nose and swatting it a few times across the floor, causing Charlie
to skitter after it. It was as if they were playing mouse hockey.

I was halfway through my bowl of granola with fresh blueberries and bananas, and Derek
had just finished his. He stood and checked the time on his watch. “I’ve got to join
a conference call shortly. What are you up to today?”

“I’m spending the morning at Abraham’s, working on my medical texts. I want to finish
the first book today. Afterward, I thought I might swing by and say hello to Annie.
Do you want to come with me?”

“If it’s much later in the afternoon, yes. I have a meeting with Gabriel and his team
directly after lunch.”

“Is something wrong with the security?”

“No, and we want to keep it that way.”

“Good.”

He took his cereal bowl to the sink and rinsed it out. The subject of security reminded
me of the other night.

“Have you heard from the sheriff about Darlene and Shawn?” I asked.

“Brace yourself,” Derek said, taking a last sip of coffee. “They were released on
bail yesterday.”

I grimaced. “I figured they couldn’t keep them for long.”

“No. They didn’t actually break into the caves, after all.” He rinsed his mug and
tucked it into the dishwasher.

“I know, but still,” I groused. “I just hope they were smart enough to leave the area.”

“They informed the deputy who processed them that they were headed directly back to
San Francisco.”

“They’d better be.” I was still smarting over the fact that I’d fallen for their friendly
act.

Derek, aware of my feelings, gave my shoulder a soft squeeze before picking up my
empty bowl and sticking it in the dishwasher.

“Thanks.” My cell phone rang, and I recognized the local area code but not the number.
“Hello?”

“Good morning, Brooklyn. It’s Trudy.”

My mood brightened instantly. “Trudy, hi. What’s up?”

“I have a surprise for you.” Her voice was brimming with excitement. “I hope you can
stop by sometime today.”

“A surprise? Can you give me a hint?”

“No, because you’re too smart. You’d guess it right away.”

I chuckled. “I don’t know how smart I am, but that’s all right. I’ll just have to
wait.” I glanced at the kitchen clock and gauged how long I would need to work on
the first leather binding that morning. “Would three o’clock be too late to come by?”

“Three o’clock is perfect, dear,” she said. “See you then.”

“Okay. Bye.” I ended the call and looked at Derek. “Looks like I’m going to Trudy’s
this afternoon.”

*   *   *

D
espite my commitment to Ian and the Covington to finish the three medical books, my
heart was set on taking
some time with the Jules Verne book. I spent a half hour using my gum eraser to carefully
wipe along the top edge of the book where most dust and grime settled. The soft eraser
was also helpful around the edges of each page where stains were often found. I never
used it near the printed lines because there was always a chance that I might wipe
away a word. That was never a good thing.

As I turned each page, I could see what other areas would need repairs or deeper cleaning,
and made notes as I went from page to page.

From my set of travel tools, I found the short brush with the stiff bristles I used
to sweep away any minute bits of dirt and grime that had been ground into the sewn
centers. It was important to get rid of as many of the tiny abrasive grains as possible
because they could damage the paper.

After my half hour was up, I put the Jules Verne book aside to do the work I was paid
to do. First, I cleaned off the table completely and washed my hands. Then I laid
out the navy blue leather and, using the first medical book as my yardstick, I measured
and cut the first piece, adding an extra inch to all four sides. After the piece was
cut, the edges of the leather had to be pared, creating a beveled edge so the turndowns
wouldn’t be too bulky.

Paring leather wasn’t quite the same as paring an apple. The first few dozen times
I tried to pare leather had been complicated and scary moments for me. If I sliced
away too much, I would ruin the entire piece and have to start over. I learned that
the angle at which I held the knife was critical to my success—or failure. Learning
what techniques and angles worked best took plenty of practice. And since I was left-handed,
I couldn’t always follow the person trying to train me. One great thing I’d done for
myself was purchase an excellent left-handed paring knife.

I also sharpened my knife regularly using a whetstone and an old-fashioned leather
strop. And I always pared my leather on a
slab of marble. The harder the surface beneath the leather, the easier it was to do
the job.

After I finished paring the new leather cover, I placed the piece on a large cookie
sheet and added a thin layer of water to thoroughly moisten it. A few minutes later,
I drained off the water and let it air-dry for a little while. I prepared my glue
and applied it to the exposed side.

The moisture would make the leather more pliable and easier to stretch and mold to
the boards. Since the leather would be moist, I wrapped the entire text block in wax
paper, leaving only the front and back cover and spine free to work with. As every
book lover in the world knew, moisture and paper did not play well together.

Once everything was ready to go, I balanced the book on its edge, spine side up. Picking
up the sheet of leather, I draped it over the spine, adjusting it so that it was evenly
centered, then used my hands to begin molding it to the spine and boards, stretching
it as I went. I was working with high-quality morocco leather, so it had a bit of
give, although it wasn’t as stretchy as sheepskin. When I felt it staying, I began
to trim the edges, being careful not to trim too close. It was always better to have
too much leather than not enough.

Even though the glue would dry shortly, there was no need to rush the job. I just
continued to smooth and press the leather evenly across all the surfaces in order
to avoid air pockets. I returned to the spine every few minutes, using my thumbs and
a bone folder to press and mold the leather against the raised bands.

“You’re going to be beautiful,” I murmured as I stretched the leather over onto the
inside endpapers, creating the turndowns. I knew Ian would be happy with these books.

At the edges, I continued to stretch and press the leather until it overlapped onto
the endpapers. I used scissors to trim away the
excess and cut the corners, pinching them to make them fit together smoothly.

As the glue and leather dried, I could feel the leather shrinking a little, which
was a good thing as long as I continued to smooth and press and tighten it around
the folds. At the top and base of the spine, I used my thin, pointed bone folder to
smooth and tuck the leather down into the spine so the headbands would show nicely.

I’d found that working with leather, even after hundreds of bookbinding jobs, was
never an exact science. At this point in my career, the steps I took were instinctive;
I knew what to do without much thought. I was incorporating years of skill and knowledge
and experience—and adding a little touch of art.

And yet, every piece of leather was slightly different, so I was also applying a touch
of science to each job. For instance, if a particular piece of leather got too stiff
too quickly, I could moisten it with a damp sponge. I knew that wheat paste dried
more slowly than PVA and absorbed more deeply, making for a more penetrating bond.
But PVA was generally a faster surface adhesive, and I liked the way it worked along
the edges of the turndowns. Each job brought its own new problems and solutions.

Unless I was attending a bookbinders’ convention, there weren’t a lot of people who
cared to hear all these details, especially when it came to the intricacies of glue.
I could go on for hours, but I usually stopped when I heard the snoring. My only consolation
was that everyone could appreciate the beautiful finished product.

I took a break and ate the sandwich I’d brought with me. I used my phone to check
messages, but there was nothing urgent. I was just waiting for the leather to dry.
I walked outside and took a stroll around Abraham’s pool and backyard area, then returned
to the workshop to check my book.

The leather turndowns were dry enough, so I used my metal ruler and an X-Acto knife
to trim them. They would ultimately
be covered by new endpapers, so I wanted them to have a nice, even edge.

Finally, I cut two-inch-wide strips of wax paper and slipped them between the boards
and endpapers to keep the leather from bleeding onto the paper.

After that, I slid the book into the wooden press until only the spine was showing,
then tightened it enough to hold the book in place. I used my bone folder along the
spine to further shape and emphasize the raised bands and the notches I’d made at
the top and bottom of the joints near the headcaps.

I stretched my arms and rolled my shoulders a few times to get rid of the kinks and
happened to look up at the clock.

“Oh rats!” I was going to be late to Trudy’s if I didn’t stop working right at that
moment. With the book already in the press, my timing was perfect. I left it where
it was, knowing that when I returned in the next day or so, the leather would be dried
and the spine would be ready for gilding.

I cleaned up my work space, washed my glue brush, and raced home, where I took a quick
shower and changed into a nicer pair of jeans and a sweater.

I’d managed to zone out while working on the medical book, but now I was curious all
over again to know what Trudy’s surprise could be. It had to have something to do
with one of the art pieces in the cave. Unless it had to do with Elizabeth. Maybe
she had decided to move here permanently. That would be a fun surprise.

“Doesn’t do any good to speculate,” I muttered as I locked up the house and jogged
to my car.

I got lucky with traffic, and eight minutes later I was pulling to the curb in front
of Trudy’s place. I gazed at the pretty craftsman-style home and wondered if Amelia
would be serving tea and cookies this afternoon. The thought made me snicker as I
shut the
car door and strolled up to the porch. Poor Amelia. Did she know how annoying she
was? Probably not.

I climbed out of the car and glanced around Trudy’s neighborhood. I’d been working
inside for two days straight and hadn’t been able to take advantage of the beautiful
weather we’d been having lately. The air was clean, and the sky was a gorgeous shade
of blue. I could smell hints of pine and newly mown grass in the light breeze. Someone
must’ve lit a fire last night, I thought, because the smell of burning wood lingered
in the air. It all reminded me of fall days when I was young, when school had just
started and Halloween was right around the corner.

I smiled at the memory and climbed the steps up to Trudy’s porch. I was about to knock,
when a loud bang shattered the silence.

“What the—?”

That was a gunshot. I’d heard the sound before.

“Trudy!” I grabbed the door handle and found it unlocked, so I shoved the door open
and ran inside. Trudy lay on the marble hearth in front of the fireplace. My stomach
pitched at the sight of blood pooling under her head. Amelia was sprawled awkwardly
facedown across the nearest chair.

“What the hell?” Rushing over to Trudy, I fumbled in my purse to grab my phone. I
needed to call 911.

“Oh my God. Please, please be alive,” I murmured as I knelt down and felt Trudy’s
neck for a pulse. Her skin was warm. I almost fainted with relief when I felt her
strong pulse.

The floorboard creaked behind me, and I started to turn around to check on Amelia.
But before I could get a glimpse of her, something hard and heavy slammed into the
side of my head. All I saw was a quick flash of light before everything turned black.