One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery by Kate Carlisle Page B
Authors: Kate Carlisle
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arrested. Otherwise, you’ll have the police climbing all over this place within hours.”
“You would turn me in?”
Derek shrugged.
Max considered this as he turned on the heat under the frying pan, poured in olive oil, then tossed in the minced garlic. Immediately it began to sizzle. Thirty seconds later, he added the piles of chopped onion and stirred, coating everything with oil. Finally, he looked up and said, “I can’t go back.”
“Someone’s setting you up,” Derek said brusquely. “Either you go back with us and try to clear your name or you’ll be arrested for murder.” Derek pulled out his phone and swiped the screen until he found a picture and showed it to Max. I figured it was the photo he took on Friday of the knife in my tire.
Reluctantly, Max stared at the phone screen for a minute, then handed it back. “It looks like one of the knives I owned, but I didn’t slash your tire, Brooklyn. I left everything behind in my studio when I left. All my tools, my journals—everything.”
“I know you didn’t do it, Max.”
“Yes, we know it wasn’t you,” Derek said. He sounded tired. Then in a heartbeat he sprang forward, grippingMax’s arm and swinging him around to look him straight in the eyes. “But I won’t allow Brooklyn to be terrorized by whoever’s behind this. If you’re not willing to tell us who you think killed Joe and planted this knife in Brooklyn’s tire, I won’t think twice about calling the police and telling them exactly where you are.”
They stared at each other for another moment; then Max nodded. “Understood.”
Derek stepped back, satisfied with Max’s response.
Max straightened his apron, glanced around, then said, “There’s a loaf of French bread in the pantry. Can someone butter it for garlic toast?”
“I’m on it,” Derek said, as if nothing monumental had just transpired between them. But as he walked to the pantry closet, he passed behind me and suddenly I was in his arms. He held on to me tightly for almost a minute and kissed my neck, then let me go and continued on to the pantry.
“All rightie, then,” I muttered, dazed but pleased.
Gabriel walked back into the kitchen. “Smells great in here.”
I stopped chopping to stare at him. His dark hair was slicked back and still wet from the rain. He’d taken off his jacket, and the black T-shirt he wore defined every muscle in his chest, arms, and shoulders. Even his cheekbones were more defined. His eyes glittered more brightly as he looked at me and winked. How could he look even better than he did a few minutes ago? It was, like, otherworldly.
Is it rude to stare?
I didn’t care; I couldn’t help myself. Just because I was madly in love with Derek didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate some other guy’s awesomeness.
And there is the answer,
I realized with a start. The secret to Derek’s appeal versus Gabriel’s. Obviously this was a subject to which I’d dedicated long hours of thought, but hadn’t reached an acceptable conclusion—until now.
No doubt about it, Derek defined the word
hunk
. He was solid. Tall, dark, handsome, protective, dangerous.Great body—did I mention that? But Derek’s feet were planted firmly on the ground, and when he found something he wanted, he took hold of it with both hands and wouldn’t let go. Apparently he wanted me, and I was thrilled to let him have his way.
Gabriel’s appeal, on the other hand, was more ethereal, his energy more vibrant, his lean looks more elegant. He was dangerous, too, and there was no doubt in my mind that he’d killed before. But his danger to women? That classic bad-boy attitude. A love affair with Gabriel would be high drama, wild sex, and fast burnout.
Hmm.
Speaking of drama, it occurred to me that ever since I’d met Derek, we’d been overwhelmed by high drama. Namely, murder. Victims. Suspects. I’d been involved in so many
“You would turn me in?”
Derek shrugged.
Max considered this as he turned on the heat under the frying pan, poured in olive oil, then tossed in the minced garlic. Immediately it began to sizzle. Thirty seconds later, he added the piles of chopped onion and stirred, coating everything with oil. Finally, he looked up and said, “I can’t go back.”
“Someone’s setting you up,” Derek said brusquely. “Either you go back with us and try to clear your name or you’ll be arrested for murder.” Derek pulled out his phone and swiped the screen until he found a picture and showed it to Max. I figured it was the photo he took on Friday of the knife in my tire.
Reluctantly, Max stared at the phone screen for a minute, then handed it back. “It looks like one of the knives I owned, but I didn’t slash your tire, Brooklyn. I left everything behind in my studio when I left. All my tools, my journals—everything.”
“I know you didn’t do it, Max.”
“Yes, we know it wasn’t you,” Derek said. He sounded tired. Then in a heartbeat he sprang forward, grippingMax’s arm and swinging him around to look him straight in the eyes. “But I won’t allow Brooklyn to be terrorized by whoever’s behind this. If you’re not willing to tell us who you think killed Joe and planted this knife in Brooklyn’s tire, I won’t think twice about calling the police and telling them exactly where you are.”
They stared at each other for another moment; then Max nodded. “Understood.”
Derek stepped back, satisfied with Max’s response.
Max straightened his apron, glanced around, then said, “There’s a loaf of French bread in the pantry. Can someone butter it for garlic toast?”
“I’m on it,” Derek said, as if nothing monumental had just transpired between them. But as he walked to the pantry closet, he passed behind me and suddenly I was in his arms. He held on to me tightly for almost a minute and kissed my neck, then let me go and continued on to the pantry.
“All rightie, then,” I muttered, dazed but pleased.
Gabriel walked back into the kitchen. “Smells great in here.”
I stopped chopping to stare at him. His dark hair was slicked back and still wet from the rain. He’d taken off his jacket, and the black T-shirt he wore defined every muscle in his chest, arms, and shoulders. Even his cheekbones were more defined. His eyes glittered more brightly as he looked at me and winked. How could he look even better than he did a few minutes ago? It was, like, otherworldly.
Is it rude to stare?
I didn’t care; I couldn’t help myself. Just because I was madly in love with Derek didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate some other guy’s awesomeness.
And there is the answer,
I realized with a start. The secret to Derek’s appeal versus Gabriel’s. Obviously this was a subject to which I’d dedicated long hours of thought, but hadn’t reached an acceptable conclusion—until now.
No doubt about it, Derek defined the word
hunk
. He was solid. Tall, dark, handsome, protective, dangerous.Great body—did I mention that? But Derek’s feet were planted firmly on the ground, and when he found something he wanted, he took hold of it with both hands and wouldn’t let go. Apparently he wanted me, and I was thrilled to let him have his way.
Gabriel’s appeal, on the other hand, was more ethereal, his energy more vibrant, his lean looks more elegant. He was dangerous, too, and there was no doubt in my mind that he’d killed before. But his danger to women? That classic bad-boy attitude. A love affair with Gabriel would be high drama, wild sex, and fast burnout.
Hmm.
Speaking of drama, it occurred to me that ever since I’d met Derek, we’d been overwhelmed by high drama. Namely, murder. Victims. Suspects. I’d been involved in so many
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