One Book in the Grave Read Online Free PDF Page B

a migraine headache. Either that or I was going crazy.
    “You’re not crazy,” I told myself, “but this situation is.”
    Glancing around the room again, I noted that nothing seemed to have been disturbed—except for Joe. And once again, one incredibly selfish thought whirled through my brain:
Why me?
    How had I become the Angel of Death? Was it karmic? Some kind of payback for living a really bad former life? That life must have been a beaut.
    Maybe I would talk to Guru Bob about this alarming proclivity for finding dead bodies. Would he have a theory or would he laugh at me? He was a pretty powerful guy when it came to knowing things that were ordinarily unknowable.
    Where are the police?
I checked my phone for the fourth time. Then, since I had it out anyway, I called Derek Stone.
    I’d met Derek a few months ago when I was accused and later absolved of the murder of Abraham Karastovsky, my bookbinding mentor. Derek was tall, dark, handsome, and dangerous. He carried a gun and was willing to use it, and despite the fact that I’d grown up in the peace, love, and flower-power world of the commune, I had found Derek and his gun reassuring on more than one occasion.
    Derek and I had become friends during Abraham’s murder investigation, and since then, we’d become even closer. Our feelings for each other seemed to grow stronger every day. He was a former intelligence officer with Britain’s MI6 and now owned Stone Security, a companythat provided armed security to people and objects—rare books, artwork, buildings, and anything else that required safekeeping—all over the world.
    Derek had recently announced that he was opening a branch of Stone Security in San Francisco. I was shocked, and even more surprised to find out he’d done it to be closer to me. While his office staff searched the city for a suitable home for him, I invited him to stay at my place. So he moved in with me and he didn’t seem to be putting a whole lot of energy into moving out. I was okay with that. I liked having him around.
    “Brooklyn, darling,” he said after answering on the first ring. “What a nice surprise.”
    “You won’t believe what just happened,” I said, stalking out of the antiquarian room and into the stacks out front.
    “What is it?” he said, his voice edged with concern. “You sound as if you might’ve found another dead body.”
    “That’s your first guess?” I said, my voice a little higher-pitched than I would’ve preferred. “That’s what I sound like? Because that’s exactly what happened. Do I have some kind of weird bull’s-eye on my back or something?”
    “Of course not,” he soothed. “But I must confess, I’ve taken to fretting about the very same thing lately.”
    “It’s only because you’re hanging around with me.” The fact that Derek ever “fretted” about anything was almost amusing. I walked up one aisle and down the next, rolling my shoulders and stretching my neck to shake off the tension. “Anyway, poor Joe Taylor is dead, murdered. I found him. And the fact is, things like this are happening to me with alarming regularity. Don’t you think?”
    “I do indeed,” he said soberly. “But let’s talk about that later. Tell me, who is Joe? And where are you? I’m coming to meet you right now.”
    I leaned against the last shelf of books. “I appreciatethe offer, but you don’t have to do that. I’m sorry for snapping. I’ll be fine. It just gets a little old, that’s all.”
    “Yes, of course it does. Can you tell me what happened?”
    I sighed. “Joe Taylor is a bookstore owner I’ve known for a long time. He sold Ian a book that I needed some information about, so I drove over to see him and found him dead. It must’ve only happened a minute or two before I got here. His throat was cut.”
    “So there’s blood,” Derek murmured, then added briskly, “What’s the address?”
    I gave up pretending I didn’t need his help. “Thank you,” I whispered.