Murder Under Cover

Table of Contents

 

 

“Kate Carlisle weaves an intriguing tale with a fascinating peek into the behind-the-scenes world of rare books. Great fun, and educational too!”

 

“When it comes to rare books and antiquities, Brooklyn Wainwright is a master.”

—The Romance Readers Connection

 

“I highly recommend this series to any book conservator… who enjoys encountering a cast of quirky characters and a heroine who just can’t keep herself out of trouble.”

—The Bonefolder

 

“The writing in this cozy is sophisticated, the career details new and fresh, the characters sympathetic, vivid, and realistic, and the mystery compelling.”

 

“If you’re headed to the Edinburgh Book Fair this month, you should pack comfortable shoes, a raincoat with a hood, and a copy of Kate Carlisle’s bonnie little mystery.”

 

“Carlisle’s story is captivating, and she peoples it with a cast of eccentrics. Books seldom kill, of course, but this one could murder an early bedtime.”

 

“The mystery plot is lighthearted and cozy but with depth enough to keep me guessing. . . . The eclectic cast of characters kept a smile on my face throughout the book.”

—Gumshoe

 

“A breezy, fun read.”

 

“Excitement bounds off of each page! This twisty tale will keep you guessing until the very end. I feel like Brooklyn is an old friend and hope to meet her again in another mystery.”

—The Romance Readers Connection

 

“Funny, fast-paced, and romantic all at once,
If Books Could Kill
is not to be missed!”

—Reader to Reader Reviews

 

“A smart, sassy, fast-paced mystery with quirky characters that make me laugh and enough twists and turns to keep me guessing through most of the book. . . . For an enjoyable mystery with plenty of quirky humor, I highly recommend both of Carlisle’s Bibliophile Mysteries.”

—The Romance Dish

 

“A fun, fast-paced mystery that is laugh-out-loud funny. Even better, it keeps you guessing to the very end. Sure to be one of the very best books of the year! Welcome, Kate Carlisle, a fabulous new voice in the mystery market.”

—Susan Mallery, author of
Beguiled

 

“Who’d have thought book restoration could be so exciting? But, trust me, you’ll have fun finding out.
Homicide in Hardcover
is good reading in any binding.”

—Parnell Hall, author of the Puzzle Lady Mysteries

 

“[A] smart and sophisticated page-turner.”

—Leslie Meier, author of
Valentine Murder

 

“Brooklyn is my kind of detective! She loves books, wine, chocolate—and solving mysteries! Kate Carlisle has crafted a fabulous new series with great food, great books, and lots of fun.”

—Maureen Child, author of
A Fiend in Need

 

“Welcome to the fresh and funny world of bookbinder Brooklyn Wainwright. A delicious mix of San Francisco, book restoration, and a lingering counterculture beset by murder. Who knew leather and vellum could be so captivating!”

—Jo Dereske, author of the Miss Zukas Mysteries

 

“A cursed book, a dead mentor, and a snarky rival send book restorer Brooklyn Wainwright on a chase for clues—and fine food and wine—in Kate Carlisle’s fun and funny delightful debut.”

—Lorna Barrett, author of the Booktown Mysteries

 

“Saucy, sassy, and smart—a fun read with a great sense of humor and a soupçon of suspense. Enjoy!”

—Nancy Atherton, author of the Aunt Dimity Mysteries

 

“[Will] launch Carlisle to a bestselling position and have readers looking forward to the next installment of delightfully eccentric characters, droll dialogue, and a meticulously planned crime. Bibliophile heroine Brooklyn Wainwright is brilliant, feisty, and funny.”

—Romantic Times
(4½ stars)

 

“Let’s just say it up front—I really enjoyed this book. For once I am very happy this is part of a series because I want more. This book is unusual in that it has both a strong mystery
and
unique, well-created characters. . . . Thank goodness for Kate Carlisle.”

—Front Street Reviews

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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, May 2011

Copyright © Kathleen Beaver, 2011
All rights reserved

 

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eISBN : 978-1-101-51453-5

 

 

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“You’re having sex!” my best friend, Robin, cried as soon as I opened the door. “I mean, not currently, thank God, but recently. Oh, I’m so happy for you!”

“Say it a little louder, why don’t you?” I yanked her into my apartment and quickly shut the door behind her. “I don’t think they heard you up in Petaluma.”

She dropped her bags on my worktable and pulled me into a hug. “Your closest neighbors are two lesbians. Do you really think they’ll judge?”

“It’s nobody’s business,” I grumbled. “I’m not even going to ask how you can tell.”

“It’s a gift.” She patted my cheek. “Besides, just look at you. You’re glowing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, feeling my cheeks warm up. So maybe she was right; maybe I was glowing. Did she have to point it out to the world?

Robin Tully had been my BFF for years, ever since we were eight years old and our parents joined the same spiritual commune in the hills of Sonoma County. We first bonded over Barbie dolls, Johnny Depp, and a mutual disgust for dirt. Now all that dirt has transformed itself into the upscale town of Dharma, a wine country destination spot for Bay Area foodies. But back in the day, it was backwoods enough to make two fastidious little girls go berserk.

Robin grinned, amused by my reaction. Then she scooped up her bags from the table. “I brought wine and presents.”

“I ordered pizza,” I said, leading the way down the short hall to my living area.

“I’d kill for pizza.”

“No need. I’ll share.” I pulled two wineglasses from the kitchen shelf and set them on the smooth wood surface of the bar that separated my kitchen from the living room. “I missed you a lot. How was India?”

“India was exotic and wonderful and smoggy, and I missed you, too.” She pulled the bottle of wine from one of her bags and handed it to me to open. “And I missed showers. And ice cream. And hamburgers.”

“The pizza’s got sausage and pepperoni.”

“Oh, God, meat.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “It sounds like heaven.”

“I have ice cream, too.”

“I love you. Have I told you that lately?”

With a laugh, I poured the wine and handed her the glass. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks.” We clinked glasses and she took a good long drink. “You have no idea how happy I am to be back.”

The doorbell rang and I ran to pay the pizza deliveryman. After piling pizza and salad onto plates and pouring more wine, we sat at my dining room table to eat.

Besides Robin’s work as a sculptor, she owned a small travel company that specialized in tours of sacred and mystical destinations all over the world. In the beginning, she had catered mainly to fellow commune members, but her client base was growing. It seemed there were more and more people interested in stone circles, pyramids, Gothic cathedrals, and harmonic power centers. And who better to guide them than my friendly and gifted pal Robin? Her tours catered to the adventurous seeker of esoteric knowledge who had tons of cash to throw her way. She had just returned from leading a group of four couples on a three-week tour of India.

So for three long weeks I’d been gnashing my teeth, unable to share my exciting news—specifically, the news about me and my mysterious British boyfriend—with my closest friend. And Robin had guessed it the very first second she saw me. I supposed that’s what the whole BFF thing was all about.

We opened another bottle of wine as she regaled me with the highlights of her India trip and I filled her in on all the news about me and Derek Stone, the hunky British security expert I’d met a few months back during a murder investigation. Yes, we’d done the deed, as she’d shouted to the world earlier. And yes, he was opening a San Francisco branch of Stone Security. And yes, our relationship was so new that I still tingled every time I thought of him, and yes, I’d boldly offered him a place to stay—with me—until he found a home in San Francisco. So yes, he was staying here, but no, he wasn’t home at the moment. Right now, he was flying back from Kuala Lumpur, where he’d provided security for an installation of priceless artwork from the Louvre.

And yes, I’d been threatened by another vicious killer. Robin had been packing to leave for India at the time and wasn’t around to hear the entire story, so I filled her in on all the gory details. The killer was safely tucked away in jail now. And that was my last three weeks in a nutshell.