I walked into the kitchen to start the coffee and a pot of tea, trying to keep an eye on Robin as I worked.
She wore the black sweatpants I’d bought her yesterday afternoon. Our official shopping expedition had been canceled, naturally, but she still needed clothes, so shortly after Derek had arrived with the items my mother had recommended, I’d raced out to the local Old Navy store.
Typically, Robin never would have stepped foot inside a discount store, but these were not normal times. She wasn’t going anywhere special, and sweatpants were the most comfortable thing in the world to wear. I bought her three pairs—black, navy, and red—plus three cute hoodies in contrasting shades, along with socks, undies, and three cotton turtlenecks in black, white, and beige. That was the extent of my flair for fashion.
“Will you be able to chew a bagel?” I asked, as I pulled coffee mugs out of the cupboard.
“If I can’t eat a bagel, I’ll slit my wrists.”
“We could pulverize it in the blender, add a little milk, and you could drink it through a straw. A bagel smoothie.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I know.” I grinned as I walked over to the couch and took the ice bag from her. “Ten minutes on, ten minutes off.”
“It’s bad enough that I look like shit,” she said, and gingerly touched her damaged eyelid. “I really don’t want to think about having to eat through a straw for the next week.”
“You’re able to talk okay, so I imagine you can move your jaw well enough to eat something. We’ll heat up the bagel just enough to soften it, and it should be fine.”
“I’ll make it work.”
The water began to boil and I ran back to the kitchen, where I poured hot water into the teapot with the sage tea bags. “I think the sage compress worked really well with the ice to bring down the swelling. You really don’t look as bad as I thought you would.”
“That’s a bald-faced lie,” Robin said. “I look like I was run over by a truck.”
“A very small truck, maybe. But you’re less puffy, and it looks like you can actually open your eye now.”
“It still hurts a lot.”
I walked over, handed her another bag filled with ice, and sat on the couch. “I’m sure it does, but I’m so proud of you for kicking that bitch’s ass.”
She chuckled. “Your mother would have a cow if she heard you talking like that.”
I shook my head. “If Mom had been there, she’d have helped us kick her ass. Of course, afterward, she would have helped the woman cleanse her aura and dust off her dosha, then suggested ways to reach enlightenment. . . .”
“Don’t make me laugh,” Robin said.
“Sorry.” But I was glad to see Robin’s sense of humor returning.
“Hell.” Robin splayed her hands on the cushions. “I really know how to pick them, don’t I?”
I patted her knee in sympathy. “Don’t go there again. Remember? None of this was your fault.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not bad enough that Alex had enemies who wanted him dead. Now I have to find out he had a girlfriend?” She shifted on the couch to get comfortable. Pookie shifted with her. “It’s a little humiliating to realize how thoroughly he used me.”
All true, but this probably wasn’t the time to say so. “We don’t know if Galina was his girlfriend.”
She stretched her shoulders bit by bit and I could tell she still ached all over. “I hope not. I hate knowing Alex might’ve been involved with someone as psychotic as her.”
“I hope not, too,” I said. “But if it’s true and he was cheating on her with you, that’s one more reason to bring him back from the dead, just to smack him upside the head a few dozen times.”
She sat up abruptly. Pookie jumped off the couch as the bag of ice slid down her cheek. “Oh, my God, Brooklyn. What if she was his sister?”
I reached over and grabbed the bag. “Put your head back.” I smoothed her hair away from her face, then repositioned the bag and rubbed her arms until the tension loosened in her shoulders. “Look,” I said, “we’ll just have to wait and find out what the police say about her.”
“All right,” she muttered. “Where’s Pookie?”
At the sound of her name, the cat jumped up on the couch and kneaded her claws in the thick material. Robin pulled the cat close and Pookie went boneless in her arms, then curled up on her lap and purred loudly. I tried to stifle my hurt feelings, but the fact was, she rarely did that for me. Pookie, I mean. She didn’t pay much attention to me at all.
I sighed. “Until we have more information, you should just close your eyes and try to relax. Don’t think about Galina anymore.”
“Okay.”
I was glad she couldn’t see me cringing at the idea that Galina might’ve been Alex’s sister. I really didn’t want to feel sorry for that vicious woman. But I had to admit that if someone had killed my brother, I could picture myself doing exactly what Galina had done, namely, tracking down the person I thought was responsible and smashing her face in.
After munching her bagel and cream cheese, Robin took a nap with Pookie, and Derek went off to work. I decided to take an hour or two and drive over to the Covington Library to show the Kama Sutra to Ian McCullough. As president and head curator of the highly respected Covington, Ian would be able to help me appraise the book and might even want to buy it for the library, if Shiva’s friend Rajiv were planning to sell it.
Ian was also in a position to throw bookbinding work my way, so it was always a good idea to keep in touch. Besides, I’d known him forever. He was my brother Austin’s college roommate as well as my ex-fiancé. That hadn’t worked out, obviously, but we were still great friends.
I bypassed the ubiquitous morning traffic hassles by skirting the Civic Center and zigzagging my way through SoMa over to Divisadero. From there, it was straight on up to Pacific Heights. On the way, I called Ian’s secretary on my cell to make sure he was in and available. Should’ve thought of that first, but I was a little distracted lately. Luckily, he had no meetings and planned to be in the office all day.
My luck held out as I snagged a parking space on the street. I took in the graceful Italianate building with its famously lush gardens and walked up the wide central marble stairway. The stately iron doors were open, and I entered the hushed foyer, then walked into the grand hall, a massive room three stories high that held many of the most sacred and rarest of all the books of the world.
I’d been coming to the Covington since my early teens and had never grown tired of it. I loved this place. It defined me.
I edged my way past the exhibits because I didn’t have time to peruse anything today and didn’t want to be tempted. But I promised myself I would come back very soon. I’d missed the Covington and its magnificent collections.
Minutes later, I was knocking on Ian’s door. His secretary gestured for me to go right in, so I cracked the door open.
“Knock, knock,” I said, peeking inside.
“Brooklyn!” he cried. “Come in.”
“Sure you’re not busy?”
“Not when it’s you.” He pushed back from his desk and strolled across the wide, stylishly appointed space with open arms. After a rousing hug, he led me over to one of the elegant wing-back chairs in front of his mahogany desk. “Sit. What’s going on? What a treat. Do you want to have lunch?”
“I can’t stay for lunch, but thanks. I just wanted to say hello and see how you’re doing. How’s Jake?”
“I’m fine, he’s fine, and we’re fine. So what’s in the bag?”
I laughed. “Okay, enough niceties. I wanted to show you a book I’m working on.”
“Let’s see it,” he said, leaning his hip against the edge of his desk.
I looked around the room. “Let’s use your conference table.”
“Perfect.” He waved his hand for me to precede him to the dark wood table set along a wall of windows that presented an incomparable view of the Golden Gate Bridge and Marin County beyond the blue waters of the bay.
I carried the book across the room and placed it on the table’s smooth surface. “Check it out.”
“Wow,” he said, sitting down and running his hand along the joint of the front cover. “Awesome.”
“Is that your professional opinion?” I asked, teasing him.
He opened the book and studied the frontispiece. “No. Professionally, I would say this book totally rocks.”
I laughed again. We were both such book geeks, it was scary. This was another reason marriage to Ian had been such an absurd idea. I mean, other than the fact that he was gay, our temperament and our likes and dislikes were so identical, we would’ve bored each other to death.
I watched his examination of the Kama Sutra. It was fun to listen to his oohs and ahhs, along with the occasional moan or gasp.
While he enjoyed himself, I took a moment to glance around and check out his office, and noticed a new painting on the wall behind his desk. I knew for a fact that the painting hid a wall safe, so size mattered. Even though this painting wasn’t particularly large, maybe four or five feet in both directions, it was impressive. It was modern and stark, yet intriguing in its simplicity, showing a woman wearing a navy sweater and skirt, sitting in a red chair, drinking coffee. On the wall behind her was a window. Splashes of white, black, and blue filled the background.
“You have a new painting,” I remarked.
He dragged his attention away from the book and followed my gaze. “My Diebenkorn lady. Do you like her?”
“A lot, and I’m not even sure why, because it’s not really my style. But I’m also jealous that you can snap your fingers and get a fabulous work of art installed in your office.”
“One of the many perks.” He returned his attention to the Kama Sutra, turning pages, studying the endpapers, the inner joints and spine. Finally he looked up at me. “You shouldn’t be jealous of me when you get to work with something like this every day.”
“It really is amazing, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I’d love to display it. Is it for sale or available for loan?”
“I don’t know, but I could find out.” I explained the situation. My work would take a few weeks; then I would be glad to contact Rajiv and find out his plans for the book.
“Great,” Ian said. “Let me know, because this would be an excellent addition to our exhibit of sacred texts.”
“I’ll definitely let you know. Oh, and this should make you laugh. Thanks to Robin, I’m now involved in a bizarre murder investigation involving a Ukrainian or Russian connection to something or other that—”
His office door swung open without warning—and the air around me chilled to freezing.
“Ian, Bill won’t let me use his tools.” The voice sounded like the bleating whine of a bloated sheep. “I want you to—What the hell is she doing here?”
Minka LaBoeuf.
My worst nightmare. My back stiffened, my throat tightened, and my ears plugged up. My whole body went into lockdown mode. It was the only way I could survive her repugnant presence, the only way I could deal with my intense aversion to her voice, her negativity, her existence. Her pleather wardrobe.
“What are you looking at?” she demanded as she pushed past me and reached for the Kama Sutra. “Hey, that’s French! I know French! My father’s half French! Why didn’t you ask me to work on this book?”
I pulled the book away firmly and glared at Ian. “You hired her again, didn’t you?”
He gave me an abashed scowl. “Bill thought she could help out with the new arrivals from the Merced collection.”
“Only if you want to declare the whole thing a loss,” I declared, and briskly wrapped up the Kama Sutra, mainly to protect it from Minka’s bad vibes.
Hadn’t Ian learned that Minka was an anathema to books everywhere? And to me, too. If I’d known she was working here, I might’ve rethought this visit with Ian. She could ruin my day just by walking into the room. And why hadn’t she knocked on Ian’s door? Talk about freaking rude. Honestly, she needed to wear a bell around her neck to warn people she was coming.
“She was injured at BABA last month, so Bill took pity on her,” he explained quietly.
I knew about her injury. I’d been there. Still, that was no excuse. “He should’ve taken more pity on the poor books.”
“I know,” he murmured.
“Hello, I’m standing right here,” Minka griped. “I can hear what you’re saying.” She turned her back on me and faced Ian. “I should be working on that book, Ian. I heard her say there’s a Russian connection. My grandmother was born in Estonia, so I’m practically Russian. And I saw the text. It’s French and so am I.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, as usual.”
Ian stood and worked up a gracious smile. “Sorry, Minka, but I’ll talk to Bill in a few minutes. Why don’t you use your own tools until then?”
“If I use my own tools you’re going to have to pay me more.”
“You’re paying her?” I said, outraged.
“Shut up,” Ian hissed, trying not to laugh.
Minka stomped her foot and let out a little shriek. “God! You’re both a couple of superficial jerks!” And she flounced out the door.
I started to breathe again.
“Damn it, Brooklyn,” he said. “Now I’m going to have to be nice to her.”
“Why? She’s so close to worthless it’s ridiculous.”
“Exactly. She’s cheap. That’s her best quality.” He put his hands on his hips. “Do you want to come in and do the work instead?”
“Cleaning books? Are you kidding? No way.”
“You superficial jerk,” he grumbled.
“Hey, you’re one, too.”
He laughed out loud. “Can’t you just see that on a T-shirt?”
Twenty minutes later, I walked to my car. I felt a sudden chill, and that was when I noticed Minka standing across the street, glaring at me. She held up two fingers, pointed them at her eyes, then pointed them at me, as if to let me know she would be watching me. It gave me the spookiest feeling and reminded me that she was more dangerous than she looked—although she looked pretty lethal. Those fake-leather plastic pants she wore could kill anyone.