Homicide in Hardcover by Carlisle, Kate
To Don, who always believed this day would come
Acknowledgments
As this is my first book, I owe a debt of gratitude to so many people I can’t begin to name, but please indulge me as I mention a special few.
My agents, Christina Hogrebe and Kelly Harms of the Jane Rotrosen Agency, for great advice, wonderful enthusiasm, and consummate skill at guiding this new author along the bumpy path to publication. And thanks to my editor, Kristen Weber, whose positive energy calmed all fears and helped make my book shine. Thank you as well to NAL’s art department for creating the most beautiful cover ever.
Maureen Child for your friendship, love, honesty, and support, and Susan Mallery for your wisdom, encouragement, and excellent taste in wine. I am deeply grateful to call you my dear friends and fellow plotters, and I can never thank you enough for all that you’ve given me.
Muchas gracias to the remarkable writers who make up the Romance Bandits (http://romancebandits.blogspot.com), whose collective wit, kindness, and dedication to the cause have made this journey so exciting. I am also grateful to Romance Writers of America and Sisters in Crime for opening doors and providing opportunities to develop friendships and gather knowledge.
Thanks to master bookbinder Bruce Levy, who first introduced me to the art of bookbinding, and to the San Francisco Center for the Book and bookbinding expert Ann Lindsey for giving me the skills and knowledge necessary to create beautiful books using classic nineteenth-century methods. Also, many thanks to book artist Wendy Poma for teaching me so many different binding techniques, all in one afternoon. Any mistakes with regard to these methods and techniques are my own.
Finally, I am profoundly indebted to my wonderful family-my husband, mother, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, and outlaws-for your love, support, and enduring humor. I swear, any resemblance between you and the characters within these pages is purely coincidental.
Books have the same enemies as people: fire, humidity, animals, weather, and their own content.
– Paul Valéry
Chapter 1
My teacher always told me that in order to save a patient you’d have to kill him first. Not the most child-friendly way of explaining his theory of book restoration to his eight-year-old apprentice, but it worked. I grew up determined to save them all.
As I studied the faded, brittle, leather-bound volume that lay near death on the worktable before me, I knew I could bring it back to life, too. But it wouldn’t be easy. With six hundred pages of crusty, smelly pulp, the book’s once-elegant, gilded spine was nearly severed from its body.
“Sorry, old thing, but I’m not letting you die on my watch.” I dusted its hinges with a soft brush, then ran a finger along the spine. It came away covered in red powder. Red rot had set in. The leather binding was terminal.
I picked up my scalpel and pierced the frail calfskin along the aged brown hinge, extricating the bits of thready sinew still clinging to the sticky bits of leather.
Despite my mother’s misgivings, I was grateful I’d bypassed medical school, because let’s face it, if this book were human, I’d be drenched in blood up to my elbows and probably unconscious. I didn’t do so well around blood.
I heard a sharp intake of breath. “That’s disgusting!”
I flinched and the scalpel flew from my hand. I looked up and saw my best friend, Robin Tully, staring at the flaky leather chunks and moldy paper splayed across the table.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” I said, patting my heart.
“Apparently not,” she said as she retrieved the scalpel off the floor and placed it safely on the table. “A bomb could go off and you wouldn’t notice.”
I ignored that, jumped off the high stool and grabbed her in a tight hug. “You’re early, aren’t you?”
She checked her watch. “Actually, I’m right on time, which I suppose is early in your world.”
I smiled, then held up my camera. “Do you mind? I need another few minutes to map and shoot this stuff.”
“Procrastinate all you want. I’m in no hurry.” She pulled off her fuzzy black jacket and fluffed her hair.
“I’m not procrastinating.” I took several close-up shots of the decomposing front foredge, then looked up and caught Robin’s look of profound pity. “What?”
She held up her hands. “I said nothing.”
“I can hear you judging me.” I put the camera down and grabbed a handful of chocolate-swirled caramel kisses, a product I personally considered a miracle of modern technology. I popped a few pieces into my mouth, tried to enjoy the warm burst of flavors, but finally threw my hands up in defeat. “Okay, I’m procrastinating. Can you blame me? I could be walking into a trap tonight.”