I left him a voice mail message, telling him I had some good news for him. I didn’t mention the check, but I hoped my exuberant tone would keep him from jumping off a ledge somewhere.
I tried to carry on my normal activities, but it wasn’t easy. People were dying around me. Two of the City’s most prominent bookbinders had been brutally murdered. I’d seen their dead bodies with my own eyes. I hadn’t been close to Enrico, hadn’t even liked him. But I’d known him. I’d seen him curled up on his antique rug, shot through the head by some insane killer. I couldn’t get the sight out of my head.
“Enough!” I protested aloud. I pushed away from the table. I needed to move around, shake myself up, do something to distract myself from the pictures of blood and dead bodies that kept playing over and over in my brain like some broken movie reel.
I stretched my arms and rotated my wrists and did a few jumping jacks and deep knee bends-which really hurt so I only did two.
I pushed my hair back into a ponytail and sat down again. I didn’t have time for any more distractions. I had to finish this book, and this last process of repairing the tears I’d found would be time-consuming and problematic.
It wasn’t the repair itself, which involved ripping a small piece of thin, fibrous Japanese tissue paper and gluing it over the tear. The problem came when you introduced moisture, in the form of glue, to paper. If your timing was off or you used too much glue or you didn’t dry the page properly, your page could ripple and buck.
To dry each page flat, I’d place it between two pieces of glass with a sheet of blotter paper to soak up any excess moisture.
I could use the drying time to clean and polish the rubies from the front cover.
Ian wanted the book finished in time for the official public opening of the exhibition this Saturday. I knew I could make it-if good-looking security experts and various dead bodies would stop interrupting me.
I’d just stirred up my first batch of wheat paste glue and was about to apply it to the repair tissue when I heard the sound of high heels tapping madly down the hall.
My door swung open and Minka pointed at me.
“Killer!” she screamed. “Murderer! She killed him! I saw her car at Enrico’s house. Arrest her.”
I was relieved to see Inspector Lee step closer to Minka and clutch her upper arm. “Ms. La Beef, keep it down.”
“Check her hands for gunshot residue,” Minka added shrilly as she yanked her arm away. “Do your damn job right so she won’t kill somebody else!”
“Now, look, Ms.-”
“And for the last time, my name is LaBoeuf, not La Beef!”
Oh, for God’s sake.
Minka charged in, Inspector Lee hot on her heels. I stood and braced myself for whatever else she was about to spew, but nothing could’ve prepared me for her vicious slap across my face.
“Ohhhh.” I fell back against the counter from the force of the blow.
“Wait a damn second!” Inspector Lee grabbed Minka from behind.
I leaned one elbow heavily on the counter, clutching my jaw, breathing deeply, staring sideways at the two of them as they grappled for power.
Had I thought the presence of a cop would keep Minka in line? Big mistake.
I looked beyond Minka at Inspector Lee. I could tell she’d been taken aback as well, but she still managed to subdue her. Physically, anyway.
“Killer!” Minka shrieked again.
“Shut up,” Lee shouted, then looked intently at me.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” I said, rubbing my cheek and jaw where her meaty hand had connected with my face. “But I could always change my mind.”
“Okay, you shut up, too,” Lee said, still struggling with the writhing maniac.
I tried to move my jaw back and forth. It didn’t feel broken, not that I knew what a broken jaw felt like. I just knew it hurt like hell.
Lee’s lips twitched, and not in amusement. She’d had enough of Minka’s squirming and one-handedly shoved her to the floor, then reached behind her back for handcuffs and snapped them onto Minka’s wrists. “Shut up and don’t move.”
Minka growled and squirmed on the floor like a pissed-off alligator. “You’re arresting me?” she cried. “She’s the murderer!”
“And you’re under arrest for assault,” Lee told her, clucking her tongue. “Right in front of a police officer. That’s just stupid.”
I figured it wasn’t a good time to give Inspector Lee a high five, but I was definitely impressed with her style.
The side of my face was starting to burn and I wanted to go home and sleep for a week.
Lee glared at me. “You want to start talking?”
“About what?” I tried to look innocent but probably only managed to look bruised.
She shook her head as she pulled her cell phone out and pushed a few keys. “I need backup,” she snarled into the phone. “Now.”
She flipped the phone shut. Apparently, she’d heard enough bullshit for one day.
Meanwhile, I could feel my cheek swelling.