“Cinnamon oil? Are you sure?”
“Some people love it and recommend it. I’ve never had to try it, but I know bugs don’t like it.”
“It sounds perfect.”
I pressed my finger to the glued spine to test its dryness. Not quite. “I’ve heard of people using a drop of tea tree oil on the book paper, but it smells like antiseptic, so I’d try the cinnamon oil first.”
I mentioned some places she could buy the oil and she clapped her hands in glee. “I knew you’d have the answer. I’ll leave you in peace now. I’ve got to meet-”
“Mother?”
We both turned as the door opened and Meredith poked her head in.
“Here I am,” Sylvia said gaily.
Meredith looked at me with distaste, then turned to Sylvia. “What are you doing in here, Mother?”
Sylvia winked at me. “Just checking up on things.”
“We’re going to be late,” Meredith said peevishly.
“We’ll be fine.” Sylvia sighed, picked up her clutch and patted my arm as she passed. “Thank you, dear. We’ll see you at the opening this Saturday.”
Meredith threw me a poisonous look and stormed off behind her mother. Instantly, all the pleasant feelings from Sylvia’s visit dissolved. I was really growing tired of Meredith Winslow and her bad-tempered behavior toward me.
I’d been half kidding when I’d envisioned her in that orange jumpsuit, but now I seriously had to wonder if she had taken her hissy fits to another level by killing Abraham. I remembered Ian saying she wanted to put a hit out on Enrico. Was she capable of murder? Had she ransacked my studio?
I needed to walk off my anger and clear my head. Since I couldn’t do much with the book until the glue dried, I decided to take a lunch break. I told the front desk where I was going and headed to my favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle house, the Holy Ramen Empire.
As I cautiously walked down the steep slope of Pacific toward Fillmore, that feeling that someone was watching me returned. I continually glanced around, but didn’t see anyone I knew.
Safely inside the restaurant, I ordered the Singapore noodle bowl with shrimp and a small pot of tea, then set my tray down at a small table by the front window and dug into the noodle bowl with gusto. I opened my paperback copy of Faust and read while I ate.
It was… interesting. I knew it was a classic, considered by many to be the finest German work of fiction in history, but I couldn’t help thinking that if he tried to sell it today, old Goethe might find himself out of luck. Still, I was surprised to find so much humor in the dialogue. Naturally, the devil got all the best lines.
I skimmed the translator’s introduction and his words began to jump out at me. Alchemy, magic, necromancy. Temptation. The devil.
I rubbed my arms to ward off another bout of shivers, then glanced up as a man walked into the restaurant wearing worn jeans and ratty high-top sneakers. Despite the fact that his faded navy hoodie stretched so far over his head I couldn’t see his face, he seemed familiar to me. I’d seen him somewhere before. In my neighborhood, maybe? Or earlier in Noe Valley? Had he been following me? I realized I was holding my breath and forced myself to relax.
Hoodie Guy checked out the menu on the wall above the cash register, then turned around and stared at the people in the room. He might’ve made eye contact with me. I couldn’t tell. There was a black hole where the hoodie covered his face and eyes.
I tried to brush him off as yet another San Francisco burnout, but it wasn’t easy. After all I’d been through lately, this weirdo was freaking me out. I stared at the noodle bowl and realized I’d lost my appetite.
Now I was really angry.
I kept my eye on Hoodie Guy, aware that too much ugly stuff had happened over the past week. I reminded myself that once I was through with the Winslow project, I would be able to put the finishing touches on two books I was eager to enter in the Edinburgh Book Fair competition.
In one short month, I’d be packing my bags and taking off for Scotland. I breathed in deeply and tried to picture myself in Edinburgh, walking along the Royal Mile, stepping into a pub on a cold day for a pint and a sandwich. I loved the city, loved the people, and the Edinburgh Book Fair was one of the best in the world. I would see old friends and have a blast.
I smiled at the thought. Edinburgh as a distraction always worked for me. Determined to ignore Hoodie Guy, I scooped up another bite of noodles. My appetite-and therefore, my world-was righting itself.
A woman screamed at the front of the restaurant and I stared in horror as Hoodie Guy pulled out a gun and waved it around.
The woman at the counter cried out again and everyone in the room panicked, scrambling and screaming and dropping to the floor to avoid being hurt. Me, I was too stunned to move, but my blood and my temper were bubbling over.