“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.
I checked my tires before I got into my car. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d slashed my tires, even though I was never able to prove it was her dirty work. As I drove away, it hit me. Now I remembered who the vicious Galina reminded me of. Minka LaBoeuf.
“That was my mom,” I announced to Robin later that afternoon after hanging up the kitchen telephone. “She insists that I take you up to stay at her place for a few days.”
Robin wandered over and sat on a barstool. The look she flashed me was skeptical, to say the least. “I’m supposed to believe your mom came up with that idea all by herself?”
“Why not? You know she loves you.” I smiled brightly as I continued chopping garlic for a steak marinade recipe I’d stolen from my dad. “Okay, fine. I might’ve suggested that you needed a quiet place to rest and recuperate. Preferably outside of the city. After that, it was all her idea.”
Robin groaned. “I don’t want to burden your poor mom with my problems.”
“My poor mom? You’re kidding, right? She thrives on this kind of stuff. She did such a great job nursing Gabriel back to health that he still shows up for lunch and dinner almost every day.”
“She must love that.”
“You know it.” Scooping up the garlic bits, I tossed them with grated ginger into a heavy-duty plastic bag that held three rib eyes. After pouring healthy doses of olive oil and organic tamari into the bag, I zipped it closed, mushed everything around, and placed it in the fridge to do its thing.
Robin closed her eyes and breathed in the pungent fragrances. “That smells so good.”
“You can’t go wrong with garlic and ginger.”
“You’ve been cooking a lot. You don’t have to, you know. We could do takeout.”
“It’s nice to have people to cook for.” I met her gaze. “And Mom feels the same way. She’d love to have you stay there. It’s just her and Dad in that huge house.”
“I’m not really good company right now, Brooklyn. In this mood I could even depress your mom.”
I shook my head. “Impossible. You know she’s itching to slather her latest concoctions all over your face. Probably whipping them up right now.”
She winced and lifted one hand to her face. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”