“No,” she continued, “I was the one who went to visit Vera that morning, right after Mr. Edward left. I tried to talk to her, tried to get the book back, but she was just not going to cooperate. It wasn’t about me and the boys, you understand. She wanted to turn the screws on Mr. Edward. I couldn’t blame her for that because he said some hurtful things to her.”
“I told the truth,” Edward insisted.
“You’re a mean old coot who’s going to die alone!”
“I won’t! I have my Minka!”
“So, what happened then?” I asked, trying to get this lunatic train back on track.
Mrs. Sweet gave Edward—her brother—the evil eye before continuing. “I’ve got to admit, Vera really rattled my cage and I let her get the best of me. Before I could even think straight, I had those shears in my hand. Next thing I knew, she was on the ground, bleeding out. I hightailed it on home and told my boys to get that book back or there’d be hell to pay from their mama.”
So Mrs. Sweet—was that even her real name?—had orchestrated the entire mess.
I glanced at Edward, who looked completely wigged out. His face was pale and he kept shaking his head in disgust and disbelief.
“So it was you, Mrs. Sweet?” he whispered. “You had your son, my nephew, steal my book?” He shuddered a little at the word nephew. I couldn’t blame him.
“Oh, right, you knucklehead. Forget that Vera’s dead. Forget that my son is dead. It’s all about your precious books. Yes, it was me! I figured you wouldn’t miss the damn thing because you’ve got, what, six more freaking copies of it?”
“But there was only one signed by Mae,” he wailed.
“But you told me you already had two copies signed by Mae,” I said, confused.
“What did you expect me to do?” he said with contempt. “I wasn’t going to steal it from you in broad daylight.”
“No, you were probably going to send your goon here to steal it for you,” I said scornfully. “Too bad he already tried and failed miserably.”
“But it’s my book,” he moaned. “Signed by my Mae.”
Mrs. Sweet rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Eddie. I’ll agree that Mae West was a good actress. And I always admired her for not letting men boss her around. She was smart and funny, too. But don’t pretend you ever met her.”
“I met her! She kissed me!”
She shrugged off his outburst. “I doubt it, but even if she did, it’s not like she would’ve put up with your crap for one hot minute. She’d have beaten you with a stick and left you for dead.” She glanced at me and winked. “Just keeping it real.”
“I need my Minka,” Edward whimpered.
“And . . . there he goes,” she said sarcastically. “He’s off to Wonderland.” She stared at us for another few seconds, shaking her head. Then she looked up at Grizzly and patted his arm. “You handle this one, son. Don’t screw it up.”
“Okay, Mom.” He bared his teeth at me and started walking my way.
“Wait!” Edward cried. “I’ll give you money.”
“Too late, brother,” she snarled. “I’ll take it for myself.”
“Don’t do this, Mrs. Sweet,” I cautioned.
“Sorry, hon, but it’s the only way,” she said. Then under her breath she added, “And there’s no way in hell I’m going to jail.”
Grizzly lumbered toward us and I adjusted my feet on the ground, arranged my weight and body angle just right, and prepared to kick his ass. Then I realized I was the one in my own little Wonderland. There was no way I could hurt him. But I could outrun him.
I waited until he reached the glass display of Cosway bindings, and at the last second I dashed around the other side and headed for the door. Mrs. Sweet had disappeared, apparently determined to get the hell out of Dodge and leave her dear boy Grizzly to take the fall for her. He seemed amenable to that plan, but, then, he was an idiot.
I had almost reached the door when Grizzly caught up and yanked me by my dress—oh, God, Alex’s dress!—and pulled me back. He wrapped one hand around my neck but I managed to thrust my elbow back and hit him hard in the gut.
“Oof!”
While he was holding his stomach, I turned and tried to shove him. But it was useless. He barely budged.
I glanced over his shoulder and my eyes widened. “Edward, no!” I screamed.
Grizzly took the bait and turned to look at nothing.
In that moment, I barreled into the big creep with sufficient momentum to shove him about six inches, but it threw him off guard enough that he stumbled and fell backward into the carefully arranged display of Fabergé eggs, which flew off the shelf in every direction.
“You’ll be sorry for that,” he swore, and struggled to his feet, bumping into another cabinet on his way up.
I stared as a very large, heavy, priceless Sevres urn on top of the cabinet tottered and plummeted, landing on Grizzly’s head and knocking him out.
“That was almost too easy,” I said, my legs trembling a little.
“My urn,” Edward cried as he cowered in the corner.
“Oh, please,” I muttered, exhausted. I leaned back against the matching cabinet to catch my breath. “It just broke the handle. You can glue it back. And you’re welcome, by the way. I just saved your sorry ass.”