Because of my penchant for finding dead bodies and facing down their craven killers? I didn’t have to say the words aloud. They hovered in the ether and spelled out the reason for Derek’s alarm. Mine, too.
“Let’s change the subject.” I grabbed the remote and switched on the television. The evening news was just getting started and I was happy to be distracted. The kitten diverted me, as well, trekking fearlessly up Derek’s arm and across his wide shoulders.
The major news headlines had been covered and I was ready to call it a night when the anchorman switched to a more jocular tone. “And now here’s Teddy to show you what’s happening around San Francisco today.”
The next thing I saw was a full-screen shot of hundreds of people standing in lines, clutching antiques and odd collectibles. Some pushed dollies that held larger pieces of furniture.
“Oh, my gosh, this is my show,” I said, sitting up straighter.
The camera zoomed in on the line of people as a voice-over announcer said, “The popular antiques show This Old Attic has come to San Francisco, and if you’re lucky, you could be invited to have your hidden treasures and old family heirlooms appraised by experts on TV.”
The camera focused on a small leather case in the man’s hand. He opened it to reveal several human molars.
“Maybe like this fellow, your great-grandfather was a dentist who swore he owned two of George Washington’s teeth.”
The video switched to a dignified-looking woman carrying an old-fashioned portfolio, and the jovial announcer continued. “Or you might have inherited a faded map of Africa that your aunt believes once belonged to Dr. Livingstone. You know, as in Dr. Livingstone, I presume? Yeah, that guy.”
The camera pulled back to include the hundreds of people waiting in lines to talk to the producers. “Whatever your family treasure happens to be, bring it in. You could wind up having it appraised on camera by an expert. Like this woman did.”
And suddenly, I was watching myself on television.
Derek grinned. “What a lovely surprise.”
It was a surprise, all right. I watched myself pick up The Secret Garden and say, “What makes this even more outstanding is that this illustration is actually an original painting on canvas.”
This was followed by a quick montage of camera shots and audio blips, ending with Vera saying, “It cost three dollars at a garage sale last Saturday.”
Finally the camera cut to a close-up of the book with my voice-over saying, “And with the author’s original signature included, it’s my expert opinion that an antiquarian book dealer would pay . . .”
My voice cut out, and they went to Vera’s reaction of stunned disbelief.
Suddenly the anchorman was back, wearing a big smile. “We promised the show’s producers that we wouldn’t reveal what the book is actually worth, but let’s just say it’s enough to feed a family of four for at least two years. Maybe more.”
The anchorman began to chat with the weatherman, so Derek muted the sound.
I was wearing a silly grin as I reached for my wine. “That was so weird.”
“It appears that you made someone very happy today,” Derek said. “And you didn’t look nervous at all.”
“I was shaking like crazy, but the nerves faded away as soon as I started talking about the book.”
“Of course they did,” he said easily, as the cat tugged on his shirtsleeve.
I took a last sip of wine. “So, that’s what I’ll be doing for the next three weeks. What do you think?”
“I think they’re lucky to have you. You came across as the consummate professional.”
I gave him a big, smoochy kiss. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His expression turned speculative as he added, “I also think the television studio will be crawling with newly excited book owners by tomorrow morning.”
I pictured the place crawling with book owners and chuckled in anticipation. “Sounds like a good time.”
“Yes, it does,” he said, his lips pursing in thought. “And I plan to be there, as well.”
Chapter Three
The next morning I was toasting bagels when Derek joined me in the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. I watched him and managed to keep breathing, even though the man could take my breath away without trying. He was dressed for work in a perfectly fitted gazillion-dollar black suit, crisp white hand-tailored shirt, and gorgeous dark gold and black paisley silk power tie. Not that Derek needed a power tie to feel powerful. That came naturally. He was six feet tall with the lean, athletic build of a boxer. His hair was dark and he wore it cut short. His deep blue eyes gleamed with intelligence and wry humor and he had a commanding presence when he walked into a room. And he was hot, too. I was a lucky girl.
But, then, he thought he was pretty lucky for having found me. So I guess that made me even luckier.
I smiled as I slathered cream cheese on the bagels.
“Are you making breakfast, then?” he said.