The Paper Caper, page 5
“You and your team have your work cut out for you,” I said.
“It’s really no different from any other assignment. We’ll keep him and his family safe.”
“I was thinking of Ingrid.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he murmured. “Which reminds me, not to belabor my earlier point, but I still think it was a good thing that you didn’t show Ella the Poisoned Papers exhibit.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Think about it.” He gave a light shrug. “Do we really want Ella studying the finer points of poisoning using parts of a printing press or concocting some brew out of ink and paper?”
“Do you really think she would try to poison her mother?”
“The thought did occur.”
I had to smile. “Don’t you think she’d be more inclined to use a knife or a gun, rather than go to all the trouble of studying the best ways to extract arsenic from wallpaper?”
“You’re right, of course.” He flashed a grin at me. “So I guess we can relax from now on.”
“What?” I gaped at him. “You must be kidding.”
“Of course I am,” he said, deadly serious now. “We’ll need to be watchful at all times this week.”
The tone of his voice caused more of those shivers to dance across my shoulders and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all tonight.
Despite the shivers, I actually did sleep easy and the next morning I awoke to the aroma of coffee and sourdough toast. This made me happy, even though it signaled that Derek was already awake and showered and dressed for work. I rushed to brush my teeth and throw on some clothes, anxious to spend a few minutes with him before he had to leave for his office. He didn’t usually work on Saturdays, but he had called in his top agents for a strategy meeting today.
“Good morning, love,” I said as I poured coffee into my cup. Derek sat at the dining room table, perusing the newspaper and finishing his breakfast of sourdough toast, a hardboiled egg, a slice of ham, and half an apple. Under the table, Charlie was nibbling on some cat goodies.
“You should’ve awakened me,” I said as I sat down with my coffee cup.
He leaned over and gave me a kiss. “But you looked so peaceful, I simply didn’t have the heart to do it.”
We talked about the latest headlines and chatted about our families. Our brand-new nephew Jamie was getting to be a great big boy, according to my mother, and Derek’s parents were in Dharma this month. We made a plan to visit next weekend. Then Derek said, “We’re due at Joseph’s by six p.m. and unfortunately, I expect this strategy meeting to last most of the day. If I’m home by five thirty, will you be ready?”
“Yes. I’m working at the Covington from noon to four p.m., so I should be able to get home and be ready in plenty of time.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve a leisurely morning ahead of you.”
I gave him a wry smile. “It won’t be all mani-pedis and seaweed wraps. I’m going to try and work on that damaged book before I take off for the Covington. We’ll see how much I get done.”
“Since I know you fairly well, I believe you’d rather be toiling over a torn book than luxuriating in a spa any day.” He stood and took his dishes to the kitchen, where he loaded them into the dishwasher.
“You’ve got that right.”
I joined him in the kitchen and poured myself another half cup of coffee.
“I’ve cut up the other half of the apple,” he said, “and there’s that lovely sliced ham. And eggs and toast if you feel like having a big breakfast.”
“I’ll start with the apple. Thanks.”
He pulled me into his arms, kissed me until my brains went to mush, and then said, “Enjoy your day.”
I cleared my throat. “My day is going really well so far.”
He grinned. “Mine, too.” He picked up his briefcase and keys, and was about to leave when I stopped him.
“I know you need to leave, but I’m really concerned about everyone’s safety tonight.”
He leaned against the doorjamb. “I was wondering if you’d mention it. I’m sorry I frightened you last night.”
“It’s just that, you know, we have a history with this . . . sort of stuff.”
He walked back to me. “This . . . sort of . . . murder stuff, you mean?”
“Frankly, yes.”
He ran his hands up and down my arms, trying to soothe me. “Darling, I’ll have ten security agents at the party. Some will mingle with the guests and others will be part of the staff. Several will be posted outside. They will all be well armed and on guard the entire night.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Sounds like you’ve got things under control.”
He kissed me again. “Yes, I do.”
“Of course you do. Thank you.”
He walked to the door and turned. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He winked at me, then left the apartment.
Charlie had followed Derek to the door and now she sat and stared at me.
“Don’t look at me that way. I didn’t make him leave.” I walked over and picked up the little cat. “It’s just you and me, kiddo. Let’s go to work.” I cuddled her as I walked through the living room and into my workshop.
I had left the damaged Michael Connelly book on my worktable, covered by the white cloth. Removing the cloth, I took another look at the mess in front of me. Was this book really worth saving? I wondered. There were muddy tire tracks on some of the pages, which were bent and creased and folded in every direction. The entire book was catawampus from being run over by more than one car. I would have to rebuild the spine and realign the pages. I would probably have to soak each page in a light bleach solution to clean off the black marks left by the tires.
From a purely financial angle, it wasn’t worth my time and energy to fix the poor book, unless you counted the altruistic glow I would get from simply doing the work.
I stared at the sad pages, and an idea came to mind. I could turn the work into an educational tool by filming it and uploading it to my burgeoning YouTube channel.
“Am I a marketing genius?” I said to Charlie. “Yes, I am.”
She looked at me, unblinking, and I knew she was not impressed.
“You’ll see,” I muttered. A half hour later, the video app on my phone was turned on and my worktable had been transformed into a mini-studio.
Over the past few years I had been recording short videos about bookbinding and posting them online. I had links to the videos on my website and on all my social media pages. And while it was fun, I really didn’t like to devote too much time to this kind of stuff because it was truly one of those things that could take over your life if you weren’t careful. And even though I had developed an enthusiastic and growing following, mainly thanks to a short TED Talk on bookbinding that I was asked to do a few years ago, I wasn’t interested in becoming a video star. I was perfectly happy being a bookbinder.
A few minutes into the video, I realized I would be stuck having to do a lot of editing later on. The fact was, I talked too much! I gave way too many details that would never matter to anyone but another bookbinder. Still, in the end I decided to keep everything I had taped and edit it later.
I would videotape the entire process of cleaning and rebinding the book. I would divide the finished product into segments: First, the initial description of the problem; next, a lot of quick shots of me taking the book apart; followed by shots of how I fixed each individual section; and finally, I would put it all back together.
When my alarm started screaming, I jumped up and shut it off. “Wow, three hours fly by when you’re having fun.”
I quickly straightened up the items on my worktable. I had been in another world for the last few hours—the world of bookbinding, one of my favorite places to be—and now I had just enough time to shower and dress and drive to the Covington to start on my new job.
* * *
• • •
Thank God you’re here!” Ian cried out when I walked into the main hall.
I checked my wristwatch. “I’m twenty minutes early.”
“But people have been waiting for the last hour.”
I grabbed his hand and pulled him over to an alcove that led to the restrooms. We were all alone so I said, “Okay, what gives?”
“What are you talking about?”
“This festival has you spinning in circles.”
He looked appalled. “You can tell?”
“Of course I can tell,” I said. “Look, besides Derek, you are the coolest and calmest person I know. You never freak out. But yesterday and today, you’ve been a basket case. Is it all about Ella and Ingrid?”
He hung his head. “I’m ashamed to admit that they’re a big part of it. They have me on edge.”
“I’ve noticed. But Joseph told you that they are to have nothing to do with the festival.”
“I know, and I’m still grateful to Derek for talking to Joseph about that.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “But Ella called me a few minutes ago and said that her mother wants to visit the library and she would appreciate it if I would give her a private tour.”
I frowned. “That’s awfully pushy.”
“She asked me very sweetly, not pushy at all.”
I almost rolled my eyes. The woman knew how to get what she wanted. “But Ian, you’re the president and head curator of this place. You don’t have time for that sort of thing.”
“Thank you!” He stood a little straighter. “But of course I said yes.”
“Of course you did.” I patted his arm. “That’s because you’re a good person.”
He snorted. “And because Joseph Cabot contributes many thousands of dollars every year to the Library Foundation.”
I grinned. “Well, yeah. There’s that.”
“I don’t know why she makes me crazy. She’s really a lovely woman who always says the nicest things.”
“She does that to me, too,” I said. “I get suspicious.”
“I know, right? We’re terrible!” He quickly waved his words away. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll make this work.”
“Of course you will. You’re charming and worldly and brilliant, and by the end of your private tour, Ingrid will be kissing your feet.”
“That’s a bit extreme.”
I laughed. “Goofball.”
We walked out of the alcove and I got my first look at the bleachers in the far corner of the vast room. “Oh my God. You actually set up bleachers.”
“They’re very nice bleachers,” he said.
And they were. Three levels of tastefully designed bleachers covered in attractive cushions. And they were filled with people.
I turned around and took a few steps in the opposite direction. Ian followed me. “What’s wrong?”
“First of all,” I whispered, “I can’t believe all these people are already here. You need to tell them to get a life.”
“They’re book people,” he murmured. “This is their life. And it’s mine, too.”
I shrugged my agreement. “Okay, it’s mine, too. So, do you think they’re the type of book people who are going to want to kibitz about my work?”
He smiled. “Of course they are.”
I had to grin. “I guess I’m okay with that.”
He patted my cheek. “It’ll be great.”
“Thanks a lot.”
He walked with me toward the bleachers. “I think I’ve got everything you asked for.” He pulled a piece of note paper from his pocket and read the list. “Finishing press, sewing frame, wooden sewing cradle.” He looked at me. “I had to ask one of the staff what that was.”
“It’s for punching holes in signature pages,” I said. “After marking where the hole should go, you fit the fold into the open V of the cradle. Makes it easy to punch the needle into the hole. And then you sew the pages together.”
He looked confused. “I’m sure all that made perfect sense to you.”
I ignored the comment as I calculated how much work I would need to do on this book. “I won’t know if I need the cradle until I’ve taken the book apart.”
“I get that. Well, it’s here if you need it.” He glanced down at the list. “And if you need anything else, I’ll send someone to the basement to borrow it from one of our staff.”
The basement of the Covington Library was a rabbit warren of workshops available for use by visiting bookbinders. It was a wonderful space that hardly anyone knew about. It was also the spot where I found my first dead body, but I didn’t need to dwell on that detail just now.
“Sounds good.” I hefted a briefcase. “I’ve brought all the small tools I’ll need.”
Last week, Ian and I had gone over every aspect of the job and he’d given me the fragile copy of The Prince and the Pauper to examine. I could’ve taken it apart right then, but I wanted to wait until I had an audience who would appreciate all the finer details of refurbishing a book. I had bent the pages back as far as I dared in order to check out the strength of the threads. They were still holding strong and I hoped I wouldn’t have to rethread the book, which might entail punching new holes and resewing the signatures.
I would replace the spine, which had almost disintegrated, and I would add new endpapers and a brand-new cloth cover with new gilding and embossing to restore the book to its original beauty.
We started to walk toward the bleachers, but I stopped abruptly. “Holy moly.”
“What’s wrong?” Ian asked.
“That’s the biggest freaking cat I’ve ever seen,” I said, staring at the creature skulking toward us.
He smiled. “It’s a Maine coon cat. They get really big.”
“It looks like a bear.”
“It’s not quite as big as a bear,” Ian insisted.
“Well, maybe a small bear. And look at all that hair. It’s really hairy.”
“I prefer to call it fur, Brooklyn, although experts will accept either term.”
“You know too much,” I muttered. “Do you have any idea how much it weighs?”
“I do,” he said. “Twenty-two pounds at his last weigh-in.”
“Wow. My little Charlie only weighs seven pounds and I thought she might be putting on weight.”
“Charlie’s a petite little thing,” Ian said. “She’ll probably never weigh much more than that.”
I knelt down to pet the humongous cat. Its eyes were a mesmerizing shade of amber and its fur—hair?—was really beautiful, a hundred different shades of brown and black and coral and blond, and so long and thick and soft, I’d bet its owner could easily fall asleep on it.
“You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” I murmured, then glanced up at Ian. “I never realized you knew so much about cats.”
“It’s Jake,” he explained, kneeling down to tickle the cat’s chin. “He grew up with cats, so when we moved in together, I became a cat person.”
“That’s so sweet.” Then I frowned. “But this isn’t Jake’s cat, is it?”
“No, this is Lucinda’s cat.”
“Oh. That’s really nice that you let your staff bring their pets to work.”
“We don’t, actually. But Lucinda’s in charge of the big salvage job and it’s keeping her here twenty-four/seven for the next few weeks.” Lucinda was the chief conservationist for the Covington Library.
“Are you talking about the Mississippi disaster?” I asked. Last month the Mississippi River had overflowed its banks and caused flooding in a number of towns nearby. Several libraries were damaged and hundreds of rare and antiquarian books had been sent to the Covington Recovery Services Center.
“Yes,” Ian said. “And since Lucinda doesn’t have anyone at home to watch the cat, I told her she could bring her in.”
“You’re a good boss.” I stroked the cat’s luxuriously furry back. “What’s her name?”
Ian gave me a somber look. “Pixie.”
“Pixie.” I smiled, than grinned, then began to laugh. “You are kidding.”
“I am not.”
“Pixie. Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it?” I held my hand out for the cat to sniff. “Hi, Pixie. Hi, big girl.”
Pixie butted my hand as a way of saying, Don’t even think you can stop petting me once you start.
“Hey, she likes me,” I said, scratching her ears.
“I hate to break it to you, but Pixie likes everyone. She’s a friendly creature. Plus you’re petting and scratching her just the way she likes.”
“I’ve got that magic touch,” I said. “Is she allowed to roam around freely?”
“No. She must’ve escaped. I’ll take her back to the lab.”
“Okay.”
He picked up the behemoth creature and the cat stretched itself across his arms. “She’s like a big fur coat.”
“Isn’t she great?” He grinned.
“She really is.” But what was really great was the way Ian had taken so naturally to the role of cat person. It was sweet.
“Here you go, Pixie,” Ian said, and headed for the EMPLOYEES ONLY door. “I’ll check up on you later, Brooklyn.”
“Thanks.” I walked over to the worktable and the audience began to applaud. Surprised and pleased, I waved to them. “Thank you. I’m happy to see so many people here today. I’m usually all alone in my quiet workshop, so this is quite a departure for me.”
“We’ll be quiet,” a lady in the first row said.
For some reason, everyone laughed and I eyed them all suspiciously. “I don’t believe you.”
There were more laughs and I shook my head. “I can see you’re going to be a rowdy group.”
