Buried in Books Page 4

  “He makes me happy, too,” I whispered.

  She sniffled as she stepped back, and ran her fingers through her chic, short cap of gray hair to distract herself. “Dalton is happy here, too. And Savannah is wonderful. I couldn’t be more delighted. It’s all just . . . perfect.”

  Mom wrapped her arm around Meg’s waist. “We’ve been laughing and crying all week.”

  “I hope that means you’ve been having fun,” I said.

  “Oh, so much fun,” Meg said. “John may never leave Dharma.”

  Mom beamed at her. “I’d be perfectly happy if you both stayed forever.”

  “Don’t think we’re not considering it,” Meg said with a laugh, as she fondly tucked Mom’s arm through hers.

  “That would be fantastic,” Mom cried. “You know, there are a couple of houses for sale near us in Dharma.”

  I was so relieved that my mother’s real voice had suddenly returned, I didn’t really pay attention to their conversation. Where had she picked up the Cockney inflection? And how did she know all that British slang? Hmm. I eyed Meg reflectively.

  Just then the bus door opened again and a tall, muscular man with skin the color of rich, dark coffee stood there looking at us. He wore a red golf shirt and khakis, and looked formidable, to say the least. I supposed if any rabble-rousing librarians wanted to cause trouble, I could count on him to crack some skulls.

  “Who’s in charge here?” he asked.

  “I am,” I said, raising my hand.

  He consulted his clipboard. “You’re Brooklyn?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Lawrence. Come on aboard and I’ll show you what’s what.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I checked my watch.

  “We’ll wait out here,” Mom said.

  “Okay. The rest of the group should be arriving in a few minutes.”

  “We’ll have them queue up,” Meg said.

  “Thanks.” I checked my watch again. I would have just enough time to go over the itinerary with Lawrence and figure out how to operate the PA system before the winning librarians arrived for the tour.

  I climbed the steps and handed the man my itinerary. He studied it for a long minute and made a notation on the side of the map. “Okay, give me the rundown.”

  “See the five smaller circles?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Those are the places I plan to talk about in a general way. You don’t have to stop because we won’t be getting out of the bus. But if you’re able to slow down for a minute, that would be great.”

  “So if there’s no place to stop and park, I should just keep on driving?”

  “Right. If there happens to be a big parking space right in front, feel free to pull over. But I don’t want you to go to a lot of trouble. I know we’re about to hit rush hour traffic, so if you can’t find a parking place right in front of any of them, don’t worry about it. I’ll just blather on for a few minutes about its significance as we drive to the next site.”

  He gave me a cockeyed grin. “Blather. I like it.”

  “It’s what I do best.” I looked at my own map. “Okay, so the two points marked with the bright red stars are the places we’ll be featuring on the tour. That’s where we’ll be parking and getting off the bus.”

  I pointed to the list along the side of his map. “I explain each of them in this column.”

  He took a minute to study the map and read my explanation along the side, then nodded. “Okay, looks easy enough. Those two places all have big parking lots, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “I hope not.”

  He stuck the map onto his clipboard and set it on the dashboard. Then he grabbed a small box from the passenger seat and pulled out a lavalier microphone. “Let’s test this.” He clipped it to my jacket lapel. “Just speak naturally.”

  Easy for you to say, I thought, but went ahead and followed directions. “Testing one, two, three, four.”

  My voice echoed through the bus.

  “You’re a natural,” he said. “Now, why don’t you test out your seat? It’s adjustable.”

  “Oh, nice.” I would be sitting up front next to Lawrence. The seat swiveled, which meant I’d be able to look out the front windshield to see where we were going and also swivel around to talk to my tour group. “This is perfect.”

  He gave a quick nod. “Then I think we’re good to go.”

  “Right.” I smiled. “We just have to wait for our passengers.”

  “There’s a good idea.” He sat in the driver’s seat. “Give me the word as soon as everyone’s here and I’ll take off.”

  “Okay.” As I gazed back at the rows of comfortable seats, I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was nervous again and I didn’t know why. It had been only a few hours ago that I had given a speech in front of two hundred people. Why would a little bus ride freak me out?

  Maybe because these were contest winners with high expectations? Or maybe it was simply because I’d never done something quite like this before.

  But it would be fun, I told myself. I knew my town intimately and I loved all of the places we were going to visit. Besides, I was hardly the first person who’d ever come up with the idea of a book lovers’ tour of San Francisco. There were whole companies devoted to the subject. Of course, most of those groups tended to stick with the tried-and-true hotspots around town as well as the great old bookshops like City Lights in North Beach and Green Apple Books on Clement Street. There were other tour companies that specialized in one particular author or another, giving readers a glimpse, for instance, into Amy Tan’s Chinatown or Dashiell Hammett’s haunts. I’d actually taken the Hammett tour a few years ago and our small group had ended the evening with dinner at John’s Grill off Union Square, where the Maltese Falcon held court. It was both fascinating and yummy.

  Of course, if I’d had all day for this tour, I would have driven everyone out to Sonoma and up to the top of Glen Ellen to explore Jack London’s wonderful cabin in the woods. Maybe someday I would take my own tour group up there.

  But for today, since this tour would last for only three hours, my plan was to focus on books. What better way to entertain twenty librarians? We would pass by two of the city’s most historic bookshops and drive through at least one well-known literary neighborhood. Then it would be off to visit some of my all-time-favorite book-centered places around the city.

  The librarians began to arrive just as Patty the raffle coordinator came running up to hand me a list of the names of the winners. “We don’t want any party crashers,” she said with a semi-frantic grin.

  “No, we don’t,” I agreed, giving the list a quick scan. “Especially since there’s no more room on the bus.” With my mother and Meg joining the tour, we would have just enough seats for everyone on the mini-coach.

  “Have fun!” she cried, and ran off to take care of her next task. A raffle coordinator’s job was never done.

  As each librarian climbed aboard the vehicle, I introduced myself, checked their name off the list, and then gave them a small sparkly mesh bag that contained the goodies I’d assembled for the tour. The little handmade accordion books were in there, plus a copy of the map and itinerary and my business card. And just in case, I had tossed in a generous handful of wrapped chocolates. I didn’t want anyone to go hungry.

  Once everyone was on board, I gave them a brief rundown of the tour. “I’ll show you plenty of fun, book-related spots, but we’ll only leave the bus at the two locations indicated on the map.”

  There was a bit of commotion while everyone pulled the maps out of the goodie bags.

  “Our driver’s name is Lawrence,” I said.

  “Hey, gang,” he said, giving a friendly wave as the librarians called out greetings.

  “And in case you’re wondering, we have two suspicious stowaways on the to
ur.” I smiled. “My mother and my future mother-in-law paid me a surprise visit, so I’ve got them sitting right up front where I can keep an eye on them.”

  Mom and Meg were thrilled with the laughs and enthusiastic applause and stood and waved at everyone.

  “Finally,” I continued, “please take lots of photographs. My email is on my business card inside your goodie bag, so be sure to send them to me. I’ll post them on my website and my Facebook page.”

  I assured everyone that the tour would take only three hours and that they would be back in plenty of time to enjoy the conference dinner and tonight’s keynote speaker, a famous author who wrote books about books.

  Five minutes later, with everyone in high spirits, Lawrence pulled away from the curb and we took off on our adventure.

  “A three-hour tour,” I sang under my breath, then tried desperately to banish the tune from my head.

  After only a few blocks, the driver turned onto a narrow one-way street and slowed down as we reached a small modern, glass-fronted building. There was an empty space directly in front, so he pulled to the curb and came to a stop.

  “This is the American Bookbinders Museum,” I said, pointing out the window.

  “There’s an actual museum for bookbinding?” the blond woman behind me said, awestruck. “That’s amazing.”

  “What do they have on display?” her friend asked.

  “So many cool things,” I said. “Unfortunately we won’t be able to take the tour today, but if any of you have an extra hour this week, I would highly recommend a visit.”

  A hum of excitement spread among the librarians as they imagined the possibilities. Yes, we were a nerdy bunch, but it still gave me a thrill to know that they all loved this stuff as much as I did.

  “As you might have noticed,” I continued, “the museum is only two blocks away from our conference center. It’s a virtual celebration of books and bookbinding. Not only do they have a fabulous museum store, but they’ve also got two really interesting exhibits going on right now. One is on papermaking, which I always find fascinating, and the other is an exhibit of antique letterpress printing presses. It’s the largest collection I’ve seen anywhere and they’re all in functioning order. And once a day the curator and his staff get all of the machines operating at the same time. I can’t tell you how much fun it is to watch them all operating at once.” I grinned. “Well, fun for me, anyway.”

  Everyone on the bus smiled and nodded in complete understanding. These were my people, I thought again as that warm and fuzzy tingly feeling spread across my chest.

  “I love museum stores,” a woman in the last row said with a sigh, and her seatmate laughed. Some others joined in the conversation and I turned around to face the front, assured for the moment that everyone was having a good time.

  Lawrence pulled away from the Bookbinders Museum and continued down the one-way street until he reached Fifth Street, where he turned left. A few blocks later, he turned right, easing slowly onto Market Street, and then inching his way a few blocks before turning left on Kearny. Skirting Union Square, we headed toward Chinatown. I turned and faced the group in order to mention a few of the landmarks that Amy Tan had featured in her books.

  “Also,” I continued, “if you do get a chance to visit Chinatown, be sure to stop in Portsmouth Square, where you’ll find a lovely marker commemorating Robert Louis Stevenson, who spent some quality time in our city.”

  That started a discussion of other literary landmarks around town, so I gave them directions to a street near Russian Hill that was said to be the fictional home of Armistead Maupin’s characters in his Tales of the City.

  Finally we turned left on Pacific and headed west toward our next stop.

  “In just a few minutes we’ll arrive at the Covington Library,” I explained, “where we’ll leave the bus and take a short tour.” I gave a brief history of the Covington and listed a few of the most important pieces in their massive collection. “Sadly, we’ll only have a half hour, so we’re going to concentrate on the displays in the main hall. But I promise you won’t be disappointed, especially when you meet our tour guide.”

  I had wrangled my dear old friend Ian McCullough into talking to the group for a few minutes. Ian had been the Covington’s head curator for years and had recently been promoted to president. I knew the librarians would find Ian both entertaining and brilliant.

  I texted him to say that we were ten minutes away and he responded immediately, so I gave myself permission to relax for a moment. Everything seemed to be working out just fine.

  As we crept toward Pacific Heights, I happened to glance over at Mom and Meg, who were seated in the first row behind the driver. They were practically shaking with excitement.

  What was that all about? I wondered.

  The friendly blond librarian across the aisle noticed as well. “You two look like the cat that swallowed the canary. What’s the scoop?”

  Meg glanced over her shoulder at Mom, who gave her an enthusiastic nod. “Go ahead. You can tell her.”

  “Tell me what?” the blonde said.

  My shoulders grew stiff as Meg flashed me a coquettish smile. “Brooklyn is too reserved to mention it, but she has developed quite a reputation as a crime buster over the years.”

  My eyes widened as the blond woman shot a quick glance at me, then turned back at Meg. “How’s that?”

  Mom and Meg exchanged another glance, then Meg said, “Our Brooklyn is famous for finding dead bodies.”

  “That’s right,” Mom said, aiming a warm smile at me. “She’s my little murder magnet.”

  “Mom, Meg, stop that,” I said, hissing, but they ignored me.

  Mom was on a mission. “And she’s very close friends with the homicide detectives around town.”

  Meg nodded with enthusiasm. “I believe she’s got that nice policewoman on speed dial. Don’t you, dear?”

  My mouth fell open. “Wait, what?”

  “You mean Inspector Lee,” my mother said, ignoring my sputtering. “Such a nice gal. Tough as nails, but she has the prettiest hair.”

  “Does she call you whenever somebody dies?” an older woman in a purple sweater asked. “Is that how you see so many dead bodies?”

  “No,” I insisted. “That’s not—”

  “Hey, is this about those murders?” a skinny bald-headed man asked from one of the middle seats.

  “Yes,” Meg said loudly.

  A woman in the back row spoke up. “I heard she just has to show up and bodies start to drop.”

  “True dat,” Mom said, winking at me. So now instead of Cockney she was speaking gangsta?

  Someone else chimed in, “I’m surprised the Covington Library still allows her to work there.”

  Horrified, I tried to catch that person’s gaze. “No, that’s not even—”

  But my words were drowned out by a buzz of comments. And three rows back, a woman sitting next to the lady in purple wore a puzzled look. “Did somebody die?”

  “Not yet,” Mom said gleefully. Turning in her seat to face the crowd, she added, “But hold on to your hats, folks. We’re about to tour the scene of a real-life murder!”

  Chapter Four

  “You two are in deep trouble,” I whispered sharply, sounding like a parent disciplining her wayward children. I didn’t like the feeling.

  “Now, sweetie, don’t blame Meg,” Mom pleaded. “We both thought it would be fun to inject a little sparkle into the tour. You’ve got to admit, you could liven it up a touch.”

  While that might have been true, I wasn’t willing to go there with her. I love my mother, but really, I felt as if I’d been ambushed. And now, my mom apparently had a willing ally. Suddenly I was outnumbered.

  Meg scooted forward in her seat and reached out to pat my knee. “She’s absolutely right, Brooklyn dear. To be perfectly honest,
we heard several of the ladies talking about it in the queue. So the subject of your, er, proclivity for murder was bound to come up eventually.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  Meg shook her head. “Oh, no. They’re very interested. You’re quite a celebrity in that regard. I think that’s why everyone is so enthusiastic about the tour.”

  I winced. “You think they actually expect me to talk about the murders?”

  “Of course,” Mom said. She took a quick glance at the librarians, then looked back at me. “Wouldn’t you?”

  I hung my head. I should’ve known something like this would happen at some point, especially after Lucy, the very first person I spoke to yesterday at the registration desk, had gushed about my involvement in murder investigations.

  It was bad enough that I actually was prone to stumbling over dead bodies. But now to find out that everyone on the bus was hoping to hear some tidbits of gossip about my unfortunate habit? That was just plain weird. And a little disturbing.

  Was that why there were so many raffle entries?

  “I can see you’re distressed,” Meg said kindly, “but you have a gift, Brooklyn. You save lives, for goodness’ sake! Believe me, these ladies and gentlemen would dearly love to hear how you faced down a cold-blooded killer—in a bookshop of all places!—and survived to tell the tale.”

  “And that makes it book-related, too,” Mom said brightly, seeing the glass half full as always.

  I almost laughed at her reasoning, but I managed to restrain myself.

  “Don’t be angry, sweetie,” Mom whispered. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

  It wasn’t easy, but I chose to ignore that comment. “I’m not angry, Mom. I just don’t need you to encourage them.”

  “We won’t say another word,” Meg insisted, and pantomimed locking her lips together and throwing away the key.

  “But if we do happen to say anything,” Mom said, pushing her luck, “I really think you should do the talking, Meg. Your voice lends an air of Masterpiece Theatre to everything. Don’t you think so, Brooklyn?”