Homicide in Hardcover: A Bibliophile Mystery
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
murder is always a bestseller...
first in the new bibliophile mystery series!
The streets of San Francisco would be lined with hardcovers if rare book expert Brooklyn Wainwright had her way. And her mentor wouldn’t be lying in a pool of his own blood on the eve of a celebration for his latest book restoration.
With his final breath he leaves Brooklyn a cryptic message, and gives her a priceless—and supposedly cursed—copy of Goethe’s Faust for safekeeping.
Brooklyn suddenly finds herself accused of murder and theft, thanks to the humorless—but attractive—British security officer who finds her kneeling over the body. Now she has to read the clues left behind by her mentor if she is going to restore justice…
leaving the library. I'd tried to track down Ian, but he'd left his office and I wasn't willing to trust the Winslow Faust to anyone else but Derek. But did he appreciate my concern? No. He demanded to know where the hell I was going and when I told him I needed to visit my mother, he snatched the book away and made an annoying crack about my lackadaisical working hours. My sad comeback was something along the lines of "bite me." I forced him out of my head and tried to enjoy the drive. The
his hands together. "Get in your car. I'll follow you home." I held up my hand. "That's not necessary." "It is." "Okay, first of all, I'm not a killer, remember? So you need to stop following me. And second, seriously, you should get a hobby or something. What about sports? Is there a gym near your hotel? You could work out more often." He just smiled and waited. It was exasperating. And seeing as how we were standing in the middle of the parking lot of Whole Foods Market, it was also
forever." "You don't know him as well as you think. He's a liar and a thief." Whoa. Harsh words from someone who defined political correctness in this business. "Why, Ian? What did he do?" "I guess you didn't know that the Winslows hired Enrico first, before they ever came to the Covington." I put the water bottle down. "You're right. I didn't know. What happened?" He held up his hands to make a disclaimer. "Keep in mind, this is all secondhand information." "Fine. Just tell me." "Things
does he need an assistant for?" "I've never seen you so fired up," I said. "He must've really burned your butt." "You have no idea." He finished off his last triangle and wiped his hands on his linen napkin. "But listen," I said. "Maybe this confidentiality agreement guy is part of the government sting you're talking about." "I can only hope," he said. "But that's another reason why I don't want you to have anything to do with him." "Thanks for the heads-up," I said. "I promise I'll keep my
back. There in the display cabinet was the five-hundred-year-old edition of Plutarch's Parallel Lives I'd taken from Enrico Baldacchio's library. The book sat on a small easel on the center shelf. The unusual green morocco binding and distinctive gilding was unmistakable. In utter shock, I whirled around. "How?" His smile was sweet as he admired the book. "It is simply exquisite, is it not?" The extraordinary book was supposed to be stashed away in my secret hiding place at the bottom of my