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know?”
    I patted her arm. “I sure do.”
    The violent death of her father had been awful enough, but then to have the store involved in a string of burglaries? I couldn’t blame her for being suspicious of every little thing.
    â€œBut now after today,” she continued, “I’m afraid I can’t trust Billy anymore.”
    â€œBut he’s your cousin.”
    â€œI know, but . . .” She shook her head in dismay. “You didn’t see his face when I caught him. He looked so guilty.”
    â€œYou can’t really believe he had anything to do with the book thefts.”
    â€œI don’t. Not really. It’s just that . . .” She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. Can you just hold on to this for me? And, well, feel free to look it over and maybe clean it up a little and appraise it when you have a chance.”
    I almost laughed, since I would’ve done that anyway. “Sure.”
    â€œAnd don’t tell anyone you have it, please.”
    â€œOf course not. How about if I call you tomorrow after I’ve taken a look at it? We can talk then.”
    â€œThank you, Brooklyn. I know I can trust you.” She glanced around again and then squeezed my arm. “I’ll see you inside.”
    I watched her walk through the wide French doors into the exhibit hall and disappear.
    I gripped my purse a little tighter. Apparently, Genevieve’s paranoia was contagious.
    Seconds later, Derek walked in and I waved him over.
    â€œI’m surprised you haven’t joined the party yet,” he said, taking my arm and tucking it through his.
    I smiled sweetly. “Just waiting for you, darling.”
    He gave me a sardonic look that made it clear he didn’t believe me. I shrugged. “Something weird happened. I’ll tell you about it later.”
    He held my arm a bit more securely. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
    We walked into the main hall, and as always, I was struck by the beauty of the space with its three-story-high coffered ceiling and the fragile-looking wrought-iron balconies of the second and third floors with their rows and rows of books lining the narrow walkways. The room never failed to delight me.
    We slowly made our way through the crush of people to the bar, pausing here and there to say hello to some familiar faces. It took us fifteen minutes to reach the far end of the room, and as expected, the line for drinks was long, despite three bartenders working behind the bar.
    â€œBrooklyn! Derek!”
    We both turned. “Ian!” I cried, and grabbed him in a hug. “I’ve missed you.”
    â€œMe, too, kiddo.”
    After a moment I let him go and he and Derek shook hands. “Great to see you both.”
    â€œCongratulations on your promotion, Ian,” Derek said.
    â€œYes, congratulations,” I said. “That’s such great news and well deserved.”
    â€œThank you. It means a lot to hear that from both of you.”
    â€œCan we get you a drink to celebrate?” Derek pointed to the line.
    â€œI wish I could say yes, but no, thanks.” He grinned. “I’m on duty.”
    I started to ask Ian another question and Derek stopped me. “You stay here and talk to Ian, darling. I’ll brave the line.”
    I squeezed his arm. “My hero.” Watching him go, I realized I’d been saying that a lot lately. But then, he really was heroic sometimes.
    Ian and I maneuvered away from the bar crowd over to an alcove that held a glass-fronted display of nineteenth-century American ephemera, including letters written by Walt Whitman, Henry David Thoreau, and Abraham Lincoln. We were laughing and catching up on all the latest gossip when Ian glanced around the room in an obvious attempt to locate someone.
    â€œIf you need to go and mingle, I’m fine,” I said. “Maybe we can get together for lunch