Read One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery for Free Online Page B

Nathan Jaglom, every ounce of information I could think of, right down to which art-supply stores I’d purchased my own inexpensive, square-bladed shearing knives at. Several uniformed officers had left to canvass the neighborhood for possible witnesses, and the medical examiner had taken Joe’s body away.
    After Inspector Lee told us she’d be in touch, Derek walked me to my car. Good thing, too, because I had a flat tire.
     
    “Damn it. This day just gets better and better.” I stomped over to the driver’s side and squatted next tothe tire. It wasn’t just flat; it looked like it had been slashed by something sharp. Had I run over something on the way to Joe’s?
     
    “Don’t touch anything,” Derek said abruptly, and yanked me back up. That was when I noticed the object sticking out of the tread. It looked like the handle of a small knife.
     
    “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, thoroughly disgusted and, yeah, frightened.
     
    “Somebody’s not kidding,” Derek muttered, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the street, onto the sidewalk. He called Inspector Lee immediately. He caught her just as she was driving away from Joe’s, and she said she’d meet us in less than a minute.
     
    It took Derek exactly thirty seconds to rush over and take pictures of the knife and my tire with his phone. He finished and was standing next to me on the sidewalk by the time Lee dashed up.
     
    “This is getting stupid,” she said.
     
    “Tell me about it.” I rubbed my arms to keep the scaredy-cat chills from overwhelming me.
     
    “You okay?”
     
    “No, I’m taking this all very personally,” I said.
     
    “I kinda don’t blame you,” she said. With her phone in her hand, she also took pictures of my tire and the knife. Then she slipped one rubber glove onto her left hand and eased the knife out of the tire. She walked over and showed it to me, turning it so I could see it from different angles. “Look familiar?”
     
    It was an expensive Japanese paper knife with a beautifully tooled handle. I recognized it because I owned one like it; I’d bought it a few years ago for almost two hundred dollars. The entire knife was about nine inches long, with a fat, curved blade that looked razor-sharp.
     
    I moved closer and studied the Japanese figures that had been carved along the length of the handle. At the pommel, or butt end of the handle, three ornate letters were also carved into the hardwood surface. The knifewas old enough that the design was worn smooth, but I knew the letters spelled out
MAX.
     
    “Max?” I whispered as goose bumps formed on my skin. “Max Adams?”
     
    “Who’d you say?” Inspector Lee demanded.
     
    Alarmed, I shook my head. “Nothing. Nobody. It’s not possible. He’s been dead for years. This knife could belong to anyone.”
     
    “Don’t screw around with me, Brooklyn,” she said, her eyes narrowing.
     
    “I’m not,” I cried. “The only person I know by that name died almost three years ago.”
     
    She gave me a withering look as she dangled the knife in front of me. “Uh-huh. And what’re the odds of another Max owning a knife so much like the one your dead friend owned? Or are you saying this is some kind of sign from the grave?”
     
    I glanced wide-eyed at Derek, whose concern for me showed in his expression. Turning back to Lee, I said, “I didn’t say that. Maybe someone stole the knife from Max’s family or they sold it somewhere. But other than those possibilities, I don’t have a clue how it got here.”
     
    “I think you do, Brooklyn,” she said quietly. “You know these book people; you’re part of that world. And I’m thinking you’ve got a pretty good idea of who might’ve killed Joseph Taylor.”
     
    “I don’t,” I insisted. “I swear it.”
     
    “You can swear all you want, but this connects you to the murder,” she said quietly as she dropped the knife into a plastic Ziploc bag. “You know that, right? Whether