One Book in the Grave Read Free Page B

ancient guild crafts as possible, thinking that our finely crafted products would provide income for the fellowship to stay afloat into the future.”
    Ian laughed. “And planting a few thousand grapevines didn’t hurt, either.”
    “No kidding.” Guru Bob had hedged his bets early on by suggesting that his followers plant grapes across the commune property, adding more acreage over the years. Our vineyards and renowned winery had made the members wealthy beyond even Guru Bob’s expectations. But it was still nice to walk into the boutique shops along Dharma’s Shakespeare Lane and see our members’ artwork and beautifully handmade crafts on display.
    “Meanwhile, Guru Bob had seen the level of artistry in Max’s work and suggested that he go to art school.”
    So he did. And in the small world of papermaking, Max became a rock star, complete with groupies and an entourage. It didn’t hurt that he was tall and dark andruggedly built, or that he brought his own brash, avant-garde style to the quiet art of making paper, thus catching the attention of everyone in the book arts universe. Some compared him to his hero, Dard Hunter, the legendary papermaker and printer, though Max insisted he could never be that good.
    Max ended up teaching at the prestigious Sonoma Institute of the Arts, just a few miles south of Dharma. His acolytes enrolled by the dozens to study at the feet of the master. He gave lectures all over the country and hordes of groupies followed him from city to city, from lecture to art exhibit to papermaking demonstration.
    “It was unbelievable,” I said, still a bit awestruck after all these years. “I went to some of his lectures and saw the fanatical adoration for myself. The truly amazing part was that Max seemed unfazed by the attention.”
    “That’s all really fascinating, Brooklyn,” Ian said dryly, “but where does this copy of
Beauty and the Beast
come in?”
    “I’m getting there,” I groused, even though I could’ve regaled him with another hour’s worth of ancient history. “So the year before he died, Max met and fell in love with a woman, a young schoolteacher, Emily Branigan.”
    “Ah, a woman,” Ian said, nodding astutely. “That always spells trouble.”
    “Very funny,” I said, backhanding him in the arm.
    He chuckled. “Knew you’d like that one. So, what happened?”
    “Max had recently broken up with this really bizarre woman who also taught at the institute.” I had to think for a few seconds, then frowned. “Angelica—that was her name.” I’d heard Max call her Angel once, but she was the furthest thing from an angel I’d ever met.
    “Max’s friends couldn’t stand Angelica, so when he finally broke up with her, then met and fell in love with Emily, we were all overjoyed. They threw a party in Dharma to announce their engagement, and I needed to bring a gift. I’d had this copy of
Beauty and the Beast
for years, and I thought it would make a perfect gift.”
    “For an engagement party?”
    “I know.” I smiled ruefully as I sat back down at the conference table. “But it was the perfect gift for Max. You remember how big and brawny he was. He reminded me of that bear in the frontispiece.”
    Ian picked up the book and opened it to the engraved illustration of Beauty serving tea to the Beast. “Okay, whatever. That’s sweet, I guess. But, seriously, you gave them a fairy-tale book for their engagement?”
    “Come on,” I insisted. “We’re all book people. That’s what we do.”
    “I’m teasing you,” he said with a grin. “Sort of. It’s sweet, as I said.”
    I sighed deeply. “I cornered Max alone and gave him the book. I told him I would be glad to rebind it as a more appropriate engagement gift for Emily, but he wanted it kept exactly as it was.”
    “Why?”
    “He said he was a scruffy old beast and the book would always remind Emily of him.”
    “I don’t recall him being particularly scruffy,” Ian said, his eyes narrowed