Murder by the Bookend Page 25
“So she wouldn’t have to give the bookseller a cut of the profit. Her end goal was to build up her own name in the book sales world again.” Keith raked a hand through his hair. “That and live in her own fairy-tale land of love and lust with Douglas March.”
As we talked, Keith still hadn’t gotten up, come across to hold my hand, or stopped scowling. The tension radiated off him like a heat wave.
“I’m going to be okay.” I lifted the bed a few more inches, now in a semi-reclined position, but up far enough I could make eye contact without straining.
Keith clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times, fire blazing in his eyes. “I know.”
My heart sank. “What’s going on, Keith? Are you angry at me?”
His jaw worked back and forth a few times before he shot out of the chair and paced the floor. “Yes, I guess I am.”
“Why?” I held my breath. Something told me this was a make-or-break moment.
“Why?” Keith whirled to face me. “Why? I’ll tell you why. Because you almost died, that’s why.” He resumed his pacing.
“And how is that my fault?” A dull pounding popped up behind my eyes, and I struggled to ignore it. “I didn’t intentionally go anywhere near Alice. She somehow found me and took me to Douglas and Selina’s house.”
“She said she was following Douglas, which it seems she’d been doing for about two years, pretending she was his wife, and she overheard Selina telling him about your lunchtime conversation. She put two and two together and figured she’d better step up her game and get you out of the way. She waited for you to come out and whacked you over the head with a first aid kit she kept in the car.” He stopped at the foot of the bed and stared at me, a flood of emotion flashing in his eyes.
“A book, a first aid kit, and then a skillet.” I reached up to touch my bandaged forehead, glad the bandage was smaller than when I’d first awakened Friday morning. “She sure did like to whack people on the head.”
“It’s not a joke!” The words exploded from his chest.
“No, it’s not!” I yelled back, done with his attitude. “But if I can find a way to laugh about it, through the pain that is now shooting through my head, then you damned well had better try to laugh with me! What is wrong with you?” I sat up, glaring at him.
Keith stepped closer, his fists clenching the footboard on my bed. “What’s wrong is that I love you and I almost lost you!”
I sagged back against the bed, eyes closed, willing the pounding to stop, tears sliding down my cheeks. This. This was how he finally told me.
The mattress shifted as he sat on its edge. A gentle finger wiped a tear away, and I heard the whish of a tissue being pulled from the bedside box. “I’m sorry. I know I failed you again.” Keith dabbed at my eyes, soaking up my tears.
I opened my eyes. “Then it’s not really me you’re angry with. You’re angry with yourself.”
Keith’s hand withdrew, wadding the tissue before dropping it onto the bedside table. “Maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” I tried to go for the Vulcan eyebrow cock but failed when it pulled on the stitches on my forehead. I let the eyebrow drop.
Keith sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a forlorn sigh. “I don’t want to hurt you or let you down.”
I reached a hand up to his face and touched his cheek. “Then stop being an idiot.”
His brow knit and he drew back. “What?”
I dropped my hand to the bedsheets. “I love you too. Don’t you get that?”
“But I blew it. You almost died. Twice.” A tremble laced his voice.
My eyelids sagged as sleep clutched at me again. “You saved my life, Keith. That’s why it’s only an almost.”
Keith stood. “You’re sleepy. You need to rest.”
I grasped his hand. “Don’t go.”
He stood stock-still for a moment before lacing his fingers through mine. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”
I held on when he tried to move away. “Don’t go.” I tugged on his hand, pulling him closer.
The bed sagged again, and I slid over to make room on the tiny mattress. Keith’s warmth spread through me as he lay down next to me, wrapping his arms around me. “I won’t. I’ll be right here. You rest now.”
I let sleep take me, relaxed, knowing I was the safest—and luckiest—girl on the planet.
Also available by Laura Gail Black
The Antique Bookshop Mysteries
For Whom the Book Tolls
Author Biography
Laura Gail Black writes cozy mysteries on the beautiful shores of Lake Marion in South Carolina, where she lives with her husband and four rescue dogs. She began collecting antique books when she worked in a used antique bookstore in college. Today, Laura’s bookshelves contain many antique books, some of which are close to 200 years old. When not writing or playing with her dogs, Laura creates her own jewelry, crochets, cross-stitches, spends time on the water with her husband, and enjoys all things tea.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Laura Stone
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-64385-826-5
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-64385-827-2
Cover illustration by Mary Ann Lasher
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
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New York, NY 10001
First Edition: September 2021
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