After she left the room, Jaglom browsed the front counter. Holding up one of my journals, he said, “Is this the kind of stuff you’re teaching?”

“Yes. It’s a bookbinding class.”

“Looks good,” he said, then smiled kindly. “So, how are you getting along these days?”

“I’m doing pretty well, thanks.” I knew he was asking how I was dealing with Abraham’s death. “Really, fine.”

“Good.” He turned as the door opened and Detective Inspector Janice Lee entered. “Hey, Lee.”

“Sorry I’m late,”Lee said,then saw me.“Brooklyn Wainwright. Why am I not surprised?”

“She’s got witnesses this time,” Jaglom said, and chuckled. I was so happy to provide amusement for local law enforcement.

“Listen,” Lee said. “We’ve got two classrooms available for interviews. You want to take this room or the other one?”

He looked around, then shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Minka LaBoeuf is teaching in the other classroom,” I said helpfully.

“I’ll take this room,” Lee said immediately.

Jaglom grimaced. “Great. See you later, Ms. Wainwright.”

“You bet,” I said, and waved in sympathy. They’d both had unpleasant run-ins with Minka during the investigation of Abraham’s murder.

Lee took off her trench coat and draped it over one of the tall chairs. I couldn’t help but notice she’d put on a few pounds. It looked good on her. And while it was none of my business, she could afford to gain another ten or twenty.

“What’s up, Brooklyn?” she said, leaning back against the counter and folding her arms across her chest. She was Asian-American, tall and pretty, with a throaty voice some might consider sexy, but which I knew came from smoking too much. She had fabulous hair, thick, black, and shiny. And she intimidated the hell out of me.

“Not much,” I lied, kneading my temple where another headache was brewing. “Although to tell you the truth, I’m a little tired of running into dead bodies everywhere I go. How are you doing, Inspector?”

“I’m a bitch on wheels since I gave up smoking,” she said. “Otherwise, life is like a dream. I know what you mean about the bodies, though. I seem to have the same problem. Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“I guess,” I said, chuckling. “Hey, congratulations on the smoking thing.” I guess that explained the weight gain.

“Yeah, whatever. Turns out, my mother was right. Guys don’t like to kiss an ashtray.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, but who needs guys?” She shoved away from the counter and walked to the worktable, where she tested one of my student’s glued pages for dryness. “This your class?”

“Yes, bookbinding.” I glanced around the empty room. “My students are all hanging out in the gallery, soaking up the excitement.”

“Excitement,” she repeated, as she fiddled with the wing nuts on the press, flicking them back and forth a few times. “I hear there’s been a lot of it around here lately.”

“You could say that.”

“Yeah, I could.” She smirked, then seemed to remember she was there to do a job. “So, tell me about the victim.”

I paused, unsure where to start, then figured I’d start at the top. “She was despicable.”

“Hey, don’t sugarcoat it. Tell me how you really feel.”

“I kind of hated her.”

She leaned back and crossed her ankles. “Guess it’s a good thing you have a rock-solid alibi.”

I blew out a breath. “It sure is.”

She splayed her hands out. “So, tell all. Why was she so awful?”

I held up my hand and counted on my fingers. “She cheated, she lied, she came on to all the men, and she ruled this place through fear and intimidation.”

“Sounds like a real piece of work.”

“I had an argument with her two nights ago.” I explained about the Oliver Twist, emphasizing the fact that I had left the book with Layla’s body. “I’m ashamed to admit I went along with Layla’s lie because I was afraid she’d ruin my reputation, maybe blackball me in the community and keep me from working here.”

Lee nodded. “And how did that make you feel?”

“Like I wanted to kill her.”

“Over a book?”

I shook my head. “It was the principle of the thing.”

Lee cocked her head. “Boy, give the woman an alibi and she goes to town. You’re sounding more and more like a suspect, you know.”

“But I’m not,” I said, smiling grimly.

She leaned her arms on the back of the high chair. “I heard some rumors about a situation in Edinburgh.”

“I didn’t do it.”

She laughed. “They should’ve called me.”

“So you could give me a character reference?”

“Of course,” she said, then slapped her hands together. “Well, I should get back to kicking ass and taking names.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It’s what I live for,” she said. “But first, tell me about the other people here. Did everyone hate this woman enough to kill her?”

I hedged. “Well, some were more enamored of her than others.”

She eyed me sideways. “You giving me a little clue here?”

My lips twitched back and forth. “I hate to be a snitch.”

“This isn’t Scarface, Brooklyn. I need to find a killer. Throw me a bone.”

I gave her a two-minute summation of everything that might relate to Layla’s murder, including Tom and Cynthia’s oddball behavior, Ned’s general demeanor, Naomi’s passive-aggressive ways, Minka’s attack, and the Asian man who stormed out of Layla’s office that first night.

“Sounds like a lot of strong emotions running rampant.”

“You could say that.”

“Are you thinking this angry Asian might’ve snuck back in here and knocked out Minka instead of Layla?”

“It’s possible.”

“Can you describe him?” she asked, writing in her notepad as fast as she could.

I gave it my best shot, then added, “I wish he was the only one she’d pissed off.”

“That would make my job easier. But unfortunately, this seems to be a suspect-rich environment.”

“I hate to think someone I know could’ve done this. Maybe there’s a random psychopathic killer loose in the neighborhood.”

“You know, there just aren’t as many psychopathic killers running around as people think.”

I took it philosophically. “Another myth busted.”

She shrugged. “That’s my job.”

After I led her out to the gallery and pointed out the various players, Inspector Lee corralled most of my students back into the classroom. She isolated Cynthia and Tom, as well as the four staff members, Naomi, Ned, Marky, and Karalee, in separate offices, each with a cop taking preliminary information from them.

My students and I were dealt with quickly and told to go home. I walked back out to the gallery just as the front door opened. From across the wide space, I saw two men walk in with Gunther between them. Seconds later, Derek strolled into the foyer.

Without thinking, I gave a little cry and ran toward him. Derek saw me coming and opened his arms.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered, not even caring if I sounded like a wimpy girl.

“And I’m glad to be here,” he said. “Especially now, with you wrapped around me.”

My insides shuddered at his words. Could we just find a room somewhere and forget everything that had happened here tonight? He’d dressed up for our date, too, in a beautiful black suit, crisp white shirt, and dark crimson tie. I didn’t know an Armani from an armadillo, but I knew his outfit had to cost a few thousand pounds. And it was worth every last penny, I thought, as I nuzzled up next to him and felt the soft wool against my cheek.

“What has you so upset, darling?” he said, his breath unsettling the fine hairs of my neck. “We saw the police cars. Was there another attack?”

“Yes. Oh, Derek.”

“You’re shaking, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Layla Fontaine.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“She was murdered. A bullet in the chest. Blood.” I shivered again.

He pushed back and held me at arm’s length. “Layla Fontaine? Murdered?”