“I don’t see her,” Mom said, “but she’s been swamped all morning. She might be in the back, placing orders. I’d better go help out. Are you coming in or heading to Robson’s?”

“I’ll head over to his house now and be back to help out in a little while.”

“Blessed be,” she said, and gave me another hug before I took off down the street.

Nothing was a very far walk in Dharma. Guru Bob’s lovely home was just up the hill on a piece of land that jutted out to provide magnificent views in three directions. I’d always considered it the catbird seat as far as property in Dharma went.

I approached his two-story Edwardian mansion with some trepidation. It’s not that I didn’t like him; I did, very much. But he was a man of higher consciousness, and even if you didn’t drink the commune Kool-Aid, there was something solemn about being in his presence that made you want to talk in quiet tones and behave respectfully. It was a little disconcerting.

I knocked on the front door and waited less than ten seconds before he opened the door himself.

“Brooklyn,” he said jovially. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Robson.” I’d never dared to call him Guru Bob to his face, but he probably knew we’d nicknamed him that years ago. He seemed to know everything that went on when it came to his town and his people.

He ushered me into his well-appointed, art-filled home and led the way to a small elegant sitting room. A tea service was set up on the coffee table. Or did that make it a tea table?

A door off the tea room led to Guru Bob’s small library. I’d helped him acquire a number of rare books over the years and knew how wonderful and extensive his collection was. I could hear papers being shuffled and footsteps moving around the room. Someone was working in there.

“Please sit, gracious,” Guru Bob said, indicating the beautifully restored Regency-style sofa. He called most people gracious on the supposition that we were all filled with varying amounts of grace. I’d heard him say that when he called you gracious, he could watch you become more present to the moment.

He sat in a comfortable side chair and began to pour the tea. “How was your trip to Edinburgh?”

“Very nice,” I said politely, then added, “Well, there was an unfortunate incident or two while I was there. An old friend was killed.”

“Ah, yes. Kyle McVee.”

“You heard about Kyle? How . . . Never mind.” Why bother asking? The man knew everything.

“I have my sources.” He smiled mysteriously.

I laughed. “Right. Mom, Dad, Robin, and the forty-four conscious beings that astral travel with you wherever you go.” I gasped and slapped my hand over my mouth. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that.

But Guru Bob fell back in his chair and laughed out loud. It was a rare sound and I was inordinately pleased to be the cause of it.

“Oh, Brooklyn,” he said when he’d caught his breath. “I have missed you here in Dharma.” He took a quick sip of tea, then added, “I know your work demands that you stay in the city, but perhaps you could make it up here more often. I know your mother would enjoy seeing you.”

I frowned. “Did my mom ask you to say that?”

He laughed again. “No, of course not. I just know her well enough to tell you so.”

“I guess you do.”

We both sipped our tea for a moment. I took a petite tea cake and popped it into my mouth. The silence was not uncomfortable, but I was starting to wonder what he wanted to discuss with me.

As if he could read my mind—and he probably could—he put down his teacup. “Now, I have some business to discuss with you.”

In the past, my siblings and I had devoted hours to trying to figure out if Guru Bob could read minds. Now I wondered if maybe he was just an expert at body language. It probably didn’t take a highly evolved conscious being to figure out mine. Derek did it all the time, too. Not that Derek wasn’t a highly evolved guy. It’s just that . . . well, you’d have to meet Guru Bob to know what I was talking about.

“I have a book I would like you to work on,” he said.

I sat forward on the couch. “Oh, that’s great.”

“Yes, it is,” he said, grinning at my reaction. He stood and walked to the door of the library. “Gabriel, do you have the book for Brooklyn?”

“It’s on the desk,” Gabriel called.

Gabriel?

Guru Bob strolled to an antique escritoire on the opposite wall. He opened the desk panel and picked up a small wrapped package.

“It is Marcus Aurelius,” he said as he unwrapped it and handed it to me.

Uh, hello? Gabriel?

I stared at the book, then back at the doorway. No one was there. Maybe I’d misunderstood what Guru Bob had said. I glanced back at the book and started to turn it over, but the front cover fell off in my hands, leaving bits of thin thread dangling from its severed edge.

“Oh, dear,” I murmured.

He frowned. “As you see, it is in terrible condition. But it is a rare volume and I do not wish to give up on it just yet. The paper is excellent quality. I am confident you can bring it back to life.”

“Of course.” I carefully turned it over to see how the back had fared. Normally, the back cover would be in slightly better condition than the front because the hinges weren’t worked as much. That was the case with this book. Though faded, the original leather had been a light golden brown, with gilded borders and a raised spine. The gilding was badly rubbed.

The book was printed on pages of thick vellum. The first letter of each chapter was illuminated in red, blue, and gold, with gilt ornamentation.

“Gorgeous,” I whispered, and looked up at Guru Bob. “I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will, dear.”

“Would you like the cover to be similar in color to the original?”

“I think that would be the best choice.”

I was distracted by a movement at the door to the library and looked over, then blinked in disbelief.

“Gabriel?”

“Hey, babe.” He stood leaning against the doorjamb, looking as cocky and handsome as ever in a tight black T-shirt and worn black denims. God help all womankind, but the man was devastatingly handsome. Not to be trusted, ever, but devilishly good-looking, nonetheless.

I glanced at Guru Bob, then back at Gabriel, who couldn’t stop smirking. I looked at Guru Bob again, this time with purpose. “Robson, what is he doing here?”

“Gabriel needed to keep himself busy,” Guru Bob explained. “And I agree, so I have hired him to alphabetize my books and set up a computerized card catalog.”

“Keeps me off the streets,” Gabriel said.

Alarmed, I turned to Guru Bob. “Robson, can we talk privately?”

He laughed. “Gracious, I am well aware of Gabriel’s penchant for the finer things. If anything turns up missing, I know where to find him.”

“Really?” I said intently. “Because I haven’t been able to find him at all. But then he turns up when you least expect it. And in the strangest places.”

Like, for instance, in my hotel room in Edinburgh a few weeks ago. But that was a long story and I was much too sober to relive it at that moment.

“You will find him here for the foreseeable future,” Guru Bob assured me. “He is doing an excellent job.”

“Good to know.” I gave Gabriel a stern, narrow look that sent a clear warning: Don’t pull anything here. I’ll be watching you.

He winked at me, then went back to work.

Discombobulated, I picked up my teacup and finished my drink. Then I stood and slipped the book into my purse. “I’d better get back to Annie’s. Are you going to stop by today?”

“Most certainly,” Robson said. “I am so pleased that Anandalla found a home here and I am indebted to you for bringing her here.”

“I may have discovered her, but it was Mom’s influence that kept her here.”

“Your mother is a gift from the gods.”

I smiled. “Yes, and she’s probably wondering why I’m not there helping out. So I should be going.”