“How exciting,” Whitney said.

Gina nodded vigorously. “I’m totally psyched.”

“Good.” I smiled at them, appreciating their fresh view of things. It would be a good motivator for everyone else, including me.

“This week, we’ll construct a textblock of ten sections of sheets sewn through the fold onto three linen tapes and cased in cloth-covered binder’s board. Any questions?”

“Uh, yeah,” Whitney said. “Will you be speaking English anytime soon?”

We all laughed. I did tend to get caught up in the jargon sometimes. “I’ll try to remember to explain things, but just in case, I’ve included a glossary of terms in each of your packets. You’ll probably want to keep it close by for easy reference. Especially when I blather on about the lapped-component case binding, or when we discuss double-folio colored endsheets and half-cloth bindings. All that fun stuff.”

Amid more scattered laughter (for which I was pathetically grateful), I began to go over the tools I’d given them, explaining how each one fit in the process of creating a book. Grabbing an essential tool, I held it up to show them. It was lightweight, about eight inches long, flat and white, and looked like a fancy tongue depressor.

“Okay, I’ll just say this right out,” I said. “This is called a bone folder.”

There were the predictable giggles and snickers.

“Go ahead and laugh, get it out of your systems,” I said, waiting for the reactions to die down. “It’s a stupid name, but it makes sense. The tool is often made of bone, which makes it lightweight and durable. And it’s used to crease a fold. Bone. Folder. Get it? If you all say it a few times, it won’t sound funny anymore.”

After the laughter faded, I went on to discuss the advantage of metal-edge rulers over wooden ones, and then I began my riveting discussion of the hazards of glue and the importance of recognizing paper fibers and grain direction. The grain should always run parallel to the spine of the book, I explained. Otherwise, the folds would appear ragged and uneven instead of smooth and rounded.

“Seriously,” I said. “Fiber alignment can be very sexy. The whole subject gives me happy chills.”

There were more chuckles and everyone seemed to relax a little more. I noticed that Baba the cat had taken up residence on the front counter and was curled up next to my soft leather tool bag.

Since the room had its own cast-iron paper cutter in the back corner, I gathered everyone around the machine for a demonstration. Depending on the way the paper was cut, a bookbinder could produce either a smooth edge to the paper or a ragged, uneven edge, based on the style of book one wanted to create.

As everyone took their seats back at the worktable, there was a knock at the classroom door.

“Knock, knock,” Layla called out, then walked into the room. She was followed by a petite blond woman I’d never seen before.

“I hate to interrupt the class,” Layla said, “but I’ve brought you another student.”

I secured the heavy, razor-sharp handle of the paper cutter and made my way to the front of the room. I didn’t know anyone else had signed up for the class, but the more, the merrier.

“Brooklyn Wainwright,” Layla said formally, “this is my dear friend and associate, Alice Fairchild.”

A dear friend of Layla’s? That was worrisome. But I smiled and shook hands with her anyway.

Her hand was small and smooth, and I felt like a clumsy giant next to her. “Nice to meet you, Alice.”

“Alice has been with us over a month now,” Layla said, her tone hushed and reverential. “She’s our assistant director in charge of fund-raising and I don’t know how we ever got along without her. She’s doing a fabulous job.”

“Congratulations,” I said.

“Thank you.”Alice’s face was significantly more pale than it had been a few seconds ago. She continued to shake my hand vigorously, then realized what she was doing and pulled away. “It’s great to meet you. Sorry for shaking your hand off. My stomach nerves are bouncing off the walls.”

“Oh, don’t worry about the class,” I assured her. “We all go at our own pace.”

“Oh, no, I’m excited about the class. I’ve never made a book before. No, I’m actually nervous about a new account I’m pitching tomorrow for the center. They could be a great asset. Matching funds, the whole deal.” She whipped around and looked at Layla, then back at me. “Why am I going on and on? I warned Layla I’d start blathering.”

Layla smiled. “You’re not blathering.”

Alice shook her head. “You’re very kind, but Stuart says I talk too much when I’m nervous and he’s right, of course. Stuart’s my fiancé.” She held up her hand and wiggled her finger, where a large and absolutely stunning diamond ring twinkled and dazzled.

“Wow, that’s a beautiful ring,” I said.

“Thanks,” Alice said, gazing fondly at her ring. “Stuart is still back in Atlanta, closing up his office. He’ll move out here next month. He’s great. And he’s so smart. And when he says I talk too much, he’s right. I, well . . . I’m doing it again.” She laughed.

Layla smiled indulgently. “You’re doing fine.”

I wondered if my eyes were as big and round as they felt. I’d never seen Layla actually dote on anyone before. But I couldn’t blame her. Alice was adorable, despite being friends with Layla.

“No worries,” I said, and meant it. “We’re glad to have you.”

“I’ll try not to talk everyone’s ears off,” Alice said earnestly. “But my nerves. Oy.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. She was sweet. I wanted to take her shopping and buy her a cup of hot cocoa. And it was weird, but I had an urge to rescue her from Layla’s influence, just as I’d wanted to rescue the Oliver Twist from Layla’s greedy paws earlier.

Layla, all cheery and upbeat now, said, “I can’t tell you how thrilled we are to have Alice working at BABA. She’s already highly respected in the arts fund-raising world, so now I want her to learn every aspect of the book world and BABA’s place in it. She’s met a few of the teachers, but this will be her first classroom experience. I thought I’d start her off at the top with your excellent master class.”

“Thank you, Layla,” I said, my BS meter still ticking at full capacity. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

Layla beamed at my humble appreciation of her words. I supposed, or hoped, that this was her way of extending a peace offering. I had no choice but to play her game, seeing as how she signed my checks.

“I’ll leave Alice in your good hands, then,” Layla said, and gave the class a queenly wave before whisking herself away.

As the door closed, I happened to notice Tom Hardesty staring at Layla’s backside. Were those stars in his eyes? He looked like a teenager about to swoon over a rock star.

I stole a glance at Cynthia, whose look of sheer contempt was quickly replaced by mild interest.

Well, that was intriguing. Cynthia didn’t seem to like Layla at all. It was no wonder, given the way her husband practically drooled over the woman. Very interesting, I thought. No, wait, it wasn’t interesting at all. The last thing I wanted was to get involved in boardroom theatrics or BABA politics. And it could be job suicide if Tom or Cynthia knew I’d even noticed their reactions to Layla.

Alice looked up at me. “Thank you so much for letting me take your class.”

“It’s my pleasure. Always room for one more.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, but I appreciate it. Layla can be a bit of a bulldozer, but I promise I won’t slow the class down. I studied art and I love books, so I’m fascinated to learn more.”

“Great,” I said with a nod. “This is the perfect place to learn more. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Thanks,” she said, and leaned close to speak quietly. “But in the interest of full disclosure, I should warn you that ever since I moved here, my stomach has been going bonkers. I’ve been getting tested for everything but the doctors don’t know what’s going on.” She rubbed her belly for emphasis. “I’m just telling you because I tend to run off to the ladies’ room with alarming regularity. I’ll try not to be too disruptive about all the comings and goings.”