Because of the sawdust and mess they made while working, they liked to dine out most nights. And they invariably brought home leftovers for their hungry neighbor. Me.

As I stared at their latest sculpture, a massive wooden pyramid with wings, two cats approached me, purring loudly as they rubbed up against my shins. I bent over to scratch their necks. “Hi, Pookie. Hi, Splinters.”

“They love you so much,” Vinnie said, smiling fondly at the cats. “You take such good care of them.”

My gaze met Pookie’s and she cocked her head as if to say, Aren’t you glad I can’t talk?

I sent her a telepathic message. Yes, ma’am. I am.

The last time Suzie and Vinnie left town, they’d left me in charge of their beloved pets. One morning, I walked out without feeding them. I remembered by the time I got to the garage and raced back upstairs to set out their food and water. But there had been a moment . . . okay, maybe five or six seconds, during which I’d actually debated whether or not it would make any difference if I waited until that night to feed them. In the end, my guilt got the best of me and I rushed back to meet their needs.

So yeah, I was eternally thankful that cats couldn’t talk, because these two would have spilled their guts about my lackadaisical caretaking skills. And Vinnie and Suzie, who loved their pets to distraction, would never give me another bag of leftovers again.

I couldn’t live with that.

“Have you seen our new neighbors?” Vinnie asked, shaking me out of my guilt trip.

“No,” I said, straightening. “But I heard them moving in. Is it a family?”

“No, two lovely men,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “A chef and a hairdresser. Aren’t we lucky?”

I laughed. “The perfect neighbors.”

“And your new class?” Vinnie said, leading me toward the wide bar that separated their massive living/work space from their kitchen. “It is pleasurable?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” I said. “But you’ll never guess what happened tonight.”

Suzie walked into the room just then, cracking her knuckles. “Let me guess. Somebody died.”

I was taken aback. “Why would you say that?”

She flopped onto the couch and stretched her arms out. Her spiky platinum hair was still wet from her shower and she wore pink flannel pajamas and Bullwinkle slippers. It was possibly the most feminine outfit I’d ever seen her wear. “Just seems whenever you show up somewhere, somebody gets their bucket kicked.”

“Suzie, stop,” Vinnie said. “She teases you, Brooklyn.”

“That’s okay,” I muttered. “Minka said the same thing.”

“Minka?” Vinnie frowned. “Is she not the girl we revile?”

“She is. But she was attacked at BABA tonight and left unconscious. Somebody must’ve hit her over the head.”

Suzie grimaced. “Oops.”

“Yeah,” I said, pacing now. “And the weird thing is, Minka said the same thing to me earlier this evening, that whenever I show up, somebody dies.”

“You poor thing,” Vinnie said. “Suzie, you are not to be mean.”

“Hey, I’m a sweetheart,” Suzie protested.

“Yes, you are,” Vinnie whispered, “but Brooklyn is sensitive because people really do have a tendency to die when she is around.”

“I’m standing right here,” I reminded her.

Suzie snorted. “Yeah, Vinnie. I think she can hear you.”

Vinnie gasped. “Now I am the rude one.”

“No, you’re never rude,” I said.

“As opposed to me,” Suzie said, “who’s a thoughtless pig.”

I laughed, as she’d meant me to, but the merriment didn’t last as I explained what had happened. “I was the one who found her. I practically fell on top of her. She was still out cold when the paramedics took her to the hospital.”

“Good heavens,” Vinnie said.

“Freaky deaky,” Suzie said.

“Yeah.” I nodded, then shivered. “There was blood, so somebody must’ve attacked her. I’ve been trying to figure out who might’ve done it.”

I told them about the irate Asian man, then mentioned how nasty Layla had been to me.

“That woman sounds horrible,” Vinnie said as she walked into the kitchen area. “My money is on her as the culprit.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty awful,” I said. “But she gives me work, so I can’t be too critical of her. Well, I can, but I shouldn’t. You know what I mean.”

“Oh, yes,” Vinnie said, nodding sagely. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a shopping bag.

“Anyway, I stumbled over Minka on my way to see Layla, to apologize for our disagreement. I don’t want her to be pissed off at me.”

“Oh, balls,” Suzie said. “Why should you care? She’s a bitch.”

“Language, Suzie,” Vinnie chided. “But, Brooklyn, Suzie has a point. Why must you be the one to apologize to this foul woman?”

“I just want everyone to be happy,” I said. Then I saw Suzie’s eyes widen in horror, so I played back what I’d said. “Oh, dear God, I’m channeling my mother.”

Vinnie nodded. “Yes, but your mother is a lovely woman.”

I shook my head and tried to get back on track. “What I meant was, I wanted to make nice with Layla so she’d be happy and continue to give me work.”

Suzie shrugged. “Can’t blame you for that.”

I sat on the edge of the cushy chair across from Suzie. “But Layla wasn’t even in her office, and then I ended up saving Minka’s life.”

“Wow,” Suzie said. “Bad luck. For her, I mean. Because, you know, she owes you big-time now.”

“She doesn’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, Brooklyn, she now owes you her life,” Vinnie explained. “This will not make her happy.”

I made a face. “No kidding.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Suzie warned. “She’s about to make your life a living hell.”

Vinnie patted my shoulder in sympathy. “May the gods have mercy on your soul.”

I rubbed my forehead, where a headache was blossoming to life. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

Chapter 4

The following night, I arrived at BABA early, determined to pin down Layla first thing. I was still worried about her and I hadn’t slept well. I wondered what she would think about my idea of buying back the Oliver Twist. She might laugh in my face. Maybe I would just keep my mouth shut. Layla could ruin someone’s reputation with one perfectly tweezed eyebrow raised at just the right moment.

But I knew I couldn’t keep my mouth shut about the book.

I drove around the block twice before I found a parking place three blocks away. When I walked inside BABA, I found out why the area was so congested.

It was happy hour. The central gallery was packed with people partying, laughing, and drinking. A full bar was set up along the far wall and guests were grabbing wineglasses as fast as the two bartenders could fill them.

It was the kickoff cocktail party for BABA’s Twisted festival. I’d completely forgotten. This exclusive, by-invitation-only event was being held for BABA’s major donors, the movers and shakers who contributed so heavily to Layla’s coffers all year long.

I knew this event had been on the calendar for months, but it still seemed tacky to be throwing a party the night after someone was viciously attacked. I wondered, not for the first time, if Minka was still in the hospital or if they’d sent her home already.

The noise level was set at shrill, thanks to the rock music being piped through the sound system. Was it my imagination or was every man and woman in the room wearing black? They all looked artistic and wealthy and skinny. It was odd to be the most colorful person in the room in my navy jeans, white T-shirt, and moss green jacket.

I recognized some familiar faces. These were the San Francisco elite, the same people I’d seen barely two months ago at the Covington Library’s gala opening of the Winslow Exhibit. The night my old friend Abraham Karastovsky had been murdered.

It made sense that the same people who supported the Covington would be BABA patrons and donors. They were all book lovers. I just wished I’d remembered about the party tonight. I would’ve dressed a little better.