“Wait,” she cried. “There are forty more verses!”

“I’ll be humming along,” I said.

She sucked in another breath and kept singing, “Shri Rama Llama Jala Walla Ram Ram.”

“Namaste. Love you, Mom,” I shouted over the pulsating rhythm, then clapped my hands together and bowed to her before escaping up the stairs.

That night, despite my reluctance to enjoy life while Max might be in trouble, Derek and I joined Mom and Dad for an incredible dinner at Savannah’s restaurant. My brother Austin and my pal Robin sat nearby at a cozy table for two. My sisters London and China and their husbands showed up for the occasion, too, along with half of Dharma. There were a few unfamiliar faces that might’ve belonged to those reviewers from San Francisco I’d heard about. I prayed their meals were excellent. For me, the service was impeccable and the food was phenomenal, and not just because my sister owned the joint.

I had moments of uneasiness during the meal whenever I remembered that Max was still alive. None of my sisters knew it and I couldn’t tell them. Not yet, anyway. Since there was nothing I could do about it for a while, I tried to relax and enjoy the fun company and the incredible meal.

Savannah came out later to say hello, and the entire room burst into applause. She wore the traditional white chef’s jacket over checked pants, but instead of the tall white toque on her head, she wore a red beret. It was adorably jaunty, but, yes, she still had a bald head. Somehow it worked for her.

I couldn’t believe everything I’d eaten was vegetarian. I’d been scared to death that we’d be chewing alfalfa sprouts and raw lentils, but no. I’d ordered an endive, goat cheese, and pear salad with all kinds of yummy little goodies sprinkled on top, followed by an amazing entrée of handmade raviolis stuffed with butternut squash and wild mushrooms, all floating in a creamy herb butter sauce. The pinot noir our waiter recommended went perfectly with everything. And, hallelujah, there was chocolate mint soufflé served with a pot full of whipped cream for dessert.

By the time the check came, I was forced to admit that my loony, bald-headed sister had become a true artist with food, even if she refused to include red meat in her palette. At least she hadn’t turned her back on chocolate.

There were no freeways, no shortcuts, no easy way to make the long, circuitous drive west from Sonoma to Point Reyes Station in Marin County. There were only narrow two-lane roads that twisted and wound through rolling hills and mountain passes for more than fifty miles. But since it was a beautiful—if slightly treacherous—drive, and since I was being driven by Derek in his sleek Bentley Continental GT with Gabriel in the backseat—in other words, two of the most handsome men in the northern hemisphere—you wouldn’t hear me complain about it.

After checking the map and his GPS, Derek decided to drive a few miles north up to Santa Rosa, where we would pick up Highway 101 going south. It might have seemed like we were going out of our way, but the highway was actually faster and we’d make up some time before we had to turn west on Petaluma Point Reyes Road. That’s where we’d start to lose time on those winding mountain roads, but Derek assured us that the Bentley would handle the turns and switchbacks with class and ease.

“I’ll let you know how that works out from the backseat,” Gabriel said amiably as he squeezed in his six-foot-plus frame. I had offered to sit in the back, but he insisted, so I moved my seat forward to accommodate his long legs, and we hit the road.

As Derek drove, I filled in some of the blanks in Max Adams’s history. I told them about Emily and how much I’d liked her, and how much she’d loved the Beauty and the Beast book I’d given them.

I was glad I’d brought the book along with me on this trip so I could show it to Max—if we were able to find him, of course.

I was still having a hard time believing that Max was alive. And oh, my God, Emily. How could he have done this to her and to all of us? How had he managed to keep us in the dark for three long years? Max, what were you thinking?

I pulled out my cell phone to double-check my voice mail. But Emily hadn’t returned my phone call. It had been two days already, and I had to wonder why I hadn’t heard back from her. I knew I’d called the right number. Her voice hadn’t changed at all.

Would the people who lived at the address Guru Bob gave us be willing to lead us to Max? Did I really want to see him? Yes, but I had questions. Too many, really. I needed to know how his tools could have shown up next to a dead man and buried in my tire. I knew he hadn’t killed Joe. Max was too good a person to ever have killed anyone. But, then, the Max I knew would never have lied to his friends and family for three long years. Could he have turned into a cold-blooded killer?

Absolutely not. But I had to admit that I was getting a strange feeling about this whole adventure.

Derek touched my knee. “Stop worrying.”

“How do you know I’m worrying?”

His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin as he applied a little more pressure to my knee. “Your leg is shaking enough to overturn the car. You always shake your leg when you’re fretting over something.”

“I do?” I slapped one hand to my knee to hold it still.

“Yes, love, you do. And another thing.” He kept his eyes on the road but reached over and stroked my forehead with his fingers. “You get the tiniest, most adorable frown line right here, between your eyebrows.”

“Damn, I thought the Botox would take care of that.”

I appreciated the snicker I heard from Gabriel in the backseat.

Derek tweaked my cheek. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“There’s nothing adorable about frown lines,” I muttered.

“Everything’s adorable on you, darling.”

I smiled adorably at him, then laughed when Gabriel began swearing under his breath. I couldn’t quite catch what he’d said, but was pretty sure I didn’t want to know.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Derek said easily, keeping both hands on the steering wheel now as the twists in the road became more unwieldy. “We’ll find Max and bring him back to Dharma. Robson and Gabriel will make sure he’s unharmed until the police find the murderer.”

My leg was shaking again. I pressed my hand on my knee to make it stop, then shot Derek a look. Did I really have such obvious tells that he could know what I was thinking or feeling? Or was he just tuned in to me? I was tuned in to him, too, but I could no more tell what he was thinking than I could move that mountain on the other side of the pasture we’d just passed. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m not really worried,” I lied. “I’m more angry. And hurt. I was just thinking about Max and Emily and Beauty and the Beast, and, you know, everything that was happening back then.”

“This situation has brought up a lot of old feelings for you,” he said.

“True,” I admitted, then realized that Ian had said the same thing to me. The men in my life were a little too observant sometimes. “But that’s not what’s bothering me.” I turned in my seat so Gabriel could hear me, too. “I’ve been thinking that it wasn’t Joe’s murder that set everything into action to draw out Max.”

“What do you think it was?” Gabriel said.

“It was me.”

Derek took the curve too quickly and swerved, then swore ripely as he maneuvered the Bentley back into the lane.

“Are you okay?” I asked, clutching the dashboard.

He said nothing, just glared at me with his teeth clenched in…anger?

“What did I say?”

“It’s okay, babe,” Gabriel said, and patted my shoulder. “Our driver’s got shaky nerves. Now, where did you get this idea that you’re the catalyst in all this?”

I cast another uncertain glance at Derek, then related what Ian had told me on Friday. “The book’s so-called owner suggested to Joe that he call the Covington to buy the book. Ian thought it was because the new children’s wing was getting a lot of attention, but I think it’s because they knew about Ian’s connection to me, knew that he would call me in to restore the book. They also knew about my connection to Max and that as soon as I saw the book, I would recognize it and go looking for Joe.”