“Which is yours?” Derek asked.

I pointed it out, taking a moment to admire the work I’d done. Win or lose, I was proud of that book. Then I realized that tomorrow night was the annual dinner and awards ceremony. The week had gone by quickly.

“That’s lovely work,” he said, giving me a smile that dazzled my brain.

“Thank you.”

“Did you design the cover yourself?”

“Of course.” I had designed a stylized W and had sculpted it into the leather cover, then inlaid thin bands of gold and tiny amber stones to form the letter, and gilded the edges. It had taken me hours to get it right.

“It’s stunning,” he said after studying it for another few moments. “Well done.”

My eyes widened. It was the first time Derek had truly complimented me on my bookbinding skills, and surprisingly, it meant a lot. “Thank you.”

“But Waverley?” he said, staring at my navy blue, leather-bound version of Walter Scott’s epic work. “I’m surprised. Not Rob Roy or Ivanhoe?”

“It wasn’t my choice,” I admitted. “I was going through some old books, looking for ideas, and this old, beat-up edition of Waverley called out to me.”

“Did you read it, as well?”

“If I say yes, will you be impressed?”

He looked appalled. “Of course not. Horrible book.”

“I read it,” I said, laughing. It had taken me three long weeks. Slow going, to say the least. There wasn’t a lot of action, but the story was romantic and the writing was lyrical. And by lyrical, I meant convoluted and wordy, but in a good way, really.

“Not as shallow as you appear,” he said, eyeing me with suspicion.

“Don’t be silly, of course I am.”

Tucking my arm through his, Derek gazed back at the entries and pointed to another book on the lower shelf.

“Is that our own Minka’s entry?”

“Yes.”

Minka had chosen to bind a copy of Robinson Crusoe in padded black leather with palm trees embossed on the front and spine. I understood the use of palm trees based on the subject matter, but black leather? And padded? It suited Minka, but I wasn’t sure it suited Defoe’s classic work.

“Interesting choice,” Derek murmured.

“Mm-hmm.” What else could I say? I was feeling too good to go for the meow moment.

We were walking down one aisle, then up another, when I stopped and grabbed his arm.

“What’s wrong?”

I angled my chin in the general direction of the nearby booth where Serena and Helen stood talking and laughing. What was even weirder was that the booth belonged to Kyle McVee’s company. I wondered if Royce was somewhere in the vicinity, seething. Or maybe he was whooping it up with them. Stranger things had happened lately.

“I agree, that’s an odd pairing,” Derek said.

“It’s totally weird,” I said. “And it’s not the first time I’ve seen them chatting.”

Helen looked up, saw me and waved. “Hi, Brooklyn! Commander, come meet Serena.”

“Tell her to stop calling me that,” Derek grumbled.

“No way,” I said as we approached the booth. “Maybe I can get her to salute you.”

Helen introduced Derek to Serena, who said a shy hello.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Derek said. It didn’t sound at all lame when he said it.

She clasped her hands at her breastbone. “Oh, thank you, everyone has been so nice.” Her voice was high and breathy, like a little British bird who’d run out of air. “I didn’t think I would stay after Kyle… Well, I’m glad I decided to stay and get to know the people in his world. I’m enjoying the book fair immensely. Royce has made me feel so welcome. Everyone has. Minka and Helen, and you, Brooklyn. You’ve all been so kind.”

Really? Minka? Kind? And Royce? Welcoming? Were we all living on the same planet?

“That’s great,” I said, ill at ease with all the perky, shiny “aren’t we all one big happy family” stuff. “Well, we have to be going. It was nice to see you.”

Helen piped up, “I should probably go, too. But we’ll get together later for a drink, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Serena said, grabbing Helen’s hand and squeezing it a bit too desperately before letting go. “Please, Helen, I would love that.”

“I’ll see you in the pub at five, then,” Helen said.

“Super!”

Helen waved with real enthusiasm as we walked away.

I slipped Helen’s arm through mine. Once we were out of Serena’s earshot, I said, “Helen, isn’t this getting a little awkward?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You’re acting like you’re best friends with your dead lover’s wife.”

Helen swallowed. “But she’s sweet. It’s not her fault Kyle was a beast.”

“I know, but don’t you think it’s a little odd that she’s still hanging around? Her husband was murdered and she’s here, going around making friends with everyone he knew.”

“But she said she wanted to get to know Kyle’s friends.”

“Including his secret lover?”

Derek nudged my arm.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Derek thinks I’m being rude. And he’s probably right. But honestly, don’t you find it uncomfortable being around her?”

“You’re so sweet to think of me,” Helen said, and took my hand. “But she’s an interesting girl, Brooklyn. And I know it sounds odd, but I feel like I’m connected to Kyle when I talk to her.”

So Helen still wanted that connection to Kyle. Did she even realize what she’d just said? And what did that say about her future with Martin? I bit my tongue to keep from asking her.

Helen kept talking. “You and I didn’t have a chance to hear Serena’s eulogy at the memorial service, but everyone’s been telling me it was heartbreaking. Did you know they’ve loved each other since grade school?”

“She mentioned something about that before.”

“Right. Doesn’t that just break your heart?”

“Not really. It seems kind of creepy.”

She smacked my hand. “I’m serious. By the time they married, Kyle was traveling so much, and she’s a kindergarten teacher, so she never got a chance to meet his friends. This weekend was supposed to be her entrée into his world; then they were going to have a long, romantic Scottish honeymoon. But then he was… you know. Killed.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“She’s being very brave,” Helen said, getting a little choked up.

“And so are you,” I said staunchly. “Don’t forget, you are the injured party through all of this.”

That brought fresh tears to her eyes. “Your loyalty and friendship mean so much to me.”

“Helen, please don’t cry.”

Derek stepped back a foot at the threat of tears, and I shot him an evil look.

“I’m okay,” she said, sniffing back the emotion. “But I’m going to keep trying to get you two to be friends. She’s really a dear, and I think you’ll like her once you get to know her.”

“You think?”

“Definitely.”

“Well, good luck with that.” As we passed a booth specializing in horror posters, I asked, “How did you meet her, anyway?”

She smiled. “The first time I met her in the hotel store, we both reached for the same package of mints. Then we laughed and introduced ourselves and she said she loved my hair, which was endearing, don’t you think?”

Helen unconsciously played with the ends of her hair. She did have great hair, but good grief, here was a big secret: If you ever want to get a woman to do anything for you, just compliment her hair.

Was I being a bitch for suspecting that there might be an ulterior motive for Serena’s complimenting her dead husband’s lover’s hair?

Maybe I was just jealous that Helen had a new BFF.

I thought about that for a few seconds but concluded that Helen’s having a new BFF had nothing to do with it. The truth was, I was concerned that this Stepford person in front of me had done something with my friend Helen. I’d always admired her well-honed sense of humor, but that part of her was completely missing this time around. Maybe the trauma of Kyle’s death had pushed her over the edge. Or maybe the last few years spent with Martin had dulled her ability to recognize irony when it stuck its tongue out at her.