“Yeah. It’s doing pretty well.” She grinned and I almost laughed at her downplaying her success. “My mother always says I’ve got a big mouth so she’s happy I’ve put it to good use on the Internet.”

  “It takes more than a big mouth to do what you do. It takes hard work and real talent.”

  Her eyes widened. “Thank you. That’s lovely of you to say so.”

  “Just speaking the truth,” I said with a quick smile. Besides her huge YouTube following, Ashley made her living as an events coordinator and freelance marketing expert, which probably had helped to build up her YouTube numbers. She was currently working with Joseph and his newspaper to beef up interest in the Mark Twain Festival.

  A waiter walked by and Ashley reached for two glasses of champagne. She passed one to me and said, “It’s getting crowded in here so we should take every opportunity to grab the champagne while we can. Right?”

  I grinned. “My philosophy exactly.”

  She took a sip, then frowned at something she saw. Her eyes narrowed and she took a deep breath. When she noticed me watching her, she tried to smile. She checked her watch, which was one of those big square things that was bigger than her wrist and monitored everything in her life—and also kept time, apparently. “Gotta go. Big night ahead.”

  “Okay.” I held up my glass. “Thanks for the champagne.”

  This time, her smile was genuine. “You bet. See you later.”

  “Okay.” But she was already gone.

  I had to admit that I found Ashley Sharp fascinating in a young, Gen-Z, happily-frenetic-livewire sort of way. With all those YouTube followers, she was considered a certified “influencer” in today’s parlance. I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but I could figure it out. She clearly had the uncanny ability to pimp whatever product a company chose to send her and for that they paid her lots of money. I imagined Ashley’s marketing skills were her superpower.

  Regardless of her skill set, Ashley Sharp was impressive. On a whim, I pulled out my cell phone and googled her name. She was indeed considered a proud member of Generation Z, which meant that she was in her early to mid-twenties. So young, I thought. I also read that her number of Internet followers had risen to 2.5 million. Sheesh.

  Many of the Google entries referred to her simply as The Magic Marketer. Still others had turned her last name, Sharp, into various slogans, some cleverer than others: Sharp as a knife; a real Sharp shooter; cutting edge Sharp.

  I stared out the window at the lights along the Marin headlands across the expanse of water. I thought again of the expression I’d seen on Ashley’s face. She didn’t look happy.

  It had been more than fifteen minutes since I’d seen Derek and I wondered if he might be looking for me. I walked through the crowd toward the foyer and was immediately stopped by Ian, who grabbed my arm. “Some of the donors want to meet you.”

  “That’s nice.” I was always happy to meet book people. I took a quick look around but didn’t see Derek in the crush of people. I would catch up with him eventually.

  “They’re waiting in the library.”

  Of course Joseph would have a library, I thought. The man was a fanatic about books, which I considered one of his best qualities.

  Ian led me down a hall and into the library. I stopped in the doorway and had to take a breath. The room was big, no surprise, but it was also warm and cozy somehow. Rich mahogany bookshelves lined the walls and they were filled with hundreds and hundreds of books. I could smell the leather bindings and loved how the gilded spines twinkled in the subdued lighting. A long, velvety forest-green couch faced an antique library table with four chairs. A small Tiffany lamp sat on its surface.

  Another chair, this one big and roomy and covered in soft burgundy velvet, was tucked in the corner. It looked so inviting, I was tempted to crawl into it and take a nap.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Ian said, grinning. “Pretty impressive.”

  “Coming from you, that’s saying a lot since you practically live in the most gorgeous library in the world.”

  He grinned. “Let’s meet the donors and you can browse afterwards.”

  “Okay.”

  A man and two women sat at the library table. Ian pulled the fourth chair out for me as he introduced me. The three Covington donors took a minute to gush about my work—which never got old. One of the donors, an older woman wearing a gold sequined top and a stunning diamond ring the size of my foot, finally pressed her hands together in a prayerful position. “May we please see the book?”

  “Of course.” I set my tote bag down and pulled out The Prince and the Pauper.

  “It’s sad and a bit shabby right now,” I explained. “But it’s going to be beautiful when I’m through with it.”

  “Oh, isn’t it wonderful?” the man said, turning the book over in his hands. I smiled at him, recognizing a serious booklover when I saw one.

  “Will it be put on display when you’ve completed your work?” the other woman asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Ian tells me they’re planning to exhibit it with several other copies of Mark Twain’s works.”

  “How delightful,” the man whispered.

  “After the festival,” Ian said, “we’ll open a small permanent collection of books by Mark Twain and some of his contemporaries.”

  “I do hope you won’t neglect the works of Bret Harte,” the diamond ring lady said.

  “Never,” Ian declared. “He’s one of the leading literary voices of the early American West.”

  “He was a Bohemian,” the man said proudly.

  The Bohemians were a group of young writers in the late 1800s who had a part in shaping the literary landscape of the West and San Francisco in particular.

  “Are you going to regild the book?” the other woman asked.

  “Oh yes.” I reached into my tote bag. “You might enjoy looking at some of my tools.”

  These were real antiquarian book fans because they giggled with excitement over the gilding tools I’d brought with me. I showed them how the little grooved rolling tool would be used to produce the same lines and wavy patterns that were still barely visible on the cover of the original book.

  It was twenty minutes of shop talk, but I enjoyed myself. After Ian shepherded the donors back to the party, I carefully wrapped up the book and slipped it back in my tote bag. Alone now, I glanced around the room. I decided to stow the tote bag underneath the couch so I wouldn’t have to carry it around for another two hours. I wasn’t sure how wise it was to leave the book hidden in here, but I checked and rechecked to make sure the bag couldn’t be seen from anywhere in the room and finally felt sure of my decision.

  I wanted more than anything to peruse the shelves of Joseph’s library and take a closer look at some of the books. But I’d been gone quite a while and thought Derek might be wondering where I had disappeared to. I gazed around the beautiful room one more time and hoped I would have another chance to visit again someday. Then I hurried down the hall to find Derek.

  Chapter 6

  . . . being rich ain’t what it’s cracked up to be. It’s just worry and worry, and sweat and sweat, and a-wishing you was dead all the time.

  —Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

  I found Derek in the living room chatting with two of Joseph’s business partners and their wives. He introduced me to all of them and we talked about the festival for a few minutes until we were joined by Joseph himself. After a minute of small talk, Joseph pulled Derek and me aside to suggest that he give me a tour of his home.

  “Absolutely yes,” I said eagerly.

  “Would you like to start with the library?”

  I smiled. “I just spent the last half hour in your library, showing the Mark Twain book to some donors. It’s a beautiful space and someday I would love to spend more time looking through your collection.”

  “I’d like that, too,” he said, grinning. “Someday. But for now, let’s take the elevator and start at the top.”

  The ride in the adorable elevator made me very happy. To be honest, it was the smallest, most claustrophobic space in the entire house, but that was okay because it reminded me of some of the lovely small hotels I’d stayed in while in Paris. They all boasted elevators, but good grief, they were tiny. Even if you could fit only two people with luggage inside one of those minuscule elevators, it was enough to qualify the hotel for four-star status.

  While Joseph’s elevator was understandably small, the three of us still managed to fit comfortably. For that reason and so many others, his home was definitely worth five stars and beyond.

  The view from every room was the highlight, of course, but the rooms themselves were a treat as well. They were all so big yet so comfortable and in such exquisitely good taste that I could’ve happily taken up residence in any little corner of the house.

  We made it down to the basement game room, where we were completely distracted by a beautifully restored foosball table and several antique pinball machines.

  “Shall we play a game?” Joseph said.

  I smiled. “Sure.”

  “Be careful, darling,” Derek said. “Joseph spends all his time down here.”

  Even this room had two luxurious couches covered in silky pillows along with several chairs that faced the windows to take advantage of the view.

  “Did you do all the decorating yourself?” I asked.

  Joseph hesitated, then took his turn at the pinball machine. After racking up a few thousand points, he said, “My first wife did most of it. She had a real eye for putting fabrics and colors together.”

  “She sure did,” I murmured. It was interesting to learn something new about Joseph. Mainly, that he had moved to this house with his first wife, Sandra. I knew that he had lived here for almost ten years and Derek had recently explained that Sandra had died of cancer five years ago.

  “How did you and Ella meet?” I asked, curious to hear more details about Joseph.

  Before he could answer, Ashley Sharp ran into the room. “Hello again,” she said cheerily to me, then turned to Joseph. “It’s eight thirty, boss. You said to track you down, so here I am. You ready to go?”

  “We were just playing a little pinball,” he said, shooting a look at Derek and me.

  “I was almost winning,” I said.

  Joseph laughed. “No way.”

  “Come on,” Ashley said, grabbing his elbow. “Let’s go announce the big winner.”

  Joseph’s smile to us was apologetic. “Time to morph back into businessman Joe.”

  “You wear both looks really well,” I said, then added, “That was a compliment, by the way.”

  “Thank you, Brooklyn. I hope you enjoyed the tour.”

  “I loved it. Really, your home is so unique. Very special. Thank you.”

  “It was fun for me, too.” He looked at Ashley. “Okay, Ashley. Lead the way.”

  We all followed Ashley, who bounced up the stairs with more energy than a happy six-year-old on a playground. Her energy level was impressive, especially after a long day and a few hours of partying. But then, she was young.

  I almost groaned out loud! Hey, I thought, I was young, too! Barely thirty-five. I could bounce . . . if I wanted to.

  Derek and I headed for the spacious living room while Joseph and Ashley continued up the stairs, where they would work out the final details of the announcement. I assumed the contest winner was somewhere up there, too.

  Back in the living room, we noticed that everyone had started to migrate toward the fireplace at the far end. I saw a microphone set up and figured that was where Joseph would make the announcement.

  Alone for the moment, Derek wrapped his arm around me and leaned in close. I felt him slip something into the tiny pocket on my sequined jacket and then he whispered in my ear, “If something happens, go directly to the car, lock the doors, and wait for me.”

  “What?” I didn’t mean to shout.

  “Calm down, darling,” he murmured, stroking my back.

  I tried to breathe and managed to mutter, “Easy for you to say.”

  What the hell? If something happens? What was supposed to happen?

  Still trying to steady my breath, I casually felt inside my pocket and realized that he’d slipped a car key in there. I gazed around the room, trying to be nonchalant about it, and finally noticed that besides adding the microphone, Ashley had made other changes in preparation for the big announcement.

  Several rows of folding chairs had been set up so that people could sit while others standing farther back could see over their heads. Along both sides of the room there were now a number of photographers lined up, plus a bunch of other people with notebooks opened and ready. I hadn’t noticed so many of them earlier. I assumed they were news reporters and there were enough of them that they couldn’t have all been from Joseph’s newspaper alone. They had to have come from other outlets around town or around the state.

  It made sense, because when it came to Joseph Cabot, everything was newsworthy.

  Plenty of other partygoers had their cell phones ready to record the big event.

  I noticed something else. A three-panel room divider screen had been set up directly in front of the doorway closest to the fireplace. The divider was arranged so that the audience couldn’t see who was coming through the door. It was easy to guess that this was where the finalists would enter.

  The excitement was palpable and now that I had a moment to take it all in, my mind zoomed back to what Derek had just said. What was he talking about? What was supposed to happen? Was he worried that someone would attack Joseph? Was anyone else a potential target?

  We were standing against the wall nearest the foyer and the crowd was beginning to move closer to the microphone set up at the far end of the room. I touched my pocket and felt for the key. It was quickly becoming my security touchstone.

  For the last hour or so I had been in party mode and had completely forgotten that the look-alike contest was the main purpose for the gathering tonight. But now the winner was about to be announced and I wouldn’t be surprised if that person’s life would be changed, possibly forever. One hundred thousand dollars could alter the trajectory of someone’s life, especially if he didn’t have a lot of money to start with.

  Joseph’s newspaper had been hawking the contest for weeks now so I should’ve been psyched up for the big reveal. But honestly, I had been so completely distracted by this house and that view that I had forgotten all about it. And even though I lived with a man whose business often involved rescuing people from dangerous situations, I normally didn’t pay a lot of attention to possible dangers in my daily life.

  But after hearing Derek’s words of warning barely five minutes ago, I realized that it was time to pull myself back to reality. Anything could happen tonight. I just wished that Derek had given me a clue as to why he was suddenly on Red Alert.

  I glanced around the room again and tried to figure out which of the guests and servers were undercover agents. I didn’t recognize anyone from his office, but maybe that was a good thing. At least I wouldn’t blow anyone’s cover, I thought, smirking internally.

  I continued to scan the crowd, examining faces and wondering if I could tell from someone’s expression whether they were planning to endanger Joseph or anyone else here tonight. But all I could see were people enjoying themselves. Everyone was anticipating the big reveal in a few minutes. Nobody looked as if they were ready to cause havoc.

  But how would I know? There had been those threatening phone calls, so someone had to be planning something. Maybe it wouldn’t happen here, maybe not tonight, but they were out there waiting to hurt Joseph or his family. And the main person standing in their way was Derek.

  And that realization was starting to freak me out.

  I reached out to touch Derek’s arm and immediately felt safer. I took a few deep breaths and tried to relax.

  I saw Ashley step up to the microphone and take a moment to steal one last look at her notes.

  Derek was still texting back and forth with his agents so I concentrated on Ashley. She seemed so comfortable standing there, but I thought again about the unhappy expression on her face a while ago.

  I pushed that image away as Ashley began to speak.

  “Thank you all for being here. I’m Ashley Sharp, events coordinator for the Clarion, and I’m thrilled to welcome you to the big reveal! In just a moment we’ll announce the winner in the first annual Mark Twain Festival Look-Alike Contest.

  “After receiving more than ten thousand entries . . .” She paused while everyone reacted to that impressive number. “Our fantastic judges have reached their final decision. And I know you’re going to be blown away by the results.”

  There was light applause, which masked some of the sounds of movement coming from behind the three-paneled screen in front of the doorway closest to the fireplace. I imagined the machinations going on back there, getting everyone lined up to enter the “stage” area while trying to keep things quiet.

  I’d had my doubts about Joseph making the big winner announcement here in his home. The newspaper had turned it into such a huge deal that I thought they might’ve taken advantage of the larger Covington Library venue for the big reveal.

  But now that I was here, seeing all the photographers and reporters and other media representatives in attendance, plus knowing the security issues involved, it had probably been the best solution. Derek’s team could keep a better watch on the attendees. And once the photos and news stories were published, it would have the same effect as a big splashy Covington event.

  I rubbed my arms, amazed to realize I was nervous to hear who had won. There was that same sort of anticipatory “buzz” I’d felt earlier when Ella and Ingrid made their appearance. And speaking of those two, I glanced around to see if they were nearby, but I didn’t see them in the room. They had to be here somewhere, though. They wouldn’t miss this big moment. Would they?