Read Online Books of a Feather by Kate Carlisle - Free Book Online

slowly and leaned in to see inside the room again. Sure enough, the feet were large and the long legs were covered in khaki trousers. This time I looked above the man’s waist to see the tan sweater he wore. No, it was a tan vest. So it was a man, all right. And not just any man, but Jared Mulrooney, the president of the National Bird-watchers Society.
    My head was beginning to spin.
    My first thought was that someone had killed him for ruining the bluebird book. But that was crazy. Or was it? How could I forget that people had killed for less, more often than I cared to remember?
    My second thought was that the poor guy had committed suicide, unable to deal with the way he’d damaged the book. Either way, I felt heartsick over the death of the bumbling bird-watcher. I gazed up at Derek. “I know who it is.”
    Derek nodded. “We’d better find Ian and call the police.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Homicide Inspector Janice Lee walked into the main hall of the Covington Library and spied me and Derek sitting together on a padded bench along the wall. “Hey, looks like old home week around here.”
    â€œHello, Inspector,” Derek said, standing to greet her.
    â€œHi, Inspector Lee.” I was so happy to see her I almost jumped up and gave her a hug. But that would’ve been a big mistake andI felt foolish for considering it even for a moment. There had been times in the past, though, when I thought the two of us could be friends. I suppose it was still possible, but she didn’t make it easy. Especially when the only times we ever saw each other were at the scenes of violent murders.
    I confess, I’d developed a bit of a reputation for finding dead bodies. It wasn’t my fault and it wasn’t something I was proud of. It just
was
. I couldn’t begin to explain it, but I appreciated the way my parents’ spiritual leader, Robson Benedict, had put it, that somehow I’d been chosen to speak for the dead. To find justice and closure for their families. Was it mere coincidence that in every case, a
book
invariably played a central role in determining how or why the victim died? I didn’t think so, but if I were to admit this out loud, I would have to give up my career. After all, who would hire a bookbinder if they knew her clients kept dying off?
    On the upside, I had worked with hundreds of clients who hadn’t died at all, so there was no reason to be paranoid. Was there? No, absolutely not. This wasn’t about me. I was just here to help.
    Each time I’d been involved in a murder in San Francisco, SFPD Homicide Inspector Lee and her partner, Nathan Jaglow, had been assigned to the case. I’d lost track of the number of times we’d all worked together. Ten times? Maybe more? So when she said it looked like old home week, it was obvious why.
    Inspector Jaglow walked in directly behind Lee and grinned at us. He was older, somewhere in his fifties, slightly balding with unruly gray hair. A sleepy smile belied his sharp powers of observation, and his infinite patience was the perfect counterpoint to his partner’s shoot-from-the-hip style. “Hello there, Commander, Ms. Wainwright. Haven’t seen you two in a few months.”
    â€œWe’ve been out of town,” Derek explained, and shook theman’s hand. The cops had referred to Derek as “Commander” from day one, mainly because that had been his rank in the British Royal Navy and it said so on his business card. But beyond those points, the title just suited him. He was tall, dark, handsome, and a bit dangerous-looking. And he easily commanded the attention of everyone in the room.
    I was grateful that Derek’s connection to law enforcement automatically exempted me from the police suspect list. It hadn’t always been the case. On the contrary, the first few times I’d found a dead body, I’d been lucky they hadn’t thrown me