Smiling, I gazed up at Abraham. “How have you been?”

“Ah, life is good, Brooklyn,” he said, squeezing me again briefly. “I didn’t think it could get any better, but it can.”

“Really?” I’d never heard my grumpy mentor sound so upbeat. “I’m thrilled for you.”

From somewhere above us, a string quartet began to play a Haydn serenade. I gazed up at the three-story-high coffered ceiling and the delicate wrought-iron balconies of the second and third floors. The musicians were seated on the third floor, overlooking the main hall, with acres of bookshelves providing the backdrop. On both of the higher floors, tall shelves of books circumnavigated the main hall, broken up by narrow aisles of more books leading back into cozy reading rooms and study corners. There were more nooks and crannies than a hobbit hole and I could still picture myself as an eight-year-old book lover, visiting for the first time and wandering the elaborate mazes. No wonder I fell for the place.

More guests were moving into the main hall and filling the space with lively conversation and elegant evening wear. Laughter competed with the music as tuxedoed waiters emerged with trays of champagne-filled flutes and delicate hors d’oeuvres. I rubbed Abraham’s arm affectionately. “Everything looks fabulous. It’s so exciting.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re looking especially nifty tonight.”

I sighed. Nifty? Who said that anymore? I liked it.

His arm muscles tightened and he swore under his breath. I glanced up and saw that his face had turned ashen.

“What is it, Abraham? What’s wrong?”

“Baldacchio!” he whispered angrily. “I can’t believe that two-faced crook had the balls to show up here tonight.”

“You’re kidding.” I started to turn but he grabbed me.