Books Can Be Deceiving

by Jenn McKinlay

  “But she’s worked so hard on it.”

  “Did she really?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Sydney gave her a long look. “I didn’t want to get into this with her, because this is supposed to be my free weekend and I am really trying to avoid any sort of drama.”

  She let the rebuke wash over Lindsey, but it held no sting, as Lindsey was too annoyed on Beth’s behalf to care much about Sydney’s free time.

  “But . . .” Lindsey prompted her.

  With a sigh, Sydney leaned over the armrest of her chair and rifled through the briefcase at her feet. She came back up holding a glossy book catalog. Post-its marked several of the pages, and she flipped to one at the back.

  “Look familiar?” she asked.

  Lindsey scanned the page, and halfway down she saw it. In full color there he was, the same chubby, brown hamster sporting a monocle as the one Beth had created and dubbed Sherlock Hamster, detective.

  “But I don’t understand,” Lindsey said. She flipped the catalog over to scan the cover. It was for the winter, meaning this was a preview of books to come. But how had Beth’s gotten in here? She flipped back to the page that described the book. The name of the author leapt out at her—Rick Eckman.

  “I think it’s fairly obvious, don’t you?” Sydney asked as she kept eating. “Your friend plagiarized her book idea from my author Mr. Eckman.”

  “Beth would never do that,” Lindsey said. “That’s preposterous.”

  Sydney suddenly looked weary. “I don’t want to get into a debate about what is plagiarism. I’m just telling you that he has a book coming out with virtually the exact same story line and characters. I know you want to help your friend, but she can’t steal other people’s work to get ahead. It will get her blackballed from the industry.”

  “Beth didn’t steal anything from him,” Lindsey said. She knew she sounded defensive, but she just couldn’t believe what was happening. This was a nightmare.

  “He’s a Caldecott-winning book author,” Sydney said with a sigh. “Surely you’re not suggesting he stole his idea from her. Why would he? No one would ever believe it.”

  “That may be true,” Lindsey said. “But that’s what happened.”

  She snatched up Beth’s portfolio and pushed back her chair. “Thank you for your time.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sydney said. It was the first time Lindsey thought she might actually be sincere.

  “May I keep this?” Lindsey asked, holding up the catalog.

  “Oh, it has all of my notes,” Sydney said with a grimace. “Do you want to just tear out the pertinent page?”

  “That will work. Thank you,” Lindsey said. She opened the catalog to the page she wanted and carefully tore it out, making sure not to damage the page or the book.

  She glanced up and saw Beth headed their way. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us, Sydney, and thank you for your time.”

  “No problem.” Sydney took the remainder of her catalog and stuffed it back into her bag. She returned to her lunch while Lindsey crossed the café to Beth.

  She noticed that the tip of Beth’s nose was bright pink, and her eyes looked puffier than usual. She’d been crying. Lindsey really hated that she was about to make a bad day much worse for her friend, and it was all Rick Eckman’s fault. If he were here, she’d give him a swift kick in the pants or possibly a solid punch to the nose.

  “Beth, let’s go take a walk,” she said.

  “Oh, no, I don’t want to seem like a big baby,” Beth said. “It’s rude to walk out on Ms. Carlisle. We should finish our lunch with her.”

  “Oh, I think she’ll be fine,” Lindsey said.

  “I guess I can call Rick now and tell him he was right. I was rejected and crushed by it.”

  “Not so fast,” Lindsey said. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “What is it?” Beth asked as Lindsey hustled her out of the café and across the parking lot to the town park.

  A seagull was perched in its usual spot on the back of one of the benches, and seeing that they had no food, it gave them a sideways stare of disapproval before lifting off onto the air currents that swept in from the water. Feeling duly chastised, Lindsey promised herself she would remember to bring some stale bread the next time she came to the park.

  An elderly couple was parked on a bench down the way, sharing a newspaper and drinking coffee out of paper cups. A mother with two young ones was sitting under a tree on a blanket while the baby had some tummy time and the toddler collected leaves.

  “Sit here,” Lindsey said. She gestured to an empty bench.

  “What’s going on?” Beth said. “You look angry, and not just a little angry but more like a swarm of killer bees angry.”

  Lindsey took a steadying breath. She was humming like a swarm. In fact, she was so mad, everything was going fuzzy and she was beginning to see spots.

  “Here,” she said. She couldn’t trust herself to say anything more. She handed Beth the glossy page from the Caterpillar Press catalog and sat beside her.

  “I don’t understand,” Beth said. “What is this?”

  “Sydney gave it to me,” Lindsey said. “It’s from the publisher’s catalog of upcoming books.”

  “But that’s my book,” Beth said. She pointed to the picture. “How did they . . . and why is Rick’s name . . . ?”

  Her voice trailed off as the ugly truth came into focus.

  “He stole my story, didn’t he?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Lindsey said.

  “But that’s . . . he told me it was too amateurish,” Beth protested.

  “Well, I guess we know why he didn’t want you to show it to anyone,” Lindsey said. “He’d already sold it under his own name.”

  “What did Ms. Carlisle say?” Beth asked. “She must be furious that he’s deceived them.”

  Lindsey did not want to have this conversation. She really didn’t. If Beth’s feelings had been hurt before, she could only imagine how upset she was going to be now. But there was no need to explain. Her silence was telling.

  “Oh, no—Ms. Carlisle thinks I plagiarized him!” Beth cried.

  “I’m afraid so,” Lindsey winced.

  Beth stared out at the Thumb Islands. The breeze coming in from the water ruffled the spikes of her black hair. Her large, gray eyes narrowed. Lindsey wondered if it was to hold back tears.

  “I’m going to murder him!”

  The elderly couple glanced over from their bench, obviously startled by her outburst.

  “I’m going to deep-fry him in oil,” Beth ranted. “No, that’s too messy. I’m going to chop him up and feed him to the sharks, piece by miserable piece.”

  Now the mother by the tree with the young ones was looking at them with her eyebrows raised up to her hairline. Lindsey recognized her as a regular at story time. Uh-oh.

  “Beth,” she said. “Get a hold of yourself.”

  She looked at the older couple and the mother, still watching them, and forced a laugh. In a loud voice, she said, “You’re such a kidder.”

  But Beth wasn’t going to be diverted. She stood up with her portfolio under her arm and began to stomp toward the pier. “When I get done with him, Rick Eckman is going to wish he was dead.”

  Lindsey followed in her wake with a feeling of dread. Her own breakup with her fiancé had not been pretty, but at least he’d only cheated on her, not stolen her work. She had no idea how she would have handled it if he had, but she couldn’t blame Beth for being furious. She’d been working on that picture book for years, and for Rick to take it and submit it as his own was unconscionable.

  Beth churned across the pavement, past the Blue Anchor and out to the tour-boat office. The dock was empty, meaning both Ian and Sully were out giving tours.

  Ronnie Maynard, the tour coordinator, was in the little storefront office, sitting at her desk.

  Beth slammed through the door. “I ne
ed a boat.”

  “Well, hello to you, too,” Ronnie said as she lowered her nail file and glanced at the pair of them.

  “Hi, Ronnie,” Lindsey said. “Don’t mind Beth, she’s a little upset.”

  “A little upset?” Beth repeated. “I am more than a little upset. I am crazy mad. I need a boat, and I need it right now.”

  “What happened, hon?” Ronnie asked. Her voice was kind, as if there wasn’t any trouble she hadn’t heard before that couldn’t be fixed by a sympathetic listener.

  Beth took a deep breath and told her. Ronnie clucked in all the right places, calming Beth down with her genuine understanding.

  Lindsey had gotten to know Ronnie over the past few months. She was a regular at the library and liked to check out the latest romance novels. She was a particular fan of Amanda Quick and Linda Howard.

  If the term Sully had taught her was accurate, then Ronnie was one of the older Creekers, as she had to be about the same age as Milton, making her around eighty years old as well.

  Looking at her, it was hard to tell. She wore her cranberryred hair in an updo reminiscent of a beehive. Huge neongreen plastic rings decorated her fingers, and she wore matching bauble earrings and a necklace. Her neck and face were wrinkled from years out in the sun, but she was fit, wearing khaki capri pants with Keds and a knitted sailor’s top. She favored green eye shadow and bright-pink lipstick, and she had a heavy hand with the foundation.

  “So, that’s why I need to borrow a boat,” Beth said, finishing her monologue.

  “Sully just took the water taxi out,” Ronnie said. “He’s picking up the Ginowskis on Split Island. Both Charlie and Ian are out on tours and not expected back until later today.”

  “Could I rent a boat?” Beth asked.

  “All I have left is a kayak,” Ronnie said.

  “I’ll take it,” Beth said.

  “No, you won’t,” Lindsey said. Enough was enough. It was time to rein her in before she got herself killed.

  “Excuse me,” Beth said. “If I want a kayak, I’m taking a kayak.”

  “You don’t even know how to kayak,” Lindsey said.

  “Paddle right, paddle left; how hard can it be?”

  “There are some pretty strong currents out there,” Ronnie said. “Besides, it’s high tide, the rocks are covered by water and you could smash up on one if you don’t know where they are.”

  “See?” Lindsey asked. “Now you’re just going to have to calm down and wait. We can take the water taxi when it returns.”

  “Fine,” Beth said but her cranky tone made it clear that it wasn’t.

  The small office had a tiny waiting area made up of three deck chairs and a glass coffee table covered in boating magazines. Beth sat in one of the chairs and turned to stare out the window.

  Lindsey blew out a breath. There were at least five hundred other things she’d rather be doing on her day off, but Beth was her best friend. She took a seat and picked up a magazine.

  “You don’t have to go with me,” Beth said. “I can handle this on my own.”

  “Normally, I would agree with you,” Lindsey said as she paused to sniff the cologne sample in the magazine. Too citrusy; why was men’s cologne always heavy on the citrus? “But given that you threatened to feed him to the sharks in front of a listening audience, I’m thinking I should be there.”

  “Thanks,” Beth said. “You’re right. You may have to sit on me if he gets within punching distance.”

  “Well, after I let you get in a few kidney shots, maybe,” Lindsey said.

  Beth grinned, and Lindsey was pleased to see a glimmer of the old Beth sparkle in her eyes.

  Forty minutes later, Sully arrived with the Ginowskis. They waved at Ronnie through the glass window and headed into town. Sully gave Lindsey a puzzled look as he entered the office.

  She hadn’t seen him since Nancy’s bad spell the night before, and she wondered if he thought she was here because of that. His first words confirmed it.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked. “Do you need Charlie?”

  “No,” Lindsey said quickly. “Nancy’s fine. We’re here for a different reason.”

  “I need a boat,” Beth said.

  Sully glanced at Ronnie, and she shrugged. “We’re booked out.”

  “Do you need a lift?” he asked. “I can take you in the water taxi.”

  “That would be perfect,” Beth said. “I’ll double your rate.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Sully said. “Where do you need to go?”

  “Gull Island,” she said.

  Sully’s eyebrows rose. He clapped a hand on the back of his neck. “You know that’s a private island. I’m not supposed to dock there without permission.”

  “Just get me within swimming distance then,” Beth said, and she led the way out the door.

  Sully glanced at Lindsey, and she said, “I’ll explain on the way.”

  Beth was already sitting in the boat clutching her portfolio to her chest. It was a midsized inboard motorboat that had a canopy. Sully helped Lindsey step down into the boat, and he untied it from the dock, pushing off as he jumped in.

  He turned the motor on low, and they puttered out past the end of the pier through the no wake zone toward the islands.

  Lindsey sat in the seat beside Sully, who turned to her and asked, “So, what’s this all about?”

  She gave him the short version.

  “Suddenly, I’m not feeling so polite about not docking,” he said. He leaned close to Lindsey and lowered his voice and asked, “Did she know all this last night, when they had their tiff at the café?”

  “No, we just found out this morning.”

  They had motored out into the channel now, and Lindsey noticed he gave the engine more power, and a good-sized wake formed behind them. This was her first time out on the water, and she reveled in the fresh, cool spray against her face and the wind tugging at her hair.

  They rounded a small cluster of islands. The first one had a large granite boulder jutting up that indeed looked like a big thumb, thus, the name of the islands. A bit farther was a flatter one that had a small house perched on it, and then several others that barely qualified as more than rocks. Depending upon who you asked, there were either seventy islands out here or more than a hundred. Sometimes the rocks counted and sometimes they did not.

  Lindsey had read up on the history of the Thumb Islands and knew that the archipelago had formed thousands of years before during an ice age. They passed by another large island, and an older woman with short gray hair, wearing an apron and carrying pruning shears, waved at them as they passed. Sully waved and grinned back at her.

  “My mom,” he said. “That’s where I grew up, on Bell Island.”

  Lindsey studied it as they passed. Sure enough, a large granite boulder on the east side of the island looked like an enormous bell. The island had three large houses on it with large lawns that were turning brown with the coming winter and tall trees whose leaves had turned and were beginning to fall. It looked like an idyllic place to spend a childhood.

  “How big is it?” she asked.

  “Almost ten acres,” he said. “It’s the second largest island out here.”

  They headed farther out into the Sound. The waves got choppy, and their boat slapped hard against the water until Sully slowed it down. They passed several hazardous-looking rocks, a few small uninhabited islands and then a series of islands where the houses looked like charming summer getaways.

  Lindsey could see the appeal to having your own island. No door-to-door salesmen, no traffic, no home-owner’s associations. If you wanted to be left alone, an island was a good way to go.

  The boat took a wide turn around one island. Wider than Sully had swung around other islands. She glanced over the side to see if there were rocks they were avoiding, but she couldn’t make out any in the water’s rocky depths.

  She glanced at Sully and saw him studying the island as they passed. It
was then that she realized that this one looked to have been burned. The skeletons of charred tree trunks stood sentry around the shell of a stone cottage, which was roofless and blackened by fire.

  “What happened there?” she asked.

  “Lightning strike,” Beth said.

  Lindsey glanced at Sully for confirmation. She noticed he shifted in his seat, and she narrowed her gaze.

  “Lightning didn’t do that, did it?”

  He turned and studied her for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision. “No, it didn’t.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “What?” Beth gasped. “But in all of the books about the islands, it says that it was the storm of 1983. There was record lightning, and one of the bolts hit the Ruby house, burning down the house and killing the family, who were asleep and trapped inside.”

  “That’s what the books say,” Sully agreed. “But they never explain why the body of Peter Ruby wasn’t among the rest.”

  “Who’s Peter Ruby?” Lindsey asked.

  “The father,” Sully said. He didn’t go into details, but he didn’t have to, Lindsey could tell by his tone that he hadn’t liked the man.

  “The speculation is that he tried to swim for help and perished,” Beth said.

  “Does that seem likely?” Sully asked. “You’re in the middle of one of the worst storms to hit the islands, your house has been hit by lightning and you swim for help? Wouldn’t you try to get your family out first?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said.

  “Mary and I were friends with the Ruby kids, as they were just a few years younger than us. There was something not right in that house. Neither of us ever believed that Peter Ruby died trying to save his family.”

  “Do you think he killed them and used the storm as cover to escape?” Lindsey asked. They were passing the island, and she turned to study the remnants of the burnt house and scorched lives.

  “That’s exactly what I think,” Sully said. His voice was grim, and it gave Lindsey the shivers.

  “Then why . . . ?” Beth asked, looking as disturbed as Lindsey felt.

  “It was twenty-eight years ago. People don’t talk about it,” Sully said, correctly interpreting her expression. “Mostly because it is so horrible, but also the local businesses don’t want to scare off the tourists.”