She unlocked her bike and climbed on. It would be getting dark soon, so she headed out toward the beach road that would take her home. On the way there, she pedaled past the Beachfront Bed and Breakfast. She braked hard.
She had an idea. It was a long shot, but she had nothing to lose. She climbed off of her bike and locked it to the porch railing.
She was going to see if Sydney Carlisle was still in town and, if she was, whether she knew anything about who might have wanted to murder Rick Eckman. As she rang the doorbell, she fervently hoped that Sydney knew either a disgruntled editor in New York, a literary agent with a bad temper or perhaps a bitter rival author, any of whom might have had murder on his or her mind.
Jeanette Palmer answered the door. She was a tiny little bird of a lady who wore her snow-white hair in a topknot and was partial to sensible shoes and floral-print dresses. Her bed-and-breakfast had been a tourist mainstay in Briar Creek for as long as anyone could remember. She was pushing eighty, but other than the yard work, she did all the cooking and cleaning herself. Most everyone who stayed with her felt as if they were visiting their grandmother with her spotless house and homemade banana-nut bread. But Lindsey knew her secret.
Jeanette opened her mouth to speak, but Lindsey held up her hand. “No, it’s not in yet.”
“Dang!” Jeanette said. She swung her little fist in front of her in a gesture of disappointment, and Lindsey smiled. Jeanette was an ardent fan of J. R. Ward and her Black Dagger Brotherhood series, which was interesting primarily because it was a paranormal romance series featuring vampires that really pushed the sensual envelope. Jeanette loved it.
Her budget didn’t allow for her to buy the latest hard copy, so she waited to buy the books when they were released in paperback and borrowed the hardcover from the library. She had been eagerly awaiting the latest release.
“It’s due out next Tuesday, and your name is first on the list,” Lindsey assured her.
“That’s going to take forever to get here,” Jeanette said. She sounded like a kid waiting for Christmas.
“I know,” Lindsey agreed. “Why can’t our favorite authors write faster?”
“Really,” Jeanette humphed. “So, what brings you by then?”
“I was wondering if I could speak to a guest of yours, Sydney Carlisle,” Lindsey said.
Jeanette frowned. “Do you know her?”
“We met briefly the other day.”
Jeanette leaned close and whispered, “How do you like her? I’ve found her to be a bit of a cold fish.”
“A bit,” Lindsey agreed, thinking back to their disastrous lunch.
“I’ll go see if she’s taking visitors,” Jeanette said.
“How about I come with you?” Lindsey asked. “Harder for her to refuse that way, don’t you think?”
“Follow me,” she agreed. They walked up the main staircase toward a hallway full of doors. The burgundy carpet was thick, the wall sconces glowed and the photographs that lined the hall didn’t have a speck of dust on them. Lindsey thought Jeanette would have made a good sea captain; she certainly ran a tight ship.
They stopped at room 3. Jeanette knocked on the door and then stood back.
There was no answer so she knocked again.
“What now?” called a voice from inside. “Does peace and quiet mean nothing to you people?”
“There’s someone here to see you, Ms. Carlisle,” Jeanette called back.
“Tell them I’m not to be disturbed,” Sydney said. The door opened a crack, and she glared out at them. “I mean really, I came here to get away from it all—not to have people knocking on my door morning, noon and night.”
“Who else has knocked on your door?” Jeanette asked, sounding miffed. “You’ve been holed up here for three days. Now you can tell Lindsey yourself that you’re too busy to talk to her.” With that, she turned on her heel and strode away.
Lindsey noticed that Sydney was wearing a robe and had a towel on her head. Obviously, she had just taken a shower.
“I am so sorry to intrude,” she said. “I won’t take more than a minute of your time. I promise.”
Sydney stared at her for a moment. Lindsey tried to look pitiful.
“All right,” Sydney said reluctantly. She opened her door and gestured for Lindsey to come in. She kept one hand on the front of her towel turban where the twist began as if afraid it was going to fall off.
In marked contrast to the rest of the house, Sydney’s room looked like her Louis Vuitton luggage had upchucked its contents all over the antique furniture. Shoes were scattered across the floor, while a rainbow of blouses, skirts and pants lounged on the furnishings as if enjoying the air out.
“I need to ask you some questions,” Lindsey said.
“Look, before you start,” Sydney interrupted her, “I appreciate that your friend really wants her book published, but given that Rick is already publishing a book just like hers, however that came about, she really needs to go back to the drawing board. Literally.”
“Actually, this isn’t about that,” Lindsey said. “I wanted to ask you some questions about Rick Eckman, in fact.”
“What about him?” Sydney looked surprised.
“You’re his editor, aren’t you?” Lindsey asked.
Sydney studied her for a moment. Her hand had left the twist in the towel and several strands of pale hair stuck out. Aware of Lindsey watching her, she put her hand back and tightened her hold on the towel.
“Yes, I am,” she said. She turned and began to gather her clothes, dropping them carelessly into a suitcase that was on the floor in the corner.
“What’s his reputation?” Lindsey asked. “In the publishing industry, I mean.”
“He’s considered brilliant,” Sydney said. “A real innovator in children’s picture books.”
“So he’s well liked?” Lindsey asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
“So, he isn’t well liked?”
“Look, I don’t know. He won’t even come in off his island to meet with me,” Sydney snapped as if Lindsey had given her a target at which to direct all of her anger about Rick. She spun around to face her. She looked flushed and agitated. “He’s aloof, a recluse. He never comes into the city. He refuses to sign books or go on book tours. He’s difficult. Why are you asking me these questions?”
“I just wondered who might want him dead,” Lindsey said.
“What?” Sydney shook her head as if trying to clear her hearing. “What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Rick Eckman is dead,” Lindsey said. “He was stabbed sometime early yesterday.”
CHAPTER 16
Sydney sat down hard on the edge of the bed. Her mouth was slightly agape, and she stared at Lindsey in surprise. “Well, that’s just . . . unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry. I know it must be a bit of a shock,” Lindsey said. “No one told you before now?”
“I was out walking the beach earlier,” Sydney said. “I’ve been leaving my phone behind, trying to get away from the hustle and bustle. Then when I came back, I took a nap.”
A guilty look passed over her face as if it was unforgivably rude of her to be resting when one of her authors had just been murdered.
“Look, I have to make some calls,” Sydney said. She rose from her seat and moved to the door.
Lindsey knew that she was being dismissed. Sydney held the door open for her, giving her no choice but to go.
In the doorway, she spun around so that she was just inches from Sydney. They were about the same height, and Lindsey studied her face closely when she asked, “Do you know of anyone who wanted Rick Eckman dead?”
Sydney’s eyes went wide and then narrowed shrewdly. “Only your friend, the plagiarizer.”
“She didn’t do it.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
Lindsey got the uneasy feeling that Sydney would be making trouble
for Beth. Great. In her efforts to help her friend, she may have just made a bad situation worse, much worse.
Sydney shut the door, signaling pretty clearly that the conversation was over. Lindsey turned away with a knot in her stomach the size of Texas.
She hurried down the stairs and found Jeanette waiting in the front parlor for her. “How did it go?”
“Not good.”
“She’s checking out tomorrow, and truthfully, she’s the first guest I’ve been happy to see go home.” In a high-pitched voice, Jeanette mimicked Sydney. “ ‘Mrs. Palmer, this tea isn’t sweet enough. Mrs. Palmer, I need at least three pillows to elevate my head. Mrs. Palmer, can’t you quiet the ocean down? I’m trying to sleep.’ Good riddance, I say.”
“She does seem a bit high maintenance,” Lindsey agreed.
“What did you want to see her about?”
“She is Rick Eckman’s editor,” Lindsey said. “I thought she might know of someone who wanted him dead.”
“Any luck with that?”
“Not really, although it sounds as if he was as popular in New York as he was here.”
“Which means not very,” Jeanette said. “Can I get you a cup of tea before you go? It’s getting cold out there.”
“Thank you but no,” Lindsey said. “I’d better get home.”
“Give Beth my best,” Jeanette said. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
Lindsey left with a wave and walked down the steps to her bike. It was fully dark now. She switched on her blinking bike light. In case any motorists happened by, they would be able to see her. She also dug her helmet out of the bottom of the rear basket. She wasn’t always great about wearing it, but given that it was dark and she was more at risk for getting into an accident, she figured she’d play it safe. She supposed seeing Rick’s body had given her a new awareness of how swiftly things can change.
The wind blowing in from the water had turned bitter. It would be a chilly ride home. Hopefully, it would clear her head and give her a chance to think.
She wished she knew who Sydney was going to call: Rick’s agent or the publisher’s public-relations people? Rick had won some of the most prestigious awards in children’s literature, including a Caldecott, and they were going to have to address his violent death even if it was with a “no comment” for now.
Monday arrived with a streak of sunshine that snuck its way through Lindsey’s curtains and shined on her eyelids, refusing to be ignored. She had talked to Beth the night before and had actually managed to sleep, but she was pretty sure her body and brain would happily lap up twelve more hours of slumber.
She glanced at the antique clock on her nightstand. If she was going to be presentable for the ten o’clock board meeting, she had best get it in gear.
She flipped on the Weather Channel on her flat-screen television in the living room while she went to the kitchen to make some coffee. As the perky morning weathercasters talked about the United States, she waited for the “Local on the 8s.” At 7:08 on the dot, the local forecast began scrolling across the screen.
It read cloudy and cold with a chance of more rain. She glanced at the window to verify the brilliant sunlight and turned back at the television. Hmm.
She’d wear opaque stockings under her wool skirt and a cotton blouse under her matching wool jacket. When in doubt, it was always best to layer.
She didn’t want to fuss with drying her long blonde hair, so she combed it back from her face and plaited it in one thick braid that hung down her back. She could have put it up, but she always tried to buck the librarian stereotype of hair buns and sensible shoes, which is why she chose her high-heeled Mary Jane pumps to complete the look.
She put the rest of her coffee in a travel mug, grabbed an apple and her umbrella and headed out the door.
At the bottom of the stairs, she remembered she should have worn sneakers to bike in but a glance at her watch told her she was out of time.
She put her things in the basket and arranged her skirt on the narrow bike seat. She pushed off and headed down the narrow gravel drive toward the street. There were no cars coming so she shot across the road without stopping.
The day was brisk, and she could feel the cold air sting her cheeks and the tips of her ears and nose. She turned onto the main road and caught sight of Beth on her bike up ahead. Lindsey dug deep and put on some speed in an effort to catch up. Given that Beth was barely pedaling, it didn’t take long.
“Beth, good morning!”
Beth turned to look at her. Her eyes were red and swollen as if she’d been crying. Lindsey felt her heart pinch at the sight. The poor thing was the picture of misery.
“Hi, Lindsey.” Her voice was toneless as if it took all she had to muster a greeting, never mind add any emotion to it.
They pulled to a stop in front of the library together. They both locked their bikes onto the rack and headed for the staff entrance.
“You know, if you need to take some time off, that would be fine,” Lindsey said.
“No. I can’t stand to be inside my own head anymore,” Beth said. “I’d rather be here, where I can keep busy.”
“All right,” Lindsey said as she led the way into the building, switching off the alarm as she went. “But if you change your mind, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” Beth said. As if Lindsey’s kindness was going to be her undoing, she hurried into her office, which was in the back corner of the building in the children’s department.
Lindsey switched on the lights in the main workroom and strode toward her office. She flipped on her desk lamp and opened the blinds, filling the small room with light. She was fortunate to have large windows dominating one side of the room that afforded her a lovely view of the park and the bay.
She put her umbrella and purse in the lower right-hand drawer of her ancient wooden desk and took a seat in her black swivel chair. She turned on her computer, and while she waited for it to boot up, she took long fortifying sips of her coffee. She left her apple on her desk for later. The library would be opening shortly, and she needed to get the meeting room ready for the library board. She had to print out copies of the agenda and have coffee, tea, water and snacks available. She refused to think about how the meeting would go if Candace Halpern had been contacting board members and insisting they let Beth go. She had a good board. She had to trust that they wouldn’t be swayed by “the helicopter.”
With a glance at the clock, she left her office and headed to the meeting room. It was situated at the front of the building. It had windows that overlooked the grassy side yard of the building. Lindsey had often thought she should offer it up as a good spot for a community garden, but she imagined that might push Ms. Cole right over the edge. Besides, it might be something to think about after the coming winter loosened its icy grip. Planning a garden would be a nice distraction from shoveling snow.
A large glass table dominated the room, and seven padded chairs on casters circled it as if awaiting a meal. There was a small cabinet along the back wall, which is where Lindsey stored the board’s snacks and beverages. She flicked on the lights and began to set up.
The lights in the main part of the library turned on automatically, and Lindsey poked her head out the door to be sure her staff had all arrived and were preparing to open. She could see Beth at the children’s desk, Ms. Cole was tending the circulation desk, two of their senior volunteers were wheeling a book truck to the book drop to empty the night’s haul, and Jessica Gallo, another part-time library assistant, was staffing the reference desk. All was calm on the library front.
Milton was the first to arrive for the board meeting. Always early, he offered to finish brewing the coffee while Lindsey went to print the agenda.
On her way to the office, she said hello to Ms. Cole and was greeted with a grunt of unhappiness. The lemon looked to have her full pucker on today. Given the weekend she had just had, Lindsey was not in the mood.
She stopped short and spun on Ms.
Cole. “Is there a problem?”
Ms. Cole raised her eyebrows in surprise and her lips thinned. “Of course not.”
“Then I would appreciate a civil greeting in the morning,” Lindsey said. “And I’m sure the rest of the staff would as well.”
Ms. Cole stared at her without blinking and then turned back to her computer without saying a word. For a nanosecond, Lindsey was overcome with a sudden and violent urge to howl like a dog at the moon. Luckily, it passed.
“I will assume from your silence that you agree,” Lindsey said. Feeling validated that she’d gotten the last word, again, she continued on to her office to pick up her notebook and paperwork for the meeting.
When she got back to the room, four of the five board members were in attendance, as was Herb Gunderson the liaison from the mayor’s office. The fifth board member, Doug Dowd was away on a cruise, so the group had agreed to go on without him.
Milton had taken his seat as chairman at the head of the table. Lindsey handed out the copies of the agenda while he called the meeting to order. The agenda was called to be approved by Lydia Wilcox, a retired teacher, and was seconded by Earl Longren, who owned the general store, and Carole Towles. As they moved on to the first items, Lindsey glanced out the window and saw Sydney Carlisle in a small white compact car with a rental sticker on the back, stopped at the stop sign in front of the library.
Sydney’s pale hair was again up in a twist, and she was talking on her cell phone while she sat there. She looked every bit the New Yorker, which explained the rental car. Most New Yorkers didn’t bother to own cars since they really served no purpose in the city. An older couple was in the crosswalk making their way to the library, and Sydney honked at them when they didn’t move fast enough.
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