Books Can Be Deceiving

by Jenn McKinlay

  “I’ll talk to Detective Trimble,” she said. “I’m sure he can tell us what the process is.”

  “I want to make sure he’s laid to rest in Briar Creek Cemetery,” Beth said. “I know he wasn’t a native, but he lived here for five years, and he really loved his island.”

  “Milton can probably make sure of that,” Lindsey said. “Maybe Sydney can tell us who his lawyer was. If he left a will, he may have stated what he wants done with his body. That would make it a lot easier.”

  “Good idea,” Beth said. “Lindsey, I know this wasn’t the library career you had in mind. I know your heart belongs to those ancient papers you spent your twenties archiving, but I have to tell you, I am really glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too,” Lindsey said, surprised by how much she meant it. “Me, too.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Lindsey picked up the photograph of her family, taken last Thanksgiving at her parents’ house, from where it resided on the corner of her desk. She studied the four of them while she mulled over what Beth had told her yesterday about Rick.

  She had always been close to her parents. A book lover from childhood, she had been well suited to be the daughter of academics. She couldn’t imagine not exchanging daily e-mails with them or missing her weekly call home. Her brother, Jack, was the rambunctious one; brilliant but adventurous, he had always looked to escape the small college town of their childhood.

  Even now, Lindsey could hardly keep up with him, and last she’d heard, about a month ago, he was off to study snow monkeys in Japan. She loved him dearly, but he’d always made her feel pale in comparison. Her fair skin and blonde hair when measured against his olive complexion and black hair just never seemed to have much oomph. The only feature they shared was their mother’s hazel eyes.

  Where she loved the comfort of the familiar, surrounding herself with the same environment she’d grown up with, he longed to see every corner of the globe, live out of a bag and wake up in a new time zone every day. They were as different as night and day, but still, she couldn’t imagine her world without Jack and her parents, and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the lost little boy Rick had been, shuffled from foster family to foster family but never really belonging.

  A knock on the door broke Lindsey out of her reverie. Violet La Rue, wearing her usual brightly colored flowing caftan, strode into the office.

  “Hi, Lindsey. I just brought a hot dish over to Beth’s.” Violet sat down on the other side of Lindsey’s desk. “She looks terrible. I don’t think she’s slept in days.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” Lindsey said.

  “What’s wrong?” Violet asked. “Other than your story time.”

  “You heard about that?”

  “Please, you were the talk of the Blue Anchor last night. That knot on your head is a lovely shade of purple, by the way.” Violet’s lips twitched, and Lindsey knew she was teasing her.

  “I tried to accessorize it.” Lindsey gestured at her purple sweater, which she’d put on over a pair of charcoal gray slacks and black suede boots.

  “Very nice,” Violet said. “Anyway, since I got a message from Nancy that our crafternoon has been canceled for this week, I thought I would offer up my services to fill in and do Beth’s story time until she comes back.”

  “Oh, Violet, really?” Lindsey asked. “That would mean so much to Beth and to our regulars.”

  Violet waved a graceful hand. “I’m happy to help for as long as you need me.”

  Another knock sounded at the door, and they both looked to find Ms. Cole standing there, looking more puckered than usual.

  “A detective is here to see you,” she said.

  “My cue to go,” Violet said, and she rose from her seat with a wave to Lindsey. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” Lindsey said. She rose, too.

  As Violet left in a swirl of color, Detective Trimble entered. Ms. Cole stood in the doorway, obviously hoping to be invited to join them.

  “Thank you, Ms. Cole,” she said.

  Ms. Cole gave her a dour look and shut the door behind her.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” Detective Trimble said.

  “Not at all,” Lindsey said.

  He took the seat Violet had just vacated, and Lindsey resumed her seat.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I’ve been going over your statement,” he said. “I have some questions about the time frame of events.”

  Another knock sounded at the door, but before Lindsey could answer, the door swung open and in stepped Chief Daniels.

  “Well, now isn’t this cozy?” he asked as he strode into the room and sat in the last remaining chair. “I must have misplaced my memo about this meeting.”

  Lindsey glanced at Trimble. He looked completely at ease, so she felt herself relax. If he wasn’t going to let Daniels get to him, then neither was she.

  “You must have,” Trimble agreed. “Ms. Norris and I were just going over the time frame of the day.”

  Lindsey had to wonder why they felt the need to revisit the day’s events. What more could they know now that would make this information important? Then it hit her. “You know the time of death, don’t you?”

  Trimble studied her for a moment while Chief Daniels said, “Well, that hardly seems the point. And even if we did . . .”

  “Yes, we know the approximate time of death,” Trimble said.

  “Well, that’s wonderful, then you know that Beth couldn’t possibly . . . oh, no,” she stammered to a halt. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  Chief Daniels opened his mouth, but Trimble silenced him with a hand. “It makes it very possible for your friend to have committed the murder.”

  Lindsey felt as if an icy hand was clutching her insides and squeezing hard. “She didn’t.”

  Daniels made a snort of disbelief and crossed his arms over his chest. Trimble ignored him, but Lindsey had to resist the urge to kick him.

  “Help us prove it,” Trimble said. “Let’s go over the day again. We’ll be talking to Captain Sullivan, too.”

  “Okay, well, it started at the Blue Anchor,” Lindsey said. “We were meeting Sydney Carlisle for an early lunch.”

  “And then,” Chief Daniels prompted her, sounding irritated.

  Lindsey shook her head. “Well, we went for a walk while I told her about the book Rick plagiarized.”

  “Supposedly plagiarized,” Chief Daniels countered. “There is no proof that he stole Ms. Stanley’s work.”

  “No proof?” Lindsey snapped. “He took everything. The main character, the plot and what would have been the start to a career.”

  “Prove it,” Daniels said.

  Lindsey felt her jaw spasm, she was clenching it so hard.

  “Let’s stay on task, shall we?” Trimble asked. “We aren’t here to decide a plagiarism case; we’re trying to solve a murder.”

  Lindsey took a deep breath. He was right. “After I showed Beth the catalog page, we decided to go out and see Rick to ask him about it.”

  “And what time was that?”

  “I’m not sure. Ronnie was working the desk at Sully’s office. She might have a better idea. I know we had to wait quite a while for Sully to come in with the taxi. He was out picking up the Ginowskis.”

  “Once Sullivan arrived, how long did it take you to get to Mr. Eckman’s island?”

  “A little less than an hour,” Lindsey said. “I was so busy looking at the scenery, I don’t know that I’m the best judge of time passing.”

  “How about your friend’s portfolio?” Chief Daniels asked. “Are you a good judge of that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Rick Eckman was stabbed. Your friend was carrying that big bulky case. It would have been easy for her to conceal a knife in there.”

  “You think Beth had a weapon?” she asked.

  Chief Daniels stared at her and then said, “Yep. Woman scorned and all that. It’s the oldest story in
the book. Broad gets dumped and stabs the man. The end.”

  “Did you just say broad?” Lindsey asked. She wasn’t sure, but she could feel her eyeballs practically bulging out of their sockets. “What decade are you living in exactly?”

  “Now, everyone, let’s just calm down,” Detective Trimble said.

  “I will not calm down,” Lindsey said. “This troglodyte needs to catch up to a few thousand years of evolution, come out of his cave and get a clue. Now this interview is over. If you have any more questions for me, you can contact my attorney.”

  “Do you really want to play it that way?” Detective Trimble asked.

  Lindsey tipped her head at Chief Daniels. “I don’t think I have a choice. I won’t help you railroad my friend just because he’s too lazy to perform a real inquiry.”

  “Hey!” Chief Daniels jumped to his feet in protest. His fists knotted up, and Lindsey stood up to face him.

  If he took a swing at her, she’d have him locked up in his own jail so fast he’d have whiplash.

  He seemed to see the resolve on her face because he uncurled his fists and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Trimble said as he rose and pushed Chief Daniels toward the door, none too gently.

  “I don’t doubt it,” Lindsey said.

  Once they left the library, she sank into her seat. She was so angry she was shaking. She didn’t doubt that Detective Trimble was trying to do a solid investigation of Rick’s murder, but Chief Daniels had already made up his mind that it was Beth, and he was going to do everything he could to skew the case that way.

  Had she really told them to contact her attorney? Oh, dear. She supposed she could call her father and have him give the family lawyer a heads-up, but she didn’t want to worry her parents. They’d been in a state over her for the past year.

  The grim reality of what she had to do settled in her chest like a stone. Without dwelling on it, she picked up the phone and dialed the number she hadn’t called in over six months, although she still knew it by heart.

  “Hello?” The voice on the other end sounded achingly familiar.

  “Hi, John. It’s Lindsey,” she said.

  “Lindsey.” His voice wrapped around her name with ribbons of regret and longing. It caught her off guard.

  “I’m sorry to call you out of the blue,” she said.

  “No, don’t be,” he said. He cleared his throat.

  There was an awkward pause, but Lindsey took a deep breath and forged ahead. She would treat this just as a business call. She would push aside the memories of this man as her best friend, her partner, the person with whom she’d thought she’d spend her life. No big deal, really.

  “I need a favor,” she said.

  “Anything.”

  “Can you recommend a good criminal defense attorney?” she asked. “It’s for a friend.”

  Silence greeted her request, and then he said, “The best is Kerry Sharpe.”

  “Excellent,” she said. She could almost hear his brain buzzing with questions. She tried to lighten the conversation. “I always figured knowing a law professor would come in handy one day.”

  “Lindsey, we need to . . .” John began, but she cut him off, “Thank you so much, John. Take care of yourself.”

  “Lindsey . . .” he began but she hung up.

  She replaced the phone on its receiver and let out a breath. There—that hadn’t been so bad. Yeah, right. Then why did she feel as if someone had snuck up and kicked her in the pants when she wasn’t looking?

  She did a Google search on Kerry Sharpe and found the number for his New Haven office. She would pass this on to Beth later today as a just-in-case.

  In the meantime, she was going to see what else she could find out about Rick Eckman. Beth had said she didn’t feel as if she knew him as well as she should have after five years. Sydney Carlisle had called him a recluse, but he had to have a past. Everyone did.

  She figured she’d start with his books. She left her office and headed for the picture books. He would be filed by his last name in the E section. Because the children’s area was geared toward kids, obviously, the shelving was all low to the ground, giving kids access to the books.

  Lindsey crouched and went past Go, Dog. Go! by P. D. Eastman, a classic, until she reached Eckman. They had several copies of Rick’s books. She grabbed one and checked the back-cover flap. Oddly, there was no author picture. The bio was short, stating that Rick was an award-winning author who lived in the Northeast. That was it.

  Lindsey checked another book, but it had the same bio. She flipped to the front to see what the acknowledgments said. They were cryptically brief, too. For my editor, S. C., and my agent, T. R. Thanks.

  Lindsey snapped the book shut and put it back on the shelf. None of this was helpful. She really didn’t want to pester Beth, but if they were going to steer Chief Daniels in a different direction, they needed more information.

  She wanted to talk to Sydney again, and Rick’s former agent, too. She wondered if Detective Trimble had already done so. Of course, he would have access to Rick’s house and all of his personal files so he may be working through a list of people in Rick’s life, and quite probably he was finding someone with a stronger motive for murder than Beth.

  Still, Lindsey would feel better if she talked to someone who knew Rick, either on a personal or professional level. Then, if Beth needed to retain an attorney, she’d have some information to give them.

  Lindsey glanced out the window. It was mid afternoon. The sky was blue, the air still. Maybe she would just go take a walk along the pier and see if anyone was around.

  She grabbed her purse and left her office. Ms. Cole was in the workroom, bossing their teen pages around.

  “No, no, no,” she said. “How many times do I have to tell you that in fine sorting, you go all the way through the Cutter number? So, obviously, 743.27 L293 comes before 743.27 R731.”

  The young man looked miserable, and Lindsey had no doubt he was mortified to be dressed down in front of the other page.

  “Hi, Perry,” Lindsey said as she joined their group. “I see Ms. Cole is teaching you the finer points of the Dewey decimal system.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Perry said. He looked as if he were bracing for her to yell at him, too.

  “It’s a little tricky, but once you get the hang of it, it makes a lot of sense. Heather has been working for us for a long time, so if you get confused just ask her,” Lindsey said. “Right, Heather?”

  Heather blushed and nodded.

  “Excellent,” Lindsey said. “It’s always nice to have a mentor. Oh, and Perry, the artwork you did for the bulletin board in the children’s area is fantastic. I meant to tell you that earlier. I had no idea you were so talented.”

  “Uh . . . thanks,” Perry stammered.

  “Well, I’d best let you get back to shelving,” Lindsey said. “I’m sure you have them up to speed now, don’t you, Ms. Cole?”

  “There’s more to learn.” Ms. Cole glared at her with her eyebrows forming a dagger’s point in between her eyes.

  Lindsey had no doubt that she had just deprived her of her afternoon’s plaything. Too bad. She wouldn’t tolerate bullying on her staff.

  “True, there’s always more to learn, but just like you can’t eat a five-course meal in one bite, you can’t learn an entire job in twenty minutes. Why don’t you two take this cart out and start shelving?” Lindsey asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said together and practically ran from the workroom in their haste to get away.

  “Am I in charge of the pages?” Ms. Cole asked.

  At least that’s what Lindsey thought she said. It was hard to make out her words as she was talking between clenched teeth.

  “Absolutely,” Lindsey said. “And I’m sure they’re as fond of you as you are of them.”

  That left Ms. Cole staring at her in confusion, but Lindsey didn’t linger. She wanted to get going before the chief or
the detective or the reporter or anyone else came looking for her.

  Ann Marie was working the front desk. Lindsey gave her a big smile and said, “I’m taking some personal time for an appointment. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Okay,” Ann Marie called after her. “See you later.”

  Lindsey gave her a weak smile and kept going.

  The door swung shut behind her, and she shouldered her bag and headed for the pier. The lunch crush had dissipated from the Blue Anchor, and Mary was seated at one of their outside tables, enjoying the mid afternoon lull. She was reading her copy of The Last Time I Saw Paris and soaking up a little sunshine while she ate a late lunch.

  “Hi, Mary.”

  “Hey there.” Mary glanced up from her plate of cheese fries. “How’s tricks?”

  “They’ve been better,” Lindsey said. “Beth has taken some time off, and I am really getting annoyed with Chief Daniels.”

  “I heard he’s decided she’s the murderer,” Mary said. “What an idiot. How is she holding up?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Lindsey said. “At least Violet is going to sub in for her story times.”

  “Yeah, that’s a nice knot on your head,” Mary said. Lindsey sighed and Mary continued, “Don’t take it too hard; story time just isn’t your gift.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Story time just isn’t . . .” Mary began but Lindsey cut her off, “I get it.”

  Lindsey glanced down the pier to see if the water taxi was in. The sun glinted off of its bright canopy, and she felt like this was confirmation that her crazy idea was a good one.

  “Is Sully kicking around?” she asked.

  Mary lifted a brow and studied her for a second. “He just finished lunch. Why?”

  “Oh, no reason, really,” Lindsey said. “Hey, I’m going to stretch my legs. I’ll be back.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mary gave her a dubious look, and Lindsey knew full well that she’d be asking her brother what this was about later. That was fine with Lindsey. She just didn’t have time to explain right now.

  She waved and hurried off toward the boat office on the other side of the pier. The rough-hewn planks, worn from years of sun and sea, were uneven beneath her feet, and she was glad she had on a pair of low-heeled boots.