Sandra Lippins was a new library board member, and as far as Lindsey could tell, she was only on the library board because she wanted to create a hullabaloo over their current hours to make herself feel important—that and Sandra clearly enjoyed the sound of her own voice as she droned on and on and on. Lindsey did want to hear Milton’s take on the collectors, however.
“We might need something stronger than tea. Come on. You can pick out a cupcake while I get the water ready,” Lindsey said.
Together they entered the break room. Lindsey left Milton to pick out his pastry while she filled the kettle and went back to her office to plug it in.
She glanced out the window and noted that it was still gray and cold out there and it felt as if the sky were a giant gloved hand pressing down on their little town. Maybe it was just her own projected anxiety about the Rosen brothers, but still, her heart felt heavy.
The kettle whistled, bringing her attention back to the task at hand. She was just putting the cozy on top of the ceramic teapot where the loose-leaf brew was steeping when Milton returned.
He took the seat across from Lindsey’s desk, and they debated how they could structure the board meeting so that Sandra would have her say without holding the rest of the board hostage as she proselytized about library hours and policies and how she wanted it all changed.
Lindsey poured the tea while Milton polished off his cupcake. They agreed that they would implement a timekeeper at the next meeting so that things could keep moving forward instead of spending an inordinate amount of time on one nonissue and not getting to the rest.
“We have the minutes from the last meeting,” Lindsey said. “We can start documenting the discussions should we need to point out the problem to Sandra more directly.”
“Let’s try keeping time first,” Milton said. “If she doesn’t take the hint, then we can approach her more straight on.”
“Excellent,” Lindsey said. “I think this will work well. I hope it will. I don’t want to embarrass anyone.”
Milton sipped his tea with a thoughtful look on his face.
“Is something else bothering you, Milton?” she asked. “Do you have another idea on how to curb Sandra’s enthusiasm?”
Milton glanced up from his teacup with a grin. “I like the diplomatic way you put that. But no, I’m afraid my thoughts circled back to Stewart. I just can’t get his disappearance out of my head.”
“I know,” Lindsey said. “I don’t know what happened at the house, but I’m worried that he’s out there somewhere, lost and confused.”
“Or on the run. As you said, we don’t know what happened,” Milton said. “Stewart’s never been out of Briar Creek. If he is off-island, I suspect he won’t have gone far.”
“I’m sure Chief Plewicki and Detective Trimble are searching everywhere,” Lindsey said. She finished her tea and put her cup aside.
“Not that it will do them much good. Stewart has been roaming the town at night for years. He probably knows all of its nooks and crannies,” Milton said. “If he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. There’s really no way to lure him in.”
“Unless he feels safe,” Lindsey said. “Unless he trusts someone.”
“Such as?” Milton asked.
“I was thinking about the collectors,” she said. “I know they were in touch with Peter, but he must have told Stewart about them, don’t you think? And clearly they share a love of . . . stuff.”
“Maybe, but he’s never met them face-to-face,” Milton said. “From what they told me, I don’t think they’d recognize Stewart if they ran into him, and it’s doubtful he’d recognize them either.”
“So, who does that leave for Stewart to trust?”
“You.” Milton gave her a keen look.
“Me?” Lindsey blinked. “I mean, I’ve gone out to their island every other week for over a year. Stewart and I have gotten to the point where we’re pretty good at talking about the weather, favorite authors, the weather.”
Milton smiled. “If there is one thing a New Englander knows how to talk about, it’s the weather.”
They were both silent for a moment. Milton finished his tea and put the cup in the saucer on the edge of Lindsey’s desk.
“You know, our board meeting runs right up to closing tonight,” Lindsey said. “We may have to clean up afterward, leaving the lights on and the door open on the off chance that someone may wander by.”
Milton scratched at his goatee as he considered her words. “I could stay out front in the reading area, keeping an eye on things, while you sit at the front desk where you are visibly cleaning up.”
“We can play it by ear if anyone comes into the library,” Lindsey said.
She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to say out loud what they were clearly planning to do, but she gathered from Milton’s nod that he felt the same way.
“I think that’s an excellent idea, and it’s perfectly reasonable that we’d be tidying up after a meeting,” he said. He rose from his seat and took Lindsey’s empty cup and saucer along with his own. “I’ll take care of these.”
“Oh, thank you, Milton,” she said. “I’ll see you at the meeting tonight.”
“Seven o’clock,” he confirmed and left her office.
Lindsey leaned back in her seat and blew out a breath. She wondered if she should call Emma. She didn’t want to bother her if their crazy scheme came to nothing. Just because Stewart hadn’t ever left Briar Creek before didn’t mean he hadn’t left now, and that was assuming he was off on his own and not the victim of a murderer like his brother.
Lindsey shook her head. She rejected the idea that Stewart had been killed, partly because she liked him and really hated the idea but also because there was nothing to indicate that he had been harmed. Of course, there was the issue that if he hadn’t been harmed, he might have been the one to kill his brother, but until they knew for sure, she chose to operate on the assumption that he was on the run from the killer and not a killer himself.
Lindsey thought back to the books Stewart had requested for Peter over the past year and how when he spoke of his brother, it was with obvious concern and affection. She couldn’t reconcile that with Peter’s murder. She just didn’t see Stewart committing fratricide.
Her cell phone chimed from its spot on her desk. She picked it up and glanced at the display. A small smile tipped her lips when she answered.
“Hi, Robbie,” she said. “How’s New York?”
“Dreary,” he said. “I’m sitting in a café on Broadway, and they have a wall full of books but no adorable librarian to tease, and their tea is abysmal.”
“That does sound dreary,” she commiserated. “However will you survive?”
“It’s a mystery,” he said. “I was hoping to have a nice long-distance tea with you. Are you available?”
“Sadly, I just finished afternoon tea,” she said.
“What? With whom?” he demanded. His crisp British accent sounded perturbed, and Lindsey felt badly for teasing him. “It wasn’t the son of a sea dog, was it?”
“No, it was Milton Duffy,” she said. “We were planning for tonight’s board meeting and catching up on the local gossip.”
“Ah yes, speaking of which, what is the news on the incident back there? Have they figured out exactly what happened to the poor chap on the island yet?”
“No,” she said. “The medical examiner is performing an autopsy, and Chief Plewicki is doing her best.”
“She is remarkably capable,” he said.
“You only say that because the two of you were in cahoots not so long ago,” she said. She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling while they talked. She was surprised to find she had really missed Robbie’s company, and it was comforting to talk to him now.
“Now, now, all was forgiven,” he said. “Extenuating circ
umstances and all that. Tell me what else is happening at home.”
“Home?” Lindsey asked. “I didn’t realize you thought of Briar Creek as home. Don’t you have houses all over the world?”
“Houses, not homes,” he said. “There is a difference. And yes, I do think of Briar Creek as home. My son is there, as well as two of my oldest friends and you. That makes it more of a home to me than anywhere else on Mother Earth.”
Lindsey felt her insides get all warm and fuzzy. She knew Briar Creek was mostly home to Robbie because it was where he’d discovered his teenage son, but it felt nice to be included in his list of important people.
“I haven’t lived here for very long either, and I feel the same way,” Lindsey said. “There must be something about this place that makes a person not want to leave.”
Her voice trailed off as her words brought her back to the Rosen brothers.
“Uh-oh,” Robbie said.
“What is it?”
“I know that tone in your voice,” he said. “You swerved over into thinking about the incident, and I’ll bet you’re butting into the investigation, aren’t you?”
“No!” she cried. It came out more defensively than she would have liked, and Robbie took it to mean he was right.
“Aha! I knew it!”
“You know nothing,” she said. “Oh, look at the time. I have to go.
“No, you don’t,” he said. “You’re just avoiding my questions. What are you planning, Lindsey Norris?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll call Emma,” he said.
“On what grounds?” she asked. “Your suspicious nature?”
“No, on my excellent sense of people and my intuition when someone is planning something brainless.”
“Ah!” she gasped. “Brainless? I’ll have you know Milton and I put a lot of thought . . . Damn it.”
“I knew it! Milton, eh?” he asked. “That does up the ante, doesn’t it? Spill, darling, or I’ll call Sully.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said.
“Try me,” he said.
“All right, fine, but I’ll have your word that you won’t interfere,” she said.
“How can I give you my word when I don’t know what you’re up to?” he asked.
“You have to trust me,” she said.
Robbie was silent, and Lindsey could hear the ticking of her wall clock while she waited for his answer. She would not waver on this; either he gave his word or the conversation was over.
“Bollocks!” he cursed. He was silent for a moment, wrestling with his decision. “Fine, you have my word.”
Lindsey told him everything. To his credit, Robbie didn’t interrupt her but listened with careful consideration.
“What’s your plan if he does show up?” he asked.
“I’ll call Emma,” she said.
“Right away?” he persisted.
“Yes,” she said.
“You hesitated,” he accused. “Love, what are you hoping to accomplish if he does come into the library? Are you looking to get a confession out of him?”
“I did not hesitate,” she said. “I’m just being thoughtful about my answers. Mostly, I’m just worried about him. He’s elderly. He’s out there alone.”
“And he could be a bloody nutter who just committed a homicide,” Robbie added.
“He’s not,” Lindsey insisted.
“You don’t know that,” he said.
Lindsey tipped forward in her chair. She knew she was right about Stewart. No, she didn’t know it for a fact, but she felt as if she did.
“As an actor, you trust your intuition, right?” she asked.
“Have to.”
“Well, as a librarian, I have to trust my instincts, too,” she said.
“Wouldn’t they be more geared toward judging the literary merits of a book?”
Lindsey smiled. “Maybe, but as a public servant, I have to trust my gut when it comes to my patrons. I have to have a sense of who they are, what they need and how I can help them.”
“You’re worried the old duffer is going to freeze to death out there or worse,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “If I can get him to come to the library, I can make sure he gets the care that he needs.”
“Why?” Robbie asked. “I mean, why is he so important to you?”
Lindsey thought about all of the times she’d stopped out at the island to bring the Rosens their books. Stewart had been so shy at first. He hadn’t made eye contact. He’d spoken with a mumble. The very first time she’d arrived, he’d hidden behind a piling at the dock and peered out at her like a little boy instead of a grown man. She had grown fond of him, and it had felt a lot like taming a wild bird to get him to trust her.
Eventually, he had spoken to her and even joked with her. The last few times she’d been out to the island, it had been to find him pacing the dock, waiting for her. Yes, she was fond of him, but also she felt sorry for him. From what she’d learned, he seemed to be a prisoner in his own life, and his only escape had been books.
“Because I could be him,” she said. The words surprised her. She wasn’t quite sure where they’d come from, but their truth made her squirm a bit in her seat.
“Meaning that if your life had played out differently, you could be a hermit, living alone with limited human contact whilst hiding in books,” Robbie said. His voice was full of understanding.
“Yes,” she said. “When I was younger, I used books as a shield to keep separate from others. If it hadn’t been for my brother, Jack, forcing me out of my shell, I don’t know what would have become of me.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” Robbie said. “I think you’re more sociable than you realize, and maybe it is all of those books and all of those characters that you became while reading that have given you your social skills.”
“Maybe,” she said. She’d never thought of it that way before.
“Either way, it’s a very lucky thing that you ended up in such a demanding community as Briar Creek, where it’s impossible to hide,” he said.
“That’s for sure,” she said.
“Stewart is going to be all right,” he said. “From what you’ve told me, I’d wager he’s a survivor.”
“I hope so.”
“Text me tonight and let me know what happens,” he said.
“But you’ll keep your promise not to tell anyone beforehand,” she said.
“Only if you text me and let me know you’re all right,” he said. “Otherwise, I will call everyone, the crafternooners, Emma, even that blasted buoy boy.”
Lindsey laughed. Robbie could splutter all he wanted, but she knew she could trust him to keep his word.
“Thank you,” she said. “I promise to let you know what happens right away.”
“Now we have one more very important thing to discuss,” Robbie said.
“What’s that?” she asked. She felt herself get nervous. She never knew what he was going to say next and she found it just a little nerve-wracking.
“How much do you miss me?” he asked.
“Quite a bit, actually,” she said, smiling at his flirtatious tone. “But that’s not surprising. I always miss my friends when they’re away.”
“Oh! The word friends is like a dagger to the heart,” he cried. “Shakespeare wrote about this sort of thing, you know.”
“‘Friendship is constant in all other things / Save in the office and affairs of love,’” she said.
“Much Ado About Nothing,” Robbie identified the play.
“Precisely,” she said, and he laughed.
“Well played,” he said. “All right, I will try not to make much ado about this situation, but I don’t like it, and I will worry.”
“Don’t. Milton will be with me, and I’ll keep you informed,” she said. “I promise.”
They ended the call shortly after that, and Lindsey found herself smiling when she thought of Robbie and his silly chatter. He hadn’t told her what exactly he was doing in New York and she found she was curious. She shook her head as if to rid herself of the thought. Even though he was her friend and there was something unspoken between them, what he did during his time away really wasn’t any of her business.
* * *
At seven o’clock, the board members began to file into the library. Lindsey waited by the front desk, not to greet them but to see Beth off.
Aidan had arrived at ten minutes to seven, which sent Beth into a tizzy, because even though she’d been ready for over an hour, she was convinced she wasn’t wearing the right clothes, her hair was a mess and her red lipstick was too loud.
“I can’t do this,” she wailed, looking like she was going to bolt into the back room.
Lindsey was about to talk her down when Ms. Cole glanced up from the computer where she was checking in a stack of books and snapped, “Get ahold of yourself!”
Beth turned to give her what for, but the lemon held up her hand in a stop gesture.
“You are creative, funny, clever, smart and cute. If the man doesn’t see all of that, he is not worth a second of your time. Now get out there and stop being such a ninny.”
Beth opened her mouth and then closed it. She smoothed her pencil skirt with her hands and took a deep calming breath.
“Thank you,” she said to Ms. Cole. She strode out from behind the desk with her head held high and an engaging smile on her lips.
Ms. Cole nodded in approval as she and Lindsey watched Beth walk to the door to greet Aidan, who stepped into the building looking quite dashing in a dark wool coat with a Black Watch plaid scarf draped about his neck.
“That was . . . well done, Ms. Cole,” Lindsey said.
“Eh, we’ll see if this one lasts. Goodness knows that girl always picks the lame duck,” Ms. Cole said, and she turned back to her books.
A Likely Story: A Library Lover's Mystery Page 10