A Likely Story: A Library Lover's Mystery

by Jenn McKinlay

  With a heavy sigh, she took out her phone and called the chief’s direct number.

  The snow had tapered off, and a light breeze was blowing what had fallen across the walkway outside. Lindsey watched it twist and swirl in the lamplight while the phone rang.

  Emma picked up on the third ring. “Chief Plewicki.”

  “Hi, Emma, it’s Lindsey,” she said.

  “Lindsey?” Emma sounded surprised. “What can I do for you?”

  “Forgive me,” Lindsey said.

  There was a beat of silence.

  “No conversation ever goes well that starts with those two words,” Emma said.

  “That would include this one,” Lindsey agreed.

  “What happened?”

  “Milton and I were in the library cleaning up after the board meeting,” Lindsey said. “We had the thought that if we lingered it might invite someone who was out in the cold, who has a good relationship with the library, to come in.”

  “Stewart,” Emma said. “You stayed late, hoping Stewart would show up. Did he?”

  “Yes,” Lindsey said. “And I was going to call you right away, I swear.”

  There was a smacking noise, and Lindsey got the distinct impression that Emma had just done a face palm, slapping her hand to her forehead in an expression of complete exasperation, for which she could hardly blame her.

  “I’m seriously considering locking you up, you know that?” Emma asked.

  Lindsey opened her mouth to answer, but Emma kept right on going.

  “I could hit you for obstructing an investigation, for hindering the apprehension of a suspect and for being a terminal busybody,” Emma raged. “Do you have a Miss Marple complex or something?”

  “Maybe, although I’m partial to Hercule Poirot, you know, because I share the same love of hot chocolate,” Lindsey admitted.

  “But you’re not a former detective, or Belgian, nor do you have a mustache—at least, not that I’m aware,” Emma said. She still sounded mad, and Lindsey noted her emphasis had been on her not being a former detective.

  “Are you ready to listen now?” Lindsey asked.

  She heard Emma take a deep breath and blow it out. “Go ahead.”

  Lindsey told her everything from the end of the board meeting to taking Milton to the medical center. Emma didn’t ask any questions until the end.

  “Stewart said nothing the entire time he was with you?” she clarified.

  “Not a single word,” Lindsey confirmed. “He just sat there humming. He did eat, though, and drink water. He looked cold, hungry and dehydrated.”

  “What did you say to him?” Emma demanded. “Did you tell him anything about the investigation?”

  “Not a word,” Lindsey said. “I asked him if he knew what happened to Peter, but he didn’t answer. I got the feeling he was in shock.”

  “I should still arrest you,” Emma muttered.

  Lindsey felt a frisson of alarm course through her. Would Emma really do that?

  “But you’ve given us the first confirmation that Stewart is at large and not murdered and missing, so I’ll let it slide this time.”

  “I am sorry that I didn’t call you right away,” Lindsey said. “But when I saw him looking so frail, my first thought was to take care of him. I don’t think he murdered his brother.”

  Lindsey expected Emma to mock her for making such a bold statement on nothing more than speculation, but she didn’t.

  “You’re a good reader of people,” Emma said. “I’ll take your description of his condition into consideration.”

  “Thanks,” Lindsey said.

  “How’s Milton?” Emma asked.

  “He seems okay, but I wanted to get him checked out just to be sure.”

  “Have him call me as soon as he’s able,” Emma said. “I’d like to hear his description of everything that happened. If he was jumped so that someone could get into the library to get to Stewart . . .”

  Her voice trailed off, and Lindsey knew she was mentally sifting through all of the possibilities just as Lindsey had. Probably, she was coming to the same conclusion as Lindsey: that Stewart’s situation was even more precarious than she’d realized.

  “I’ll have him get in touch with you,” Lindsey promised.

  They ended the call, and Lindsey felt relieved that Emma hadn’t been more annoyed with her. Being hampered by a broken leg was likely making Emma more amenable than usual since she wasn’t able to pound the pavement herself, she was more dependent on help from others. Still, Lindsey felt terrible that Stewart had fled or—worse—had been taken. She tried not to dwell on it, but the clawing fear that she might have unwittingly helped a murderer catch Stewart made her stomach clench.

  She paced the empty waiting room and pondered the events of the past couple of days. The question she couldn’t shake loose was why. Why had someone murdered Peter Rosen? The brothers kept to themselves on their island; they weren’t quarreling with anyone locally. Their island was a booby-trapped disaster, so even if someone had thought to rob them, they would be putting their life at risk to do it. Why would someone do that?

  None of this helped Stewart Rosen. In fact, all of it made him seem to be the most likely candidate for murdering his brother. But why would he? Lindsey wondered if taking care of his brother for all these years had suddenly become too much. Maybe he snapped and just couldn’t take it anymore.

  The idea just didn’t sit right. Lindsey shook it off. She couldn’t believe it of Stewart. She had seen the look of devastation in his eyes when she’d asked about Peter. It wasn’t the look of a man who had killed his brother. It was the look of someone who’d had his best friend taken from him.

  “Lindsey, are you all right?” Milton asked as he approached her.

  Lindsey turned away from the window to see Milton coming over with a nice neat bandage on his head.

  “That’s not the question,” she said. “The question is, how are you?”

  “Perfectly fine,” he said. “No damage done.”

  Lindsey narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Do I need a doctor’s note?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” she said. Then she smiled. She was very relieved that her friend was okay. “I spoke to Emma.”

  “How much trouble are we in?” he asked.

  Lindsey walked beside him out into the cold.

  “Scale of one to ten, with ten being big trouble and one being not so much, I’d say we’re a solid seven,” she said. “Maybe an eight.”

  Milton nodded. “Generous of her.”

  “Agreed,” Lindsey said. “She does want to talk to you as soon as you’re able.”

  “I’ll call her when I get home,” Milton said.

  Lindsey’s phone chimed while they walked out to the car. She checked the display. It was a text from Sully telling her that he hadn’t found Stewart and to call him when she had the chance. Lindsey texted back that she was taking Milton home and would call him afterward. In seconds, another text from Sully arrived saying he would meet her at Milton’s.

  Lindsey couldn’t tell from the texts whether Sully had any other news in regards to Stewart. She hoped not, since he didn’t write anything else, but then again, Sully was the sort to give bad news in person.

  When they got to the car, Milton held out his hand for his keys.

  “But your head,” Lindsey argued.

  “Will be safer if I’m driving,” he said.

  Lindsey slapped the keys into his palm. “I’m not that bad of a driver.”

  “Scale of one to ten with one being terrible and ten being great,” Milton said, “you’re hovering between a one and a two.”

  Lindsey let him open the passenger door for her, and she climbed in without huffing, mostly. They made good time to Milton’s house. When they got there,
it was to find Sully’s beat-up pickup truck parked in front.

  “I bet you’re going to get a talking-to,” Milton said. He had a teasing twinkle in his eye.

  “Laugh all you want. When Ms. Cole sees the bandage on your head, you’re going to get one, too,” Lindsey said. Milton quickly sobered. “Not so funny now, huh?”

  “Not even a little,” he agreed.

  They got out of the car and joined Sully next to his truck.

  “You all right, Milton?” he asked.

  “Fine, just fine,” Milton said. “Lindsey took excellent care of me.”

  “But I’m never allowed to drive your car again, am I?” Lindsey asked.

  “In a dire emergency, I might let you. Otherwise, no,” Milton said. “Do you two want to come in? I could make some green tea.”

  “That sounds nice, but you have a call to make,” Lindsey said.

  “Oh yeah,” Milton said. “Why do I think I’d rather be back in the urgent care getting poked and prodded?”

  “Chief Plewicki,” Lindsey explained to Sully.

  “Ah,” he said. “Good luck.”

  Lindsey and Sully gave Milton sympathetic glances as he said good night and turned and headed up the walkway to his old stone house.

  “Is she very mad at you two?” Sully asked. He led Lindsey around to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door for her.

  “I think she was so relieved to have it confirmed that Stewart is still alive that she’s cutting us some slack—this time.”

  “Well, you’re not going to get that lucky with me,” he said. He shut the door and circled around the truck to get in on the driver’s side.

  He sounded a bit miffed. Uh-oh.

  “Before you rip into me,” she said as he shut his door and fired up the truck, “let me just say that I fully intended to call Emma right away if Stewart showed up, but I was half asleep when he did show up and then I forgot my phone. I was afraid he’d get spooked if I left him alone, so I fed him some soup and crackers. You should have seen how weak he looked. I figured I’d call Emma as soon as I could.”

  Sully put the truck into drive and left Milton’s house behind, driving toward Lindsey’s apartment on the other side of town. He reached across the middle and took her hand in his. Lindsey wasn’t sure if it was a gesture of understanding or forgiveness, but she accepted the contact, grateful for the warmth of his hand around hers.

  “I’m glad you gave him soup,” he said.

  He turned and gazed at her, and Lindsey had the feeling that her taking care of Stewart had changed Sully’s mind about the situation.

  “Me, too,” she said. “He looked so cold and tired and sad. Oh, I wish he hadn’t disappeared.”

  “Do you think he ran off, or do you think someone knocked down Milton to get to him?” Sully asked.

  “There was only one set of footprints leaving through the staff door of the library,” Lindsey said. “I think, I hope, he bolted.”

  “I hope so, too, but I found something that makes me think maybe not. We need to make a short detour. I have to show you something.” Sully turned the truck into the library parking lot. He parked beneath one of the overhead lights and let go of her hand to take a flashlight out from under his seat. “Come on.”

  Lindsey hopped out of the truck and followed him. The snow had started falling again, adding to the thin coating already on the ground. Her breath steamed out of her nose, and she felt the bite of the wintery air pinch her cheeks while it made her nose run and her eyes water.

  Sully strode to the far corner of the parking lot and paused by a bare patch on the ground. It was rectangular in shape, roughly the size of a car. Someone had been parked here while it was snowing. He switched on the flashlight and followed some prints on the ground.

  Lindsey looked where he shone the beam of light. The details were as clear as a child’s imprinted snow angel. There was one set of footprints going toward the building, but there were two sets coming back. Unfortunately, one of them had drag marks on the heels, as if they were being forced toward the rectangular bare patch. The prints met up in the parking lot in an area that was blurred and the snow was tamped down as if there was a scuffle. When she and Milton had looked out the back door, they had seen only one set of prints.

  “Oh no,” Lindsey said. She crouched closer to the prints. “Someone got Stewart, didn’t they?”

  “I can’t say for sure,” Sully said. “But it doesn’t look good.”

  Lindsey closed her eyes and pressed her temples with the tips of her fingers. She could feel the mother of all headaches brewing in her skull just waiting to punch its way out.

  “It might not be him,” Sully said. He put his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of reassurance, but Lindsey didn’t believe him, and she didn’t think he did either. “I took pictures of the footprints and sent them over to Emma. She’s going to have one of her officers investigate it further after they finish sweeping the area for Stewart.”

  “If he gets hurt or worse, I’ll never forgive myself,” Lindsey said.

  Sully opened his arms, and Lindsey stepped into them. She could feel a sob bubble up in her throat, but she swallowed it. It went down hard like a rock, lodging somewhere in her gut.

  “It’s not your fault that he vanished off of the island or showed up at the library or disappeared again,” Sully said.

  Lindsey pressed her forehead into his chest. “Yes, it is.”

  Sully drew back, trying to see her face. “What do you mean?”

  “Milton and I stayed late at the library on purpose,” Lindsey said. “We were hoping to draw him out.”

  “Oh,” Sully said.

  “See?” Lindsey asked. “If he was kidnapped by whoever murdered his brother, then it’s my fault.”

  “That seems—” Sully began, but Lindsey interrupted him.

  “Highly likely given the footprints,” she said.

  Sully opened his mouth to speak, but Lindsey’s phone chimed. Thinking it might be Emma or Milton, she wrestled her phone out of her purse and checked the display. It was Robbie. Her chin dropped to her chest. In all of the excitement, she had forgotten to text him.

  Before she could answer, the chiming ended. She figured he’d leave a voice mail, and in the meantime, she could send him a text letting him know all was well, which was a total lie. As she looked at her phone, she saw that she’d missed several calls and just as many texts. Uh-oh. Sully’s phone started to ring.

  He pulled it out of his pocket and glared at the display. Lindsey remembered Robbie’s threat and tried to wave him away from the call.

  “Don’t answer—”

  “Hello,” Sully said into his phone, giving her a funny look. Then he lowered one eyebrow and pursed his lips. “Oh, it’s you, Vine.”

  Lindsey closed one eye as if witnessing a train wreck and not being able to look away completely.

  “She’s right here,” he said. “Yes, with me. She’s fine.”

  Sully glared at Lindsey and mouthed the words He knew? She gave him a sheepish shrug.

  “Here, talk to her yourself,” Sully said. He handed the phone to Lindsey and said, “Come on. You can talk to him while I drive you home.”

  “Hi, Robbie,” she said.

  “You didn’t text me, or call me, or send me a messenger pigeon, or anything,” he said. He sounded grumpy.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” she said. Then she lowered her voice and muttered into the phone, “You really couldn’t have picked someone else to call first?”

  “Oh, I did,” he said. “I ran through all of the crafternoon girls first.”

  Lindsey glanced at her phone. Sure enough, many of the messages and missed calls were from the girls.

  “Oh boy,” she said.

  “Yes, they’re all quite put out with you,” he said. “So te
ll me what happened.”

  Sully had retrieved Lindsey’s bike from the bike rack and put it in the back of his truck. She wondered what it meant that he knew the combination to her bike lock. With a grim look in her direction, he yanked open the passenger door for her, and Lindsey gave Robbie a rapid-fire account of the events as Sully walked around the car.

  “I’m sorry, love, this all sounds very worrisome,” he said. “Are you holding up okay? You know this isn’t your fault, right? How are you?”

  As soon as he asked her if she was okay, Lindsey cracked. All of the tears she’d been storing up since finding Milton laid out on the ground burst through her defenses, and she began to sob.

  “No, I’m not. I’m a mess.” The last part came out in a wail, and she sobbed, “I’ll call you later.”

  She thrust the phone at Sully. He put it up to his ear and said, “Good grief, man, what did you say to her?”

  Lindsey dug through her purse until she found a tissue and then blew her nose very loudly.

  “Sorry, pal, I’d love to chat, but I have to comfort a crying lady,” Sully said. “Of course, I won’t take advantage of the situation! But feel free not to call her again, really.”

  Sully ended the call and dropped the phone into his coat pocket. As the truck’s heater kicked warmth out over their cold feet, Sully lifted an arm and pulled Lindsey close.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “No, I’m scared for Stewart,” she said. “I’m worried and I feel guilty and stupid.”

  She blew her nose again. Sully ran a hand up and down her back. “He’s going to be all right. Stewart Rosen is made of tough stuff if he’s managed to live on that island as long as he has with no help.”

  “I hope so,” she said.

  “What did the overactor say that switched on the waterworks?”

  “He asked if I was all right,” she said. Sully gave her a look, and she explained, “You know how you can bluff your way through grief and upset until someone asks you if you’re okay and then WHAM you fall apart.”