A Likely Story

by Jenn McKinlay

  He looked pinched from the cold, as if his weathered skin had become hard and brittle in the February air. His face was pale, making the dark gouges under his eyes stand out even more in the library’s harsh fluorescent light. Lindsey wasn’t sure whether she should offer him a sandwich or a hug or both.

  Milton had bolted up in his chair, but Lindsey held up her hand, gesturing for him to be still since they didn’t want to scare Stewart away.

  “Good evening, Mr. Rosen,” she said. She tried to keep her tone even, as if it was no big deal to have him here in the library where she was quite sure he had never set foot before.

  Stewart’s pale eyes looked at her, but Lindsey got the feeling he was looking through her at something else. She wondered if exhaustion was making it difficult for him to concentrate.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked.

  She rose to stand and then moved around the counter, approaching him cautiously, as if he were a stray cat who had entered the building and needed care, which she supposed he was, in a sense.

  Although Stewart was wearing a coat, it was unzipped and his teeth were chattering. He had no hat and no gloves. Lindsey figured she’d better get something hot inside of him and quick.

  “Here, I think we have some soup in the staff break room,” she said. “How about we heat it up for you?”

  Gently, she took Stewart’s arm and started to lead him to the back. She could hear he was humming something to himself, but she couldn’t make out any words or a melody. She signaled to Milton to lock the door so that no one else wandered in.

  To her surprise, Stewart allowed her to lead him without balking. She motioned for him to sit at the small table and went to the cupboard to find some of the soup she always kept on hand for those days when grabbing lunch or dinner was near impossible because of meetings or schedule issues.

  She went with chicken noodle, figuring even non–soup eaters were good with that one. While it warmed in the microwave, she got him a big glass of water in case he was dehydrated, and a spoon. Stewart said nothing but rocked back and forth in his seat, still humming the same short tune over and over.

  Lindsey patted her pocket for her cell phone. She needed to call Emma. Her pocket was empty. Damn it. She’d left her phone out on the front desk.

  She wondered if she should go get it, but she was afraid to let Stewart out of her sight. He didn’t seem well. He looked frailer than she’d ever seen him, and clearly he wasn’t processing well, since he had yet to say a single word.

  “Drink some water, Stewart. It’ll make you feel better,” she said.

  His skin looked papery thin and fragile. She could see the blue veins on the back of his hands, which she noticed shook when he reached for the glass. He drank it all, and she refilled it. Given the state he was in, she figured it would be all right if she fed him before she called the chief. Surely, Emma would understand.

  The microwave oven chimed, and she took out the soup and put it on a plate, removing the plastic lid. It was steaming hot, so she added an ice cube from the freezer to help cool it more quickly so he could eat.

  “We’ve all been very worried about you, Stewart,” she said. “I’m glad you came into the library.”

  She put the bowl down in front of him and put the spoon in his hand. He looked confused until she pointed to the soup. A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and he tucked into the small bowl. Lindsey foraged in the cupboard until she found some crackers to go with it.

  She opened the wax wrapper and put the crackers beside the plate. Again she thought about going to get her phone, but she didn’t want him to panic if she left. She knew Milton was keeping an eye out front, because with the lights on, anyone might wander up to the doors and try to get in. Milton was to wave them away while keeping an eye out for Lindsey in case, well, in case Stewart was dangerous.

  Looking at him now, Lindsey couldn’t imagine it. She didn’t see a killer. Instead, she saw a cold, hungry, befuddled elderly man. It broke her heart to think that he’d been out there wandering the streets with no one to help him.

  He took a break from the soup and ate some crackers. Then he drank another full glass of water. Lindsey noticed that his hands were less shaky and some color was coming back into his face.

  “Stewart, can you tell me what happened to Peter?” she asked.

  She supposed it was a bit blunt, but if Stewart saw something, if he knew who had killed his brother, then she wanted to help keep him safe, and she could only do that if she knew what had happened.

  He glanced up at her and then down at his soup. He fiddled with his spoon. He stopped humming and looked as if he wanted to say something.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “You’re safe here.”

  She met his gaze, and his pale eyes searched her face, as if he was trying to decide if he could trust her or not. Lindsey didn’t move, didn’t even flutter an eyelash as she was so afraid of scaring him off.

  Stewart opened his mouth to speak when a loud bang and a shout sounded from the front of the library and they both started. Stewart looked as if he was going to get up and run. Lindsey put a hand on his shoulder as she stood.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “Milton is out there keeping watch. Stay here while I go see that all is well.”

  She hurried from the room and down the hall toward the front of the building. A draft was sweeping in through the open front doors. Open doors? Lindsey doubled her speed.

  She stepped onto the automatic mat and gasped. Lying facedown on the sidewalk at the bottom of the stone steps was Milton.

  “Milton!” she cried as she raced down the steps. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  Milton pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. A trickle of blood was running down the side of his head from a nasty gash over his left eye.

  He rose to his feet and swayed a bit. “I’m all right.”

  “No, you’re not,” Lindsey cried. “You’re bleeding!”

  “Am I?” He blinked at her and then gingerly felt the wound on his head. He looked at the blood on his fingers in wonder.

  “What happened?” Lindsey cried.

  “I think I got jumped,” he said. He stared at Lindsey as if he couldn’t quite believe the words he was saying.

  “Don’t move,” she said. “Are you dizzy, nauseous, losing your eyesight? Oh my God, if you’re hurt I’ll never forgive myself!”

  Milton took Lindsey’s hands in his. Suddenly, he was the one calming her down.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I scraped my head on the step when I was knocked down.”

  “Knocked down?” Lindsey asked. “Here, let’s get you inside.”

  Lindsey took Milton’s arm and led him up the stairs and into the library. She ushered him to one of the armchairs by the window and then dashed for the first aid kit that Ms. Cole kept behind the desk.

  Lindsey brought the metal kit over to Milton. Her fingers were shaking as she tried to pop open the latches. It was a first aid kit—why was it made sturdy enough to survive a zombie apocalypse? Milton reached over her and unhooked the lid for her. Lindsey gave him a rueful smile.

  She took out an antiseptic wipe and swabbed the blood off of his head. Under the blood, it turned out to be a gash, but not too deep, and she felt herself relax a bit.

  “What happened?” she asked as she applied pressure to the cut to stop the bleeding.

  “I was monitoring the front doors,” Milton said. “And keeping an ear on your conversation with Stewart just in case he, well, you know.”

  “Uh-huh,” Lindsey prompted him.

  “I was pacing by the doors, and then I looked out and there was a person lying facedown on the ground,” he said. “It looked like they fell, so I manually opened the door and hurried down the steps. I thought they’d slipped on a patch of ice or on the dusting of snow we’re getting.”

  Lindsey glanced out the window. Milton was right. It had begun to snow. She’d been so fran
tic when she saw him she hadn’t even realized.

  “Who was it?” she asked. “Were they hurt?”

  “I don’t know,” Milton said. “When I got near them, someone snuck up from behind and whacked me in the back of my knees and knocked me down. I conked my head on the steps and was just getting my bearings when you came out of the building.”

  “But that sounds almost as if they lured you out . . . Oh my God, Stewart!”

  Lindsey turned and ran to the break room at the back of the library. She darted into the room only to find it empty. She quickly checked the staff bathrooms around the corner from the staff room, but they were empty, too. She raced through the library, checking every dark corner and in between every shelving unit.

  She hurried back to Milton. “Stewart is gone.”

  “Oh no!” he said. He got to his feet, dropping the gauze he’d been holding to his head. “But how?”

  “I think whoever was outside was trying to lure you out so they could get inside and get to Stewart,” she said.

  “And I fell for it,” he said. He gave Lindsey a stricken look. “They probably ran in when you ran out to get to me. He’s likely been kidnapped by whoever murdered his brother.”

  “He also might have left when I came out to check on you,” she said. “It could be that Stewart heard the commotion outside and was frightened away.”

  “But we didn’t see anyone leave,” Milton said.

  “Maybe he used the staff entrance,” Lindsey said. “I’ll go check.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Milton said.

  “Let’s lock up first,” she said.

  Lindsey stopped by the front doors, manually pulling them closed and locking them before she led the way to the staff entrance. Together Lindsey and Milton pushed open the heavy metal door.

  The snow was falling faster now, and it pelted their faces while they peered into the small area illuminated by an overhead security light. Lindsey saw a fresh set of footprints in the snow. Someone had definitely been here very recently.

  “I think Stewart bolted,” she said.

  The footprints led away from the building and out into the parking lot. She was willing to bet they belonged to Stewart. She glanced at Milton. Despite assuring her that he was fine, he looked pale and shaky, and a knot was forming beneath the cut. She was taking him to an urgent care facility. Period. But she needed someone to look for Stewart.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’re going to get your head examined.”

  “Not the first time it’s been suggested,” he said. His tone was wry. “But it’s not necessary. I’m fine.”

  “Sorry, but it’s not negotiable.” Lindsey shook her head. “Wait here while I get my things.”

  She hurriedly shut down the library and grabbed her jacket and purse. She knew Milton had left his car parked in the back of the library. She would use it to drive him to the doctor, whether he liked it or not, and she would call Sully on her way and ask him to do a sweep for Stewart. It was the best she could do under the circumstances.

  Yes, she would have to call Emma, too, but after she had Sully already looking. She knew Stewart felt okay with Sully, whereas the sight of the police would probably cause him to run.

  She and Milton exited out the staff door, making sure they didn’t walk over Stewart’s footprints on the off chance they led to his whereabouts. Lindsey took Milton’s keys and handed him her phone as she assisted him into the passenger’s seat.

  “This is a manual,” Milton said. “Do you know how to drive a stick shift?”

  “It’s been a while,” Lindsey said. “But I’ll manage. Call Sully and tell him what happened.”

  Milton looked from the phone to Lindsey as if she’d just handed him a live snake. Scratch that—she had a feeling he would have preferred a live snake.

  He turned it around in his hand as if looking for the on switch. Lindsey took it back and tapped the button that lit up the screen, then she opened her contacts and called Sully’s number.

  “It’s ringing,” she said. She stepped on the brake and the clutch, stabbed the key into the ignition and cranked on the engine. She then released the brake and eased her foot off the clutch at the same time that she stepped on the gas.

  Since she had taken a pact to be more ecofriendly when she moved to the small town and got around primarily by bicycle or pedestrian power, Lindsey’s driving skills were the teensiest bit rusty, especially when it came to a manual transmission. Her stick shift skills had atrophied like an unused limb.

  The car bucked and bounced, and she quickly moved the stick into second, but she didn’t press the clutch in fast enough and it made a horrible grinding noise.

  “Oh dear God, my baby!” Milton cried. Milton, who never lost it, looked like he was about to have a meltdown.

  “No worries,” Lindsey said. “I’ve got it now.”

  Sure enough, as they picked up speed she managed to shift into third without grinding the gears, and she turned onto the main road.

  “What?” Milton said into the phone. “Oh, hi, Sully, it’s me, Milton, not your darling.”

  Lindsey gave him a sidelong glance, and he gestured for her to keep her eyes on the road.

  “She’s fine. She’s right here, but she can’t talk because she’s driving my car. Well, driving might be an overstatement,” Milton said.

  “Tell him what happened,” Lindsey said. “And ask him to go and look for Stewart.”

  Milton proceeded to recite the events of the evening to Sully with Lindsey shouting tidbits that he forgot into the phone. Finally, Milton lowered the phone from his ear.

  “He said he’ll head right out and sweep the area for Stewart,” Milton said.

  Lindsey blew out a relieved breath.

  “He also said that as soon as you get me to the medical center, you need to call Chief Plewicki and tell her everything, and after that he wants to talk to you.”

  Lindsey felt her shoulders ratchet up to her ears again.

  Milton must have sensed her stress, because he added gently, “Maybe Sully will find him.”

  “Maybe,” she said. She didn’t want to admit it, but she had a very bad feeling about the whole situation.

  * * *

  While Milton was taken into an exam room, Lindsey waited in the lobby. She paced back and forth a few times, trying to figure out what she was going to say to Emma. There was just no good way to say, I had your missing person and I lost him.

  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.

&n
bsp; “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.”