Better Late Than Never

by Jenn McKinlay

  “Milton, would you take Ms. Cole into the staff break room for bit? Maybe have some tea? I’ll have Paula take charge of the front for now.”

  The fact that Ms. Cole didn’t protest told Lindsey just how undone she was by the horrifying turn of events.

  “If anyone needs me, I’ll be back shortly. I’m going to take the book over to the police station and see what Chief Plewicki thinks about this. Hopefully, she can offer up a theory we haven’t thought of that will make more sense.”

  “Good thinking,” Milton said. “Emma is a very capable young woman and might have some useful insight for us. Perhaps we’re just overreacting.”

  His voice sounded hopeful, but Lindsey could tell from the drawn look on Ms. Cole’s face that she didn’t think they were overreacting, and Lindsey didn’t either.

  • • •

  It was a beautiful spring day outside. The month of May along the Connecticut shore was something special. The days were warm, the nights were cool, frogs peeped, birds chirped and flowers bloomed. So long as it wasn’t pouring rain, it just didn’t get any lovelier.

  At the moment, however, Lindsey was oblivious. She strode down the sidewalk to the police station, clutching the book in her hand. She had thought about calling Emma, the police chief, and having her come to the library, but with all the chaos of amnesty day, she figured it would be easier if she walked the book to her. Plus, she needed the fresh air to clear her head.

  In the few years she’d known Ms. Cole, she’d never seen her lose her composure. To Lindsey that alone proved the importance of the item in her hand. She glanced at the book. The iconic cover art of a line drawing of a carousel horse over a splash of red with the title in bold yellow lettering was always how she pictured the novel in her mind.

  She’d always assumed the artist had chosen the carousel scene in the book, where the young girl Phoebe rides the carousel in the park in the rain and her older brother, Holden, watches her and feels moved to tears. She’d always thought the horse on the cover was an overly dramatic rendition of the scene.

  Did the artist mean for the horse to look as fierce as it did? Was it supposed to represent Holden running away? She’d read that the author, Salinger, preferred plain covers with little text so as not to distract the reader. She wondered what he’d thought of this cover.

  She clutched the book closer. Why had Candice Whitley checked it out from the library? She was a high school English teacher, so this book should have been available at the school. Why go to the public library for it?

  It was well known in library circles that Salinger’s book was listed by the American Library Association as having been banned from some schools, but surely that wasn’t the case here in Briar Creek twenty years ago.

  Lindsey tried to remember if there’d been any books banned in her high school. She didn’t think so. Having grown up in a college town in New Hampshire, her school had been very forward-thinking, a reflection of the community, which was made up of academics and their kind.

  She turned onto the walk that led to the police station. She supposed she’d never know why Candice had checked out the book. The best she could hope for in this situation was to discover who had returned the book and hope that it really was just a random happenstance. She tried to ignore the prickle of unease she felt with the realization that Candice had been at the library checking out this book shortly before she was killed. She also tried to ignore the very real possibility that whoever had returned the book might be connected to Candice’s murder, and in fact, might be her murderer.

  Lindsey pulled open the glass door and strode into the station. Officer Kirkland was seated at the front desk. His freckled face broke into a wide smile when he saw Lindsey.

  Big, raw-boned and tall, with a shock of fiery red hair that was trimmed into a flat top, Officer Kirkland was a presence that was hard to ignore, sort of like an overeager golden retriever. His toothy smile was always welcoming, and Lindsey knew he was considered a friendly face among the residents of the town.

  “What have you got for us today, Ms. Norris?” he asked, rising from his seat.

  “Lindsey,” she corrected him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  Lindsey shook her head. Kirkland was only eight years younger than her but whenever he addressed her with a Ms. or a ma’am he made her feel like she could be his grandma. For months she’d been trying to break him of the habit with no success.

  “Is Chief Plewicki in?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, she’s meeting with Mayor Hensen and his right-hand man, Herb Gunderson,” he said. He leaned forward. “Do you want me to call her? Is it an emergency?”

  Kirkland’s eyes lit up at the possibility of chaos and mayhem. Lindsey knew that the sleepy little town of Briar Creek probably wasn’t the hotbed of criminal activity that the young officer hoped for. Still, they’d had their fair share of heinous crimes over the past few years, so he really didn’t need to feel neglected in the criminal investigation sciences.

  “Settle down, cowboy,” she said. “I’m not sure what I’ve got just yet.”

  Kirkland flushed, duly chastised, and nodded at her.

  “Sorry. It’s just that we’ve had some burglary activity lately and I thought you might have a lead for us.”

  Given that the case Lindsey was interested in was over twenty years old, she doubted it would help them in any way.

  “I think it’s safe to say I’m here on an unrelated matter,” she said. “But it might be of interest to the mayor, so if they could squeeze me in, that’d be great.”

  “I’ll check,” he said.

  Lindsey wandered over to the bulletin board to study the missing posts for dogs, cats and a barbecue. She had been through the missing-dog thing herself recently when her puppy, Heathcliff, had wandered off, scaring about five years off of her life. When she looked at the missing pictures posted by her fellow residents, she knew exactly how desperate they felt. Well, not the guy missing his barbecue, but everyone else.

  “She said to go on back,” Kirkland said. He put down the phone and held open the half door that led to the back of the station. “They’re in her office.”

  “Thanks,” Lindsey said.

  She walked down the short hallway and stopped before Emma’s office. She rapped lightly on the wooden door and waited until she heard Emma yell, “Come in,” before she pushed the door open and entered.

  The office was spacious with a large desk and bookcase on one side and a round glass conference table with four cushy leather desk chairs on the other. Both the mayor and Herb half rose out of their seats when Lindsey stepped into the room, but Emma didn’t. She was still in a big black boot for her recently fractured leg and Lindsey knew it was still giving her trouble.

  “Afternoon, Lindsey,” Mayor Hensen said. Dressed in his usual impeccably tailored suit with his dazzlingly perfect teeth, Hensen looked the part of the quintessential mayor.

  “Hello, Lindsey,” Herb said. Like a big looming shadow, wherever the mayor was, Herb was sure to follow. Lindsey had determined during her years of working with them that Herb’s picky, pedantic personality was the substance to the mayor’s flash.

  “Good afternoon. I’m sorry to interrupt,” she replied.

  Emma gestured Lindsey to the vacant seat. “No, it’s fine. You’ve got good timing. We were just wrapping up.”

  Lindsey settled into the chair and the mayor finished what he’d been saying when she had arrived.

  “I’ll need daily updates on the progress of the investigation,” he said. “The sooner we catch whoever is doing this the sooner we can ease the minds of the residents.”

  “About that,” Chief Plewicki said. “I was thinking we really need to let people know that there is a burglar in town. They’re going to hear about it through word of mouth—you know how fast things spread around here—and it�
�ll be worse if it isn’t coming from my office. It’ll go from being small burglaries in vacant houses to a crazed rapist in a clown suit breaking and entering with a flamethrower and handcuffs.”

  Lindsey snorted and both the mayor and Herb gave her dour looks.

  “Sorry,” she said. “But she’s right.”

  Herb looked pinched by the colorful description, but they all knew Emma was right. When rumors flew through town unchecked, they took on a mythology all their own, which was one more reason why Lindsey was keeping her private life, well, private.

  “I see your point,” Mayor Hensen said. “I’ll speak to the editor of the weekly and see if he can run a news piece that disseminates the information accordingly without causing a panic.”

  Lindsey knew that what he really meant was to have the paper spin the story in the least damaging way possible toward the mayor’s office, but she didn’t feel the need to point it out.

  Herb and Emma nodded as if they agreed and then Emma turned to Lindsey and said, “Kirkland said you have something of interest to us all?”

  “Perhaps, or maybe I just need a second opinion,” Lindsey said. She put the book on the table and Emma frowned.

  “Oh, man, I hated that book,” she said.

  “What?” Mayor Hensen asked. “How could you? It’s one of the best books ever written.”

  “Meh,” Emma said. “Holden Caulfield is a whiner.”

  Herb glanced between them as if unsure of what opinion to offer. Lindsey narrowed her gaze at him. She’d seen that look before, most recently on Mary’s face during their crafternoon.

  “You’ve never read it, have you?” she asked.

  “No.” He shook his head but he looked relieved, as if he considered this the best possible answer under the circumstances.

  “What about you?” Emma asked Lindsey. “You probably loved it.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asked. “Just because I’m a librarian I have to love all the literary classics?”

  “Sort of goes with the job, doesn’t it?” Emma asked.

  “No,” Lindsey said. “Honestly, I didn’t love it or hate it. Mostly, I felt sorry for Holden that he goes through one awkward and miserable experience after another. It does capture the impetuous manic emotions of the age though, doesn’t it?”

  “Exactly,” Mayor Hensen agreed. “It is so raw. It brings you right back to that time in life where you are not a child or an adult but something wedged awkwardly in between.”

  Lindsey was impressed. She hadn’t thought Mayor Hensen was the type to get swept up in a book. She’d always assumed he was more of a non-fiction reader.

  “There was too much angst,” Emma said. “I loathe angst.”

  “In any event,” Herb said. He glanced at the clock on his cell phone. “Why does the book bring you here, Lindsey? Have we had complaints about the library owning the book? Is someone asking us to reconsider it as part of the collection?”

  “Blasphemy!” Mayor Hensen said.

  “No, not that I know of at any rate,” Lindsey said. “Actually, it’s this particular volume that is the dilemma.”

  She sighed as she opened the book up and took out the overdue notice Ms. Cole had dug out of her file cabinet. She turned it so that the others could see it.

  “It may be nothing, but this book was returned today during our amnesty day, and it came to our attention that it was checked out over twenty years ago.”

  “Excellent!” The mayor thumped his fist on the table. “So the amnesty is working.”

  “Oh, yes, materials are coming back in droves,” Lindsey said. “But this one”—she paused to tap the cover—“this one is problematic.”

  “How so?” Emma asked.

  “According to our file of overdue notices, it was checked out by Candice Whitley on the same day she was murdered,” Lindsey said.

  “What?” Herb Gunderson asked. He stared at the book as if demanding an explanation from its pages. “That can’t be. That’s not possible.”

  His face went a sickly shade of gray and then it flashed a hot sweaty red as if in outrage. Lindsey had never seen so much emotion come out of Herb before. She glanced at Emma, who was also watching Herb with a curious gaze.

  “Easy.” Mayor Hensen put his hand on Herb’s arm. He then turned to Lindsey and said, “I’m afraid I’m not following why a book being returned on a day we’re offering to waive fines would be of any interest to our police chief. Wasn’t the entire purpose of the amnesty to get people to return long-overdue items?”

  “Yes, it was, but given that this book has no history that we can find other than being checked out to Candice Whitley on the day she died, we were concerned that it may have been returned by the murderer,” Lindsey said. She pushed the book toward Emma. “If she had it on her at the time of the murder, it stands to reason. Don’t you think?”

  Emma opened her mouth to speak, but Herb interrupted with a sharp, “No! That is not possible, and I refuse to allow this unsubstantiated speculation to go any further.”

  “Excuse me?” Emma asked. “I’m sorry, when exactly were you made the chief of police?” She made a show of checking the badge on her left front pocket and then pointed to it. “Huh, that’s my name, so I’m thinking this is my call.”

  “I just . . . it’s . . .” Herb stammered, and Mayor Hensen held up his hand to signal for him to stop talking.

  “I think what Herb is trying to say is that we have a rash of burglaries that are happening right now. They need to be the top of your priority list,” Mayor Hensen said. His tone made it clear that he believed he was in charge of the police department and had the final say on how Emma spent her time.

  Lindsey could have told him how that was going to go, but when it came to Emma, men seemed to have to learn the hard way.

  Emma was a pretty woman with a heart-shaped face, full lips, big brown eyes and arching eyebrows. Small in stature and very curvy with a mane of long dark hair that hung just past her shoulders, she was not what a person usually pictured when they heard the title chief of police.

  Because she was so pretty, people, mostly men, frequently made the mistake of thinking she wasn’t as strong-willed and self-directed as a man. Much like Herb and the mayor thought they could tell her how to prioritize her caseload right now. Big mistake.

  “First, the last time I checked I answered to the town council, not the mayor’s office, so unless there’s been a power shift of which I am unaware, I would suggest you not try to direct me on how to do my job.”

  Mayor Hensen looked like he would argue, but Emma never gave him the chance.

  “Second, there is no statute of limitations on murder,” Emma said. Her voice was low and soft with a lethal hiss, like a snake about to strike. “So I don’t give a damn if Whitley was murdered last night or twenty years ago. If there is a clue relevant to her case, which has never been closed, then I will follow it to the ends of the earth if I have to, and I will do it at the same time that my team and I investigate the burglaries. Am I clear?”

  Herb and Mayor Hensen exchanged seriously unhappy matching looks.

  “Of course,” Mayor Hensen said. “I wasn’t telling you how to do your job.”

  “I’m sure you weren’t,” Emma said. “Given that you’re not my boss.”

  Mayor Hensen’s lips compressed into a thin line. Lindsey knew he didn’t like to be reminded of the limitations of his position.

  The hierarchy had been a sticking point in the relationship between the mayor and the chief of police for years. Both reported to the town council and were considered completely separate departments, although the mayor’s office had been lobbying to have the police department put under its supervision for as long as Lindsey had been in town and she suspected for even longer than that.

  The town council was intractable on the topic, feeling that the
possibility of corruption was too great if the police were to report to the mayor, which Lindsey thought was a valid point. The mayor, however, felt that having the police under his supervision would help the two departments work more closely together.

  So far, not one Briar Creek police chief had felt the need to work more closely with the mayor’s office. No one in town was surprised by this, except perhaps the mayor.

  Mayor Hensen checked his watch. He rose from his seat with the stiff posture of a toddler who’d gotten his sandcastle kicked back into the dirt.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” he said, “I have a presentation to give this afternoon at town hall that I need to prepare.”

  Herb rose too, grabbing his notepad and pen. He looked at the copy of the book on the table and Lindsey put her hand on it. She wasn’t sure why, but instinct told her not to let either man touch it.

  “I’ll be in touch about the burglaries,” Emma said.

  Both men strode toward the door, but Herb paused in the doorway. He looked uncomfortable and then he said, “I’d appreciate being kept up to date on the Whitley case as well as the burglaries.”

  “Of course,” Emma said.

  Herb nodded stiffly and left the room. Lindsey turned to look at Emma. She knew she had one eyebrow raised just like Emma did, as if to say, What was that?

  “Was it just me or was that weird?” Lindsey asked. She took her hand off the book.

  “That’s an understatement,” Emma said. “I know Hensen can be a bit of a blowhard, but he has never tried to tell me how to do my job before.”

  “Did you see Herb’s face?” Lindsey asked. “He actually looked nervous and angry, but mostly nervous.”

  “Yeah, that was odd. It was almost as if he was afraid,” Emma said. “I think I’m going to pull the case file on the Whitley murder and do some reading.”

  “Need any help with that?” Lindsey offered. She knew Emma wasn’t likely to take her up on it but it never hurt to offer.

  “No.” Emma took the book and the overdue notice. “But thanks for offering.”