Better Late Than Never

by Jenn McKinlay

  “Sure,” Lindsey said. Sensing their meeting was over she rose from her seat and held out her hand to help Emma up. The chief of police accepted the help and Lindsey steadied her, allowing her to get her balance on the unwieldy boot.

  “I can’t wait to be done with this thing,” Emma said. “When it comes off, I’m buying a dozen pairs of really cute shoes, pink high heels with sparkly bows and any other ridiculous footwear that I never appreciated before.”

  “That is an excellent goal, although platforms are not the easiest things to chase bad guys with,” Lindsey said. “And you’ll wind up back in a cast.”

  “I know.” Emma shook her head. “Every time I watch a cop show and they have the female detective wearing high heels, I want to kick her in the patootie. I mean, really, who writes those shows? It just ruins it. Ruins it, I tell you.”

  “I’m guessing male writers,” Lindsey said. “Male writers with superhero-chick fantasies.”

  “Huh, those boys need to be schooled.” Emma grunted as she hobbled across the room to her desk, where she sat down and propped her foot up.

  “What are you going to do with the book?” Lindsey asked.

  “I’ll have Detective Trimble from the state police take it to their forensic lab,” Emma said. “They have the equipment to check it over for any evidence not visible to the naked eye—you know, tiny fibers, blood splatter, stuff like that. After so much time, however . . .”

  She zipped the book into an evidence bag and put it in her outbox. Lindsey felt a pang of worry. She wasn’t sure if it was for the book or the mystery surrounding it, but she felt an unsettling sense of loss and unease as she headed to the door.

  “Oh, Lindsey.” Emma called her back.

  “Yes?”

  “When you start reading up on the old newspaper articles about the Whitley murder, let me know if you find anything of interest,” Emma said. “Particularly if they mention her whereabouts on the day of her murder and if she had the book on her at the time of the murder. It’s unlikely, but you never know. If the reporter writing up the story was detail-oriented, we may get lucky.”

  “I wasn’t going to . . . Okay, yeah, sure I will,” Lindsey said. Then she grinned. “You know me pretty well, Chief.”

  “It’s my job,” Emma said and returned Lindsey’s smile. “Photocopies of anything of interest would be most welcome.”

  “Roger that.”

  Lindsey left the police station feeling slightly better about the situation. The fact that Emma thought the book might be a clue in Candice Whitley’s murder made her feel less paranoid, although she supposed it should actually make her feel more paranoid, given that it meant there could very well be a murderer in Briar Creek.

  The question she couldn’t let go of, however, was why? Why had the book been returned now? What had changed that the murderer wanted to bring attention back to the murder case, or had it just been a mistake?

  She felt a shiver start at the base of her spine and shimmy up her back vertebra by vertebra, ruining the calm she’d felt moments before. If the book being returned was a mistake, what would the murderer do to get the book back?

  Lindsey picked up her pace as she hurried down the sidewalk toward the library. Housed in a square stone building that was formerly a captain’s home, the library overlooked the town park and the ocean beyond.

  The Thumb Islands, an archipelago of more than one hundred islands if the person counting them included the big rocks, filled the bay, giving Briar Creek a first line of defense against the hurricanes and foul weather that blew in across Long Island Sound.

  Today there was no need to fear the weather as the sky was a pristine blue without even a puffy white cloud floating by to block the sun. The breeze was light and tugged at the ends of Lindsey’s long blond curls, snapping them just like it did the flags that flew high on the pole in front of the library.

  Lindsey took a deep calming breath of the briny sea air. She glanced at the building before her. It was solid and strong, resembling a fortress of knowledge found in volumes and volumes of years of accumulated wisdom.

  There. That made her feel better. She had no reason to panic. The answer to any question was always within reach. And in this case, she might be borrowing trouble for no reason.

  The book might not be the clue she feared it was. The person who returned it may have had nothing to do with Candice Whitley’s death. Even if it was the murderer, they might not even realize they had returned the book. Truly, she was making herself nervous for nothing.

  She stepped onto the rubber mat and the automatic doors whooshed open.

  “Lindsey, help!”

  She glanced up as she strode across the main room to see her library assistant Ann Marie Martin waving to her. She looked like she was signaling for Lindsey to throw her a life preserver in a choppy sea. Lindsey turned in her direction and picked up her pace.

  Ann Marie had recently been promoted from a clerk position in circulation to a library assistant in reference. Lindsey had been training her for a few weeks, but with so many resources to learn, it really took six months to a year before a new hire could manage the reference desk without second-guessing their abilities.

  “How can I help?” Lindsey asked as she circled the desk to join Ann Marie behind it.

  “I know there’s a resource that will tell us what every library owns, but I can’t find it,” Ann Marie said. She frowned at the computer as if it had betrayed her.

  “WorldCat,” Lindsey said. “It’s at the bottom of the list of electronic databases.”

  “That’s it!” Ann Marie said. She glanced at the patron who stood waiting on the other side of the desk. “I told you she was a book wizard.”

  “Book Wizard; I like it,” Lindsey said. “Sounds snazzier as a job title than Information Specialist.”

  Lindsey smiled at the patron and recognized Brian Kelly. He was new to Briar Creek, having moved here from Portland, Oregon, just a few months ago. He had the hipster look going, with the skinny jeans, wrinkled flannel shirt, uneven face scruff, black-framed glasses and a beanie that covered his short-cropped thick black hair. Lindsey guessed he was somewhere around her age, give or take a few years.

  “Hi, Brian, how are you?” she said.

  They had only spoken a few times, but Brian was rapidly becoming one of her favorite patrons. He was very well-read and, while they had dissimilar tastes in reading material, she always enjoyed hearing his recommendations.

  “I’m chill, how you doin’?” he asked.

  Lindsey smiled. “Not chill, but okay.”

  Brian tipped his head to the side as he studied her. “You know what you need?”

  “Oh, boy, hit me,” she said.

  “Shteyngart,” he said. “Particularly, Super Sad True Love Story.”

  “I don’t know. I’m off the dystopian stuff,” Lindsey said. “It tends to leave me in very bleak places, especially if the ending is a bummer. I’m not really up for an existential crisis right now.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but the snark factor is high in Super Sad,” Brian said. “I think you’d dig it.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  Ann Marie glanced between them while she tapped away on the keyboard. “It’s like you’re speaking English and yet I can’t understand a word of it.”

  Brian and Lindsey grinned at each other.

  “Sorry,” Lindsey said. “Book-lover’s shorthand.”

  “I have so much reading to do,” Ann Marie said. As the mother of two rambunctious boys, her reading had been limited over the past few years to picture books and children’s novels, but now that her boys were older, she was planning to make up for lost time. She seemed to leave work every evening with a big stack of books. Lindsey had no idea how she managed to get through them all.

  �
�That’s the one curse of this job,” Lindsey said. “As hard as we try, we can’t read them all.”

  “Okay, I think I’ve found the book of poems that you’re looking for in three local libraries,” Ann Marie said to Brian.

  Lindsey observed Ann Marie’s use of the World Catalog, a resource to which libraries from all over the world contributed. It was the most comprehensive catalog for materials worldwide, and Lindsey used it frequently to track down materials in other libraries for their patrons.

  Ann Marie swiveled the monitor of her computer so that Brian could look at the listing.

  “That’s it,” he said.

  Ann Marie smiled. “One of the libraries will let us borrow it for you using interlibrary loan, but it may take a few weeks. The other two own the item but don’t circulate it,” she said.

  “No problem,” he said. “I can wait.”

  “I didn’t know you were a poetry fan,” Lindsey said.

  “It’s an interest of mine,” Brian said.

  He looked sheepish and Lindsey suspected it was more than an interest. She wondered what it would take to get him to let her read some of his poetry. She figured she’d wait until the right time to ask, like when his book came in.

  “Here’s the form I’ll need you to fill out,” Ann Marie said. “Then I’ll go ahead and process this request.”

  “Thank you,” Brian said.

  Lindsey knew that Ann Marie could take it from here. “I’m going to head into my office. Call me if you need me.”

  “Good luck getting in there,” Ann Marie said. She glanced over at the circulation desk and then shook her head.

  Lindsey followed her gaze and gasped. In the time she’d been gone it looked like a dump truck had arrived to unload more materials on the library. She couldn’t see Ms. Cole through the towering stacks of books. She knew that couldn’t be good.

  “Oh, boy,” she said. It was with a certain sense of doom that she walked over to the circulation desk to help.

  “Is that my sweater vest?” Lindsey asked Beth.

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean, maybe? Either it is or it isn’t.”

  “It depends upon whether you agree to loan it to me or not,” Beth said.

  They stood in the staff break room, taking a few minutes off from shelving the carts of books that filled the circulation area. With the amnesty close to being over, Lindsey had emptied the book drop for what she hoped would be the last time that day. Surely, no one else could be hoarding any more overdue books.

  “Okay, why would I be loaning you my most favorite purple vest?” Lindsey asked. “The last time I checked it was hanging in the small closet in my office. Did you go into my closet? You do know that’s my go-to vest for when it’s freezing in here, right?”

  Beth pursed her lips and studied the ceiling and then began to whistle the tune to the story time song Ten in the Bed. Lindsey was not to be deterred.

  “Beth,” she said. She tried to make her voice sound stern but that just wasn’t her gift.

  “I saw it hanging in there when the door was open and I couldn’t resist trying it on. If I cinch it with a belt, it’s a perfect fit.” Beth demonstrated by putting her hands on her hips and pantomiming a belt. Lindsey frowned.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Remember when we roomed together in grad school and you used my black formal gown to play the part of Maleficent during a story time at your internship in the Hill section of New Haven?”

  “Vaguely,” Beth said. She did not meet Lindsey’s eyes.

  “The dress came back crusty with toddler booger and vomit,” Lindsey said.

  “Oh, yeah, that was the same outreach preschool that gave me the flu, twice,” Beth said. “It’s all coming into focus now.”

  “I love you, you know I do,” Lindsey said. “But I really don’t want my favorite vest to come back crusty.”

  “Understood,” Beth said. “I was merely hoping to use it for one program.”

  “Will the program include spit-up, poopy diapers and a bubble machine?” Lindsey asked. “Because that would be bad.”

  “No, it isn’t for a story time. I would be wearing it for a program for the teens,” Beth said. “Aidan and I have decided to cohost a gamers’ prom.”

  “A whater’s what?”

  “Gamers’ prom,” Beth said. “You know, with music from popular video games, decorations that are video-game based and food. Can’t you just see Pac-Man cupcakes or Destiny cookies?”

  “I’m seeing frosting ground into the carpet and Ms. Cole stroking out,” Lindsey said.

  “No, it’ll be great. The teens can LARP their favorite characters—”

  “LARP? That sounds illegal. Is that illegal?” Lindsey asked. She could feel her anxiety start to spike.

  “LARP means live action role play,” Beth said. “Honestly, I thought you were hipper than this.”

  “Me, too,” Lindsey said. “I think I need to spend more time in the children’s area and bone up on my youth skills.”

  “Here’s a tip,” Beth said. “Don’t use the words bone up around teens ever.”

  Lindsey snorted. “Got it.”

  “Anyway, we were thinking the teens could dress up as their favorite game characters,” Beth said. “And Aidan and I are going in costume as Link and Princess Zelda.”

  “If I understood the reference it would be romantic, wouldn’t it?” Lindsey asked.

  Beth turned a pretty shade of pink and said, “Yeah, Link has to save Princess Zelda from Ganon. Isn’t it great? I finally get to go to the prom with a man who isn’t going to spend the evening trying to get past second base.”

  “Would that be because he doesn’t have to try?” Lindsey asked. She wiggled her eyebrows and Beth turned an even deeper shade of pink.

  “Maybe,” she said. Then she giggled. “And Zelda always wears a purple tunic sort of thing over a white dress. This sweater vest is perfect, especially when I bling it out with some gold sleeves.”

  “No blinging!” Lindsey said. “If you borrow it, it comes back exactly as it left me.”

  She would have been fiercer about protecting her favorite vest, but it did her heart good to see her friend so happy. Beth had been looking for a decent guy for a long time and by all accounts Aidan Barker was a keeper.

  Lindsey and the crafternooners had done a thorough background check on him. After all, what was the point of being an information specialist if you couldn’t use your skills for good, like checking out the judicial branch website for the state of Connecticut to see if the guy your friend was dating had served time or had outstanding arrest warrants?

  “All right, you can borrow my vest,” Lindsey said. “But take care of it.”

  “I promise. I’ll even get it dry cleaned when I’m done.”

  “Deal,” Lindsey said. Beth grinned and disappeared with a wave back into her natural habitat: the children’s section of the library.

  Lindsey walked back to the front of the building. She wanted to check on Ms. Cole. There had been a lot of harrumphs and told-you-so’s coming from behind the piles of books all afternoon, but Lindsey had also seen Ms. Cole at her most vulnerable. Despite the lemon’s gruff exterior, Lindsey wanted to make certain that she was all right. She hadn’t asked to go home, so Lindsey assumed she was okay, but she felt it was important to be sure.

  Of course, she also wanted to ask Ms. Cole about Candice Whitley. The lemon had been so overwrought about finding the overdue book that Lindsey was curious about how close Ms. Cole had been to Candice Whitley. She seemed to have been genuinely fond of the young teacher, which was remarkable mostly because the lemon was not fond of very many people.

  Lindsey glanced around the main room of the library. Most of the regulars had gone home for dinner. She knew there would be a small rush after six that would last until seve
n thirty and then the final half hour would be quiet until they closed.

  Lindsey glanced at the clock. She only had a few minutes until she was done for the day. Curiosity caused her to throw caution to the curb as she approached Ms. Cole, who was manning the front desk.

  “How are you feeling, Ms. Cole?” she asked.

  Ms. Cole glanced at her over the top of her reading glasses. Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion. She was no dummy.

  “Fine,” she answered. She glanced at the book trucks behind her. “Considering the amount of work that has deluged us.”

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right after . . .” Lindsey let her voice trail off. She wasn’t sure Ms. Cole would appreciate her mentioning her bout of hyperventilation.

  Sure enough, Ms. Cole drew herself up so that her back was ramrod straight. “I can assure you I am back to normal now that the shock has worn off.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Lindsey said. She watched as Ms. Cole checked in a few items. When she didn’t move away, the lemon looked back at her, again over the top of her glasses, which Lindsey had to admit was quite the intimidating look.

  “Was there something else?”

  “Yes, actually,” Lindsey said. She forced a smile. Ms. Cole didn’t return it. Not a big surprise. “I was wondering what you could tell me about Candice Whitley?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “That’s what I said.” Ms. Cole continued checking in materials.

  “But why?” Lindsey asked. “If we gather enough information, maybe we can help figure out what happened to her.”

  “That’s why I said no. You are a librarian, not a detective,” Ms. Cole said. “You need to comport yourself with the decorum of an information specialist, not an officer of the law.”

  “But—”

  “No.”

  Ms. Cole stared at her as if she was willing her to go away. Talk about a stonewall. Lindsey felt like she had run at full speed into the bricks at Platform 9¾ and had not been able to magically slip through. Ouch!