Better Late Than Never

by Jenn McKinlay

“No, it’s not your fault,” she said. “I’ve been on edge ever since my house was broken into.”

  “Oh, that’s awful,” Lindsey said. “I heard there was a series of break-ins. I’m so sorry you were one of them.”

  “They didn’t take anything of any value,” she said. “Just silly odds and ends, really, but it’s the feeling of being violated, of knowing that someone went through your things. It’s unnerving.”

  She shivered and Lindsey almost did, too, knowing exactly how it felt to have your home broken into, given that her apartment had been broken into the year before.

  “It is disconcerting,” she said. “To say the least.”

  Judy looked at her. “You’ve been robbed?”

  “More like vandalized,” she said. “But it did give me the heebie-jeebies for several days.”

  “And I live with my mother, who is getting on in years and not well,” Judy said. “She was fine, actually slept through the whole experience, but the thought that she could have been harmed. It’s terrifying.”

  “I can imagine,” Lindsey said. “If there’s anything I can do . . .”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine,” Judy said. She looked anything but.

  Lindsey turned and went toward the door.

  “I hope you’re wrong,” Judy said.

  Lindsey turned back and gave her a questioning look.

  “About the murderer being the one to return Candice’s book,” Judy said. “I really hope that it was just a happenstance, you know, someone finding it and returning it, having no idea that it was her book.”

  “It could be that,” Lindsey said. “But if it wasn’t, if it was the killer, I think it’s best that we prepare for the worst.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Her killer is still out there.”

  “I was seriously thinking I might need to send the robotics club on a search-and-rescue mission to find you,” Paula said.

  She and Lindsey were walking back to the library. The midafternoon sun was warm and the briny breeze blew in from the bay, tugging at their hair and clothes as if inviting them to come and play.

  “Sorry about that,” Lindsey said. “I ran into Judy Elrich and we started talking and I lost track of the time.”

  “She’s one of the English teachers?” Paula asked.

  “She is. In fact, she worked at the high school twenty years ago and then moved away, but recently came back to take care of her elderly mother,” Lindsey said.

  “Twenty years ago,” Paula said. She turned to look at Lindsey and tossed her thick purple braid over her shoulder. “What an amazing coincidence that you just happened to run into her on our visit to the high school.”

  “I know, right?” Lindsey asked. She grinned at Paula, knowing full well that the other woman had figured out her ploy.

  “Ms. Cole warned me about this,” Paula said.

  “About me?” Lindsey asked.

  “Not so much you as your inclination for sleuthing,” Paula said. “A little too much time spent in the mystery section of the library? Maybe you need to mix it up a little and tap a romance or a fantasy novel, or maybe a YA book.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re making fun of me?” Lindsey said.

  “No, I’m not,” Paula protested. “Okay, maybe just a little.”

  “I’ve been told I have buttinsky issues,” Lindsey said. “I thought about trying to change but then figured I should just embrace my character flaw and try to make the best of it.”

  “Well, if it helps track down a murderer, I don’t see how I can really argue with it,” Paula said.

  They stepped onto the mat that led into the library at the same time. The building seemed quiet in the late afternoon, and Lindsey was relieved. She really wasn’t up for a stopped-up toilet or an argument between patrons.

  Paula stopped in the office to put away her purse before joining Ms. Cole on the desk. Lindsey went right out to the reference desk to give Ann Marie a much-needed break. For the next few hours it was business as usual.

  When the library was finally quiet as people left to go home for dinner, Lindsey thought about her talk with Judy. She hadn’t seemed to think that either Matthew or Benji could be responsible for what happened to Candice, but it definitely didn’t seem like it could have been a random act of violence either—not with the way her body had been so carefully arranged after death.

  Lindsey spent a grisly half hour reading up on the motives for strangulation by ligature. The information was alarming. According to the articles referenced in the book Criminal Profiling: International Theory, Research, and Practice, it takes five to fifteen seconds for the victim to be rendered unconscious, seventy-five percent of the victims are women, and the motives are usually rape, sexual jealousy or personal rivalry.

  No one had mentioned whether Candice had been sexually assaulted. Judging by the lack of mention in the news articles, Lindsey assumed that she had not been. Could it be that Candice’s attacker was driven off before he could abuse her? Maybe he hadn’t meant to kill her, just subdue her, and he went too far. Lindsey shivered. She hated this. She hated everything about this. Mostly she hated that this poor woman had been dead for twenty years and her killer had gotten away with it.

  She remembered that Daniels had said that Candice looked as if she was sleeping and that at first he had thought she was. That wasn’t consistent with an attack where the perpetrator ran off in a hurry. Whoever had killed her, sex was not the driving motivator. So what was? Would they ever know?

  Lindsey wondered if Judy was right. Maybe this whole thing was just a wild-goose chase. Perhaps the book had been passed from reader to reader and was found on someone’s bookshelf and they returned it during the amnesty because they could, never knowing that it had been checked out to Candice on the day she died.

  But there was that element of coincidence that was just too random. Why was the book still in Briar Creek? If it had been loaned about for twenty years, wouldn’t it have ended up in another town or state? Lindsey wasn’t one to believe in coincidence. Then again, why now? Why twenty years after the fact did the book suddenly reappear at the library?

  “You look like you’re brooding about something,” Robbie said as he took the empty seat next to Lindsey’s reference desk.

  “Brooding; good word,” Lindsey said.

  “What have you uncovered about the death of Candice Whitley?” Robbie asked. “I know you must have figured out something because you look troubled and not in an I’m-in-love-with-a-divine-British-actor-and-don’t-know-what-to-do-about-it sort of way.”

  “Actually, I am beginning to doubt myself. I think I may just be looking for trouble. I keep telling myself that I don’t believe in coincidences but maybe that’s all it is. Maybe the book being returned isn’t a sign that the killer is back. Maybe it just found its way home.”

  Robbie shook his head back and forth as though he couldn’t believe what she was saying.

  “Lindsey, I am shocked. Shocked.”

  She looked at him with wide eyes.

  “I did not think you were one to get discouraged so easily,” he said.

  “I just think . . .” she began, but he interrupted.

  “That’s the problem!” he cried.

  He was so loud, several heads snapped in their direction. Lindsey was forced to bust out her shusher, which she generally avoided using unless the situation was extreme.

  “Shhh,” she said. She even did the finger to the lips, which made him smile.

  “There’s my librarian,” he said.

  Lindsey rolled her eyes.

  “This is serious,” she said.

  “I know shhh in a library is a very big deal,” he said.

  Lindsey pressed her lips together to keep from smiling at his goofy face and encouraging his shenanigans any further.

  “
You know I’m not talking about that,” she said. She propped her elbow on her desk and rested her chin in her hand. “A young woman was murdered, and by making a big deal out of a book she checked out being returned, I think I’ve upset some people.”

  “Ah,” Robbie said. “You’re feeling guilty.” His green eyes were filled with understanding.

  “No . . . Yes . . . A little.”

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on her desk while he studied her face.

  “It’s unfortunate that people have suffered because of the tragic events from twenty years ago, but no one suffered more than Candice Whitley. She lost her life. Doesn’t justice outweigh the hurt feelings of a few people?”

  “Of course it does, but there’s no evidence that the book was turned in by the murderer,” she said. “It’s just speculation on my part.”

  “I love speculation,” he cried with a wide smile.

  “I know,” she said. She tried to give him a discouraging look, but he wasn’t having any of it.

  “If you weren’t so busy second-guessing yourself, what would be your next move?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. It was pointed out to me that the book was likely returned by someone in the community who just happened to have it on their bookshelf.”

  “That could be,” he said. “But let’s play this out. Here; get up.”

  “What?” Lindsey gave him a flabbergasted look as he rose from his seat and then grabbed her arm and pulled her up to her feet.

  “We’re going to act it out,” he said.

  “No, we’re not,” she said.

  “Come on, it’ll help,” he said. “You’ll see.”

  Lindsey frowned at him but he ignored her.

  He grabbed a book off of the short reference shelf behind her desk and handed it to her. It was the World Almanac. Lindsey took it and looked from him to the book.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.

  “Carry it like it’s the library book you just checked out,” he said. “Now, it was a weekday that she was attacked, which means she must have gone to the library after teaching at the school, right?”

  “According to the interviews in the paper, she was at school that day and by all accounts no one noticed that she was upset or agitated about anything,” Lindsey said. “So, if it was just a normal day, she would have left school about four in the afternoon. Her body was found a little after six.”

  “So, we have to assume that between four and six, she came to the library and checked out the book.”

  “You know what they say about assuming,” Lindsey said.

  “Right, right,” he said. He moved her away from the desk and out into a more open space. “Ass. U. Me. Got it.”

  Lindsey lowered her head so he didn’t see her smile.

  “Now, you’re Candice and you’re walking past the football field,” he said. He moved Lindsey so that she had her back to him. “I’m going to strangle you.”

  “Really?” she asked. She was not down with that.

  “No, not really,” he said. He shook his head. “Firstly, I don’t have anything to strangle you with and secondly, I would never hurt you.”

  “I’d feel better if you reversed the order of those two things,” she said.

  He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “I didn’t list by order of importance. Now turn around.”

  She did and he said, “Okay, you’re walking and all of a sudden someone grabs you from behind and they’re choking you. What do you do?”

  He stepped close to her back and put his hands gently around her throat. Lindsey dropped the book she was carrying and shot her elbow back into his ribs. He released her with an oomph of air and stepped away from her.

  “Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you?” she asked. She turned around, shaking her hands in a helpless gesture.

  Robbie sucked in a breath and clutched his middle.

  “Lindsey, you didn’t tell me we were allowed to beat up the patrons,” Ann Marie said as she joined them. “I know a few Internet users who could use a beatdown or four.”

  “I’m fine, truly,” he said. He straightened up with a small grimace. “But look, what was your first response when I grabbed you? It was to drop the book.”

  Lindsey bent over and picked up the thick paperback. She considered it and then Robbie.

  “So, you’re thinking that since she had to have been at the library right before her murder then she likely had the book with her, which she probably dropped the second she was grabbed, so the murderer must have taken it,” Lindsey said.

  Ann Marie looked between them. Her face was grim when she said, “It makes sense.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Robbie asked. “That’s why you can’t get discouraged just because people get upset when you ask questions. Something happened that night. You found a key: you found the book she checked out, and it arrived here for a reason. You have to follow up on it. It’s a moral imperative.”

  “I did follow up,” Lindsey said. “I gave the book to Chief Plewicki.”

  “Who is busy trying to figure out who is committing all of the break-ins that have happened over the past few weeks,” he said. “She doesn’t have time for a cold case.”

  “You’re just trying to get me to stick my nose in this thing so you can help,” she said.

  “Is that so wrong?” he asked. He spread his arms wide. “I have become very attached to this community, and I care about the people who live here. If there is a murderer among us, I want to do my part to help catch him.”

  “He is right about the police being busy,” Ann Marie said. “I heard Toby Sherwood telling Dean Gilroy at the grocery store that there have been four break-ins now with no leads.”

  “Four?” Lindsey asked. “That is a lot. Poor Emma must be working around the clock to cover the town with her small staff.”

  “See? We have to step up and take care of the other matter,” Robbie said. “Now what would you do next?”

  Lindsey thought it spoke well of her that she didn’t laugh right in his face but rather turned to the side and chuckled. The man was as transparent as glass.

  “All right, I’d probably start talking to the family members of the people who were closest to Candice and see if they knew of any tension in any of her relationships,” she said.

  “Excellent,” Robbie said.

  She turned to Ann Marie and asked, “Are you here now?”

  “For the rest of the evening.”

  Lindsey glanced at the clock on the computer. It was the first Friday of the month, which meant the library as well as all of the other city offices and local businesses would stay open until nine o’clock to participate in the monthly art show called First Friday that took over the center of town every month. It was a fun family-friendly art tour about the town, which, while being fairly new to Briar Creek, had proven to be quite successful.

  The library, in conjunction with the elementary school, put on a display in one of the back rooms. This month the children from Mrs. Kelly’s third-grade class had their work on display.

  Beth was in charge of it, and Lindsey knew she would be working the room in her painter’s smock and a beret, pimping the children’s books on drawing, painting and sculpting while she offered the families fruit punch and cookies. The event really drove up the circulation numbers on their art books, and not just the children’s books either.

  Lindsey had some paperwork that she had to give to Herb Gunderson for some upcoming programs. Knowing that he would still be at the town hall, which also hosted an art show on First Friday, she figured now was as good a time to catch him as any.

  She and Beth were asking for a boost to their summer reading program budget as they wanted to give away books as the final reading prize for the kids who participated. Beth had a couple of children’s book publishers
interested in discounting books to the library, but Lindsey wanted to get the go-ahead from the mayor’s office before she spent the money.

  “All right,” she said. “I have to run over to the town hall and drop off some paperwork. I’ll have my cell phone with me. Call me if you need any help with reference or crowd control.”

  “Roger that,” Ann Marie said.

  She took her seat at the desk and opened up the latest issue of Library Journal. Ann Marie was compiling a list of books to buy as the fiscal year started in July and Lindsey always liked to put in a big order on the off chance that disaster struck and her budget got frozen in the upcoming year.

  “Great. Who are we going to see?” Robbie asked as he fell into step beside Lindsey.

  “You’re not going to see anyone,” she said. She walked to her office and took a manila folder off the top of her inbox.

  “Aw, come on,” he protested. “How can I be the Watson to your Sherlock if you don’t let me tag along?”

  “This is official town business,” she said. “You can’t come with me.”

  “Fine,” he said. He continued tailing her like a shadow as she left the library.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just taking a walk.”

  “And does your walk just happen to be headed in the direction of Herb Gunderson’s office?”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged.

  “You. Are. Impossible.”

  “That’s true, but my charming personality more than makes up for it,” he said.

  “Fine,” she said. “You can walk with me, but you’re not coming into the office. You will wait in the hallway.”

  Robbie gave her a salute that she was pretty sure was mocking, but she didn’t call him on it.

  The center of town for Briar Creek consisted of one road that ran right past the library, the police station, the small grocery store and bakery and then split into two roads, one of which ran along the shoreline and the other of which turned inland toward several churches, the community theater and the town hall.

  Lindsey walked to the town hall a couple of times per week, usually to attend department meetings but also to turn in paperwork and sometimes to help herself to office supplies when the library was running low, although she tried to keep that on the sly.