Better Late Than Never

by Jenn McKinlay

  Sully didn’t spend the night since he had an early-morning pickup in the water taxi, and then he was headed out to Bell Island for the rest of the weekend as Mary and Ian had decided to share their news with their parents and they wanted Sully to be there, too.

  Sully asked Lindsey if she’d like to join them, but Lindsey didn’t want their being back together to take away from Mary and Ian’s news. She liked the slow pace at which they were moving and felt like they could wait awhile before they told their parents that they were back together. Maybe she was superstitious, but she didn’t want to jinx anything and she’d just feel better when they got the whole “L” word thing out in the open.

  After a long lingering kiss at her door and the promise of a dinner date on Monday night, he ruffled Heathcliff’s ears and headed home. Lindsey went inside and locked her door. Being a solitary sort of person, she usually felt a sweet sense of relief when she was home alone.

  She could eat what she wanted when she wanted and how much she wanted, she had control of the TV remote, she could lounge in her comfortable not-for-company pajamas, she didn’t need to make conversation and she could fall into a book and not have anyone trying to talk to her while she read.

  Yes, technically she could still do all of these things when Sully was around, but it was different when you shared a space with someone else. There was a constant compromise in cohabiting that she did not miss. Until tonight.

  When Sully had disappeared from view, she had felt weirdly bereft. The thought of not having him beside her on the couch watching TV, putzing in the kitchen making his signature hot cocoa or on the other side of the bed while she slept made her feel alone in a way she hadn’t ever felt before. It was alarming.

  She went through her nightly routine with Heathcliff at her heels. Thank goodness for him or she feared she’d be flat-out lonely. She checked the lock on her door and closed the blinds on the picture window in her living room that looked out over the bay.

  As she twisted the rod that closed the blinds, she felt as if someone was watching her. It was a creepy, prickly feeling on the back of her neck that made her shiver. Lindsey snapped the blinds shut and stepped back from the window.

  Thinking about Candice was obviously making her imagination run wild. Unable to help herself, she pushed aside the edge of the blinds and stared down at the yard. It was empty. No one was there. Unless they were hiding in the shadow of the trees, which would explain why she had the same spooky feeling that someone was watching her.

  Lindsey dropped the blinds and stepped back and noticed her hand was shaking.

  Sleep was elusive, leaving Lindsey feeling like she’d been trying to catch a moonbeam in a pickle jar. Just when her body would relax and she was sure she was drifting to sleep, she’d snap awake at a sound and stare into the darkness with her heartbeat hammering in her ears.

  When Saturday dawned, she was relieved that she had two days off from work because she was going to need it to recover from the sleep she’d missed the night before. She had some paperwork to do over the weekend, but otherwise, she was determined to run her errands, do her laundry, enjoy her time with Heathcliff and forget all about the overdue library book, Candice Whitley and whoever might have killed her.

  She did great right up until Monday morning, when she awoke hours earlier than she needed to and couldn’t get back to sleep no matter how hard she tried. Knowing she was going back to work today, she just couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened to Candice Whitley twenty years ago.

  She rode her bike into work despite the steel gray clouds at the horizon promising incoming rain. She stopped at the small grocery in the center of town to buy the necessary fortifications to stave off exhaustion from the bakery counter. While standing in line, she felt the hair on the back of her neck tingle. Oh, no; not again.

  She whipped her head from side to side, checking to see if anyone was watching her. There was no one. Other than Mr. Kelvey in line in front of her, the bakery area was empty.

  “Hi, Ms. Norris. What can I get for you today?” Robin, the young woman who worked the bakery counter, greeted her.

  Lindsey turned back toward the counter to see Mr. Kelvey shuffling out the door with his newspaper tucked under his arm while he held his coffee in one hand and his pastry bag in the other.

  Robin had been working at the bakery for a couple of years now. When Lindsey had first met her she was in high school, but now she was a college student, commuting into New Haven for her classes. Despite the course load, she still managed to pop into the library for the free downloadable books.

  “Hi, Robin,” Lindsey said. The young woman looked as tired as she felt, which was verified when Robin covered her mouth with her hand to hide her yawn. “Did you stay up late studying last night?”

  “I wish,” Robin said. “I was up reading Lev Grossman’s The Magicians. I knew I shouldn’t start it right before bed. I think I need to design an app for my e-reader that closes the book for me and locks it at a designated time.”

  Lindsey smiled. “You could be onto something there. It would surely cure OMC syndrome.”

  “OMC?” Robin asked.

  “One More Chapter.”

  “Ha! With my luck it would switch off right at a cliff-hanger and I wouldn’t get any sleep anyway,” Robin said. “So, what’s your excuse for looking like death warmed over? What author are you cursing this morning?”

  “Oh, thanks for that,” she teased. “I didn’t think I looked that bad.”

  Robin grinned and Lindsey was pleased that the young woman knew she was just teasing. Truly, she had a mirror; she knew how rough she looked today.

  “I wish it was a book. Unfortunately, I was up uselessly fretting,” she said.

  “You should have read a book,” Robin said.

  Lindsey laughed. “You’re right; what was I thinking?”

  “Largest coffee available, then?”

  “Yes, with a blueberry muffin on the side.”

  “Done.”

  Robin went to fill her order and Lindsey took a moment to decide if she had the heebie-jeebies because she was overtired or if she still felt as if someone was watching her. She stood very still and then casually glanced around the corner of the shop.

  The Gilmores, a newly retired couple who had bought a cottage near Beth’s, were walking toward her, but they were deep in conversation and not paying her any mind. She realized the feeling of being watched was gone and she wondered for the umpteenth time if she had imagined the whole thing.

  “Here you go, Ms. Norris,” Robin said.

  “Call me Lindsey,” she said. She paid for her coffee and muffin and left a tip in the jar.

  Robin smiled at her. “Thanks, Lindsey.”

  Outside, Lindsey sat down at one of the picnic tables in front of the grocery. She supposed she could have eaten on the deck out back but she wanted to watch the world go by a bit and get her bearings. A thick coat of dew covered the bench in the shade so she moved to the sun-dried bench and enjoyed her first restorative sip of coffee.

  Life might be worth living after all. She broke off pieces of her muffin and alternated between eating and sipping her coffee. She could see the town was just beginning to wake up; traffic was picking up on the lane headed out of town as people commuted to work. CLOSED signs were flipped to OPEN in some of the smaller shops on the street.

  She listened to the birds’ morning chatter and felt the breeze coming in from the water tug at the hem of her skirt and the ends of her hair. The sun was warm on her back and she felt at peace for the first time in days. She must have been imagining things on Friday night; undoubtedly, thinking about Candice’s murder had her on edge.

  But then, she felt it again. The hyperaware feeling that she was being observed. The blueberry muffin lodged in her throat when she tried to swallow, so she took a sip of the hot coffee, trying to disl
odge it while appearing calm when what she really felt like doing was standing up and screaming, “What?”

  “Lindsey, hey, glad I caught you.”

  She jumped. Thankfully, the lid on her coffee prevented her from spilling it all over her lap. She whipped her head around in the direction of the person who had spoken and found Brian Kelly standing behind her. Relieved, she put her hand on her chest and blew out a breath.

  “I’m sorry.” He cringed. “I scared you, didn’t I? I’m such a clod.”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said. She slid over and gestured to the bench. “Did you want to sit?”

  “For a minute, sure,” he said. “I’m meeting Milton Duffy here.”

  “Oh, are you interested in the historical society?”

  “No, I’m joining him for his early-morning yoga on the beach,” Brian said. He pushed his black-framed glasses up his nose. “I hear he’s quite good.”

  “He is. I frequently find him in the most curious postures,” Lindsey said. “It seems yoga really is a part of his everyday life.”

  “It can be very helpful in clearing the mind,” Brian said. “You look as if something is weighing on your mind. Maybe you should join us.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not really dressed for it,” she said. She glanced down at her flouncy skirt and then back at him. “You are the second person today to point out that I am not at my best. Is it really that bad?”

  He looked pained. “Wow, I’m really imploding at the conversational arts today, aren’t I?”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I am aware that I look a bit sleep deprived. The truth is I’ve been preoccupied by a . . . well . . . a murder.”

  Brian’s eyes went wide. “Okay, I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “It wasn’t recent. It was the murder of a local teacher twenty years ago.”

  “So, why are you thinking about it now?” He sipped the large cup of coffee he held and watched Lindsey over the rim.

  “It was never solved,” she said. “Then we had our amnesty day and a book was returned that had been checked out twenty years ago. When we looked up the record just to see what the fines would have been we discovered it was checked out to the teacher on the day she died—murdered by strangulation, in fact.”

  Brian shivered. “I think a ghost just walked over my grave.”

  “I know, it’s awful,” she said. “The thing is there doesn’t seem to be a motive to kill her.”

  “No husband?”

  “She wasn’t married.” Lindsey paused to sip her coffee. “There was a boyfriend, but he doesn’t seem to have a motive, and she did have a student that she seemed close to but from what I’ve heard there doesn’t seem to have been anything inappropriate going on. It seems that she was a very well-liked, hardworking, nice person with no enemies.”

  “Random killing by a drifter?” he suggested.

  “You’ve noticed how small this town is?” Lindsey asked. “It’s the sort of place where everyone seems to know everyone else’s business.”

  Brian gave her a pointed look.

  Lindsey smiled. “Yes, including me.”

  “I was thinking particularly you,” he said.

  His eyes were teasing. She studied him while he drank his coffee. He seemed very at ease. She didn’t get the feeling that he was being critical or judgmental about her nosiness—just accepting.

  “Yes, it’s the librarian need for answers in me, and this situation is bugging me. I want to find out what happened to Candice Whitley,” she confessed.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s important.”

  “Why?”

  “How old are you?” she asked. She felt as if she was talking to one of Beth’s four-year-old story timers.

  “Just trying to help you work through it, but if you must know, I am thirty-six,” he said.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have been sharp with you,” she said. “I’m just frustrated.”

  “Well, start at the beginning. Who do you think returned the book?” he asked.

  Lindsey was quiet for a moment. Then she turned and met his gaze and said, “Her murderer.”

  “Whoa.”

  “I know it sounds crazy,” she said. “But I just can’t help feeling like that book being returned wasn’t an accident.”

  Brian’s face was serious and he nodded as he considered her words. “I think you’re right.”

  “Good morning, Brian, Lindsey,” Milton greeted them as he strode toward the bench. He was in his usual tracksuit—Lindsey was sure he had one in every color—and his bald head was shining in the sun.

  Lindsey and Brian both greeted him and Milton frowned at them.

  “You both sound gloomy,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine,” Lindsey lied.

  “It’s horrible,” Brian said.

  They looked at each other and Lindsey shook her head at Brian to signal for him not to say anything. He raised his eyebrows in question but nodded in understanding.

  “What I meant, of course, was that horrible loss the Red Sox took last night to the Yankees,” Brian said.

  Milton beamed. “Really? I rather thought that was a spectacular game.”

  “You’re a Yankees fan?” Brian asked. He sounded betrayed. “I thought everyone in Connecticut was a member of Red Sox nation.”

  “When you live in Newyorkachusetts, you come to accept that you are a state divided,” Lindsey said. “But I’m with you on the game. Wait, aren’t you from Oregon? How is it that you root for the Red Sox?”

  “I have family ties in the Boston area,” he said. “Besides, much like Connecticut, we don’t have a national baseball team in Oregon.”

  “Lindsey, I don’t want to be negative, but you look anything but fine,” Milton said.

  Lindsey finished her coffee, hoping for a jolt of wakefulness. There was nothing.

  “I’m a little overtired,” she said.

  “Thinking about the returned book?” Milton guessed.

  “Maybe a little,” she said.

  Milton rocked on his heels as if considering what he wanted to say. “Maybe this time you need to let Emma do her job and steer clear of the situation.”

  Lindsey dropped her head to her chest. It occurred to her that she had been wondering how long it would be until someone offered her this advice. The problem was she had no interest in taking it.

  She glanced at Milton and gave him a small smile. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Which means you plan to completely disregard me,” he said. Then he returned her smile, letting her know there were no hard feelings. “You know as the town historian, I feel the need to point out that not much changes in Briar Creek.”

  “Meaning?” she asked.

  “In the twenty years since Candice was murdered, trees have grown, paint colors have changed on the buildings, but the residents by and large remain the same,” he said. “Whoever killed her is likely still here, living among us.”

  “Oh,” Lindsey said. Her voice sounded faint and she cleared her throat.

  “For what it’s worth,” Brian said, “I think you need to be true to yourself, follow your heart, as they say.”

  Lindsey considered him for a moment and then nodded. As a fellow newcomer to the town, she knew he saw things with the same fresh perspective that she did.

  “And now we’re off to do some yoga by the sea,” Milton said to Lindsey. “Care to join us?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got a staff meeting,” she said.

  They both grimaced.

  “Nice empathy there, really,” she said.

  “Sorry,” Brian muttered while Milton winked at her to let her know he was sorry.

  She watched as they crossed the street toward the small beach beyond
the town park, then she rose from her seat and dumped her refuse into a nearby trash can.

  Town staff meetings were probably her top most-dreaded activity as an employee of the town of Briar Creek. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the other department heads, it was mostly that Herb Gunderson, who ran the meetings, was the most—there was no nice way to say it—boring person to run a meeting ever.

  The only thing that made it bearable was that there was usually food, but today after her large muffin, she wasn’t even hungry. This was going to be the longest hour of her life. Lindsey walked toward the town hall feeling as if her shoes were fashioned out of lead.

  She walked to the meeting room on the second floor just down the hall from the mayor’s office. Sally Kilbridge was at her desk busily clacking away at the keyboard. Today she returned Lindsey’s wave without having to hide under her desk because there was no Robbie, although Lindsey noticed that Sally craned her neck, looking around Lindsey in a hopeful way.

  Lindsey wondered if it ever bothered Robbie that people saw him as something special because he acted on stage and screen. He was talented, there was no question about that, but he was just an actor. He wasn’t curing cancer or feeding starving people.

  Lindsey wondered what it said about them as a society that a man who could memorize someone else’s words and spit them back out in a convincing performance was paid more than the teachers and caregivers who educated and looked after their children. It was one of the many observations about human nature that left Lindsey boggled.

  The door to the meeting room was ajar and as she approached she heard raised voices. This never happened in one of Herb’s staff meetings. She hurried toward the room, wondering what catastrophe might have hit that required yelling.

  When she got to the door, she froze on the threshold with her mouth agape. Herb Gunderson had Tim McIntyre jacked up against the wall with his hands fisted in Tim’s shirtfront while holding him a foot and a half above the ground. Herb’s whole head was a vivid shade of apple red while Tim looked bug-eyed and pasty.

  “Herb, what the hell are you doing?” Lindsey cried.