“Did she tell you that each person who was robbed had a connection to Candice Whitley?”
“She did,” he said. “She also said that you were the one who figured it out—well, you and that Englishman.”
“So, that’s why I’m interested in the Larsens,” she said. “Which you probably already knew if Emma told you about our discovery.”
“I did, but I was curious to see if you’d be square with me. Thanks for that,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I told Emma. James Larsen was rumored to be having an affair with Ms. Whitley, but he denied having anything to do with her in that regard. We couldn’t substantiate any relationship between them other than a purely professional one. If they had an affair, they were incredibly discreet about it, so he was never really a person of interest as he was at a school board meeting at the time of the murder. The rumors were considered to be just local gossip in the aftermath of a horrible crime.”
“I can see that,” she said. “He and his wife have been together for a long time.”
“They had been married for a couple of years at the time of the murder, so it’s most definitely a long marriage,” Daniels said. “Which makes it seem even less likely that Larsen cheated on his wife. If he was a cheater, wouldn’t there have been some gossip about him cheating again over the past twenty years? But there’s been nothing.”
“True, but their house was robbed just like the others,” she said. “So someone has an issue with him.”
“But until we know who that person is, you really need to let the police handle this,” Daniels said. “I understand that you started the investigation with the book, but, Lindsey, the murderer is still out there. You need to be very careful.”
“I’m always careful,” she said. She knew she sounded contrary and possibly a little defensive so she added, “I promise.”
Daniels heaved a deep sigh.
“Really, I will,” she said. “Thanks for the information.”
“No problem,” he said. “Of course when I talk to Chief Plewicki, I will be mentioning our conversation to her.”
“Do you have to?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Even if I fast-track all the new barbecue books that come in to go to you first?”
“Is that a bribe?”
“I was thinking of it as more of an incentive program.”
“Listen, I only told you what I did because anyone from twenty years ago could have told you the same, but also because I know what it’s like to be invested in discovering the truth,” he said. “It gnaws at you relentlessly.”
“Like a dog with a bone,” she agreed.
“Be careful, Lindsey,” he said. “This dog has a nasty bite.”
Lindsey hung up her phone and leaned back in her seat. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. She was sure of it.
Then again, maybe the book wasn’t the clue that she thought it was. Maybe it had just turned up on someone’s shelf after traveling through a long line of readers and that person had decided to do the right thing and return it.
But that was one of the things that bugged Lindsey about the whole situation. She used to be an archivist. She was up close and personally familiar with books that had aged poorly. If Candice’s book had been well traveled, it would have been well-worn. If the book had been neglected, it would have been dusty, moldy, dried out, any of those scenarios. But it wasn’t.
In the time she’d had the book, she had observed that other than some yellowing of the pages, the book was in excellent condition. According to the old-style library pocket on the inside of the book, it hadn’t been checked out more than a half dozen times. Whoever had had the book for the past twenty years had taken impeccable care of it.
That brought her right back to the murderer. She watched the ID channel. She knew how killers felt about mementos from their victims. Like a kid getting a participation award in soccer, Candice’s book could have been a trophy for her killer, something he held on to to relive the murder again and again. So what would make a killer give up his trophy?
“Good morning, Sherlock!”
Lindsey glanced up at the door of her office to see Robbie Vine standing there. He was wearing jeans and a collared shirt, both of which looked to be a bit dusty, and he had a stack of books in his arms.
“Back atcha, Watson,” she said. “What do you have there?”
“Old high school yearbooks,” he said.
She tipped her head to the side and studied him. “Any particular reason?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” He strode into the room and set the books on the edge of her desk. “Dylan and I were going through his yearbook last night, I like to point out the girls I think he should ask out, you know, give him some lines to try out on them—”
“Seriously?”
Robbie raised one eyebrow at her. “I never joke about schmoozing the ladies.”
“Which is one more reason why you and I never dated,” she said.
He frowned. “Anyway, it occurred to me that insight into the unfortunate Ms. Whitley might be found within the pages of the yearbooks from her teaching days.”
“That’s brilliant!” Lindsey said. “Huh, why didn’t I think of that?”
“You’re not the only one with the gift of deductive reasoning,” he said.
“Where’d you get the yearbooks?”
“Milton loaned me some duplicate copies from the historical society’s storage area,” he said. “I had to go up into the attic to retrieve them. I should get extra points for that. Dreadful place.”
Lindsey took one of the books and cracked it open, turning away when a plume of dust rose up in her face. The book was heavy with faux leather binding with the school emblem embossed on the cover.
She glanced at the candid pics of the seniors that filled the first page and smiled. Even though Lindsey had been just a kid in the early nineties, she remembered the fashion well.
“Oh, wow, chunky boots, overalls, and Nordic sweaters. Did we know how to dress back then or what?” she asked.
“Obviously the fashion police were on hiatus during that decade,” Robbie said. He opened a book and began to peruse the pages. He paused to wipe the years of accumulated grime off his fingers onto his pants. “Ew.”
Lindsey smiled. She whipped through the pages of students until she came to the events pages. She had seen the headshot the newspapers had run with the announcement of Candice’s death, but she was curious as to what other photos there might be of the well-liked teacher.
Candice Whitley had been an English teacher and also the drama coach, so the pages devoted to the school plays and musicals included several pictures of her. In the first one Lindsey found she was painting a piece of set onstage and she had her head back and was laughing at the person taking the picture. Two other adults were with her and they were laughing, too. Lindsey read the caption, hoping to get more names of people to talk to about Candice. The names listed were Candice Whitley, Judy Elrich and Benji Gunderson.
Lindsey opened the top drawer of her desk. She pulled out a large square magnifying glass she kept in there and held it over the page.
“Find something?” Robbie asked.
“Benji Gunderson,” she said.
“The boyfriend?”
“Yep,” Lindsey said.
“Let’s see, then,” he said.
She handed him the book and the magnifying glass. Robbie studied it. “Not a bad-looking chap.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
Lindsey and Robbie turned to the door to find Sully standing there, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Don’t tell me he’s managed to make himself useful?” Sully gestured at Robbie with a doubtful look.
“He has. He brought me the Briar Creek High School yearbooks,” sh
e said. Then she looked at him and narrowed her eyes. “In fact, I bet you’re in some of these.”
“Oh, no, don’t,” he said. He waved his hands at her like he was signaling that the bridge was out.
“Oh ho, yes, do,” Robbie chortled. “Let’s see what the water rat looked like back in his prime.”
Sully dropped his head to his chest as Lindsey snapped open the book from his graduation year.
“Let’s see . . . S . . . Schultz . . . Slauson . . . Sullivan . . . There you are. Oh, my.”
“Let me see!” Robbie leapt out of his chair and circled the desk. He took the book from Lindsey and stared at the picture. When he glanced up he was grinning. “Good God, man, were you wearing flannel?”
Sully shrugged and held his hands out wide. “I wasn’t the fashion plate back then that I am now.”
“And your hair—did you not own a comb?” Robbie asked. He was thoroughly enjoying this.
Lindsey glanced at her boyfriend in the doorway. With his square jaw, thick chestnut curls and bright blue eyes, he would be handsome even if he chose to wear nineteen-seventies’ disco fashion.
She grinned at him, and said, “I think the picture is very sexy.”
Two deep dimples bracketed his mouth when he returned her smile. “We’re definitely going to discuss that later and in greater detail.”
“People, please, I was so looking forward to lunch today,” Robbie said. “Now I’m feeling positively ill.”
Their smiles deepened as Robbie threw himself back into his chair and picked up another book, obviously ignoring them.
“What brings you by?” she asked Sully.
“I just got back from running Lisa Dutton to her island,” he said. “She told me that Herb Gunderson has been suspended without pay. I thought you’d want to know, if you didn’t already.”
“I didn’t,” she said. She put the book aside and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.
“And yet you don’t seem surprised,” he said.
She glanced up to find both Sully and Robbie watching her speculatively.
“I’m not,” she said. She gestured for Sully to come in and close the door. She liked Herb. She would tell Sully and Robbie what she knew but she didn’t want anyone else to overhear what she’d learned about a man she considered a solid coworker.
She glanced at the clock on her computer. She knew she had to be on the reference desk shortly, so she gave them a brief accounting of what had happened at the morning’s staff meeting.
Robbie looked shocked. “Herb Gunderson? I never would have guessed it. He’s as mild mannered as a hamster.”
Sully did not look as shocked. “I remember a few episodes from our youth. Herb was a hothead, no question, but he wasn’t a bully. The only time he ever scuffled was if someone messed with him or his.”
“Well, I think Tim must have said something to make him snap today,” Lindsey said. “I don’t think the mayor had a choice but to suspend Herb.”
“Any idea what was said?” Robbie asked.
“No. Tim’s a spineless weasel so I bet he’ll deny baiting Herb, which was quite clearly what he was doing.”
“Hopefully, Herb will come clean with his accounting of the situation,” Sully said. “I know he’s not the most exciting soul in Briar Creek, but he does a great job of dotting all the i’s and crossing all the t’s. I don’t know what Mayor Hensen is going to do without him.”
“Hopefully, we won’t have to find out,” Lindsey said. She frowned at her phone. “I’m surprised the mayor hasn’t called me. Since I broke up the altercation I was sure Tim would use me to corroborate his story.”
As if her words beckoned the summons, her phone rang. The number on the display was the mayor’s.
“Sorry, boys, but it looks like I spoke too soon. I have to take this,” she said.
They both gave her looks of sympathy. It was never comfortable to receive a call from the boss when they wanted information on the bad behavior of a coworker.
Robbie left the office first and Sully took the opportunity to plant a quick kiss on her lips.
“It’ll be okay,” he said.
Lindsey nodded and reached for the phone as he shut the door behind him.
“Hello, Mayor Hensen,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
It was an uncomfortable call. Lindsey liked Herb. She did not particularly care for Tim, so it was very difficult to give an unbiased account of what had occurred, but she did her best.
Afterward she logged a few hours on the reference desk, which was unusually quiet. A surprise afternoon rainstorm seemed to have dampened anyone’s interest in coming to the library. Lindsey couldn’t blame them. If she wasn’t working, she’d be sitting at home with a pot of tea and a good book, curled up in an afghan with Heathcliff by her side.
Instead, she spent the next hour working on the schedule and checking over payroll. When both tasks were done, she turned back to the yearbooks Robbie had left in her office. She picked up the one from the year before Candice’s death.
She flipped through the pages, looking at the young faces of the students. How many of them were affected by having their teacher murdered on campus? How many of them left their childhood behind that day? She suspected it was a turning point in many of their lives, and not a good one.
She flipped through the pages, looking for Sully. Yes, she had already seen his senior picture but now she wanted to see what he looked like when he was younger.
Why was she so interested in what he had looked like as a teen? She didn’t need to ask herself the question. She already knew. She loved him. More than that, she was in love with him. The mere sight of him made her heart clutch in her chest. He was the yin to her yang, her other half, her soul mate. She had pretty much known it from the moment they met, and he had known it, too, but it had taken him a bit longer to trust it. Trust her.
Like all great romantic heroes, Sully had needed to do a significant bit of growing before they could be together, but if the past few months were any indication, the boy had finally gotten it.
She found his picture. He was a sophomore in this one, but he still had the same two dimples that bracketed his mouth, and his blue eyes twinkled at her from the picture. Lindsey sighed. There was no question. When it came to this man, she was a goner.
She glanced out the window toward the pier where Sully spent his days. She knew she was a hopeless believer in happy endings but she really thought they’d find theirs.
A few months ago Robbie had divorced his manager wife and made it very clear that he wanted to date Lindsey. For a nanosecond, she seriously considered accepting his offer. For while Sully and Robbie shared many fine qualities such as being kind, smart, funny and not hard on the eyes, Robbie was always much more emotionally available than Sully. It was so tempting to date a man whose emotional compass was so easy to read.
Sully was the original strong, silent type. In many ways this was not a bad thing. Unlike Robbie, he didn’t talk her to death, but when it came to knowing how he felt about her or them, she was always uncertain. When they first dated, it made for feelings of insecurity that she didn’t enjoy, and then he broke up with her out of the blue—leaving her even more bewildered and confused—because he was afraid that she was having a change of heart. He’d never bothered to ask her; he just dumped her. When she thought about it, she still felt a little irritated.
During their breakup, which was miserable for both of them, they reestablished their friendship. Sully made a real effort to talk to her and share his feelings and the past hurts that he’d kept buried. He gave her hope that maybe they could find their way back together again.
But when Robbie arrived back in town, divorced and announcing his intention to pursue Lindsey, everything changed. It was like the kick in the pants both Lindsey and Sully needed. Not wanting to e
mbarrass him, Lindsey told Robbie in private that she couldn’t date him, but he refused to listen and vowed that he would win her over. Lindsey had been amused, knowing Robbie was always full of bluster and that, while she cared for him, her heart belonged to Sully and it always would.
The gossip about Robbie’s intentions, however, moved through town like a flame licking up gasoline and left about as much destruction in its wake, as there were many single women with their eyes on Robbie. When the story reached Sully mere hours later, the tale had warped and twisted into one of Robbie and Lindsey eloping that very night.
Lindsey had been in her apartment, wearing her favorite plaid flannel pajama pants with a matching blue thermal shirt when there was a knock on her door so fierce and so loud she was sure it would wake everyone in the house.
Heathcliff barked himself into a frenzy until she opened the door and found Sully. She stared at him with her toothbrush still clenched between her teeth while holding Heathcliff by the collar to keep him from knocking Sully down.
“Me,” Sully said. “You’re dating me.”
Lindsey released Heathcliff, who jumped on Sully in an enthusiastic greeting, and pulled the toothbrush out of her mouth.
“Are you asking me or telling me?” She tried to ignore how hard her heart was hammering in her chest.
“Telling you,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. She refused to acknowledge the ridiculous female part of her that was having an Austen-worthy fit of the vapors, in a good way, at his macho declaration. This was not the nineteenth century. She would not swoon even though she thought she might.
“Is that so?” she asked. She was pleased her voice sounded so calm, but she suspected it was shock. She was seeing more emotion pour out of him than she was used to.
He shoved his hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. “No, it’s not. I’d like to tell you you’re dating me, period, but I suppose that’s not civilized.”
“Much like banging on someone’s door at . . .” She turned and glanced at the clock, and said, “Eleven thirty at night.”
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