by Sophie Stern
Maybe I should have told her how her words made me feel.
“I managed.”
“I can see that,” she says wryly, but she doesn’t press anymore. She doesn’t ask me to tell her about the dream. She doesn’t ask me to express any other emotions or reveal any personal details. Instead, she climbs off me. “Come on.”
“What?”
“Let’s go get something to drink,” she says.
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“And a cup of tea might be just what you need to fall back to sleep,” she says. “Trust me.”
I don’t have anything to lose, so I reluctantly follow Finley downstairs. She leads me, sure enough, to the kitchen. She gestures to one of the barstools and I sit down while she starts making us two hot cups of tea. She pours the water into two mugs and then pops them in the microwave. When the machine beeps, she pulls them out, adds a couple of teabags, and hands me my cup.
“You know,” I tell her. “My mother would be horrified with the way you prepare tea.”
“I know,” she says sheepishly. “The other librarians always tease me about this. I know you’re supposed to put the bag in first, and you’re supposed to boil the water, but…it works.”
The idea of the other librarians teasing her bothers me a little, actually. I don’t think it’s very fair that Finley should be so sweet but be teased or made fun of in this way. Then again, I have to remind myself that she’s not my girlfriend.
She’s not my wife.
She’s just…
Saving my ass, apparently. In more ways than one, too. I sip slowly on the tea. The two of us sit in silence for a long time, and soon I feel the tension in my muscles begin to slip away.
“This was a good idea,” I finally say. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Finley looks at me carefully, like she’s trying to decide whether to ask what’s on her mind. Finally, she summons the courage.
“So why did you come back, Neil?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why are you here?”
This is the part where I have to decide what I’m going to say. Am I going to be honest with her? Truthful? Or am I going to make up a story about how I just couldn’t stay away?
After a mind-wrestle that takes only a few seconds, I finally decide that being honest is what’s going to happen this time. Who knows? Maybe Finley will be able to help me. After all, she’s been here for years. She knows who’s who. Maybe she’s seen something that will help.
“Revenge,” I finally say.
Short and sweet.
“I thought that might be it,” she says carefully, but she doesn’t look at me like she’s judging me. Not at all. Instead, Finley is thoughtful.
“Neil, what happened?” She whispers. “Are you going to tell me? You were gone for five years. I mean…I wrote to you every day. You pretty much know everything about me. I don’t know about you, though. All I know are the memories we have together from high school, and honestly, the two of us weren’t really that close.”
It’s the truth, even though it stings a little bit. Instead of answering her question right away, though, I ask one of my won.
“Why did you write to me?”
“What?”
“What made you decide to send that first letter? It wasn’t because I’m handsome or because I’m smart. I was never your boyfriend. We were never close.”
“Well, if it was me, I’d want someone to send me a letter,” she finally says. “I wouldn’t want to be forgotten. I thought I’d pay you the same courtesy.”
“Thank you.”
“It was nothing.”
Not true.
It was five years of hope.
That’s hardly nothing.
“Finley, what do you remember about that night?”
I don’t have to tell her which night I’m talking about, and I don’t have to ask her if she’s going to talk to any of the people involved. Chances are she knows them all, but she also doesn’t know what they’re capable of.
“I was at the game with my friends,” she says. “We heard screaming, and then sirens. We saw you run out of the woods. The cops seemed to come out of nowhere. Then they hauled you away.”
So she’d seen it. I knew someone had watched from the parking lot of the high school. I just didn’t realize it was her. I should be humiliated that she saw me in that moment, but it honestly makes me feel a little bit better knowing that she saw me, and she still accepts me.
“They really did seem to come out of nowhere, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“Pretty fast response for something that happened less than five minutes before they arrested me?”
She looks at me carefully.
“You’re saying it was a set-up.”
I nod slowly.
“By who?”
“Finley, there are a lot of bad men in this town. Women, too, but mostly men. They’ll do anything to keep their secrets. Anything.”
“Even kill, apparently.”
“Even send an innocent man away.”
“I don’t know who you pissed off,” she says. “But they did everything they could to make you look like a huge villain, Neil. After you left it was like…well, it was like that was it. Everybody knew you were a bad guy. Everyone talked about how they never really knew you.”
So the smear campaign was a success.
Great.
“Tell me what they said.”
Maybe I don’t want to know, but part of me does. I haven’t read the headlines. I probably should have, but I didn’t see what good would come from it. My attorney was court-appointed and even though he did his best, he couldn’t give me all of the help I needed.
My case was flimsy at best. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and there was no real evidence. That’s why I got five years instead of life. The judge wanted to prove a point, but he couldn’t send away a man who didn’t have any blood on him, who didn’t have any reason for committing a crime.
“They said you killed Sammy because of who he was, because you were jealous.”
“They said I was jealous of the sheriff’s son?”
“Yes,” she nodded carefully.
“What else?”
“They said that you and Sammy were lovers.”
Not unbelievable. We were good friends, and it was an open secret that Sammy was gay.
“Anything else?”
“Too much to remember,” she says. “But when people find out you’re back, the rumors are going to start flying. Someone told me at work that you had come back to town.”
So someone knew I was released: probably Mr. Sheriff. Sammy’s dad had never been a fan of me, so it made sense he’d try to destroy any credibility I had before I would need it.
“I went into the woods because I was supposed to meet Sammy at the mill,” I finally tell her.
“Why?”
“He was angry. That was the place we always went when we wanted to be alone.”
“Were you lovers?”
“Nope. He liked Ted Albertson.”
“The mayor’s kid?”
“Yep.”
“He’s still around. He’s got a wife now.”
“I’m sure he does,” I say. “Bet his dad arranged that real quick.”
Finley pales a little, and I know I’m right.
“Yeah,” she finally says. “It was fast. Everyone thought it was a shotgun wedding, but they didn’t have a kid. He got married a few months after Sammy died.”
“Ted and Sammy were into each other, but their parents did everything they could to keep them apart.”
“But why?” She whispers. Then she shakes her head. “Why wouldn’t they want their kids to be happy?”
“Small town love, my dear. It’s supposed to look a certain way, and when it doesn’t, well…”
“So who killed Sammy?” She whispers.
“I appreciate the
fact you don’t think it was me.”
“I don’t think you’d hurt a fly.”
“I might.”
“Neil?”
“I went into the woods to meet him, but when I got to the mill, someone was already there. They’d driven there. Their car was next to Sammy’s. I was on foot because I had gotten a flat tire that afternoon and didn’t have a spare or a donut. My house wasn’t too far, so I just walked.”
“Who was there with him?”
“His father,” I say. “He was yelling at Sammy about Ted. Turns out, good ol’ dad had discovered that Sammy wasn’t sweet or innocent. His dad didn’t want him dating at all – not men, not women. He definitely didn’t want Sammy sneaking around with Ted. His dad said they’d be the talk of the town.”
“Are you trying to tell me that his dad shot him?” She whispers, paling. She looks like she’s going to start shaking, and I reach for her, desperate to calm her anxiety.
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“The sheriff…I’ve been around him so many times. He comes into the library and gets books, and I always help him, and I…”
“Finley, it wasn’t his dad. The sheriff is a total prick, and he didn’t like Sammy’s lifestyle, but he didn’t kill him.”
“So who did it?” She whispers.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly, and it’s like a weight has lifted off my chest. “But I own the land the old mill is on, and I’m going to find out.”
Chapter Five
Finley
A lot of care goes into running a library. You have to order new books when people want them. You have to keep up on all of the latest trends. Any good librarian has to have a solid understanding of what’s popular and what people are reading because part of this job means offering book suggestions.
Then there’s the library itself. Are there enough computers? Are the chairs comfortable? Is every mouse working well? Are any of the books damaged? Do they need to be repaired? The main draw of a library has historically been books, but there are other things now, too.
People come to the library for a lot of reasons. They want to read, and they want to check their email, and they want to look at magazines. They want DVDs and they want audio books and sometimes, they just want a safe place to sit.
Despite everything I have to do today – get people set up with computers, check in books, and reshelf unwanted items – I can’t seem to get Neil off of my mind.
When I left him at my house this morning, I wasn’t scared or nervous. I’m not under any impression that he’s going to hurt Echo or that he’s going to destroy my property. I left him with a laptop and free reign so hopefully, he’ll be able to start the research that he needs to do.
Neil has almost nothing to his name. Honestly, I’m not even sure how he managed to make a real estate purchase. I should probably pry into that a little more. I’m certain he has a friend who helped him, or maybe even his attorney. Either way, I feel both relieved and scared that he’s going to try to find out what really happened to his friend.
Sammy was a good person. We all liked Sammy. In our tiny little town, Sammy was one of the most popular boys. He was a great student and he ran track, so everyone thought he was quite the star.
When he died, it was like part of the town’s heart died with it. Nobody wanted to accept that he was gone. Nobody wanted to believe that something like that could happen in our town. No way.
The bells above the library door jingle and I look up to see Ted coming in. The sheriff’s son is tall and muscular. He used to be very attractive: one of the most popular kids at school. He and Sammy really were good friends. Whether they ever were actually involved romantically or not, I have no idea. Ted doesn’t often come into the library, so I’m not sure why he’s here now.
“Good morning,” I say politely. I try to keep the fear out of my voice. Ted’s hair looks shaggy and unwashed. He’s still got the muscles of an athlete, but there’s something else there now. Maybe it’s because he’s been married to long, but it’s almost like the fire has gone out of his eyes. He looks angry, but more than that, he looks tired.
“Hey,” he says gruffly, and he approaches the desk. He places his hands on it and leans over. Instinctively, I lean back to get away. Why are people so comfortable invading the spaces of clerks they don’t know? Yeah, I’m a librarian, and I know pretty much everyone in town, but we aren’t friends. I don’t want him breathing in my face.
“How can I help you?”
“I guess you heard the news, huh?” He says. He stares at me, and I paste a confused look on my face. One of the things about working at a small-town library is that sometimes, people come in just to share gossip. Sometimes they’ll even call on the main phone line just to share gossip. It’s honestly quite strange.
“News?” I ask.
“About Coleman.”
“Who?” I ask, looking down at my computer. I pretend to type something, and then I arrange a couple of papers.
“Don’t you remember?” Ted asks. “A couple years back. The murder?”
“Oh, yeah. Whatever happened to that guy?” I ask, looking up. I cock my head, not willing to give anything away. “I heard he was sent away. Jail or something.”
“Prison, actually, and he’s out now.”
“Oh, well, okay then.”
“It’s not okay,” Ted says. He balls his hands into fists.
“What’s not okay?”
“The fact that he’s out,” Ted spits, and I jump to my feet and move back against the wall. Shit. Why do people do this? He didn’t quite spit on me, but it’s still gross. I’m not exactly friends with Ted, but we aren’t enemies. Still, he’s well on his way to becoming one.
The weird personal space invasion coupled with the fact that Neil doesn’t know who killed Sammy bothers me, and I feel anxiety and irritation start to well up within me. Still, I bite my tongue because I know that soon enough, I’m going to be back home, and I’m going to get to hang out with Neil and tell him all about my day and I’m going to get to hear all about what he discovered.
For now, I continue to play dumb. Who knows? Maybe Ted can provide some useful information, like where he was on the night of the murder or what happened. Does Ted know the killer? Is there any chance?
Could it be him?
“You know,” I say. “I don’t even really remember that night. It was so long ago.”
“It was the night of the game against Wolfton High,” he tells me. “I’m surprised you don’t remember. Then again, maybe you’re younger than me.”
I shrug noncommittally. We’re both the same age. We had math class together for four years, but I’m not surprised he doesn’t remember me. I’m pretty good at blending in, especially when I want to.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not a huge football person. Did you go to the game?”
“Not that night,” he says, shaking his head. “I was supposed to, but…”
His voice trails off. If what Neil said was right, then Ted and Sammy were either involved or thinking about becoming involved. I know Neil was the one who was supposed to meet Sammy to talk about…well, whatever…
Could Ted have gone, too?
Did he know about the old mill as Sammy’s special meeting place?
“Decided not to?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I guess it was probably around finals time.” I shrug. “Maybe you had too much homework to have fun.”
“No, it wasn’t that,” he starts to say. “My dad wouldn’t let me go.” He shakes his head, as though it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “My old man wasn’t exactly a nice guy.”
“The way you’re talking about him makes it sound like he’s not alive anymore.”
“He’s alive and well, but he’s calmed down a lot,” he says.
“That’s good, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Ted continues. “Plus, after I married Marcy, he felt like he could trust me more.”
“You dad
didn’t trust you before you got married?”
That seems…weird.
I don’t consider myself to be any sort of relationship expert, but the idea that someone wouldn’t trust you until you were married seemed really bizarre.
Suddenly, the bells above the library door jingle and a woman walks in. I know exactly who she is even though I doubt she knows my name: Marcy, Ted’s beautiful wife. She’s tall and lanky with a long coat that stretches down to her ankles. That’s saying something considering how tall and lovely she is. She has high heels on and with the way she’s dressed, she’s almost as tall as Ted.
Almost.
“Darling, there you are,” she says. “What’s the hold-up?”
“I’m waiting for an Internet password,” he says, looking over at me.
Funny.
This is the first I’m hearing him ask for one.
I wonder what a guy like Ted needs to use public Internet for, but whatever.
“Do you think you could speed things up?” Marcy asks me. She presses her bright red lips together. The color doesn’t look bad, but I kind of wish it did. “We’re in a little bit of a hurry.”
“Of course,” I say. I generate a password on the computer, write it down for Ted, and hand it over. “This gives you 55 minutes of computer time. If you need more, please let me know.”
“Thanks,” Ted says, and turns to go sit down at one of the computers. I expect Marcy to go with him, but she stops and turns to me first.
“Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Yeah, here,” I say.
“No, that’s not it,” she reaches for one of her bright pink hoop earrings and strokes it with her fingers. I don’t know how anyone could wear hoops that big. They’re practically big enough to be bracelets, but that’s always been Marcy’s style. Ever since we were in high school, she’s loved things that were loud and beautiful, and earrings have always been something she’s been known for.
I shrug noncommittally and pointedly ignore her as I start working on something on the computer. Apparently, Marcy doesn’t like this, though, because she frowns and starts talking again.
“Pity this place is so small,” she says, looking around. “It’s kind of dingy, too.”
I cringe, but don’t react. I know that’s what she’s going for. Marcy has always been a little bit of a bully. She was a brat in high school and she’s kind of a brat now. Oh, she was never really one of the popular girls. It was more like she was always on the edge of being popular. She did her best, but nobody really liked her all that much. I’m sure she thinks it was because people were just bullying her, but the truth is that Marcy has always had a bit of a mean streak.
