As they gave her outraged looks and picked up their pace, Sydney squealed past them, leaving behind some skid marks and blue exhaust.
“Lindsey?” Milton said her name, and she turned toward him. From the way everyone was looking at her, she thought he’d probably called her name more than once.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was just worried that car was going to hit two of our patrons.”
“Tourists,” Lydia said. “Can’t live with them; can’t shoot them.”
Earl laughed, and Lydia grinned. Herb, the mayor’s liaison officer looked ready to chastise them, but Milton turned to Lindsey and said, “We’re ready for your report.”
Lindsey shuffled the papers in her lap. She passed out copies of her monthly library report and then glanced at the bullet points on her own copy. She was more than a little relieved that she’d gotten this done early last week.
“Okay then,” she began. “Let’s start with our circulation and program statistics, and I have some suggestions from our patrons to share . . .”
The door to the meeting room was abruptly flung open, and in strode a buxom woman in a tight skirt and silk blouse with a cameraman tailing behind her.
“Mrs. Norse,” the reporter spoke into her microphone. “I have a few questions for you.”
She strode right up to Lydia Wilcox and shoved the mic in her face. Lydia was pushing seventy, had silver hair and reading glasses and dressed in what Lindsey thought of as Connecticut genteel; in other words, she looked like Kate Hepburn in her later years in tailored slacks and turtlenecks with a sweater tied over her shoulders.
Lydia had taught high school English for thirty-five years. She was smart, sassy and did not suffer fools gladly.
“If you want to be taken seriously as a journalist,” she said as she gave the young woman a scathing once-over, “you should do more with the pair on your face and less with the pair on your chest.”
The girl tilted her head like a dog hearing a high-pitched whistle. She didn’t get it.
“I’m not Mrs. Norse,” Lydia snapped. “There is no Mrs. Norse; rather, it is Ms. Norris.”
“But you look like a librarian,” the reporter insisted.
Lydia huffed, giving the girl a disgusted look.
“I motion that we adjourn the meeting until we figure out what Miss . . .” Milton paused and stared at the reporter until she smiled and gave her name. “Oh, I’m Kili, like the fruit but with an l instead of a w, Peters.”
“What Ms. Peters wants,” Milton said. He spoke so politely, you’d have to know him very well to know he was irritated. Lindsey was pleased that she could tell.
“I’m Ms. Norris,” Lindsey said as she rose from her seat. “How can I help you?”
“You’re awfully young to be a librarian,” Kili said.
“You don’t go to libraries very much, do you?” Carole asked. Like Milton, you wouldn’t be able to tell Carole was irked, unless you knew her. By the flash of Carole’s light-green eyes, Lindsey hoped Kili was wearing flameretardant clothing.
“Never,” Kili said.
“What a surprise,” Carole replied.
Lindsey heard Lydia snort behind her but didn’t dare look at her for fear she’d burst out laughing, too.
“We’re on a time crunch here, Kili,” the cameraman said.
“Oh, right,” she said. “Start rolling; we’ll edit later.”
“Fine,” he said. A red light went on above the camera lens, which was pointed at Lindsey and Kili.
“This is Kili Peters reporting from Briar Creek. I’m here with the town librarian Lindsey Norse, er, Norris. Ms. Norris, what are your thoughts on your employee Beth Stanley?”
“Excuse me?” Lindsey asked.
“Did you have any idea she would become the suspect in the murder of her former lover Rick Eckman?”
“Suspect?”
“Do you have any plans to put her on suspension? A violent criminal working in the sanctity of a library, after all, would put the public at risk, wouldn’t it?”
“Are you insane?” Lindsey asked.
“Is that a risk you’re prepared to take?”
Now the mic was thrust into Lindsey’s face, and she had to curb the urge to wrestle Kili to the ground and stomp on her mic until it was just useless bits of plastic and wires.
“I think you need to leave now,” Lindsey said.
She took Kili by the elbow and forcibly pushed her through the meeting-room door. The cameraman was forced to back up or be stepped on.
But Kili wasn’t done yet. She wrenched her arm out of Lindsey’s grasp and approached a young mother with her toddler.
“Ma’am, are you prepared to have a murder suspect reading to your baby?” she asked and thrust the mic into the woman’s face.
“What?” The woman pulled her child away from Kili.
“The children’s librarian, Beth Stanley, is suspected of murdering her fiancé, and the library isn’t going to do anything to stop her from having access to your precious babies. How does that make you feel?”
“Well, I . . .” the mother looked at Lindsey in confusion. “Is this true?”
“No,” Lindsey said. “It’s a gross misrepresentation of anything even resembling the truth.”
“Then you didn’t spend all day at the police station on Saturday being questioned about your friend’s role in the murder of the famous children’s book author Rick Eckman?”
Lindsey felt a growl start down low and deep. Who had told her all of this? She glanced up and saw Ms. Cole watching from the circulation desk with a very self-satisfied smile.
“Milton, could you escort Ms. Peters and her cameraman out?”
“You can’t do this,” Kili protested. “The public has a right to know.”
“You know, you seem to be lacking the proper paperwork for filming in a municipal building,” Lindsey said. “How unfortunate.”
“If you’ll follow me, please.” Milton gripped her elbow in a viselike grip, and Kili was forced to scurry on tippytoes to keep up with him.
Once the door shut behind them, Lindsey turned back to the board, still standing with their mouths agape, and said, “If you’ll excuse me.”
She noted that the mother with the child had left the building in Kili’s wake, which made Lindsey so mad she could have chewed nails.
She found Beth in her office packing up a brown cardboard box full of her things. The box screamed “quitting” and tuned out all other thoughts in Lindsey’s head.
“Beth, don’t . . .” Lindsey began, but Beth interrupted her with a shake of her head.
“It’s better this way,” she said. “If I quit, then you don’t have to fire me. It’ll look better when I search for another job.”
“You’re not quitting, and I’m not firing you!” Lindsey said. “This is ridiculous.”
Beth just stared at her. “This isn’t going to go away.”
“You’re the best children’s librarian in the state,” Lindsey protested. “I won’t let you just walk away from all you’ve done here. You’ve developed an early years literacy program that has become the national model.”
Beth opened her mouth to protest, but Milton appeared in the doorway and cut her off. “Lindsey is right. There is no way Briar Creek is going to let you go.”
Lindsey turned and gave him a grateful smile. She knew if they ganged up on her, Beth would buckle.
“That being said,” Milton continued, “I do think you should take some time off.”
Lindsey opened her mouth to disagree. She didn’t like the idea of Beth being alone and unoccupied.
Milton held up his hand and said, “You have suffered a terrible loss. Even though you and Rick had parted ways, you still spent five years with him. Finding him like you did, well, you can’t just ignore it or all of the emotion that comes with it. If you do, it’ll just bite you in the backside when you’re not looking.”
“I know.” Beth’s head sagged, and Milton crossed the room a
nd looped an arm about her shoulders.
“I have the number of a friend of mine who specializes in grief. He got me through the worst of losing Anna, and I want you to call him,” Milton said. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“Thanks, Milton,” Lindsey said. She stepped forward and took Beth’s hands in hers. “I’ll call you later.”
She watched them leave through the back door and hurried back to the meeting room. Carole was the only one left, and she was busily cleaning up the snacks and drinks.
“Since Milton adjourned the meeting, we figured we’d better postpone until next week to deal with all of this.”
“Sounds good. I’ll send out an email to confirm,” Lindsey said as she sank into a chair. It was funny how none of her classes in library science had prepared her for this sort of thing, dead bodies, staff under suspicion, crazed reporters. Really, they needed to consider expanding the curriculum.
After a couple of deep breaths, she got up from her chair and started to help Carole clean. A knock at the door brought her attention around. The lemon was standing there, looking even more pleased than before, and Lindsey knew it was because she considered Lindsey’s reign as director to be crashing and burning in the current chaos.
“Ms. Norris, you have a room full of mothers and babies waiting for story time.”
“Excuse me?” Lindsey asked.
“Story time,” Ms. Cole said. “Should I tell them that Ms. Stanley has walked out and there will be no story time today?”
“No,” Lindsey said.
She looked at Carole, who smiled at her encouragingly.
“You can do it, Lindsey,” she said. “This is what public librarianship is all about.”
Lindsey glanced back at Ms. Cole, who looked annoyingly triumphant. For a moment, she considered having Ms. Cole do story time, but she didn’t want to be responsible for any psychological damage done to the babies.
“Please tell them I’ll be right there,” Lindsey said.
Carole nodded approvingly. “Good for you.”
“Well, it’s not like I have a choice, do I?”
CHAPTER 17
“You might have mentioned that one of the Wilson twins always sits in your lap,” Lindsey said.
“Oh, well, generally it’s the one who has just been productive in his diaper. Usually, you can smell him coming,” Beth said. “I’ve found it’s best to mouth breathe during the stories.”
Lindsey lifted the ice pack off of the bump on her forehead and gave Beth another hard stare. “Again, information I could have used.”
Beth ducked her head, and Lindsey was pleased to see a smile twitch her lips. They were crashed on the love seats in front of Beth’s fireplace, sharing a meatball sub and a bottle of red wine. She had stopped by on her way home to check on Beth, and she was happy if her disastrous story time gave her friend something to smile about.
“So, I’m still not sure how you smacked your head on the puppet theater,” Beth said.
“It was the hokey pokey. The heel on my shoe broke in the middle of putting my right foot in, and to avoid flattening little Emma Jacobs, I had to twist my body, which made my forehead connect with the corner of the puppet theater.”
Now Beth’s shoulders were shaking. Encouraged, Lindsey continued, “Of course, when the puppet theater went down, we were all worried that it was going to take the entire picture book section with it. Milton took one for the team there and dove in front of it.”
“Was he okay?” Beth asked.
“He was gored in the behind by your unicorn puppet, but thankfully, only his dignity was left to bleed out as the horn is squishy.”
“Oh, well, um, thanks for covering,” Beth said around what were obviously choked-back spasms of laughter.
“Huh.” Lindsey grunted, swigged some wine, replaced her ice pack and said, “Remind me to give you a raise.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” Beth said. In a quieter voice, she said, “The news is coming on.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“Better to know than not,” Beth said.
“All right.” Lindsey struggled up to a seated position. She reached for her half of the meatball sub, while Beth turned on the flat-screen TV that hung on the opposite wall. They both turned in their seats to watch.
“Do we know what station that Kili person worked for?”
“The same as Charlene,” Beth said.
Charlene was Violet La Rue’s daughter and one of their crafternoon book club members when her schedule as an anchorperson for the local news station allowed.
The television came to life with Charlene’s coanchor, Ty Ferguson, who looked like his hair had been shaped with wax, speaking.
“We’re now joined live by our own Kili Peters in Briar Creek. Kili?”
“Good evening, Ty.” Kili spoke into her handheld mic. “I’m standing outside the Blue Anchor with Chief J. R. Daniels, who is leading the investigation in the murder of esteemed children’s book author and Thumb Islands resident, Rick Eckman. Have you made an arrest yet, Chief?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lindsey saw Beth sit up straighter in her seat, and she knew Beth was hoping for news that would clear her. Lindsey held her breath.
As Kili tipped the mic toward Chief Daniels, he hitched up his pants and tilted his head back to stare into the camera. He lowered one eyebrow in a studied pose, and said, “No, but we have a pretty good idea of who wanted the victim dead.”
“Oh, really?” Kili asked. “Do you expect to be making an arrest soon then?”
“I’d say within the next twenty-four hours,” he said.
“Well, I’m sure the residents of Briar Creek will be sleeping easier tonight, knowing that you’re on the case,” Kili twittered. “I know I would.”
She gave him a flirty hair toss, and the chief’s shirt puffed up until Lindsey feared he was in danger of popping a few buttons.
“Believe me, little lady, this perp isn’t going to know what hit her,” he said.
Lindsey and Beth exchanged an alarmed look. He said her, as in he thought the killer was a woman. That couldn’t be good.
“Excuse me,” Detective Trimble said as he muscled his way into the interview. “I think the chief is speaking prematurely. This case is still under investigation, and as such, we have no comment at this time.”
The chief flushed an unhealthy shade of red and looked ready to argue, but Trimble grabbed his arm and yanked him away from the buxom Ms. Peters, who signed off looking annoyed to have had her interview preempted by the detective.
“Well, thank goodness someone working the investigation has a brain,” Lindsey said.
“I have a feeling I’d be in jail now if it weren’t for Detective Trimble,” Beth said. She sounded scared, and Lindsey couldn’t blame her. There wasn’t a lot standing between her and a locked cell.
“I’m sure Detective Trimble won’t let that happen,” she said. She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. She grabbed the remote and clicked off the television before any more cheery news could ruin their evening.
“I just feel so helpless,” Beth said. “I realize now how little I knew about Rick. He kept me at arm’s length and I let him. Now he’s gone, and I’ll never really know him.”
“Beth, he stole your story idea, submitted it as his own and it’s going to be published,” Lindsey said. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but I think it’s safe to say he wasn’t a nice person. Are you really sorry you didn’t know him better?”
Beth blew out a breath and took a sip of wine. “Maybe if I’d known him better, I’d know why he did what he did.”
“Because he’s a lying cheat?” Lindsey asked.
“Maybe, or maybe he had writer’s block and was feeling desperate,” Beth said.
“Do you think you’re the only person he’s done this to?”
“What do you mean?”
Lindsey considered her words carefully. “Don’t you think it’s possible th
at he’s plagiarized before?”
“But he won a Caldecott,” Beth said. “Don’t you think he would have been sued?”
Lindsey shrugged. “I was thinking of giving Sydney Carlisle a call.”
“Why?”
“She said Rick was a recluse, refused to go on book tours and do other author promotion. She said he wouldn’t even come off island to meet with her, but I wonder if she could get me in touch with his agent, and then I could ask him or her some questions,” Lindsey said.
“No, actually, Rick recently fired his agent,” Beth said. “If I remember right, this was his fifth agent in five years.”
“Doubtful that they’d talk to me then, huh?”
“Yeah,” Beth agreed. “Maybe we should leave this to the police.”
“We can if that’s what you want, but we’ve established contact with Sydney, and I certainly don’t think we’d be doing any harm by asking.”
“Yeah, we’ve met her, but I didn’t get the feeling that she had the warm fuzzies for us,” Beth said. “Don’t forget she thinks I was passing off Rick’s idea as my own.”
“She was just misinformed,” Lindsey said. “I think it’s worth a stab.”
“So to speak,” Beth said dryly.
Lindsey cringed. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Beth said. “You know, he had no family.”
“No, I didn’t know.” Lindsey watched while Beth nibbled at the outer crust of her sub. She was picking at it like a grackle pecked at a bread crumb.
“He was a ward of the state,” Beth said. “He spent his childhood in foster care and then got a scholarship to the New London School of Design. He always said he’d have been a criminal if it weren’t for his love of art.”
Lindsey thought of how he’d plagiarized Beth’s story and thought he hadn’t gotten that far away from being a criminal after all, but she refrained from pointing that out.
“If we hadn’t broken up, I’d have been the one arranging his funeral,” she said. “Now who’s going to do it? Who are they going to release his body to?”
Lindsey had no answer for her. The body of a murder victim with no family was out of her realm of experience. The best she could do was offer to call someone.
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