Lindsey resisted the urge to comment that Kili would know all about titillation factors, but just barely. “Well, try to come up with something, because what you’re doing now isn’t working.”
“Fine, whatever,” Kili snapped. “I’ll be in touch.”
With a click the phone went dead.
Lindsey replaced the receiver in disgust. Poor Beth, to be caught in the sights of that one. She wondered if she could get Charlene to call her off. Then again, that might just make it worse. She wouldn’t be surprised if Kili was hoping to take Charlene’s job one day, and this might only goad her into causing more trouble for Beth.
She grabbed the local phone directory off of the shelf behind her desk. She scanned the yellow pages of the real estate agencies until she saw Cheri Downs’s ad. It was big, taking up a quarter of the page, and it showed a pretty woman with bobbed blonde hair and a big smile.
Lindsey dialed the number listed. On the third ring, a no-nonsense female voice answered, “This is Cheri.”
She sounded as if she were speaking from a distance, so Lindsey figured she was on her cell phone.
“Hi, Cheri, this is Lindsey Norris, and I’m calling about the island property Rick Eckman was renting.”
There was silence on the other end, and Lindsey wondered if her cell phone had cut out.
“What did you want to know?”
Cheri sounded cautious, and Lindsey wondered if she was getting a lot of calls about the property, or perhaps the police had been asking questions, too. Lindsey figured she’d have to pose as someone interested in the property.
“I don’t want to be ghoulish, but I was wondering if the current owners would be looking to rent it out again,” she said.
“Are you interested?” Cheri asked.
“I might be if the price is right. Who are the owners?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to give that information out. Can I have your contact information so I can get back to you?”
“Sure, I’m Lindsey Norris . . .” she began, but Cheri interrupted. “Wait. Aren’t you the librarian?”
“Yes,” she said. She really shouldn’t have been surprised that in a town this small Cheri knew her name.
“Weren’t you one of the ones who found him?” Cheri continued.
“Yes,” she said.
“Pardon me, but I find it highly unlikely that you could be interested in renting a place that would require such a long inland commute every day, especially when you were there when a dead body was discovered.”
Cheri was one smart cookie.
“All right,” Lindsey admitted. “I’m not. I am, however, interested in anything I can find out about Rick Eckman.”
“Why?”
“Because my children’s librarian is considered a suspect in his death, and I know she didn’t do it.”
“I wish I could help you, but I can’t,” Cheri said. “I never really had any dealings with the man. He paid his rent on time, took reasonably good care of the place and pretty much kept to himself.”
“Do you have any idea where he was before he came to the island?” Lindsey asked.
“I would, but the police came in with a warrant and took all of my records on that property,” she said. “I can’t do anything with it until this mess is sorted out.”
“Well, thanks, Cheri,” Lindsey said. “You’ve been a help.”
She hung up, and Ann Marie poked her head in the doorway. “Time to close up, unless you’re planning to spend the night.”
Lindsey glanced at the clock. Quitting time already? Where had the day gone?
“Thanks, Ann Marie. I’ll be right there,” Lindsey said, and she began to shut down her computer and grab her things. She wanted to know who owned Rick’s island, and there was only one person she could think of who would know besides the real estate agent. Milton.
CHAPTER 20
Milton lived in the oldest house in town. It sat on a sweep of lawn just a few houses down from the town park.
The summer rosebushes that surrounded it were bloom-less now that winter’s chill was on its way, but the ivy that climbed up the chimney was thick as it hugged the stone close.
Lindsey walked up the cobbled walkway. The sun had set, and the purple hush of twilight was spreading over the town like a thick, fluffy blanket.
The lights were on in Milton’s house, which she took as a good sign. She glanced at the small wooden plaque beside the front door, which had the number 1659 painted on it. Milton’s house was a two-story, old stone house with a steeply pitched shingle roof, interrupted by two dormer windows that stuck out like bushy eyebrows. It was twenty years too young to be the oldest stone house in New England, as the Henry Whitfield State Museum, in Guilford, beat it out.
Milton and his wife had refurbished the old house, ripping out the nasty carpet someone had put over the original hardwood floors and having custom-made windows that resembled the originals but were energy efficient installed.
The front door was painted a cheerful blue, and Lindsey knocked three times and waited. She could hear the muted sounds of music, but no one answered.
She knocked again, and this time she heard Milton call, “It’s open!”
She turned the knob and pushed open the door. She stepped into a little alcove with a staircase that led to the second floor and a small hallway leading around to the rest of the house.
“Hello? Milton, it’s Lindsey,” she called.
“I’m here in the study. Come on back.”
She followed his voice down the short hall and into the dining room. The kitchen was just beyond that, and the living room and parlor were to the left. She turned to the right and entered the narrow door that led to the study.
She caught the mellowing scent of jasmine incense and found Milton in the middle of his study, dressed in flowing cotton clothes and in the yoga position she knew as downward-facing dog.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Milton said. “I’m just finishing my evening routine. I’ll be right with you.”
“Don’t rush,” Lindsey said. “I can wait.”
She left him and crossed the room to the cushy chairs in front of the fireplace. She picked up a Prevention magazine and was soon happily absorbed in an article about super-foods. She was definitely going to have to start eating more blueberries.
Milton joined her shortly with a towel around his neck and a water bottle in hand.
“Lindsey, this is a lovely surprise,” he said. “I was just about to make some green tea; care for some?”
“If it’s no trouble, that would be lovely. Thank you,” she said.
“None at all,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Lindsey continued reading her article. There was something very serene about Milton’s house, and she thought this was the most relaxed she’d been since the murder.
Milton returned bearing a tea tray. A Willow Ware teapot with matching cups and saucers, along with dessert plates heaped with shortbread, crackers, Brie and grapes, filled the tray. He set it down on the coffee table between their chairs and poured the tea.
“Oh, Milton, this looks wonderful,” Lindsey said. “You shouldn’t have gone to any trouble.”
“It wasn’t,” he said. “It’s pretty easy to dump food on a plate. Besides, I know you just got off work and haven’t had a chance to eat. My late wife, Anna, would never forgive me if I didn’t feed a guest who was hungry.”
Lindsey smiled. In a world full of cranky, selfish people, Milton stood out as a person who was good all the way down to his bones.
He handed her a cup, and she helped herself to sugar and milk. She felt her stomach clench, and she realized she was hungry, starving in fact. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten.
They munched quietly. Milton seemed in no more of a hurry to get to the purpose of her visit than she was, but finally, when her belly felt full and her food and tea were gone, she knew it was time.
“So,” she said uncertain
of how to begin. “How are you?”
Milton grinned at her. “Much better now that I’ve eaten. It’s always easier to converse after some sustenance, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she agreed, thinking he was very wise. “I hope I am not being pushy, but I’m curious if you can tell me anything about who owns the island where Rick Eckman lived?”
Milton pursed his lips. He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, and Lindsey wondered if he had forgotten that Rick didn’t own the house on the island.
“It’s been a rental for a long time,” Milton said. “Let me see. Before Mr. Eckman, it was rented by a New York family, but they were only here in the summers. What was their name?”
Lindsey listened while Milton worked through it.
“The Schad family. Yes, and before them it was the Jacobs. They were fun. They liked to throw parties. And before them, well, the family who owns it lived there. What was their name?”
He sipped the last of his tea. “Oh, I remember now, the Brodericks. They haven’t been in town for at least ten years.”
“Do you know where they are now?” Lindsey asked.
“I imagine I could find out, but first I have to ask—why?”
“I’m trying to track down anyone who knows anything about Rick Eckman before he took up residence in Briar Creek,” Lindsey said. “It’s to help Beth.”
“Are you trying to find someone from his past who may have had a motive to kill him?” Milton asked.
“You read me like a book,” Lindsey said.
Milton grinned at the wordplay. “Does Beth have any ideas? She knew him best.”
“Beth is discovering that she didn’t know him as well as she thought,” Lindsey said. “And honestly, I think it’s too difficult for her to talk about.”
“Of course,” Milton said. His voice resonated with the hollow sound of someone all too familiar with grieving. “I think I have some contact information at the Historical Society office. I can get that to you tomorrow morning, if you like.”
“That would be such a help,” Lindsey said. “Thank you.”
“Happy to do what I can,” Milton said. “Now, I have a personal question for you.”
“You do?” Lindsey asked. For some reason, she dreaded that it would be about her and Sully, which was ridiculous because there was no her and Sully. She hardly knew the man.
But Milton surprised her. He held up an ornate wooden box and asked, “Do you play chess?”
“I do.”
“Care for a game?” he asked. He sounded so hopeful that Lindsey couldn’t have refused him even if she wanted to, which she did not.
“Absolutely.”
The next morning Lindsey dragged herself out of bed, feeling mentally wiped out. Milton had walloped her at not one but two games of chess. She was going to have to brush up on her skills. She had gotten him to agree to consider starting a chess club at the library. She loved the idea of having spontaneous chess games happening. She already knew exactly where she was going to set up the chessboards.
The bike ride into work woke her up, as the brisk October air pinched her cheeks like an affectionate auntie. She entered through the back door, happy to be the first one to arrive. She started a fresh pot of coffee and put out the newspaper as soon as she scanned the headlines.
She checked her voice mail to ensure that no one had called in sick. There was one database-salesman call, but she deleted the message, as her library budget was too small for a legal-reference database better suited to an academic or urban public library.
“Morning, Lindsey,” Jessica called on her way through the workroom. She stopped to pour herself a cup of coffee and then headed out to the main library to prepare for opening.
Lindsey glanced out her door and saw that Ms. Cole was already setting up the cash register at the circulation desk. For a moment, Lindsey had the feeling that the place ran like a well-oiled machine, but then she glanced toward the children’s area. It seemed empty without Beth cavorting around in one of her character costumes getting ready for story time.
She was thrilled that Violet would fill in for Beth, but she wanted her friend back. She wanted their crafternoon club back, and she wanted to be rid of this ever-present feeling of anxiety that had enfolded her since they’d found Rick’s body. The only way to do it was to clear Beth’s name, and to do that, the police were going to have to find the real killer. If Chief Daniels wasn’t going to look further than Beth, well, then Lindsey would.
Newly resolved, she plunged into her e-mails, answering the ones from the library board members about the abrupt end of the last meeting and when to schedule the next one. She had a few from parents wanting to know when Miss Beth would be back and another suggesting that the library put out a dish of mints on the front desk as a welcoming touch for patrons. Lindsey forwarded that one on to Bill Sint, the president of the Friends of the Library, as it seemed like something they would want to do.
She tried not to glance at the clock, but at ten-thirty and ten thirty-three and ten thirty-five, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Now she was worried about Milton. Why hadn’t he called? He was usually so prompt.
She got up and went to check on the library. She was feeling restless and wanted to be in motion. Jessica was working the reference desk. She and their regular patron Polly Carter were hip deep in recipe books, looking for a book Polly had seen last year that had a red cover and cost twenty-four dollars and ninety-nine cents. She was very frustrated when both Jessica and Lindsey gave her blank stares as to what the book could be called or who might have written it.
Lindsey was relieved when Ms. Cole came to tell her that she had a phone call.
She hurried back to her office, picking up her receiver and answering, “Briar Creek Library, this is Lindsey.”
“Lindsey.” It was Milton. “I have the contact information for you, but it’s not good.”
“What do you mean?” Lindsey asked.
“Mr. Broderick passed away last year, and Mrs. Broderick is in an assisted-care facility in Kingston,” he said. “They don’t have any children, so it’s just her.”
“Do you think she’d be willing to talk to me?”
“She might, but it may not matter,” he said. “She has Alzheimer’s disease.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know how much she knows about the house on the island or how much she would remember about who they rented it to,” he said.
“Well, I have to try,” Lindsey said. “Go ahead and give me the information.”
She snatched up a pen and scribbled the address on her pink message pad. After thanking Milton, she hung up and pondered what to do next. She desperately wanted to go to the home now and talk to Mrs. Broderick, but she’d taken too much time from work the day before. She’d have to go after hours.
A knock on the door drew her attention around. It was Beth.
“I’m going out of my mind,” she said. She crossed the room and plopped down in the seat across from Lindsey’s desk. “I finished reading our crafternoon book; I’m done with the sweater I was knitting; I’ve caught up on all of the little house chores I’d been putting off. Yesterday, I seriously debated cleaning my oven. I need to come back to work.”
Lindsey looked at the circles under her friend’s eyes. They were so dark they looked like inky thumbprints had been pressed onto the skin.
“You need to lay off the caffeine and get some sleep.”
“Right now I just need to be distracted,” Beth said. “So I can’t brood about it.”
It went without saying that “it” was Rick’s murder.
“Have the police been in touch with you?”
“A few times since that first day,” she said. “But it’s always the same questions.”
She sounded tired down to her roots and looked wilted as well. Lindsey knew if it was her, she’d want to be working, too.
“Violet has volunteered to take your story times, and I said yes, as I really don
’t think the kids need me to do another one,” Lindsey said.
A small smile lifted the corner of Beth’s mouth. “I don’t know if I have the energy for story time, so that’s probably for the best, but could I work on my collection? I’ve been meaning to weed the nonfiction books. There are some dusty books that haven’t been checked out in all the years I’ve been here.”
“That sounds excellent,” Lindsey said. “I’ve missed you. It’ll be nice to have you back.”
“It’ll be good to be back,” Beth said. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office pulling up the circulation stats on my books.”
Lindsey watched Beth leave. She seemed to be walking with a little bit more of a spring in her step. She was going to be okay. Well, if they could just prove she hadn’t murdered Rick Eckman.
“What’s she doing here?” Ms. Cole appeared in Lindsey’s doorway. Her thick brows were drawn into a frown, which connected them in the middle and gave her a rather forbidding unibrow.
“She’s back,” Lindsey said. “She’s going to be working on her collection. Problem?”
Ms. Cole must have picked up on the warning note in Lindsey’s voice, because she opened her mouth and closed it, turned on her stout heel and strode away.
For some reason this made Lindsey feel as if she had won the battle, if not the war.
The rest of the day passed mercifully quietly. Patrons came in, and patrons went out. Books came home, and books went out. The computers stayed busy but didn’t have a long queue. Lindsey felt as if things just might get back to normal.
She looked up the assisted-care facility where Mrs. Broderick was living and realized she was going to need a car. She knew Nancy would probably let her borrow her car, but the fancy Mustang made her nervous. If anything happened to it, she’d never forgive herself. For the first time, she doubted the wisdom of selling her own car.
She left her office and found Jessica at the reference desk. Mrs. Carter had long since departed with a list of possible titles, and Jessica was reading through the fiction reviews in Publishers Weekly and marking the ones she wanted to buy for the library.
Jessica was a part-time library assistant. She was somewhere in her late forties, her brown hair just beginning to be taken over by gray. She was married to her college sweetheart and had spent her twenties and thirties being a wife and mom; now her kids were gone, and her time was consumed with earning her master’s degree in library science, which Lindsey encouraged even though she knew it meant they would probably lose Jessica to a larger library.
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