Lindsey joined Sully by the door. There had to be a way in. Her anxiety was spiking as the brothers didn’t answer, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
“I can try to bust down the door,” Sully offered.
Lindsey glanced at the old-fashioned window made up of nine smaller panes of glass that sat in the middle of the door. Something was off. Usually when people put aluminum foil on a window to block light, it was on the inside of the glass, but on the lower left-hand pane, it was on the outside. She leaned in closer. She poked one of the panes with her finger. The aluminum foil tore beneath her finger.
“I don’t think we need to break anything but some tinfoil,” she said.
She stepped back and showed Sully. He raised his eyebrows.
“I’m impressed,” he said.
“Don’t be,” she said. “I’m afraid to stick my hand in there.”
He bent down and peered through the small hole she’d made.
“I think I’m afraid, too,” he said.
He made a comically terrified face, and she smiled. Then, without hesitation, he reached in and unlocked the door from the inside. He pulled his hand out and shook it as if to make sure all of his fingers were still attached.
“See? Nothing to worry about,” he said.
Lindsey went to turn the doorknob, and he grabbed her hand, stopping her.
“Wait!”
“What?”
“Just because we could unlock it doesn’t mean it isn’t booby-trapped,” he said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure if you’re the type who is going to rig up a trap, you’re going to set it for when people open your door.”
“Good point,” she said.
“Let go on three,” he said. “One, two, three.”
Together they released the knob. There was no kaboom or kablooey, so that was a relief.
“So, now what?” she asked.
Sully stared at the door as if willing an idea to come to him. He paced in front of the threshold a few times, clearly mulling through the logistics.
“It’s stepping inside that’s the issue,” he said. “I want you to stand back, out of sight of the door, while I push it open. If they’ve rigged a projectile, I should be able to duck out of the way in time.”
“I really don’t like this,” she said.
“Me either, but I’m worried that we’ve heard nothing from inside,” he said. “They could be sick or injured. We have to find out.”
Lindsey nodded. She moved back to stand behind an old icebox that looked to be from the thirties.
“Okay, then,” he said.
He turned the knob and shoved the door using the momentum to dive back into a pile of debris. A whoosh and then a snap sounded, and Lindsey peeked around the icebox to see what had happened.
“Sully, are you all right?” she cried.
He had thrown himself into a pile of old clothes and newspapers. His nose was wrinkled, as if he found the circumstances quite disgusting. Lindsey felt herself grinning partly in relief that he was okay and partly at his look of dismay.
“I’m fine,” he answered, pulling himself out of the pile. “You?”
“I’m good,” she said. They met in front of the door, and Lindsey felt her jaw drop. A large board full of nails had swung forward and would have hit whoever stepped into the house first right in the face. She looked at Sully to see him frowning.
“That could have been ugly,” he said. He poked one of the nails with his finger. “Sharp and rusty.”
Lindsey shuddered. If he hadn’t stopped her from opening the door, her head would have been turned into a sieve. Eep!
Sully led the way into the house, carefully stepping around the board. Lindsey pressed up against his back, again trying to step exactly where he stepped.
It wasn’t as if there were a lot of options. A path had been carved out of the stacks of stuff that filled the interior of the house. It led them straight through the foyer and into a sitting room.
“Shouldn’t we call out and let them know we’re here?” she asked.
“I suppose,” he said. Lindsey got the feeling he really didn’t expect anyone to answer.
“Hello!” she cried. “Stewart? Peter? It’s Lindsey Norris from the library. Captain Sully and I have brought you some books. Hello?”
They stood still, listening for an answer. There was nothing.
Sully reached back and squeezed her hand, and Lindsey knew he was feeling the same sick-to-the-stomach dread that she was. Something had to be very, very wrong for the brothers not to have responded to people being in their house.
They wound their way through the sitting room. Piles and piles of books, floor to ceiling, filled most of the room. The neglect of so many volumes hurt her book-loving heart. In addition to the books, there were newspapers, magazines and old record albums stacked and crammed haphazardly into every available space.
Sully stopped walking and held up his hand for her to do the same.
“Do you hear that?” he asked.
Lindsey strained her ears for the sound of a voice, but no. Instead, she heard a ticking sound.
She looked at Sully in alarm. “Do you think it’s a bomb?”
He shook his head. “No, but . . .”
He moved forward down the narrow passage and through the doorway into the next room, which Lindsey imagined was supposed to be a dining room. It was full of clocks. The walls were covered in clocks. The table, chairs and floor were littered with bits and pieces of clocks. There was a box full of batteries, some leaking acid, and a bag full of extension cords. Three upright pianos were wedged one on top of another against the rear wall, and Lindsey felt a heretofore unknown fear of closed-in spaces surge through her, causing her windpipe to shrink in mild panic.
“I don’t think I can take in much more of this,” she said.
Sully blew out a breath. “It is overwhelming. I think the kitchen is next. That should tell us if they’ve eaten recently, at least.”
Lindsey didn’t want to imagine what the kitchen looked like. In fact, she was pretty sure she was going to go home and throw out every single nonutilitarian thing she owned because she was so freaked-out.
Sully moved forward, however, giving her no choice but to follow. He stepped into the doorway of the kitchen and froze. Lindsey bumped into his back and kept herself from falling by grabbing his jacket. She could tell by the hard set of his shoulders that something was wrong.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I found Peter,” he said. His voice was low and heavy as if weighed down by the worst sort of news. Lindsey knew without asking that Peter was dead.
Lindsey dodged to the side, before Sully could stop her, to peer into the kitchen. She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth to keep it from becoming a scream. She had never seen Peter Rosen before, but his resemblance to his brother, Stewart, with his same thin build, prominent features and fringe of white hair just above his ears, which curved out on the top, was unmistakable.
Peter was sitting in his wheelchair at the rectangular Formica table in the corner of the kitchen. Dried blood was caked on his shirtfront, surrounding the gaping hole in his chest. A loaf of bread and a block of cheese sat on a plate in front of him, untouched.
Lindsey stepped forward with the hope that maybe he wasn’t dead, maybe the eyes staring vacantly at the wall were just lost in thought and she could help. Sully looped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, stopping her.
“Don’t. There might be another trap,” he said.
“But we need to check if he’s alive,” she said.
Sully nodded, but Lindsey could tell he had already accepted the obvious. There was nothing they could do for Peter.
“I’ll go in and check him,” Sully said. “You stay right here.”
&nbs
p; He pushed her into the rubble that stood just outside the door.
“But I know first aid,” she protested. He ignored her.
“Don’t move unless something comes at you,” he said.
He turned back to the kitchen and began to examine the doorframe, looking for trip wires or pressure pads or anything that indicated another trap.
Satisfied there were none, he stepped into the kitchen and moved closer to Peter. Lindsey was torn between hiding her eyes and forcing herself to watch. It seemed to her that the only way to support Sully was to give him her attention while he dealt with the mess before him, so she stayed focused on his examination of Peter even when her gag reflex kicked in.
It was quickly quite clear that there was no need for an ambulance or medical attention. Sully checked for a pulse at Peter’s wrist, being careful not to step in the debris that surrounded his wheelchair, but it proved unnecessary. Even from where she stood, Lindsey could see from the stiffness and discoloration of Peter’s limbs that rigor mortis and lividity had already set in.
Sully stepped back, wiping his hand on his jeans. He turned to look at Lindsey, and she saw the horrible truth in the set of his jaw.
“There’s nothing we can do for him. It looks like he took a bullet right through the heart,” he confirmed. He left the kitchen and met her in the doorway. “Let’s get out of here and call Chief Plewicki.”
Lindsey nodded. She let Sully take the lead, figuring his naval training made him better at guiding them out of the house; well, that and the fact that she was fighting off a case of the dizzies. So much blood. Sheesh, there had been so much blood.
They went outside the house and huddled on the porch. Sully pulled out his cell phone and called the Briar Creek police station. Lindsey watched as he tipped his head back and squinted up at the cloudless sky.
“Hi, yeah, it’s Sully. I need to talk to Chief Plewicki,” he said. “I can wait.”
He lowered his head to gaze out at the horizon, then he reached for Lindsey’s hand. He wrapped his fingers around hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze. It was almost as if he knew she was fighting to keep her lunch down.
“Hi, Emma.” He paused, and Lindsey suspected he was trying to find the right words. “Listen, I’m out at Star Island. Lindsey and I were delivering books to the Rosens, but no one came down to the dock to meet us.”
Lindsey heard Emma say something in response, but she couldn’t make out the words.
“We did go up to the house,” Sully said. Emma started to talk again, but Sully cut her off. “I know. I was careful. Look, that’s not the point. The thing is . . . Peter Rosen is dead.”
This time Lindsey could hear Emma Plewicki’s high-pitched voice come out of the phone like a battering ram as she fired questions at Sully.
“Lindsey and I are both fine. It looks like a gunshot—”
He was cut off by more high-pitched chatter.
“Other than checking Peter’s vitals, I didn’t touch anything,” Sully said. He looked at Lindsey and made a face like he was being chastised like a boy breaking curfew. “I have some training in these matters, you know.”
There was more squawking and then the questions started again.
“Yes, I’m very sure,” Sully sighed. “Rigor mortis and lividity have both set in. No, there’s no sign of Stewart, but I didn’t check over the house, because I figured calling you was priority one.”
Lindsey heard Emma issuing orders.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sully said. “We’ll meet you on the dock.”
He ended the call and put his phone back in his coat pocket.
“Not a fun call to make,” Lindsey said. He was still holding her hand, and she squeezed his fingers with hers, returning his gesture of comfort.
“No,” he agreed. “Come on. Let’s go down and meet the chief.”
“After you.” When Lindsey would have let go of his hand, he held on tighter.
“Stay close. There could be triggers planted on the way out to get people who were smart enough to miss the booby traps on the way in,” he said.
They both stepped over the middle stair and began to pick their way down the path toward the dock. Lindsey glanced back at the house, wondering if Stewart was still inside, and if so, where was he and why hadn’t he come out?
She glanced at the arch-shaped window on the right. Was it her imagination or had the curtain moved? Could it be just a draft? She stared until Sully’s insistent tug pulled her down the path.
Although the sky was a pristine pale blue and the sun shone eye-wateringly bright, the wind had picked up and carried the distinct nip of February on it. Maybe it had just been an air current from the open front door that had moved the curtain. Lindsey wished she could be sure.
She felt the tip of her nose get cold, and she moved her scarf up over her face. The weatherman on the news had said there was a chance of snow in the next few days, and she suspected by the moist feeling in the air that it was more than a chance.
Once they were on the lower dock, she was struck by how quiet it was on the island. Other than the lapping of the waves and the occasional cry of a seagull, the world was hushed, almost as if it knew of the tragedy that had happened in the house perched above them.
It occurred to Lindsey that living on an island must be very lonely. She wondered what daily life was like for Stewart and Peter with no neighbors, no means of communication, no one but each other.
She glanced at Sully, who brilliantly produced a thermos of coffee from a cupboard on the boat for them to share. He handed her the plastic cup, and she let the warmth seep into her fingers through her gloves before taking a sip.
“What do you think life was like for them?” she asked.
Sully shrugged. “I only know what I’ve heard, which is gossip and rumors.”
“And?” she prodded him.
He nudged the cup toward her lips, and she dutifully took another sip.
“The Rosen house has been in the family for several generations,” he said. “As far as I know, Peter and Stewart have the distinction of being the only ones actually born in the house, however.”
Lindsey gasped. “No hospital? No doctor?”
“Their father, Benjamin Rosen, was a doctor, and he delivered them himself,” Sully said. “Or so I heard.”
“Wow, how do you keep a baby from falling off the island into the water. The constant vigilance required to raise toddlers out here is mind-boggling,” Lindsey said. “Their poor mother.”
“No, not poor at all,” Sully said. “The Rosens were one of the wealthiest families in the islands. They had a full house staff. In fact, each boy had his own nanny.”
“Oh, so they were a ‘what’s a weekend?’ sort of family,” Lindsey said.
“Precisely,” Sully said. “Dr. Rosen didn’t work because he had to but because he enjoyed it. By all accounts he was a brilliant man with a hideous bedside manner. He was a surgeon in New Haven, so he lived there during the week and came to the island on the weekends to be with his family.”
Lindsey frowned. “His wife must have been terribly lonely.”
Sully nodded. He glanced at the house as if trying to imagine it back in the day. “Isabel Rosen was a beautiful woman, a concert pianist who had traveled all over the world. She was in a car accident and damaged one of her hands. Dr. Rosen was her surgeon, and they fell in love. He moved her here to the island shortly after they were married, and she stayed here until the day she died.”
“She never left the island? Ever?”
“Rarely. The staff maintained the house and grounds, so there was never any need,” he said.
“What happened to Dr. Rosen?”
“He was killed in a boating accident in the early nineteen sixties,” Sully said. “Peter was with him and tried to save him but tragically broke his own back from the effor
t. He lived but has been in a wheelchair ever since.”
They both glanced up at the house this time, thinking of their grisly discovery in the kitchen.
“That must have been horrible,” she said. “Trying to save his father and ending up with a broken back and still losing his dad.”
“The broken back, for sure, but from what I’ve heard, their father was a miserable, mean old man who hated his sons because neither of them became a surgeon like him. Stewart was more of an engineer, and Peter was a musician like his mother. I’m not certain they felt his loss in the way sons normally do.”
“Were they close to their mother, at least?”
“You would think so, because they never left her. But the people in town who knew her described her as a very cold woman, aloof and withdrawn,” Sully said. “The brothers did take care of her until the day she passed, so maybe she was warmer to them than she was to the other island residents.”
“I hope so,” she said. Her chest felt tight at the thought of the two brothers having two awful parents, never leaving their island and never having any sort of a life of their own.
“Here comes Emma,” Sully said. He pointed to a small speedboat headed their way.
Lindsey turned to look toward town. Sure enough, she could see the heavy police coats that the officers in the boat wore. The long dark hair of Emma Plewicki, the current chief of police, streamed out from under her hat. Next to her, driving the boat, was Officer Kirkland, the newest member of the Briar Creek PD.
“How do you think she’s going to take this?” Lindsey asked Sully.
“That it’s you and me finding the body?” he asked. “At a guess, not well.”
Lindsey sighed. She liked Emma. She was smart, efficient and dedicated to serving her community. Lindsey considered her a friend, but still, things had happened in the past where they had withheld information from each other, and their relationship was a bit strained at the moment. Lindsey didn’t think the fact that she had found another body was going to help the situation.
Kirkland cut the engine and let the boat gently glide up beside the dock. Sully grabbed the boat to steady it. Emma leapt out with a messenger bag slung crosswise over her shoulder before the boat stopped moving.
A Likely Story: A Library Lover's Mystery Page 4
