Milton pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling Saul, the editor, now. I’ll tell him I’ve uncovered information at the historical society leading to another Rosen heir.”
“Wait!” Lindsey cried. “We haven’t worked out all the details yet. I’m not sure this is the best idea. It could put you in terrible danger.”
She thought about how upset Ms. Cole would be and actually flinched.
“I appreciate the concern,” Milton said. “But whoever this person is—or, more accurately, whoever these persons are—they knocked me down, they abused my trust, they shook my faith in my fellow man. How can I not do everything in my power to bring them to justice?”
“Hear, hear!”
Lindsey turned to the door to find Ms. Cole standing there. Dressed all in shades of yellow today, she had a sort of pudgy banana thing going, but the pride that shone on her face as she looked at Milton made her positively radiant.
“Eugenia,” Milton said. He rose from his seat. “You understand why I must do what I can?”
She nodded. “I don’t like it, and you have to promise me you’ll be careful, but I do understand, and I’m, well, proud of the warrior within you.”
Milton hugged her close, and Sully and Lindsey both glanced away, catching each other’s gaze and smiling in mutual embarrassment as they waited for the clinch to break up.
“So, I hear there’s more snow in the forecast,” Sully said.
“Really? More, you say?”
A flash of yellow caught her attention, and Lindsey turned to see Ms. Cole approach her desk.
“I owe you an apology,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault Milton was attacked, and I’m sorry I was not as understanding as I could have been.”
“That’s quite all right,” Lindsey said. “Emotions were running high, and these things happen.”
Ms. Cole gave her a brusque nod and turned and left the office, pausing beside Milton to whisper something in his ear that made his bald head glow like a beacon.
It was agreed that Milton would be in the historical society office the following evening after the news story came out. Lindsey and Sully would also be there, but in hiding, to bear witness to whoever came in to query about any more Rosen relatives.
It was as the men were leaving her office that Lindsey felt her first surge of hope and doubt.
“Lindsey, isn’t that . . . ?” Sully pointed to an object behind her office door.
Lindsey moved around him and glanced down. “My box. It’s my box of books.”
They exchanged worried looks, and Lindsey knew Sully was thinking the same thing she was. This was either a message from Stewart that he was okay, or someone was messing with her head. Of course, if Stewart had been here, he could very easily have been in the parking lot of the police department earlier, shooting at the man he believed was responsible for his brother’s death. Lindsey blew out a breath, trying to ignore her sudden feeling of unease. It couldn’t be Stewart, she was sure of it, mostly.
* * *
Sully and Lindsey arrived at the historical society an hour before the Gazette was available. Milton ushered them through the back door, and the three of them went over the plan in a windowless office in the center of the one-story brick building.
“I’ll stay in the main room while you two keep out of sight in the file room,” Milton said. He opened a door off of the main room that housed two rows of large steel file cabinets full of clippings about the town and its residents for more than the past century.
“We’re assuming that the person—” Lindsey began, but Milton interrupted.
“Persons,” he said. “There have to be two people involved, remember? One to draw me out and one to whack me from behind.”
“You’re right. We’re assuming the persons responsible for Peter’s death are going to see the Gazette article right away,” Lindsey said. “It could be that they don’t see it at all.”
“Oh no, everyone is going to see it,” Milton said. “Saul told me that the front-page story is the arrest of Steven Rosen-Grant and the shooting in the parking lot. He said they’ve doubled their print run anticipating the demand.”
Lindsey smiled. “Saul must be in his glory.”
Saul Potts had been a big-city newsman all his life. He’d retired to Briar Creek several years before but had been muscled into taking the job as the editor of the Briar Creek Gazette when his wife, Jeanie, threatened to leave him if he didn’t find something to do besides follow her around.
“He’s positively giddy,” Milton said.
“As soon as the person arrives asking about the heir, we will call the police,” Sully said.
“You have to make sure you play it very carefully,” Lindsey said to Milton. “They’ve already killed at least once. If they think you suspect a connection, they might harm you . . . Oh, I don’t think we should do this!”
“Lindsey, it’ll be okay. I’ll knock twice on the door to let you know when someone enters the building,” Milton said. “I know what I need to do. Trust me.”
Milton closed his eyes and did some pranayama breathing while Sully closed the door behind them as they ducked into the file room. Lindsey’s last sight of Milton showed him with his head back and his eyes shut, looking the picture of peace or, as her dark side kicked in, a man about to meet his doom. A feeling of dread filled her, and she felt her heart rate kick up and her hands began to sweat.
“We should call the police right now,” she whispered to Sully. “To put them on alert.”
“There’s nothing to report yet,” he said. He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to Milton.”
“I wish I knew who we were dealing with and why,” Lindsey said.
“We will soon enough,” Sully said.
* * *
He was wrong, so very wrong. An hour and a half passed. They could hear the occasional “Om” as Milton practiced his yoga. Lindsey would have joined him, but the file room only had a narrow aisle running down the middle. There was barely enough space for the two of them to sit, never mind practice yoga.
They agreed to spend their time going through the files. It was a long shot, but they focused on the late fifties and early sixties hoping something about the Rosens would pop.
She was amazed at how long they worked without speaking. She would have thought it would be awkward, but instead it was companionable, as if they understood each other well enough for no words to be necessary.
Still, it was cramped. They kept the light on in the small room, which helped to keep it from feeling claustrophobic. They had both switched the sound off of their phones to keep from having a text or a call come in at the worst moment possible. Still, Sully checked the scores to the Celtics game on his while she checked the time on hers every fifteen minutes or so.
The Gazette was distributed to homes and the local businesses by an intrepid group of paperboys and girls, and Saul Potts usually dropped a stack off in the library on his way home from the Gazette office. Lindsey knew he took great pride in making the weekly paper a periodical with substance and not just birdcage liner or fish wrap.
When she glanced at the clock on her phone for the umpteenth time, she realized the paper had been out for over an hour now. She really hoped that whoever had shot at Steven Rosen-Grant was reading all about their handiwork and that Saul had featured the information Milton had given him prominently in the story.
Lindsey was beginning to fear that they would be here well past dinnertime, and the hankering for a piece of fried fish with a pile of fries and a mound of coleslaw was beginning to be all she could think about. Her stomach growled, really loudly, and she glanced up to see Sully smiling at her.
She felt her face heat up, and then she whispered, “When we get out of here, I am ordering the biggest pile of fish and chips you have ever see
n.”
In answer, Sully’s stomach growled as well. It surprised a laugh out of Lindsey, and he gave her a rueful glance.
“I’m with you on that,” he said. “I swear I could eat a pile of broccoli right now, and I despise broccoli.”
“I loathe zucchini,” she confessed. “But, yeah, I’d eat a plate of it right now.”
“Brussels sprouts,” he said. They both made gagging faces.
“Peas,” she said.
“Peas?” he asked, looking alarmed. “Who doesn’t like peas?”
“Me,” she said. “They’re gross. The texture is nasty.”
“Well, that settles it, then,” he said. “You can never get seriously involved with the Englishman, since I think mashed peas are a staple of the English diet.”
“Bleck,” she said. He grinned, and, like always, her heart cartwheeled in her chest. “Besides, there’s a more important reason why I can never belong to Robbie.”
“Do tell,” he said.
“My heart belongs to another. It always has,” she said.
They sat silently staring at each other, and then Sully was leaning in close, and she knew he was about to kiss her.
Knock, knock!
Sully jerked back, and Lindsey felt her eyes go wide. That was the signal. The two knocks that they had agreed Milton would tap on the door when a person was spotted coming into the historical society.
They both sat motionless, afraid to make even the slightest rustle of clothing, lest they alert the person to their presence. Lindsey strained to hear, and she knew Milton was facing the door between them when his voice was as clear as if he were in the room with them.
“Why, Mr. Hodges, good evening,” he said. He sounded as surprised as Lindsey felt.
Then again, she supposed it was silly of them to think that no one else from town might stop into the historical society that evening, especially Hodges and Perkins, who were probably still scouting for collectibles while waiting for Emma to give them the go-ahead to leave town, which she would have thought Emma would have done once they caught Steven Rosen-Grant.
She glanced at Sully. He was frowning, and she suspected he was thinking the same thing she was. She had a moment of panic that whoever was looking for the heir to the Rosen estate would come in and Hodges could find himself in the middle of something he hadn’t anticipated, but maybe they would get lucky and his request would be a small one and he’d be on his way quickly.
“Hi, Mr. Duffy. Please call me Calvin,” he said.
“Milton,” he returned. Lindsey wondered if they were shaking hands. “Where’s your partner, Mr. Perkins?”
“Kevin is back at the bed-and-breakfast, packing our things,” he said. “It seems we’ve finally been given the okay to leave town.”
“Excellent. I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your shop,” Milton said.
“More than you know,” Calvin said. He gave a chuckle that sounded forced.
Lindsey glanced at Sully and saw his eyebrows go up. So he heard it, too.
“So, was there something I could help you with?”
“Yes, actually,” Calvin said. He cleared his throat before he continued. “There was an item in the Gazette this evening that caught my attention.”
“I’m sure Saul, the editor, will be pleased to hear it,” Milton said.
“Have you read it today?” Calvin asked.
Lindsey heard someone, Milton, she suspected, cross the room to the window. There was the sound of the drapes being moved aside.
“No, I’m afraid not. There’s my box of Gazette issues out on the steps. I’ll have to remember to get them before it snows. What was of special interest to you?”
“Actually, there was a bit of information in the cover story about Peter Rosen’s murder that I am hoping you can verify.”
“I’ll do my best,” Milton said.
“It said there was another heir to the Rosen estate in addition to Stewart and Steven Rosen-Grant. I need you to tell me who it is.”
Lindsey reached over and grabbed Sully’s hand and squeezed it hard. It was the only thing she could think to do to keep from crying out.
Calvin Hodges, the collector? He was the one who had been trying to get rid of the Rosens? But why?
“Oh, that,” Milton said. Lindsey heard him walk around the room, and she suspected he was positioning himself so that his great big desk was between him and Hodges.
Sully had pulled out his phone and was firing off a text to Chief Plewicki. It was the only way they could think to let her know what was happening without making any noise. He also sent one to Ms. Cole. She was their backup. She was to call the police and make sure Emma got the text message from Sully.
“Yeah, that,” Calvin said.
“I’d really like to help you,” Milton said, “as I’m sure a man in your occupation is interested in who owns a house packed to the rafters with odds and ends, some of which are undoubtedly worth a fortune, but I can’t give out that information. I have to respect the person’s privacy. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do. I definitely do,” Calvin said. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you tell me.”
There was a tense silence coming from the room. Sully slipped his phone into his pocket and put his hand near the doorknob. Lindsey knew he was getting ready to jump out and assist Milton if it was needed.
“What’s it to you?” Milton asked.
It was the first time Lindsey could ever remember hearing him sound like an ornery octogenarian.
“It is everything,” Calvin said.
There was a note of sheer desperation in his voice. What could be so important about the Rosen house that would make a collector from Chicago sound terrified?
“I’m sorry,” Milton said. His voice was almost kind now, and Lindsey knew he was reacting in his usual soothing way to the fear that was pouring off of Calvin Hodges like a sour smell.
“Not at the moment, you’re not, but I imagine you will be.”
It was a new voice, a woman’s. Lindsey felt Sully’s gaze on her and turned to look at him. He mouthed the name she had suspected all along. Evelyn Dewhurst.
“I ask you to do one thing, Hodges, one thing. Lord, you are incompetent. No wonder you’re about to lose your business,” she said.
“I was handling this,” he snapped. “And you can stop acting so high and mighty. You wouldn’t know anything about anything if I hadn’t told you the night we met at the Anchor.”
“Oh, but I am high and mighty, and you know it,” she said. “Milton, I want the name of the remaining heir to the Rosen estate, and I want it now. I don’t have the time or inclination to play games with you, so give me the information and I won’t have to have Hodges hurt you . . . much.”
“It was you two,” Milton growled. He sounded so angry Lindsey almost didn’t recognize his voice. “You’re the ones who knocked me down outside the library. You were trying to get to Stewart, weren’t you?”
“What did you not understand about me not having time for this?” Evelyn asked. “Tell me who the remaining heir is before Hodges beats it out of you.”
“Wait, I never agreed—” Hodges protested.
“Oh, do shut up!” Evelyn snapped. “What did you think was going to happen tonight? You know what the endgame is. Now stop being such a sniveler.”
“I never agreed to hurt anyone,” Hodges argued.
“Didn’t you?” Evelyn asked. “Didn’t we both?”
There was the sound of rustling, and then Milton let out a yip. Lindsey had her hand on the knob and was about to turn it when Milton shouted, “A gun, Evelyn? Really? How unladylike.”
Sully put his hand over Lindsey’s and stopped her. Milton’s shout had been to alert them to the new level of danger on the other side of the door.
“If we startle her, she might shoot him by accident,” Sully breathed in Lindsey’s ear.
She nodded that she understood, but she was terrified that something would happen to Milton before they could get to him.
“Wait for it,” Sully said. Lindsey knew he was using all of his naval combat training to pick the right moment to bust out of the file room.
“It is a bit brutish,” Evelyn conceded. “But it got your attention, didn’t it? Now the name, please.”
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid you give me no choice,” Evelyn said. “Shall I start with your kneecaps and work my way up?”
That was the first time Lindsey ever understood the term all hell breaking loose.
In one motion, Sully was up, the door was shoved open and he sprang past Lindsey into the room, where he took Evelyn down at the knees, grabbing her gun as she went.
Lindsey raced into the room after him and hurried to Milton’s side.
“Are you all right?” she asked. She hugged him tight.
“I’m fine,” he said. He hugged her back. “Just fine.”
Sully rose to his feet, pulling Evelyn up after him and shoving her into a chair. He had the gun, and he motioned for Calvin to take the chair beside her.
“You killed Peter Rosen, didn’t you?” he asked.
Evelyn looked away while Calvin shook his head from side to side.
“No, I had nothing—”
“Shut up, you idiot,” Evelyn said.
“Did you kidnap Stewart and kill him, too?” Lindsey demanded.
“No!” Calvin answered. “I swear!”
“SHUT UP!” Evelyn shrieked, and she hit him with her right fist like a hammer to the sternum, making Calvin double over and suck in a breath.
“Where is Stewart?” Sully asked. Evelyn stuck her chin up in defiance and turned her head away.
“I don’t know,” Calvin wheezed. “We tried to grab him that night at the library, but he was too fast for us.”
“Who shot at Steven today?” Milton demanded.
A Likely Story: A Library Lover's Mystery Page 23
