Better Late Than Never

by Jenn McKinlay

  In addition to the pictures being really old, the other problem was that amnesty day had been crazy busy with the amount of people in the building and the deluge of books that had poured in. She couldn’t fault her staff for not recognizing either Matthew or Benji when she didn’t recognize them either.

  Of course there was always the possibility that it wasn’t Benji or Matthew who had returned the book. Perhaps now, just like before, they were both innocent.

  Lindsey would have felt better about that possibility if there was anyone else with a motive, but so far no name had popped up as having an issue with Candice Whitley. Her thoughts turned back to Principal Larsen. He had been at a school board meeting at the time of the murder. That was about as solid of an alibi as a person could get.

  Lindsey frowned. The four people who had been robbed were all people who had a major role in Candice’s life: her best friend, her boyfriend, her student, and her boss. One of them had to know something that would give a clue as to who murdered her. Matthew and Benji hadn’t been in town in years, Judy had recently come back, and Principal Larsen had never left town. And yet, their families had all been robbed. Why?

  The book! Lindsey did a face palm. How had she not thought of this before? It all fit. None of the people who were robbed had lost anything significant. Karen had said it herself—she wasn’t even sure of what was missing, if anything.

  It made perfect sense. The person who had robbed all four of the people who had a connection to Candice must have been looking for the book. Once they found it, they must have returned it during amnesty day. Again, Lindsey couldn’t help but wonder why. What was their purpose?

  They couldn’t have known that the library would notice who had checked out the book and on what day or that Lindsey would bring the book to the chief of police. So was it someone who wanted attention to be drawn to Candice’s murder, or was it the murderer hoping to unload a piece of incriminating evidence after all this time?

  Lindsey felt her head start to throb. So many questions and no answers, the biggest question being who wanted Candice dead? She wondered if Detective Trimble with the state police had had any luck with the book. She decided to call Emma and see if she had anything to share.

  Emma answered on the second ring.

  “Chief Plewicki,” she said. Her voice was clipped and Lindsey had the feeling she was not having a great day.

  “Emma, it’s Lindsey,” she said.

  “Oh, boy,” Emma said. “Let me do a preemptive strike. I haven’t heard anything from the state police about the book. It is not a high priority given that the only thing we know about it is that it was checked out to Candice on the day she was killed. There was no blood splatter or anything else to indicate that it was a part of the murder. Does that appease your curiosity?”

  “Partly,” Lindsey said. “What I was really calling about was the burglaries.”

  “What about them?”

  “When was the last one?”

  “Why?”

  “Because if it is just those four families who are connected to Candice Whitley who have been robbed then that means the robberies stopped after the book was discovered on amnesty day, which might mean that the robberies were done to find the person who might have had the book. And if that’s the case then the last house robbed is probably where the book was, meaning that the murderer was that person or the person belonging to that family. See where I’m going here?”

  Emma was silent for so long that Lindsey thought their call might have been cut off.

  “Hello, Emma, hello.”

  “I’m here,” Emma said.

  Lindsey heard the rustling of papers.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “Other than the fact that you’re way too involved in this case?” Emma asked.

  “Yeah, besides that.”

  “I’m looking at the reports from the burglaries. Two of them happened on the same night with the other two happening two nights before that.”

  “That’s no good,” Lindsey said.

  “No,” Emma said. “If I go along with your theory—and that’s a big if—then I’m still left with the Larsen and Elrich houses as the last robberies.”

  “So there’s no way to tell which house was robbed last?”

  “No, but even if there was we have no way of knowing if it was the book the perp was after,” Emma said. “It’s pure speculation. Good speculation, but still.”

  “There has to be a connection,” Lindsey said. “I know it sounds crazy but I can just feel it.”

  “Not crazy but doggedly determined,” Emma said. “I have to ask you: In all of your library school training, did it never occur to you to study criminal justice and become a cop?”

  “No,” Lindsey said. “But if you think about it, the occupations really aren’t that different.”

  “How so?”

  “You have to work with people, you have to mediate whatever situation you find yourself in and you have to discover the truth or the facts or the information that is needed, which is different on any given day,” Lindsey said.

  “It’s the people aspect that always throws a wrench into things, isn’t it?”

  “So true,” Lindsey agreed. “The facts are the facts but the human element always manages to twist and change things.”

  “Well, this human element has to brief her officers on the latest,” Emma said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “You say that as if you’ve accepted that it’s so,” Lindsey said.

  “I’m picking my battles,” Emma said. “I know it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway: be careful. If the murderer is still out there, you really don’t want to make yourself a target by asking too many questions.”

  “I promise.”

  “Don’t go anywhere alone,” Emma said. “Part of what bothers me about this case is that Candice was walking alone on the school grounds on the night of her murder. It was fall, it was getting darker earlier. If she had just been with someone . . .”

  “I’d be willing to bet her best friend, Judy, thinks about that all the time,” Lindsey said.

  “If she wasn’t the one who killed her, I’ll bet you’re right,” Emma said.

  “That’s harsh to think of the best friend as a suspect,” Lindsey said.

  “Everyone’s a suspect,” Emma retorted. “Everyone who was here in nineteen ninety-six at any rate.”

  “I’ll call you if I discover anything of note.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lindsey hung up the phone. From what Milton, the town historian had said, Briar Creek hadn’t changed much over the years that had passed since Candice’s death. As he’d put it, the trees were taller and there were new coats of paint on some of the buildings, but overall, it was the exact same town right down to its residents.

  Staring at the pictures on her desk, she wondered why this case was bothering her so much. Was it because Candice had been a great teacher struck down in her prime? Was it because of the returned book? Did it just really bug her that the murderer could so blithely return a book that he had taken from the woman he killed? Was it because there was seemingly no motive? Was it just her librarian’s need for answers in a chaotic world? Was that why she couldn’t let it go?

  Lindsey gathered the pictures and put them away. Clearly, if either Benji or Matthew had been in the library no one had recognized them. She would have to think of something else that might tie the book to the killer.

  It occurred to her that she hadn’t asked anyone if they’d seen Principal Larsen or Judy Elrich on the day of the amnesty. She popped out of her office and went out to the front.

  “Ms. Cole, by any chance did you see Judy Elrich or Principal Larsen here on amnesty day?”

  Ms. Cole turned away from the computer screen and lowered her reading glasses until they perched o
n the end of her nose like a little bird on a branch.

  “Do you honestly expect me to remember every person who came in here on amnesty day?” she asked.

  “Well, when you put it like that . . .”

  “It sounds mental,” Ms. Cole said.

  Lindsey sighed. She wished she had a case for argument but she knew she didn’t. She glanced out at the late-afternoon sky. It looked as if the storm that had dropped rain on them earlier was circling back to dump some more moisture on them.

  “I’m going to bring the flags in,” she said.

  She hoped the fresh air would do her some good. Maybe it would clear her head or give her an epiphany of some sort. She stepped outside and noted that the breeze had picked up. The band of steel gray clouds was moving in from the water like an advancing army. Lindsey hurried down the steps. Chilly gusts of air pulled at her long curls and she quickly wound it into a knot at the back of her head to keep it from blocking her vision.

  “Need a hand there?”

  She turned to find Robbie headed her way. The collar on his jacket was up and he leaned forward as he walked, as if the breeze was pushing him away from her.

  “Thanks,” she cried. She untied the ropes and Robbie lowered the flags. She caught them before they touched the ground and led the way into the library foyer, where they could fold them out of the wind.

  Lindsey glanced out at the pier to see if Sully’s boat was out. She didn’t like to think of him getting caught in this weather, although if anyone could handle it, it was Sully. His boat wasn’t at the pier. She tried not to fret.

  When she turned back around, she found Robbie watching her with a resigned sort of expression.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He shrugged. Lindsey held one end of the flag out to him. They folded it silently. When she worked the triangular shape all the way to the end and took it from his hands, he stopped her. He moved his hands to her elbows and held her in place.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “About?”

  “Him,” he said. He nodded his head in the direction of the pier and Lindsey knew he was talking about Sully.

  “Yes,” she said. She met his gaze steadily so that he would have no doubts about her sincerity.

  “You’re serious.”

  “I’m sorry, yes.”

  “Bloody hell!” Robbie cried. “This romance between you two has been like watching two slow-moving sloths galumphing at each other. Honestly, it’s downright depressing.”

  “I think sloths are adorable,” she said.

  “Well, that’s it, then.”

  “It’s been it for a while. You just haven’t been listening.”

  “Of course I haven’t. You can’t blame me for hoping that the knuckle-dragging barnacle would sink his own boat on this one,” Robbie said. “His record to date has been spotty at best.”

  “That’s not very nice of you,” Lindsey said.

  “What can I say? Unrequited love makes a man mean,” he said. “You think you’ve found your mate but, no, she’s all tangled up in some sailor’s knots and you’re left high and dry without the girl. It’s positively galling.”

  Lindsey smiled. From the sheer amount of bluster coming out of him, she knew Robbie was going to be just fine.

  “I recently read something about unrequited love,” she said. “It went something like, ‘Love from afar is an unopened letter, to leave the contents unknown makes nothing better—’”

  “‘For love that is worthy does not make a straight line, rather it encircles two hearts and two minds.’”

  Lindsey whipped her head in the direction of the voice. Brian Kelly was standing in the doorway to the library. A small smile turned up the corner of his mouth as he leaned against the doorjamb.

  “Nice poem,” he said. “One of my favorites, actually. The author was just young and brash enough to make an ass of himself and not care. The arrogance of youth.”

  “How did you know the words?” Lindsey asked. “I just read that recently in an old yearbook. It was written by a student at the local high school. How could you . . .”

  And then she knew. Looking at Brian Kelly, she suddenly saw the boy he would have been twenty years ago.

  “Matthew, is it you?”

  Brian winked at her. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared into the library.

  “Matthew? I thought his name was Brian,” Robbie said. “Met him at the Anchor a few nights ago. Interesting chap. He’s lived all over the country, most recently in Oregon, if I remember right. Full of great stories.”

  “Was one of them about how he killed his teacher Candice Whitley?” Lindsey asked. She shoved the flag into Robbie’s arms and raced after Brian.

  “I think I would have remembered that!” Robbie cried as he hurried after her.

  They dashed into the building. Lindsey glanced left then right. There wasn’t another unalarmed exit in the building. The only way out was the front door.

  She spun around and grabbed Robbie by the arms. “Stay here and guard the door.”

  “But what if he’s dangerous—” he began to protest.

  “Just do it!” Lindsey yelled.

  She turned and raced into the fiction area. The stacks of bookshelves were perfect for hiding and Matthew had a healthy head start. She ran down the main aisle, snapping her head back and forth looking for him. Other than a few patrons browsing books there was no one. She hurried over to the non-fiction side and did the same.

  “Oh, Lindsey, perfect timing. Do you know where I can find a vegan—” Becky Delaney asked. She was seated on the floor amidst a stack of cookbooks.

  “Sorry, can’t talk now,” Lindsey said. “Did anyone run by here in the last few minutes?”

  “Other than you? No.” Becky frowned. “Is everything all right?”

  “No, not even close,” Lindsey muttered.

  She ran out of the stacks. The only other place Matthew could have gone would be the hallway that led to the meeting rooms. The doors were kept locked, so if he ran this way he should be trapped.

  “Ms. Cole, did anyone run by here?” she cried as she raced past the desk.

  “No! Of course not! There’s no running in the library!” Ms. Cole shouted as Lindsey ran past.

  Even knowing that the lemon was probably going to have a cow, Lindsey didn’t slow her pace. She had to catch Matthew if he was here. He was the key to so many of their questions. She was sure of it.

  The doors to the meeting rooms were all closed. Lindsey tried the first two. They were locked. She grabbed the last doorknob and prepared to fling it open but then stopped. If Matthew was in there, which seemed most likely, he could be waiting for her. Despite his alibi, he could still be a murderer.

  She exhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. She turned the knob. It wasn’t locked. She eased the door open. There was no noise from inside the room. She did feel a breeze stir the hair that had fallen about her face. It was a cold, stiff gust, the sort that accompanied an incoming storm.

  “Damn it!” Lindsey shoved the door open and strode into the empty room.

  A window on the far side of the room was open. She had no doubt that this was how Matthew Mercer had made his escape. She crossed the room and peered out the window, knowing as she did that he was likely long gone.

  “Hello, love,” Robbie said from below the window. It had just begun raining and he was getting wet.

  “I told you to stay by the front door,” Lindsey cried. “He might be getting away.”

  “No.” Robbie shook his head. “He was way ahead of us.”

  He pointed to the ground where a pair of footprints showed clearly in the mud as leaving the building via the window. Lindsey tapped the sill with her fist. She’d lost him.

  Lindsey leaned down and held her hand out to
Robbie. He clasped her wrist with his hand and she locked her fingers around his wrist and hauled him through the open window and back into the library.

  “Well, Sherlock, it looks like we need to report the discovery of Matthew Mercer’s alias to our police chief,” Robbie said. He didn’t look the least bit reluctant, which Lindsey thought spoke well of him since Emma struck fear into the hearts of most people, including Lindsey occasionally.

  “Not just yet, Watson,” Lindsey said. “I happen to know that Brian Kelly is renting a room from Peter Harwood.”

  “And you’re thinking to go and pay him a visit?” Robbie shook the rain off his reddish blond hair, sending droplets of water across the room.

  “I clock out in ten minutes,” Lindsey said. She wiped a few drops from her face. “Meet me in front?”

  Robbie grinned. “You’re letting me go with you without an argument?”

  “Don’t look so surprised, Watson,” Lindsey said. She closed the window and locked it. “Every good detective needs a sidekick.”

  “Sidekick?” Robbie frowned. “I don’t think I really thought the character assignments through.”

  “Too late,” she said. “You already gave me the hat.”

  “Just so,” he said.

  Lindsey led the way out of the room, locking the door behind her. If Emma wanted to come over here and check for any sort of fingerprint evidence that showed Brian Kelly to be Matthew Mercer, then she wanted to leave the room as uncontaminated as possible.

  Back in the main room of the library, Lindsey went to close up her office and grab her umbrella while Robbie cooled his heels by the front door. Lindsey knew where Pete Harwood lived because his was the only house in town that sported a toilet as a petunia planter. It made Eloise Schaffer, his across-the-street neighbor, crazy, and she’d spent hours in the library poring over the local zoning ordinances to see if she could make him remove the toilet. She could not. Lindsey was quite sure Peter had taken an absurd delight in thwarting Eloise. Either that or he just really loved the petunias in his toilet, as he replanted them every spring.