“Mr. Milstein, er, Larry, do you have any other family besides your daughter?” she asked. “Parents, siblings, cousins?”
“No,” he said. He took a sip of the amber liquid in his glass. “It’s just me and Liza. I was an only child, and my parents passed five and seven years ago. Whatever family they had, they never kept in touch with, so it’s just me and the kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Liza piped up from the desk. “I’m twenty.”
“Not legally allowed to drink yet and still living under my roof,” Larry said. “That makes you still my kid.” He winked at her, and it was full of affection.
“I’m only still under your roof because you won’t let me move out.” Liza shook her head at him. Lindsey sensed this was an old argument between them.
“You’re not moving in with that loser boyfriend of yours,” Larry said. “He doesn’t even have a job. How would he provide for you?”
“Provide for me?” Liza asked. “What century is this? I have my own money. I don’t need anyone to provide for me.”
“Yeah, your money, as you call it, is my money,” Larry said. “As long as I’m footing your bills, you’ll live where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re safe.”
Liza looked at Lindsey and Robbie. “The paranoia runs deep in this one.”
“It’s not paranoid to accept that having money makes you a target. It does. All sorts of hustlers, crooks, and criminals will come after you, and if they think they can rob you blind, they will. And that includes unemployed boyfriends.”
Lindsey noticed that Liza was frowning down at the top of the desk. She wondered how Liza felt about her father having so much say over her life. While she understood that Larry wanted to protect his daughter, she wondered whether Liza didn’t chafe a bit at the digs to her boyfriend and his refusal to let her move out on her own.
“Sounds like the voice of experience,” Robbie observed.
“I’ve been bitten a few times,” Larry conceded. He drained his glass.
“As have we all,” Robbie said. He polished off his whiskey as well.
Lindsey took a moment to study Larry. The firelight highlighted his rugged features, and Lindsey got a glimpse at what he had looked like as a young man. There was an optimism beneath the surface that she hadn’t expected. She wondered how he had managed to retain that, given the loss of his wife and the ups and downs of a life spent in retail. She glanced at Liza—perhaps she was the person who kept Larry hopeful.
“Dinner is served, Mr. Milstein,” a woman in a chef’s coat announced from the door.
She was short but slender, with her gray-streaked hair tied back at the nape of her neck. Lindsey guessed her to be in her fifties.
“Thank you, Mrs. Armand,” Larry said. He glanced at Lindsey and Sully. “Would you care to join us? Mrs. Armand is an amazing chef.”
Lindsey glanced at Mrs. Armand to see whether the sudden possibility of two additional people at the dinner table caused her any stress. She didn’t bat an eye. Lindsey was impressed.
“You’re very kind,” Robbie said. “But we are otherwise engaged.”
“Too bad,” Milstein said. “I have a Rémy Martin XO cognac that I was hoping to share with a discerning palate.”
“Another time.” Robbie set his glass down on a coaster on the coffee table and rose to his feet. Lindsey followed.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Larry said.
“Bye, Liza,” Lindsey said.
“Good night.” Liza waved good-bye from the desk while Larry walked them to the door.
“If Theresa needs anything from the library, please don’t hesitate to call me,” Lindsey said. “And I’d be happy to come and sit with her if she would like some company.”
“Thank you,” Larry said. “That’s very kind of you. I didn’t know the library offered such door-to-door service.”
“We don’t usually, but I consider Theresa a friend,” Lindsey said.
“That’s Theresa for you,” he said. “She makes friends wherever she goes.”
Lindsey followed Robbie to his car. It was now fully dark, and the evening’s chill reminded her that spring wasn’t here just yet. The occasional April snowstorm did happen, and if today’s temperatures had dropped any lower, all the crocuses and daffodils that had just begun to sprout would have been suffering from some frostbite.
Robbie opened her door for her, and Lindsey slid in. She glanced back at the house as Robbie climbed into the driver’s seat, and she saw a face watching them from a second-story window. She thought it was Theresa, and she lifted her hand to wave. But how could Theresa be in the window? Her cast made standing difficult at best, and Lindsey was sure her room had been on the other side of the house, overlooking the water.
Lindsey squinted, trying to get a better look at the dark-haired woman. Her face was pale, and she was too far away for Lindsey to make out her features clearly, but she looked an awful lot like an older version of Liza. Lindsey felt her heart beat hard in her chest while the hair on the back of her neck prickled. The woman also bore a striking resemblance to the woman in the photograph in Theresa’s room.
“Robbie.” Lindsey reached over and grabbed his arm. “Look at the second-story window all the way on the left side of the house. Do you see what I see?”
Robbie had to lean across the console to be able to see. Before he could get there, the woman with the closed-lip smile stared hard at Lindsey and then disappeared with a twitch of a thick lace curtain.
“Um, am I supposed to see something?” he asked.
“There was a woman standing in the window,” Lindsey said. “I thought it was Theresa, but how could she be standing there when her room is on the other side of the house?”
“There’s no one there now,” Robbie said. “Maybe it was just a reflection.”
Lindsey turned to glare at him, and he backed up into his own seat. “Just throwing out theories.”
“Well, you can throw that one all the way out,” Lindsey said. “There was a woman standing there. I saw her. She was as real as you or me.”
“All right, don’t have a wobbler on me,” he said. He started the car and proceeded down the driveway a bit slower than Lindsey would have liked. She was ready to put some distance between her and the Milstein house. “Maybe it was Liza. From a distance, she could appear to be a grown-up.”
“It wasn’t Liza,” she said.
“They have staff,” he replied. “Could it have been a cook or a maid? Or maybe Theresa has a private nurse staying with her.”
“A nurse,” Lindsey said. She hadn’t considered that. “That makes sense, I suppose.”
“Of course it does,” Robbie said. “I mean, who did you think it was? The ghost of the late Mrs. Milstein?”
8
“No,” she said. It was a lame effort. Even she could hear how defensive she sounded.
“Oh my God, you did,” he accused. He chortled as he turned onto the neighborhood road that would lead them back to town. “Someone has been reading too many gothic novels.”
“I have not,” she said. This was also a fib, as she’d recently dug up all her old Victoria Holt novels and delved into what she considered her Rebecca-light reading. Maybe it had gotten into her head, or maybe there really was something creepy and wrong about the Milstein house.
“Specters or whatever aside,” Robbie said, “I’m going to mention my talk with Larry to Emma. The man has a fine taste in whiskey, I’ll give him that, but I felt like he wasn’t telling me something. I was studying him, and he paused quite a bit while we were talking, as if he was considering every word he said. That’s odd, don’t you think?”
“Weirder than seeing a face in the window? No,” she said. “It could be that as a public figure he’s very careful, but, yes, you should tell her anyway. Listen, Theresa told me something that I also fi
nd odd. Larry has taken a hefty life insurance policy out on her as the future Mrs. Milstein.”
“Really?” Robbie frowned.
“That’s what she said. I feel like it’s strange that he did it before they were married.”
“Agreed.”
“How are you going to explain that you were enjoying whiskey with Larry Milstein while she was questioning Kayla Manning, the only suspect in the case so far?”
“I am simply going to tell her the truth,” he said. “I saw you struggling with a big bag of books that needed delivering to the Milstein’s, and I offered you a ride.”
“That’s a slight variation on the truth.”
“And yet, still true,” he said.
“Only by the narrowest margin,” she agreed.
“And I’ll mention the life insurance policy and see if that gets me out of hot water,” he said.
“Good move.”
They drove silently through town. Robbie was dropping her off at home, and while Lindsey was happy to be going home, where she’d be with her dog, Heathcliff, and Sully, she was also a teeny bit reluctant. Being in the Milstein’s house, so like her former residence, with its three stories and ocean view, before she moved in with Sully, had made her a bit homesick for her old apartment.
As Robbie pulled into the driveway and waited for her to climb out, he said, “Tell the soggy sailor I said hello.”
“I will,” Lindsey said. She didn’t move.
“Something wrong?” Robbie asked.
“No, not really. Does Emma whistle?”
“Huh?”
“Sorry, that was a random thought. Never mind, forget I said anything,” she said. She reached for the door handle and popped open the passenger door, letting the cold night air into the warm car.
“No, no, no,” Robbie said. He took her arm and held her in her seat. “You don’t get to ask a weird question and then just climb out of the car with no explanation. Why do you want to know if Emma whistles?”
“No reason,” she said. “Really, it’s stupid.”
“Good, then it shouldn’t be a problem to tell me.”
“It’s nothing,” she insisted. Robbie stared at her, waiting, clearly prepared to wait for however long it took. Lindsey shut her door to keep the heat pouring out of the floor vents from escaping. “Oh, all right, it’s just that Sully whistles every morning when he wakes up. Every morning, whistling, it could make a girl mental—that’s all.”
Robbie blinked at her, and then he laughed. “He’s driving you crazy.”
“No, he isn’t,” she clarified. “The whistling is.”
Robbie nodded, his grin showing every bit of his gleaming white Hollywood teeth.
“You’re laughing at me,” she said.
“Only a smidgeon,” he admitted. “It’s nice to know the buoy boy isn’t perfect.”
“No one’s perfect.”
“No, but I come pretty close,” he said.
Lindsey laughed and rolled her eyes. Leave it to Robbie to make her grateful she had to deal only with whistling and not an ego the size of the Atlantic.
“And with that, I will talk to you later,” she said. Again, she reached for the door handle, but Robbie didn’t let go of her arm. Instead, he gave it a quick squeeze to bring her attention back to him before he let go.
“Can I make an observation from one friend to another?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Listen, I know this might be weird coming from me, but have you considered that the little things Sully does aren’t really what’s bothering you?”
“No, I’m pretty sure the sunrise serenade is exactly what’s bugging me.”
“Humor me,” he said. “You and the water boy have been on and off a couple of times, and it could be that you’re trying to protect yourself from a future hurt by using some of his idiosyncrasies as a buffer for your feelings.”
Lindsey blinked at him.
“Oh my God, you have been watching entirely too much Dr. Phil,” she said.
Robbie raised his hands in the air in a gesture of innocence. “I’m just saying you should consider the possibility. Maybe it’s not his annoying habit that’s got you on edge so much as your own vulnerability now that you live together.”
Lindsey gave him side-eye. “I’m telling Emma that you are entirely too in touch with your feminine side.”
“She’s the chief of police,” he said. “One of us has to be.”
Lindsey laughed at his pointed look and said, “Women can have any job they want and still be feminine.” Then she held up a hand to stop his retort. “And, yes, men can be in touch with their feminine side, too. I’ll think about what you said.”
“That’s my girl,” he said. “But do not under any circumstances let Captain Knuckle Dragger know that I have his back. It would ruin our adversarial rapport.”
“I promise.”
She climbed out of the car and headed toward the house, determined not to let a little whistling get on her nerves.
* * *
• • •
Lindsey unlocked the front door and strode inside. Out of habit she braced herself. Sure enough, Heathcliff, her hairy black rescue dog, came at her at a run. He barked and wagged his tail at the same time, and when he got to Lindsey, he stood on his back legs and hugged her about the knees.
“Oh, who’s a good dog? Who’s mommy’s handsome fella?” Lindsey asked as she scratched him behind the ears.
Heathcliff promptly dropped to the floor and offered up his belly for rubs. Lindsey bent over him and rubbed his tummy until his tongue lolled out of his mouth.
Sully’s head popped out of the kitchen. “Dinner in five minutes.”
“You cooked?” she asked. She toed off her shoes, happy to be home.
Sully’s head popped back out. He watched her kick her shoes to the side of the foyer. He frowned.
“I didn’t cook exactly,” he said. “The deli in the grocery store had a special on their beef stew, so I bought a quart of it along with some fresh bread.”
“It smells amazing.”
“Thanks.”
Sully walked toward her, and Lindsey lifted her face for a hello kiss, but he ducked around her and grabbed her shoes, putting them in the wicker basket to the side of the door, where they kept all their shoes. Then he turned around, kissed her quickly, and went back to the kitchen.
Lindsey looked down at Heathcliff. “Huh, what do you make of that?”
Heathcliff barked, and Lindsey was pretty sure he was telling her that Sully was not down with her not putting her shoes in the basket.
With Heathcliff at her side, Lindsey slid onto a stool at the kitchen counter. Sully was just pulling the bread out of the oven. He had already put two steaming bowls of stew on the counter, and now he put the bread in a basket between them.
“Are you mad at me?” Lindsey asked.
“No, why would you think that?”
“Um, perfunctory kiss hello,” she said. “No ‘How was your day?’ In fact, I’ve seen none of the usual I-haven’t-seen-you-all-day-gosh-I-missed-you niceties coming from you, which makes me think you’re irritated.”
“Not irritated,” he said. He poured her a glass of wine and got himself a beer. Then he took the seat beside hers. “Was that Robbie who brought you home? I ask because when I swung by the library to give you a ride home so you wouldn’t get soaked in the rain, Beth let me know that you’d taken off with him.”
“Ah.” Lindsey smacked her forehead with her palm. “I forgot to text you, didn’t I? I am so sorry. That was unforgivably rude. I have no excuse except that Liza Milstein was in and then Emma came by and then there was a break-in at Theresa’s house—”
“Which, of course, you had to help with,” Sully said. “Being the head librarian and all.”
Lindsey studied the severe line of his mouth. He looked annoyed, but Sully was never annoyed, so was he annoyed or . . . ?
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked.
He lifted one eyebrow as he studied her. “Me?”
Lindsey grinned. “You are, aren’t you?”
She closed the space between their chairs and looped her arms about his neck, pulling him close. When they were just inches apart, he smiled.
“No one warned me that a librarian for a girlfriend would be such a handful,” he said. “I think I was woefully unprepared.”
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s that whole rage-for-order thing. It makes us troublesome.”
“Good thing I like trouble,” he said. Then he kissed her, and Lindsey knew everything was all right. Still, the shoes. She needed to ask about the shoes. He kissed her again and she forgot.
When they broke apart, Sully’s smile was wide, and he pushed her stew toward her and said, “Eat and talk.”
“In that order?”
“Yes.”
Lindsey didn’t need to be told twice. She tucked in and recounted the events of the day while she did.
Sully’s eyebrows went up when he heard about Theresa’s attacker, but he didn’t interrupt, letting Lindsey tell all of it before he asked questions. It occurred to her that this was a rare and wondrous quality in a man. It made her want to hug him again and more than made up for the morning whistling.
When she paused to eat, Sully broke off a chunk of bread and used it to swab up the stew in his bowl. He chewed while he considered what she’d told him, and then he asked, “How did Theresa seem tonight when you stopped by?”
“She seemed to be making the best of a very scary situation,” Lindsey said. “But I could tell she was tired and wary.”
“Wary,” he said. He picked up his beer and took a long sip. “That’s an interesting word choice, given that she is in her fiancé’s house with bodyguards. Why wary?”
Lindsey blew out a breath. Here it was. The end of her story. Did she tell him about the photograph and the face in the window or not?
“Okay, so I don’t want you to think I’m crazy or overly imaginative or weird,” she said.
Hitting the Books Page 9
