Books Can Be Deceiving (13 page)

“Beth is not a murderess,” Lindsey said through gritted teeth. “I will not fire her, nor will Milton make a motion for her dismissal.”

“I heard they found his body chopped up in pieces and shoved in his freezer,” Candace said. There was a hysterical delight in her voice that belied her outraged concern, and Lindsey felt her nose wrinkle with distaste.

“That would be highly inaccurate,” she said. “Good day, Mrs. Halpern.”

“If you won’t fire her, I’ll have your job,” Candace threatened her.

“Now, Candace . . .” Milton began in a placating voice, but Lindsey interrupted. “If I am forced to let go of my children’s librarian, one of the best in the state by the way, because of unfounded rumors and innuendo, then by all means, Mrs. Halpern, you can take my job and sh . . .”

Milton pushed Lindsey out the front door before she could finish her sentence. Catching her balance on the bike rack, she gave him an annoyed look.

“What’d you do that for?” she asked. “I was just going to say, she could take my job and shop for a new director.”

“Uh-huh.” Milton didn’t look like he believed her not even a little bit. Smart man.

“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have blasted her, but, oh, she was getting under my skin.”

Milton nodded. “Understandable. Are you going to see Beth now?”

“Yes. I’m worried about her,” Lindsey said as she put the coffee and muffins in the basket behind her seat.

“Would you give her my best?” he asked. “And tell her not to worry. Her job is safe.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that,” Lindsey said. “See you at the board meeting tomorrow?”

“Ten o’clock,” he agreed. “I’ll be there.”

Lindsey pedaled down the shore road. The sun was warm but the air was chilly. She hoped the coffee didn’t cool off too much by the time she got to Beth’s house.

She refused to dwell on the narrow-minded Candace Halpern and offered up her fretting to the wind, letting it carry away her worries to parts unknown. She had found that giving up the things she couldn’t change to the universe was very therapeutic. Now if the universe could just make sure that Rick’s killer was caught, that would be helpful.

She followed the winding beach road until she came to the cluster of beach houses. She rang the bell on her handlebars with a flick of her thumb. She wanted to give Beth a heads-up that she was here.

Lindsey had just toed her kickstand down when Beth’s door opened. She was wearing a fluffy white sweater and jeans. Her black hair looked flat on one side as if she’d been lying down.

Her two cats, Slinky Malinki and Skippy John Jones, both named for cats in popular children’s picture books, were pacing around her sock-clad feet as if they knew she was upset and they were trying to talk her down with lots of purrs and ankle rubs.

“I brought coffee and muffins,” Lindsey said. “Are you up for company, or should I just leave the food and slowly back away?”

“No, come in, please,” Beth said. “I’m driving myself crazy. Maybe you can help put on the brakes.”

Lindsey hurried through the door Beth held open, being careful not to step on Slinky or Skippy as she went. She handed the food bags to Beth and hung her windbreaker on a hook in the foyer.

The door on the left led to the kitchen, but they went past that to the living room beyond. Two cushy love seats flanked a cozy fireplace that was alight with a welcoming flame behind its mesh screen, and between the small sofas was a chunky wooden coffee table, where Beth gently placed the bags Lindsey had brought.

While Beth went to retrieve plates and napkins, Lindsey held her hands out to the fire to warm them. Large windows with sheer curtains over them looked out over Beth’s small backyard to the marsh beyond. While Lindsey watched, she saw an osprey circle and dive, probably catching its lunch for the day.

Slinky and Skippy both sprawled on the floor below the hearth, letting the fire melt their bones. Obviously, now that Lindsey was here, they felt their work was done.

Beth came back and handed Lindsey a plate and a napkin. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” she said as she took the seat opposite her friend. “I wanted to.”

She saw Beth’s copy of
The Last Time I Saw Paris
resting facedown on the armrest. She looked to have gotten about as far as Lindsey.

“Well, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Beth said.

“For what?” Lindsey asked.

Lindsey opened the bag and pulled out a chocolate-chip muffin and tore off a bite with her finger. She popped it into her mouth and realized how hungry she was. The muffin was moist, and the chocolate chips added a tasty surprise to the texture. She had to restrain herself from cramming the whole thing into her mouth. She took a sip of coffee and realized Beth was staring at her expectantly.

“What?” she asked.

“Aren’t you here to tell me I’m on suspension?” Beth asked.

“No!” Lindsey said through a second mouthful of muffin. “Whatever made you think that?”

“Well, I just assumed, given that I’m a murder suspect and all,” Beth said.

“Beth, until they find the killer, technically we’re all suspects, aren’t we?”

“Except I was the only one dating him,” Beth said.

Lindsey sighed. “Have you eaten anything?”

“No,” Beth said.

“Eat first,” Lindsey said. “Then we’ll talk.”

“But you promise you’re not here to suspend me?” Beth asked.

“I swear,” Lindsey said and raised her right hand, still holding a bit of muffin.

“Does a muffin swear count?” Beth asked. “Or is that the same loophole as crossing your fingers?”

“I think it’s actually more legally binding,” Lindsey said. “Trust me. I’d tell you if you were in trouble.”

Beth heaved a huge sigh of relief, and Lindsey decided then and there that Candace Halpern would get her wish over Lindsey’s dead body, or better yet, Candace’s.

Beth picked up the chocolate-chip muffin Lindsey had put on her plate and relaxed against the couch. They didn’t talk while they ate, and Lindsey was relieved to see the food bring a little color back to Beth’s pale complexion.

“So, what now?” Beth asked.

Lindsey knew she wasn’t talking about what they might do that afternoon.

“We wait,” she said. “Who knows—maybe Detective Trimble and Chief Daniels have the killer in custody already.”

“You think?”

Lindsey shrugged.

Beth blew out a breath and said, “If Chief Daniels has his way, it’s going to be me who gets arrested. The minute he found out that we broke up, he started thinking I was the crazy ex-girlfriend bent on revenge, and then when he found out that Rick had plagiarized my story, well, you could practically hear the cell door slamming shut in his head.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing the state has put Detective Trimble on the case.”

“Maybe,” Beth said. “What if he thinks I did it, too?”

“He seems smarter than that.”

“Well, he seemed to believe me up until the plagiarism thing came out. Then, I swear, his attitude changed.”

“It’s unfortunate that it does give you the appearance of a solid motive, but Sully and I were there on the island with you, and we are witnesses on your behalf.”

“Except for those few minutes that I was alone.”

“When the medical examiner gives the time of death, I am sure it will put you in the clear. Really, Beth, don’t fret. It’s going to be okay.”

Beth stared helplessly around her little house. “I didn’t do it, Lindsey, I swear. I didn’t kill Rick.”

L
indsey stayed with Beth until she fell asleep on her couch. She tucked her in on the sofa with a deep purple chenille throw and turned the gas fire off. With any luck, Beth would sleep the day away and be refreshed tomorrow. She picked up their coffee cups and cleaned up the muffin crumbs. She hoped Beth managed to eat more later.

She locked the door behind her and climbed onto her bike. It was late afternoon and she knew she should head home, but she found that she really wanted to go to the police station and see if they’d made any arrests.

She knew Beth would feel so much better if someone was arrested for killing Rick—well, someone other than her. Given his charming personality, surely there had to be someone else who had a stronger motive than plagiarism for stabbing him.

The wind was at her back on the return ride, which made the pedaling much easier. Lindsey looked out at the islands when she rode by the Look Off, a small pull-out on the shore road where the view was the best, and she saw two of Sully’s tour boats out on the water. They appeared to be on their way back in.

She knew that they gave a history of the islands as they puttered around them, and she wondered when they would tell of Rick’s murder or if that would become like the Ruby house, the truth of which the town would keep to itself, not wanting outsiders to know.

She turned away from the water and headed down the road into town. It was Sunday, but surely someone would be at the police station, especially with an ongoing murder investigation.

She parked her bike in front of the squat brick building. Locking it in front of the police station seemed ridiculous, but given that it was her only mode of transportation, she took the precaution anyway.

She pounded up the front steps and through the glass door. No one was at the front desk. She looked for a bell to ring, but this wasn’t exactly a deli.

She glanced around the empty room and called out, “Hello?”

She heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back and the heavy tread of footsteps coming her way. The door behind the front desk opened, and Chief Daniels peered out at her over a piece of fried chicken that he was in the midst of gnawing on.

“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt you, Chief Daniels,” she said. “I was just wondering if any progress has been made on the Eckman . . . er . . . case.”

“Why?” he asked. One eyebrow lifted higher than the other, and she watched as he pulled the meat from the bone with his teeth.

“Why?” she repeated.

“Yeah, what do you care? You weren’t dating him, too, were you?”

“No!” she said. “But Beth is upset, and it would ease her mind if some information has come to light about how he died.”

“Don’t think there’s much question in the how,” the chief said. He tossed the stripped chicken bone into the nearby wastebasket and wiped his fingers on the paper napkin he held in his other hand.

“Okay then, knowing when he died would also be helpful,” she said. “Has the medical examiner set a time of death?”

“Now why would I tell you that?” he asked. “So you and your friend can cook up an alibi to try and stop us from arresting her for murdering her boyfriend?”

It hit her suddenly who Chief Daniels reminded her of, or, more accurately,
what
. A pig. No, that wasn’t right. Pigs were cute in their own way, and she’d lay odds they were smarter. No, Chief Daniels was like a wild boar—big, loud and aggressive.

“No, that would be ridiculous since she didn’t harm him,” Lindsey said. She was pleased that her voice was calm, given how truly annoyed she felt. “I am merely trying to help her deal with her loss.”

“Sounds to me like she lost him
before
she stabbed him.” He tossed the paper napkin into the trash.

He looked so pleased with himself. It was all Lindsey could do not to snap at him. Beth was right. He was certain she was the killer, and there would be no convincing him otherwise. It was maddening.

“If you learn anything that might help her in her time of grief, I would really appreciate it,” Lindsey said. She stepped back toward the door, knowing that this was as far as this conversation was going to go.

He began to speak, but she let the door swing shut on his words. She was certain they weren’t worth the oxygen being used to expel them.

She still had Detective Trimble’s card. She could call him. Even if he couldn’t give her information, she knew she would feel better just knowing that someone with some common sense was working on the case. Obviously, Chief Daniels certainly didn’t suffer from an overabundance of it. But then, having worked at the university most of her life and now with the public at large, she had discovered common sense wasn’t as common as you’d think.

She still remembered her first week staffing the reference desk at the Briar Creek Library. She was used to professors asking for the impossible, but it had never occurred to her that the general public could be equally demanding.

On one particularly grueling day, she’d been asked the proper scientific term for
boogers
, where could a person find a photograph of Leonardo da Vinci, oh, and what was the only word in the English language to end in—
mt
? It had taken some convincing to get the patron to understand that cameras came long after da Vinci had shuffled off this mortal coil and a picture of a painted portrait was the best they were going to do. She still wasn’t sure the patron believed her, and neither did the one asking about boogers.
Dried nasal mucus
was as good as she could get, and apparently it was a very unsatisfying term. The only patron happy on that day was the one looking for the word
dreamt,
the only word in the English language that ends in
mt
.

She unlocked her bike and climbed on. It would be getting dark soon, so she headed out toward the beach road that would take her home. On the way there, she pedaled past the Beachfront Bed and Breakfast. She braked hard.

She had an idea. It was a long shot, but she had nothing to lose. She climbed off of her bike and locked it to the porch railing.

She was going to see if Sydney Carlisle was still in town and, if she was, whether she knew anything about who might have wanted to murder Rick Eckman. As she rang the doorbell, she fervently hoped that Sydney knew either a disgruntled editor in New York, a literary agent with a bad temper or perhaps a bitter rival author, any of whom might have had murder on his or her mind.