Books Can Be Deceiving (16 page)

“Was he okay?” Beth asked.

“He was gored in the behind by your unicorn puppet, but thankfully, only his dignity was left to bleed out as the horn is squishy.”

“Oh, well, um, thanks for covering,” Beth said around what were obviously choked-back spasms of laughter.

“Huh.” Lindsey grunted, swigged some wine, replaced her ice pack and said, “Remind me to give you a raise.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Beth said. In a quieter voice, she said, “The news is coming on.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Better to know than not,” Beth said.

“All right.” Lindsey struggled up to a seated position. She reached for her half of the meatball sub, while Beth turned on the flat-screen TV that hung on the opposite wall. They both turned in their seats to watch.

“Do we know what station that Kili person worked for?”

“The same as Charlene,” Beth said.

Charlene was Violet La Rue’s daughter and one of their crafternoon book club members when her schedule as an anchorperson for the local news station allowed.

The television came to life with Charlene’s coanchor, Ty Ferguson, who looked like his hair had been shaped with wax, speaking.

“We’re now joined live by our own Kili Peters in Briar Creek. Kili?”

“Good evening, Ty.” Kili spoke into her handheld mic. “I’m standing outside the Blue Anchor with Chief J. R. Daniels, who is leading the investigation in the murder of esteemed children’s book author and Thumb Islands resident, Rick Eckman. Have you made an arrest yet, Chief?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lindsey saw Beth sit up straighter in her seat, and she knew Beth was hoping for news that would clear her. Lindsey held her breath.

As Kili tipped the mic toward Chief Daniels, he hitched up his pants and tilted his head back to stare into the camera. He lowered one eyebrow in a studied pose, and said, “No, but we have a pretty good idea of who wanted the victim dead.”

“Oh, really?” Kili asked. “Do you expect to be making an arrest soon then?”

“I’d say within the next twenty-four hours,” he said.

“Well, I’m sure the residents of Briar Creek will be sleeping easier tonight, knowing that you’re on the case,” Kili twittered. “I know I would.”

She gave him a flirty hair toss, and the chief’s shirt puffed up until Lindsey feared he was in danger of popping a few buttons.

“Believe me, little lady, this perp isn’t going to know what hit her,” he said.

Lindsey and Beth exchanged an alarmed look. He said
her
, as in he thought the killer was a woman. That couldn’t be good.

“Excuse me,” Detective Trimble said as he muscled his way into the interview. “I think the chief is speaking prematurely. This case is still under investigation, and as such, we have no comment at this time.”

The chief flushed an unhealthy shade of red and looked ready to argue, but Trimble grabbed his arm and yanked him away from the buxom Ms. Peters, who signed off looking annoyed to have had her interview preempted by the detective.

“Well, thank goodness someone working the investigation has a brain,” Lindsey said.

“I have a feeling I’d be in jail now if it weren’t for Detective Trimble,” Beth said. She sounded scared, and Lindsey couldn’t blame her. There wasn’t a lot standing between her and a locked cell.

“I’m sure Detective Trimble won’t let that happen,” she said. She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. She grabbed the remote and clicked off the television before any more cheery news could ruin their evening.

“I just feel so helpless,” Beth said. “I realize now how little I knew about Rick. He kept me at arm’s length and I let him. Now he’s gone, and I’ll never really know him.”

“Beth, he stole your story idea, submitted it as his own and it’s going to be published,” Lindsey said. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but I think it’s safe to say he wasn’t a nice person. Are you really sorry you didn’t know him better?”

Beth blew out a breath and took a sip of wine. “Maybe if I’d known him better, I’d know why he did what he did.”

“Because he’s a lying cheat?” Lindsey asked.

“Maybe, or maybe he had writer’s block and was feeling desperate,” Beth said.

“Do you think you’re the only person he’s done this to?”

“What do you mean?”

Lindsey considered her words carefully. “Don’t you think it’s possible that he’s plagiarized before?”

“But he won a Caldecott,” Beth said. “Don’t you think he would have been sued?”

Lindsey shrugged. “I was thinking of giving Sydney Carlisle a call.”

“Why?”

“She said Rick was a recluse, refused to go on book tours and do other author promotion. She said he wouldn’t even come off island to meet with her, but I wonder if she could get me in touch with his agent, and then I could ask him or her some questions,” Lindsey said.

“No, actually, Rick recently fired his agent,” Beth said. “If I remember right, this was his fifth agent in five years.”

“Doubtful that they’d talk to me then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Beth agreed. “Maybe we should leave this to the police.”

“We can if that’s what you want, but we’ve established contact with Sydney, and I certainly don’t think we’d be doing any harm by asking.”

“Yeah, we’ve met her, but I didn’t get the feeling that she had the warm fuzzies for us,” Beth said. “Don’t forget she thinks I was passing off Rick’s idea as my own.”

“She was just misinformed,” Lindsey said. “I think it’s worth a stab.”

“So to speak,” Beth said dryly.

Lindsey cringed. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Beth said. “You know, he had no family.”

“No, I didn’t know.” Lindsey watched while Beth nibbled at the outer crust of her sub. She was picking at it like a grackle pecked at a bread crumb.

“He was a ward of the state,” Beth said. “He spent his childhood in foster care and then got a scholarship to the New London School of Design. He always said he’d have been a criminal if it weren’t for his love of art.”

Lindsey thought of how he’d plagiarized Beth’s story and thought he hadn’t gotten that far away from being a criminal after all, but she refrained from pointing that out.

“If we hadn’t broken up, I’d have been the one arranging his funeral,” she said. “Now who’s going to do it? Who are they going to release his body to?”

Lindsey had no answer for her. The body of a murder victim with no family was out of her realm of experience. The best she could do was offer to call someone.

“I’ll talk to Detective Trimble,” she said. “I’m sure he can tell us what the process is.”

“I want to make sure he’s laid to rest in Briar Creek Cemetery,” Beth said. “I know he wasn’t a native, but he lived here for five years, and he really loved his island.”

“Milton can probably make sure of that,” Lindsey said. “Maybe Sydney can tell us who his lawyer was. If he left a will, he may have stated what he wants done with his body. That would make it a lot easier.”

“Good idea,” Beth said. “Lindsey, I know this wasn’t the library career you had in mind. I know your heart belongs to those ancient papers you spent your twenties archiving, but I have to tell you, I am really glad you’re here.”

“Me, too,” Lindsey said, surprised by how much she meant it. “Me, too.”

L
indsey picked up the photograph of her family, taken last Thanksgiving at her parents’ house, from where it resided on the corner of her desk. She studied the four of them while she mulled over what Beth had told her yesterday about Rick.

She had always been close to her parents. A book lover from childhood, she had been well suited to be the daughter of academics. She couldn’t imagine not exchanging daily e-mails with them or missing her weekly call home. Her brother, Jack, was the rambunctious one; brilliant but adventurous, he had always looked to escape the small college town of their childhood.

Even now, Lindsey could hardly keep up with him, and last she’d heard, about a month ago, he was off to study snow monkeys in Japan. She loved him dearly, but he’d always made her feel pale in comparison. Her fair skin and blonde hair when measured against his olive complexion and black hair just never seemed to have much oomph. The only feature they shared was their mother’s hazel eyes.

Where she loved the comfort of the familiar, surrounding herself with the same environment she’d grown up with, he longed to see every corner of the globe, live out of a bag and wake up in a new time zone every day. They were as different as night and day, but still, she couldn’t imagine her world without Jack and her parents, and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the lost little boy Rick had been, shuffled from foster family to foster family but never really belonging.

A knock on the door broke Lindsey out of her reverie. Violet La Rue, wearing her usual brightly colored flowing caftan, strode into the office.

“Hi, Lindsey. I just brought a hot dish over to Beth’s.” Violet sat down on the other side of Lindsey’s desk. “She looks terrible. I don’t think she’s slept in days.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Lindsey said.

“What’s wrong?” Violet asked. “Other than your story time.”

“You heard about that?”

“Please, you were the talk of the Blue Anchor last night. That knot on your head is a lovely shade of purple, by the way.” Violet’s lips twitched, and Lindsey knew she was teasing her.

“I tried to accessorize it.” Lindsey gestured at her purple sweater, which she’d put on over a pair of charcoal gray slacks and black suede boots.

“Very nice,” Violet said. “Anyway, since I got a message from Nancy that our crafternoon has been canceled for this week, I thought I would offer up my services to fill in and do Beth’s story time until she comes back.”

“Oh, Violet, really?” Lindsey asked. “That would mean so much to Beth and to our regulars.”

Violet waved a graceful hand. “I’m happy to help for as long as you need me.”

Another knock sounded at the door, and they both looked to find Ms. Cole standing there, looking more puckered than usual.

“A detective is here to see you,” she said.

“My cue to go,” Violet said, and she rose from her seat with a wave to Lindsey. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Lindsey said. She rose, too.

As Violet left in a swirl of color, Detective Trimble entered. Ms. Cole stood in the doorway, obviously hoping to be invited to join them.

“Thank you, Ms. Cole,” she said.

Ms. Cole gave her a dour look and shut the door behind her.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Detective Trimble said.

“Not at all,” Lindsey said.

He took the seat Violet had just vacated, and Lindsey resumed her seat.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’ve been going over your statement,” he said. “I have some questions about the time frame of events.”

Another knock sounded at the door, but before Lindsey could answer, the door swung open and in stepped Chief Daniels.

“Well, now isn’t this cozy?” he asked as he strode into the room and sat in the last remaining chair. “I must have misplaced my memo about this meeting.”

Lindsey glanced at Trimble. He looked completely at ease, so she felt herself relax. If he wasn’t going to let Daniels get to him, then neither was she.

“You must have,” Trimble agreed. “Ms. Norris and I were just going over the time frame of the day.”

Lindsey had to wonder why they felt the need to revisit the day’s events. What more could they know now that would make this information important? Then it hit her. “You know the time of death, don’t you?”

Trimble studied her for a moment while Chief Daniels said, “Well, that hardly seems the point. And even if we did . . .”

“Yes, we know the approximate time of death,” Trimble said.

“Well, that’s wonderful, then you know that Beth couldn’t possibly . . . oh, no,” she stammered to a halt. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Chief Daniels opened his mouth, but Trimble silenced him with a hand. “It makes it very possible for your friend to have committed the murder.”

Lindsey felt as if an icy hand was clutching her insides and squeezing hard. “She didn’t.”

Daniels made a snort of disbelief and crossed his arms over his chest. Trimble ignored him, but Lindsey had to resist the urge to kick him.

“Help us prove it,” Trimble said. “Let’s go over the day again. We’ll be talking to Captain Sullivan, too.”

“Okay, well, it started at the Blue Anchor,” Lindsey said. “We were meeting Sydney Carlisle for an early lunch.”

“And then,” Chief Daniels prompted her, sounding irritated.

Lindsey shook her head. “Well, we went for a walk while I told her about the book Rick plagiarized.”

“Supposedly plagiarized,” Chief Daniels countered. “There is no proof that he stole Ms. Stanley’s work.”

“No proof?” Lindsey snapped. “He took everything. The main character, the plot and what would have been the start to a career.”

“Prove it,” Daniels said.

Lindsey felt her jaw spasm, she was clenching it so hard.

“Let’s stay on task, shall we?” Trimble asked. “We aren’t here to decide a plagiarism case; we’re trying to solve a murder.”

Lindsey took a deep breath. He was right. “After I showed Beth the catalog page, we decided to go out and see Rick to ask him about it.”

“And what time was that?”

“I’m not sure. Ronnie was working the desk at Sully’s office. She might have a better idea. I know we had to wait quite a while for Sully to come in with the taxi. He was out picking up the Ginowskis.”

“Once Sullivan arrived, how long did it take you to get to Mr. Eckman’s island?”

“A little less than an hour,” Lindsey said. “I was so busy looking at the scenery, I don’t know that I’m the best judge of time passing.”