Books Can Be Deceiving (18 page)

She had once known her hometown like that. The college town in New Hampshire, where her parents were still professors, had been the perfect place for Lindsey and her older brother, Jack, to run wild. It had been a wonderful childhood, and there were days she still missed the simplicity of it all. Days like today, when the world seemed shockingly harsh and cruel.

Sully navigated around Rick’s island. They both sat up in their seats as if expecting to find the police camped out on the dock. It was empty except for Rick’s boat, which was in the same spot as the day they had found him.

Sully pulled up alongside the narrow wooden jetty, and Lindsey scrambled out, grabbing the rope as she went. She looped the rope around the metal tie-down on the dock’s edge. Sully jumped out after her and nodded with approval at her rope skills.

“You’ll make a sailor yet,” he said.

Together they made their way along the bobbing dock up the stairs to the deck above. The crime-scene tape still blocked off the entrance. Lindsey had been hoping it would be gone. Now she felt as if she really were doing something illegal as opposed to just nosy.

Sully went first and turned the knob on the door. It was locked. Darn it. She didn’t want to break in, and she certainly couldn’t ask Sully to do it for her. She glanced around the house to see if any windows were open, but it appeared to be sealed up tighter than a vault, which she supposed was only natural, given that the police had been the last ones on the island.

“I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” she said.

Sully glanced at her. “You’re not packing it in already, are you?”

“Well, we can’t break the door down,” she said.

“No, but we can scout for a key,” he countered.

“Good idea.”

“I’ve been known to have a few,” he said.

He started examining the rocks by the door. Lindsey checked under the doormat and the empty flowerpots. Nothing.

She stepped back and studied the exterior of the house. It was a gray shingled cape house with blue shutters. She wondered if Rick had ever bothered to lock the doors. Maybe the police had locked it up, and there weren’t even keys for it.

The same thought seemed to occur to Sully as he stepped back and stood beside her, staring at the house as if willing it to tell him where the key was.

Lindsey thought about her parents’ house. They never locked the doors unless they were traveling. There was no need. Everyone knew everyone, and as a kid she’d been well aware that if she did something bad on one side of town, her mother would already know about it long before she got home.

Her parents had gone on a cruise just last year, and her father had locked the door to the house when they left. Well, neither of them was in the habit of carrying a house key, so when they came home, they couldn’t get in and had to wake the neighbor who’d been taking in their mail.

From then on, her father had put an emergency key on the corner of the door frame above the back door.

Lindsey stepped forward and checked the narrow ledge over the main door. No luck. She tried the windows, too.

Again, nothing.

“I’m going to try the back,” she said.

Sully said nothing, but she felt him behind her as she followed a well-worn path around the side of the house to the back door. A picnic table and a barbeque filled the small patch of dried grass.

She tried the back door just to see, but it was locked. They began checking the logical places, and finally, tucked in a seashell to the left of the door, Sully found a key.

“Success,” he said and he stepped toward the door.

The lock was in the center of the doorknob, and Lindsey held her breath until they were sure the key fit. Sully turned it, and they heard the soft
ka-thunk
of the lock disengaging.

He turned the knob and pushed open the door. He made to step inside, but Lindsey grabbed his arm. “Let’s try not to touch anything.”

He nodded and together they stepped into the house.

L
indsey was surprised by how much she didn’t remember from her previous visit to Rick’s house. The back door opened up into the kitchenette. It was done in white paneling with white appliances. The only bit of color came from the brown-granite countertops and pale-blue curtains that hung over the window that was above the steel sink.

The kitchen looked untouched, but as they left it to enter the main room, Lindsey was abruptly reminded of the destruction they had found on their first visit. Drawing papers with half-done sketches were still strewn about but now bore the trample marks of even more pairs of feet. Obviously, cleanup was not a part of the investigator’s procedure.

She glanced around the room. There were no photographs, no books or knickknacks, nothing that gave a sense of who had lived here.

She walked down the short hallway toward the bedroom. The lone twin bed was neatly made, just as it had been when they were here before. Again, there were no photographs or silly tchotchkes or even the odd collection of troll dolls, nothing that signified someone other than a monk might have slept here.

Sully had followed her into the room. He went to the nightstand and used the corner of his shirt to pull out the top drawer.

“Interesting,” he said.

“What did you find?” Lindsey had opened the closet and was examining the shockingly neat clothing, shocking mostly because she had not really considered Rick a tidy person in his grubby jeans and sweatshirts. Still, here they were all hung up on hangers by color no less.

“A box of jujubes and a gentlemen’s magazine,” he said.

“A what magazine?” Lindsey asked. Sully wiggled his eyebrows at her and Lindsey felt her face get hot.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, nothing here then. Moving on.” She closed the closet door and hurried from the room.

She was pretty sure she heard Sully stifle a laugh but she didn’t dare turn around to see. The only room left was the studio. Lindsey took a deep breath before stepping back into the room, which had been the scene of Rick’s grisly death.

Although she hadn’t remembered much of the house from their first visit, she could see Rick’s dead body in her mind as clearly as if it was still there.

She stopped a few steps into the room. Sully drew up behind her and she felt his hand on her arm, giving her support and comfort. She was grateful.

This room was even more of a mess than the main room. The chair they had found Rick in was gone and she assumed the police had taken it for forensic tests. Lindsey noticed his computer was gone, too.

The easel and drawing table were littered with artwork. A floor-to-ceiling steel shelving unit was full of supplies, paints, brushes and canvases. A large steel flat file filled a corner, and Lindsey opened the drawers to find Rick’s work neatly organized and preserved.

She flipped through some of the sketches, knowing she shouldn’t be touching them, but still she had to see if there was evidence of the book he had stolen from Beth. She recognized several sketches from his other published works but there was nothing that resembled the hamster from his latest book. Hmm.

The sketches for the book that had won him the most awards were in the bottom drawer. She studied them, noting how his style had changed over the years from vivid colors and minimalist drawings to very detailed renderings. Was it the evolution of an artist or the scattered collection of a man who stole from others?

Sully was searching the desk. She heard him grunt a few times, and when she shut the flat file, she went to join him. He was closing the last drawer, and he blew out a breath.

“Is it just me, or is there more personal information scrawled on the bathroom walls at the Blue Anchor than we’re finding here?” he asked.

“It isn’t you,” she said. “If I didn’t know who lived here, I’d think it was just a furnished vacation rental.”

“Oh, it’s a rental,” Sully said.

“What? Beth said Rick owned this place,” Lindsey said. “Or at least, I thought she did. I just assumed he did.”

“Well, after five years with the money he was making you’d think he would buy it, but as far as I know, it’s been a rental property going on fifteen years now, the last five of which were Rick.”

“Interesting,” she said. “I wonder why he let Beth think he owned it.”

“Well, it’s more impressive than being a renter.”

“I suppose,” she said.

“Are we done?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so,” she said.

They made their way through the house, back through the small kitchen and into the yard. Sully locked the door and replaced the key in its shell.

They circled the house and headed down to the dock. Lindsey felt her shoulders relax as she stepped into the boat. She hadn’t known she was that tense.

Sully pushed off the dock and fired up the engine. The trip back to Briar Creek seemed shorter than the one out to Gull Island. Gone was her hope of finding a clue as to who Rick Eckman had in his life, aside from Beth, who might want him dead.

Lindsey knew it was ridiculous. She wasn’t an investigator or a detective, but she couldn’t help feeling like a failure. Of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy to find someone with a grudge against Rick, but she had hoped.

They were pulling into the main pier when she had a thought. If Rick had rented the house for five years, surely the person who had rented it to him would know him a little bit.

“Do you know who rented Gull Island to Rick?” she asked.

Sully cut the engine and turned the boat so that it glided perfectly alongside the pier. Lindsey grabbed the rope and scrambled out.

As Sully climbed out beside her and helped tie it up, he said, “I vaguely remember that a family owned it when I was a kid, but I don’t remember the name. Cheri Downs runs the local real estate office and makes it her business to know every property in the area.”

“Thanks,” Lindsey said. They were kneeling on the pier next to the boat tie, and Lindsey was sure she could smell the sun and salt on his skin. His blue eyes were on her face as if trying to figure out what she was thinking.

She looked away. She liked Captain Mike Sullivan, probably more than she should, but she just wasn’t ready to entertain that sort of feeling for anyone yet.

He rose to his feet and offered her a hand up. Lindsey took it, ignoring the warm calluses that enfolded her fingers so gently but firmly.

“Well, I’d better get back to the library before they think I’ve ditched for the day,” she said. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I was as curious as you to check out that house. I can hardly charge you for appeasing my own curiosity.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Very,” he said.

“Well, thank you,” she said. “I’ll be sure you’re first to get the latest Charlie Huston.”

“So, I get my Harlan Coben and my Charlie Huston? Nice.” He grinned. “I appreciate that.”

“I’m just glad you’re so well-read,” she teased him. “It gives me plenty of authors to bribe you with.”

“Or you could just ask me,” he said.

They stared at one another for a moment, and Lindsey felt her face grow warm. With an awkward wave, she turned and hurried back down the pier. There was no sign of Mary sitting outside the café. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone to check the time. She’d been gone a little over two hours. She could only imagine what Ms. Cole was going to say about that. She put on some speed and dashed toward the library.

Lindsey had just gotten back to her office, under the disapproving glare of the lemon, when her office phone began to ring.

“Briar Creek Library, this is Lindsey Norris; how can I help you?”

“Is that murderess Beth Stanley going to be allowed to continue doing story times?” The voice was high pitched and squeaky with outrage.

Lindsey lowered her head and squeezed her temples with her right hand while holding the receiver to her ear with her left.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“I am a parent in this community, and I want reassurance that our children will not be put in harm’s way. You will be firing her, won’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Ms., what is your name?” Lindsey asked. She glanced up and saw Ms. Cole watching her through the open door. She spun her chair to face the wall.

“That’s not relevant,” huffed the voice in the phone. “I’m a taxpayer in this town, and I demand that you fire that woman.”

Lindsey hated the taxpayer line. Really? Did these people think just because they paid a nickel into the general fund they had the right to boss the town’s employees around? Besides, Beth owned property in the town and paid taxes; did that make her self-employed? Lindsey had to bite back the nasty comment and force herself to keep a civil tone.

“Well,” the high-pitched complainer continued, “are you going to protect our children from that killer? She could turn on one of them. Is that a risk you’re prepared to take?”

“What did you say?”

“Is that a risk you’re prepared to take?”

Lindsey had heard that question before from the same shrill source. It registered in her brain like a dissonant chord.

“I was unaware that you lived here in Briar Creek, Kili,” she said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on. I know it’s you, Kili. Quit trying to be the concerned parent. You don’t live here, and you don’t have kids. You’re fishing for a story.”

“Well, can you blame me? That librarian of yours is being very rude and not answering her phone.”

“How unhelpful of her,” she said, but Kili ignored her sarcasm.

“How did you figure it out?” Kili’s voice was in full pout now.

“The parents here love Beth,” she said. “They are clamoring for her return. No one believes she’s a killer.”

“I know,” Kili said. “I can’t get anyone on tape to diss her. It’s very annoying.”