Death in the Stacks Read online

  “Of course you do,” he said. “Now, let’s have tea and discuss the case.” He took Lindsey’s elbow and began to lead her away but turned back to Paula and said, “Don’t you worry, pet. We’ve got this.”

  Paula beamed at him. It was the first time Lindsey had seen her smile in days. Okay, so that was something.

  “I’ll start the kettle,” Robbie offered. “You get the biscuits.”

  He set off toward the break room, and Lindsey shook her head. She shouldn’t encourage him; she knew she shouldn’t. She could only imagine what Emma was going to have to say about this. The mere thought made her sweat a little bit.

  Ann Marie finished her break and took over the reference desk for Lindsey, leaving her no choice but to go forage for cookies, because biscuits in Robbie-speak meant cookies. When she arrived back at her office, she found Robbie sipping tea while he thumbed through one of the gossip magazines.

  “You don’t make the headlines for your shenanigans like you used to,” Lindsey said.

  “Shenanigans aren’t really my thing anymore,” he said. “Now that I’m a dad, I am trying to set a better example.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “Don’t you miss it? Being in the spotlight, having everyone follow you around and care about what you wear, what you eat and who you’re dating?”

  “Not even a little,” he said. He poured a cup of tea, put in milk and sugar just the way Lindsey liked it and handed it to her. “Actually, I was thinking I might retire from the limelight permanently.”

  “You mean give up acting?” Lindsey asked. Her eyes were wide. In the year she had known him, he had left town several times to film various projects. It never occurred to her that he might leave the business.

  “There’s more to life,” he said. He gave a careless shrug.

  Lindsey narrowed her eyes. “Such as?”

  He sipped his tea and met her gaze over the rim of his cup. That was it? He wasn’t going to say anything more. Lindsey wanted to call foul, but she had a feeling that until he wanted to share what was going on, she would get nowhere. She’d have better luck trying to figure out who killed Olive Boyle.

  “Okay, suit yourself,” she said. “If you don’t want to share your feelings with a dear friend . . .”

  He picked up a cookie and finished it in two bites. Obviously, guilt trips were unfamiliar excursions for him, and he completely missed the boat. Whatever.

  She glowered at him and took a restorative sip of her tea. The sweet heat spread through her, and she felt herself relax. She would find out what was going in Robbie’s world, and the best way to do it would be to observe him over the next few days while they tried to figure out who might have had a reason to kill Olive. Or rather, who out of all the people who had a reason to kill Olive was the one who actually did it.

  “Let’s get to work, shall we?” Robbie asked. “I’ve been thinking about who might have had an interest in killing Ms. Boyle, and I’ve come up with a list of names.”

  “You have?” she asked. She was surprised he’d forged ahead on his own. She took a cookie and bit into it. After she swallowed, she asked, “How does Emma feel about your list?”

  “She won’t discuss it with me,” he said. “Bloody maddening.”

  Lindsey smiled. “All right, then, let me have it. Who’s on your list?”

  “Suspects in no particular order,” Robbie said. He pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket and smoothed it open on his lap. “Milton Duffy.”

  “What?” Lindsey cried. “Milton? That’s crazy! Why would he want Olive dead?”

  “She took his position as the president of the library board,” Robbie said. “Milton had that position for how long? Ten years?”

  “About that,” Lindsey said. “But trust me, while we were all surprised at how the vote went, he wasn’t upset. He conceded graciously.”

  “Ah yes, that’s what he showed on the outside,” Robbie said. “Maybe on the inside he was seething with the injustice of it all, and at the dinner when she took the stage, his rage overtook his calm demeanor and he stabbed her.”

  “No. And what injustice are you talking about?” Lindsey asked.

  “I’m glad you asked,” he said. “I talked to the only board member who voted for Milton, Lydia Wilcox, and she seemed to think that the other board members were coerced into voting for Olive because Olive had dirt on all of them.”

  “It’s true. Lydia was the only one who voted for Milton,” Lindsey said. “At the time, I thought it was loyalty, but if what she says is true . . .”

  She pondered this information. She had thought it was weird when Milton lost his position as president of the library board, since the board had always seemed to be very friendly with no infighting, no grudges, no power struggles, nothing, until Olive Boyle made a play for the president position. Still, she didn’t see Milton as a murderer.

  “Milton is a yogi,” she said. “I don’t think you can be a yogi and be a murderer. They’re mutually exclusive, aren’t they?”

  “No idea. Just throwing out the suspects as they came to me,” he said.

  “Let’s move on then,” Lindsey said.

  “After talking to Lydia, I had to put the other board members on the list,” he said. “What sort of goss could she possibly have on them, and how far would they go to keep it a secret?”

  “That would be Curt Delaney, Stuart Humphries and Susan Kershaw,” she said. “They’re all wonderful people, active in the community, donate their time to the library and to other causes. What could Olive possibly have had on them?”

  Robbie shrugged. “Everyone has secrets.”

  Lindsey blew out a breath. “Maybe I don’t want to dig into this. Maybe I don’t want to know these things about my community.”

  She reached for another cookie, knowing full well that she was now comfort eating.

  “We don’t have much choice,” Robbie said. “It’s that or sit on our hands waiting for the police to solve the case.”

  Lindsey raised her eyebrows in question.

  “Yes, I believe Emma can solve the case, but she’s hampered by the very laws she upholds, you know, like warrants and procedure and all that folderol, while we are not.”

  “Good point,” Lindsey said. “Besides, if you think about it, we’re really just doing informational recon, and as the library director, I have insights into the gathering of information.”

  “Exactly. You have an advanced degree,” he said. “It’d be a shame not to use it.”

  “Who else is on your list?”

  He gave her a sheepish look.

  “No, sir, you did not,” she said.

  “Sorry, but she did try to humiliate you in front of all the dinner guests,” he said. “And for accuracy’s sake, it was noted that even before the gala, you were heard to say to Olive . . .” He glanced at the paper before adding, “‘I’ll choke you out.’”

  Lindsey gasped. “How do you know I said that?”

  “Everyone knows you said that. Small community, tongues wagging—really, are you surprised?”

  Lindsey huffed out a breath. “Great, so I’m investigating myself.”

  “And Paula,” he said.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said. “I thought the whole point of this”—she gestured between them—“was to help her.”

  “It is, but we have to treat her just like anyone else,” he said.

  Lindsey put down her tea and her cookie and pressed her temples with the tips of her fingers.

  “Who else?”

  “I added her three friends, Amy, LeAnn and Kim,” he said. “Did you notice that when we found Olive, not one of them shed a single tear?”

  “I didn’t,” she said.

  “I suppose it’s the acting thing. I’m always studying people’s reactions to use in my work,” he said. “Their
s were not normal.”

  “Do you think they weren’t really Olive’s friends?” Lindsey asked. “As in, maybe she coerced relationships with those women the same way she bullied her way onto the library board, assuming Lydia’s suspicions are true.”

  “It does seem to be her modus operandi,” he agreed.

  They were both silent, sipping their tea.

  “Who else?” she asked.

  “I did a little digging and found out she has an ex-husband and a sister,” he said. “If Olive was as awful to them as she was to everyone else, it could be either of them.”

  “And usually a person is murdered by a family member or an ex,” Lindsey said. “The statistics show that most murders are committed by a person the victim knows, usually following an argument.”

  “Didn’t you have an argument with Olive after she took over the stage at the dinner?” Robbie asked.

  Lindsey stared at him. “I would consider it more of a discussion. Besides, murderers who use a knife usually have a very high level of anger for the victim. At most, I was irritated.”

  “If you say so.”

  Lindsey chose to ignore him.

  “Maybe we should start with her ex-husband,” she suggested. “I can’t imagine divorcing Olive was a pleasant experience. Who knows what bitterness lingered.”

  Robbie nodded. “We’re going to need to have a reason to contact him—for that matter we need an address.”

  Lindsey frowned. “Leave the reason up to me.”

  “You have a plan?”

  She nodded. “I just need to run it by a few people.”

  Robbie grinned at her. “We can go see him as soon as we locate his whereabouts then?”

  “I’ll make the time.”

  “Excellent.”

  “One question,” Lindsey said. “Isn’t Emma going to be angry with you for interfering in an investigation?”

  “Nah, she’ll be fine. She’s been telling me to get a hobby.”

  “She probably meant photography or boating,” Lindsey said.

  “Ugh, those sound positively dreary,” he said. “She can’t want me to be bored to death, can she?”

  “No, but I don’t think she wants you to put yourself in danger or compromise her investigation either,” Lindsey said.

  “It’ll be fine.” Robbie waved a hand at her. “So long as I keep her in the loop and don’t take any unnecessary risks, we’re good. What about your merman?”

  “Yeah, what about me?”

  Lindsey’s head whipped to her office door to find Sully standing there. His arms were crossed over his chest, and the expression on his face was seriously unhappy.

  14

  “What is this I hear that you’re investigating Olive Boyle’s murder?” he asked. “We talked about this, and you agreed no more.”

  “I know, but there are extenuating circumstances,” she said.

  Sully looked at Robbie. “I’ll bet.”

  “Don’t scowl at me, mate,” Robbie said. “She has a mind of her own.”

  “How did you hear about this anyway?” Lindsey asked. “I thought you had a big boat tour.”

  “I did,” he said. “We just got in, and Ronnie met me at the end of the pier to tell me that you and Robbie were planning to look into the murder.”

  “How did Ronnie know?” Lindsey asked. Ronnie was Sully’s octogenarian office manager, who wore her poufy hairdo in a dashing shade of cranberry and had the attitude to match.

  “Apparently, Hillary Macintyre was in here and heard you talking, and she told Krista, her server at the Blue Anchor; who told my sister, Mary; who called Ronnie; who told me.”

  “Sheesh, that news spread faster than a case of the flu,” Lindsey said. She looked at Robbie. “That means Emma’s likely heard, too.”

  “Huh, fancy that. Look at the time,” Robbie said. He pushed up his sleeve and glanced at his bare wrist. “I’d best go find my girl before she puts a warrant out for my arrest. Lindsey, I’ll talk to you later. Sailor boy, don’t get all knotted up now.”

  “Says the over-actor,” Sully said. He shifted so that Robbie could get by him and then stepped into Lindsey’s office, shutting the door behind him.

  “Got a minute to explain in greater detail?” he asked. He leaned against the door, making it clear that he had plenty of time.

  Lindsey glanced at the clock. Her break was over, but since the current situation centered around the murder of the library board president and directly involved herself and her staff, she felt like she could justify the time spent talking about it.

  “Paula handed in her resignation,” she said.

  Sully took Robbie’s vacated seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, giving her his full attention.

  “Ms. Cole ripped up her resignation letter and told her that I would figure out who killed Olive Boyle and that she wasn’t to quit her job or worry,” Lindsey said.

  Sully’s eyebrows rose, so she knew even he got the significance of Ms. Cole being the one to offer Lindsey up as the person most likely to figure out what had happened. Ms. Cole had criticized Lindsey repeatedly for being, as she put it, “a buttinsky.”

  “I know I promised not to investigate anything anymore,” she said. “But I don’t think I can walk away from this without at least trying to help.”

  Sully rose to his feet. He looked agitated. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, and then closed his mouth. He paced to the corner and back. He looked at her then looked away and then resumed pacing.

  Lindsey stayed right where she was. She didn’t say a word but let him work it out for himself. She finished her cookie. He paced. She washed the cookie down with some tea. He stopped in the middle of her office and put his hands on his hips while he stared down at her.

  “Okay.”

  Sully was the original big, strong, silent type. The kind of guy whose mere presence made Lindsey feel safe and secure. He always had an air of having things under control. Maybe it was because he spent his life on boats, focused on taming the sea, which made the rest of life’s trials seem not so difficult. She didn’t know. What she did know was that she had expected a heck of a lot more than “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, I get that this investigating thing is a part of who you are,” he said.

  “But?”

  “But I don’t think I can stand back and watch you put yourself in harm’s way again,” he said.

  Lindsey felt her heart sink into her shoes. She had known this. It wasn’t a surprise. He had said before that he didn’t like that she put herself in danger. She just hadn’t realized what a deal breaker it was. Sully was breaking up with her. Could she really blame him?

  “I see,” she said. Her voice was little more than a rasp, and she cleared her throat, trying to sound stronger than she felt. “I understand.”

  One of his eyebrows lifted higher than the other. “What do you understand?”

  “That you don’t want to be involved with a woman who puts herself in jeopardy,” she said. “That’s perfectly reasonable.”

  “I think so,” he said. “Which really only gives us one solution.”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  She glanced down at the top of her desk and willed herself not to cry. He was about to dump her for the second time, and she was going to handle it like a champ, show no emotion, make a clean break—yeah, she was the lying-est liar of pants on fire liars.

  This time their breakup was going to crush her, and she’d be lucky to get out of it with any dignity intact. Still, she couldn’t fault him. He’d always been very clear about his dislike of the risks she took, and she couldn’t in good conscience ask him to just put up with it.

  She waited, but he didn’t say anything, so she forced herself to glance up at him and meet his gaze when he
broke her heart into a million pieces.

  “The solution is that you and Heathcliff are going to have to move in with me—permanently,” he said.

  “I underst— Uh, what?” she asked.

  “The only way I am going to be okay with this is if I know that you’re safe under my watch,” he said. “And the only way I can keep an eye on you is if you live with me. So there it is, our solution.”

  Lindsey gaped at him. Live with Sully? Every single cell in her body cried, Yes! It felt that right. Still, she said nothing as she tried to process this unexpected turn of events.

  His blue gaze was steady, and then he winked at her. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”

  “I can honestly say I didn’t see that coming.”

  “You didn’t think I was going to break up with you, did you?”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  He shook his head at her as if he couldn’t believe that she didn’t know him better than that.

  “I just got you back,” he said. “I’m not letting go of you—not now, not ever.”

  Lindsey rose from her seat and circled the desk. She stood right in front of him. She met his gaze, resisting the urge to hug him close. She was still on the clock, after all.

  “There are some things you should know, things I may not have been completely open about while we were dating, but if we live together, you’ll find out,” she said.

  “Such as?” he asked. He gave her a considering look.

  “I occasionally, like daily, use the floor as a hamper,” she said.

  “Ah, we’re going for full disclosure here. That’s fine, so I guess I have to admit I leave the seat up sometimes. Okay, more than sometimes,” he said.

  Lindsey laughed.

  “I eat ice cream for dinner,” she confessed.

  “I drink milk straight out of the carton.”

  “I sing in the shower.”

  “I talk in my sleep.”

  She grinned at him. “I think I can work with that.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “So, is this a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  He grinned at her. A slash of white teeth and a curve of his lips just before he put his mouth on hers. It was swift and sweet, and Lindsey leaned against him for just the briefest moment.