On Borrowed Time Page 2

  The building policy strictly stated that no one was to be in here without a staff member present, but he did look awfully tired and he was a responsible adult. Surely, Jack, a Cornell-educated economist, would be fine left to his own devices in the meeting room. Besides, she could keep checking on him as needed so she would sort of be in here with him.

  “All right,” she said. “But I still want an explanation. How did you get in here anyway? Because I know the door was locked.”

  “I am a man of many talents,” he said in a bogus Houdini voice while waving his hands in the air like a magician.

  “You found an unlocked window, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” He dropped his arms, looking deflated. “You should really be more careful, Linds. You never know what kind of bad guy might come in and steal all of your precious books.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lindsey switched on the gas fireplace, which clicked three times before it ignited.

  Jack launched himself onto the squashy leather couch that faced the fireplace. As he settled in, he looked like a very big cat, finding just the right spot for his nap.

  “You know my crafternoon group is supposed to be meeting in here,” Lindsey said. “You owe me one for disrupting our meeting so you can have a nap.”

  Jack grabbed her hand as she passed by the couch, stopping her from leaving.

  “I do owe you one, Linds, more than you know,” he said. “It’s really good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

  She could see the sincerity in his eyes, and she knew he felt the same way she did. The bond they shared, like an invisible cord, stretched as far as the globe could take them away from each other, but it never broke. They were always connected.

  Lindsey bent down and kissed his head. “I’ve missed you, too, you big dope. We’ll talk, and I mean that, when you wake up.”

  She checked her watch. She was going to be late for crafternoon, but that was okay. Her brother Jack was here, and suddenly the steely gray day outside seemed brimming with holiday cheer.

  She couldn’t wait to spend some time with him and hear his latest adventures. Jack was like a crusty old penny with a heavy patina; he had lots of miles and lots of stories on him, and he always turned up when she least expected it.

  * * *

  “The Woman in White was not what I expected,” Nancy Peyton said while she arranged a tray of cookies on the end of the table. “Why do novels written in the eighteen hundreds always break up the happy couple? It’s annoying.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Violet La Rue said. “It seems to me many novels separate the couple, especially if it’s a series. I suppose we readers just have to read on, trusting the author and being committed to seeing it through.”

  “Not unlike most relationships,” Lindsey said. “I suppose you have to decide if you’re the committing type before you start a book, which if you think about it, is a relationship of sorts.”

  To Lindsey’s relief, today’s crafternoon actually worked out better in the smaller glassed-in conference room. Since they were recycling candles and were using little electric hot plates to do it, they had more access to outlets in the refurbished conference room than they would have had in the room she’d left to Jack.

  “But that doesn’t answer the question,” Mary Murphy agreed. She added a bunch of half-spent candles to the pile in the center of the table. Then she looked pointedly at Lindsey and asked, “Why does the happy couple always break up?”

  Lindsey shook her head. Captain Mike Sullivan, known to everyone one as Sully, was Mary Murphy’s older brother, and Lindsey knew Mary well enough to know that she was asking why she and Sully were still broken up. Mary never missed an opportunity to fish for information, and since they both belonged to the library’s crafternoon group, Mary always used it to work in an informal questioning, which felt like an inquisition, into the status of Lindsey’s relationship with Sully.

  “Because it’s more dramatic that way,” Charlene La Rue answered for Lindsey. “Right, Mom?”

  Charlene La Rue turned to her mother, Violet, a former Broadway actress and the reigning queen of the local community theater.

  “Exactly,” Violet agreed. “The story would be over in twenty pages if Walter Hartwright won Laura Fairlie when they first met.”

  “And the fact that he’s her poor drawing instructor makes it so much more romantic,” Beth cried.

  Nancy snorted. “My grandmother always said, ‘It’s just as easy to love a rich man as a poor one.’”

  “True,” Beth agreed. She was still wearing her steampunk cap and goggles, but had taken off the jacket and scarf. “But it just seems like there are so many more poor ones to choose from. You know, the unemployed, underachieving, living in his parents’ basement population has really exploded.”

  “And thus, we remain single,” Lindsey said.

  “An actor is not unemployed,” Violet said. “Their job prospects are just more eclectic than most.”

  Both Violet and Charlene hit Lindsey with their matching mother and daughter dazzling smiles. While Violet was retired from the stage and lived in Briar Creek, Charlene was a newscaster on the local station in New Haven. Both women were tall and thin with rich cocoa skin and warm brown eyes. Together they were a force to be reckoned with, but Lindsey was wise to their game.

  The La Rue women were close friends with Robbie Vine, a famous British actor who had recently come to Briar Creek to star in a production of Violet’s while getting reacquainted with his son. He had made no secret of his interest in Lindsey, but even though Robbie charmed her senseless, her heart was still knotted up over Sully, who had dumped her to give her space she had not requested. In a word, it was complicated.

  “Pffthbt.” Beth made a scoffing noise. “You know, instead of pushing the head librarian with two beaus to make her choice—yes, I’m sure it’s brutal, Lindsey, really—you all might consider canvassing the area for an available guy for me.”

  As one, they all turned to look at Beth in surprise.

  “What?” she asked. “Just because my last boyfriend was stabbed to death doesn’t mean I’ve sworn off men forever. Surely, there has to be a man out there who would like a short curvy gal who can recite Shel Silverstein from memory and knows every Mother Goose poem ever written by heart. I mean, honestly, is that asking so much?”

  They all blinked at her. Beth was rarely anything but sunny in disposition, which was one of the many reasons why all the children in town adored her.

  “She’s right,” Lindsey said. She smiled at Beth. “I’m taking up more than my share; you want one?”

  “Sloppy seconds?” Beth asked with a grin. “No, thank you. But I’m sure the collective talent in this room can find me a guy that I won’t be embarrassed to bring home to my mother. She’s getting positively naggy on the subject of a husband and children. I’m going to have to make up an imaginary boyfriend soon if I can’t manage a real one.”

  The others all exchanged a look, and Nancy said, “We’ll get right on that.”

  “Absolutely,” Charlene said. “Maybe there’s someone at the station.”

  “Ian might know someone,” Mary said, referring to her husband, with whom she owned the Blue Anchor, a café known locally as the Anchor.

  “I can ask my nephew Charlie if he knows anyone,” Nancy said. She and Lindsey glanced at each other and they both shook their heads.

  In Nancy’s three-story captain’s house, Charlie lived in the second-floor apartment between Nancy and Lindsey. He worked for Sully seasonally, but was doggedly pursuing his dream of rock and roll stardom in his downtime. His musician friends, while interesting, were not exactly the bring home to Mom and show off type, as most of them slept all day, played out all night and didn’t have a lock on the concept of regular pay as yet.

  “Or not,” Nancy said.

  She finished putting out the food
she had brought, and the group went back to discussing Wilkie Collins’s novel while they continued melting the wax for their craft project. It was agreed that the novel was a worthy read, and they debated what exactly made it one of the original “sensation” novels.

  The time sped past and Lindsey managed to make only two new candles. Using old canning jars, they had tied wicks to hang off a pencil into the jar and then melted the remnants of all their old candles by heating the bits in a small aluminum pan on a hot pot. Lastly, they poured the melted wax into the canning jar up to the top, leaving just enough space for the lid.

  Lindsey was quite pleased to have created her candles in alternating red and green recycled wax, giving them a festive holiday look. She had thought to give them away as gifts, but now she wasn’t so sure. They’d look nice on her dining table for the holidays.

  As they packed up the room, leaving the candles to cool, Lindsey waved good-bye to the others before hurrying back to where Jack was snoozing. She hoped he’d had a good enough power nap, because she was itching to hear what had brought him to town earlier than expected and how long he was staying.

  She really hoped he planned to be here for the entire holiday. With her parents coming down from New Hampshire, this would be the first holiday they had all been together in three years, and she found she was really looking forward to it.

  Lindsey slipped the key into the lock and turned it. She didn’t want to startle her brother, so she pushed the door open quietly.

  Two things hit her immediately—a bitterly cold draft was blowing in from an open window, and it was dark. She stepped into the room. Maybe the lights had kept him awake and he’d gotten overheated because of the fireplace. It seemed unlikely, but she couldn’t figure why else it was so cold and dark.

  “Jack?” she called.

  There was no answer. She hurried forward to see over the back of the couch where she’d left him. It was empty. The fire in the fireplace was off, and she shivered as the cold seeped through her sweater to her skin.

  She glanced down at the floor in front of the hearth and gasped. A man was lying facedown on the floor. Lindsey raced forward.

  “Jack! Are you all right?” she cried.

  The gloomy midafternoon light made it hard to see, but Lindsey knew immediately from the bald head, the heavier build and the corduroy coat that this was not Jack.

  She rolled the man over onto his back, trying to see what was wrong. His vacant brown eyes stared past her at the ceiling, and Lindsey felt a fist of dread clutch her insides in its meaty fist. The angry red marks around his neck, the lack of a rise and fall from his chest and the cold touch of his skin made it clear. The man was dead.

  Lindsey met Police Chief Emma Plewicki at the main doors to the library. She had called Emma directly and told her about the dead stranger. She did not tell anyone on staff. She didn’t want to cause a panic, plus if someone in the library had done the deed, she didn’t want them to slip away.

  She had no idea where Jack had gone or what he might know about the man in the room. The only thing she did know was that Jack was no murderer. She didn’t care how bad it looked; she wouldn’t believe it until she heard from Jack himself.

  Emma Plewicki was built solid with glossy black hair that framed her heart-shaped face and big velvet brown eyes that, surrounded by long curly eyelashes, had beguiled more than one felon into confessing his crimes.

  Emma stepped through the sliding doors and looked at Lindsey in question. Lindsey tipped her head to the side in a follow-me gesture. Emma turned to the two officers who had come with her.

  “Cover the exits,” she said. “Close the library. No one enters or leaves without my say-so.”

  “What happened?” Emma asked Lindsey. She whispered so as not to alert the other patrons in the building.

  It was a wasted effort. Every head swiveled in their direction as they made their way to the back room. One officer checking out a book did not get noticed, but three officers with two blocking the exits were hard to miss.

  Lindsey didn’t want to lie to Emma, for not only did she like the chief in a professional capacity but she liked her personally as well. Still, she wasn’t ready to bring her brother into it, so she decided to stick with the facts, just the facts.

  “I opened the door to the room to check on the temperature,” she said. “It had been too cold to use earlier, so I was following up. It was even colder this time. When I went in to see why, I found a man lying on the floor in front of the fireplace. When I checked him, I could see he had been strangled.”

  Emma snapped her head in Lindsey’s direction. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Lindsey lied. She knew that Emma knew she was lying, but Emma nodded, accepting the big fib, and they hurried down the hallway to the back room.

  Beth was standing outside the room. Lindsey had asked her to stay there until she returned with Emma. She didn’t tell Beth why she needed her to stand outside the locked room, and Beth didn’t ask. They had been friends long enough that Beth knew that whatever it was, it was important.

  “Okay, Beth,” Lindsey said. “Thanks for keeping an eye.”

  Beth looked from her to Emma and back. She had taken off her steampunk hat and goggles and regarded Lindsey with a pensive expression.

  “Is it a gas leak or something?” she asked.

  “No, nothing like that,” Lindsey said. “I’ll explain later.”

  “Wait out here, please,” Emma said as she pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves. Beth nodded.

  Lindsey took out her key and unlocked the door. She pushed it open. It was still bitterly cold, as the window was still open. The body was exactly where she had left it.

  Emma hurried to the victim’s side. She glanced up at Lindsey. “Was this where he was when you found him?”

  “Right here but facedown,” Lindsey said. “I flipped him over to see if he was all right.”

  Emma nodded and confirmed what Lindsey had already discovered. “He’s dead. I’m guessing strangled.”

  Her tone was dry, and Lindsey knew she was trying to sound as normal as possible, given the extraordinary circumstance. It just wasn’t every day that you found a man strangled to death in the library.

  Emma used her shoulder radio to call one of her officers, requesting he place a call into the medical examiner, then she continued examining the body. Lindsey didn’t want to interrupt her, but she wasn’t sure what to do about the library. Did she keep it open? Close it? What?

  Emma left the body and was now studying the room. “Lindsey, can you tell if anything is missing from here?”

  It was on the tip of Lindsey’s tongue to say, Yes, my brother, but she held it in. She scanned the room. The collection of craft books were on the shelves. The fire was still out. The window was open but otherwise not even the cushions on the comfy couch seemed to have been moved.

  Jack, where are you? Lindsey thought but didn’t say. Instead, she said, “No, everything looks fine except for the window.”

  Emma crossed to the window and examined it. She checked the lock and then moved back and forth and from side to side as if looking for something. Lindsey watched her.

  “We might get lucky with a set of latent prints on the glass. It doesn’t appear to be broken,” she said. “Could it have been left unlocked?”

  “It’s possible,” Lindsey said, knowing full well that it had been.

  She felt a twinge of guilt at not telling Emma about finding her brother in here, but how could she when she didn’t know where he was or what had happened? She glanced at the dead man, and her knees felt weak with relief at the realization that it could have been Jack lying there. Then she felt bad about being relieved, as perhaps this man had a sister somewhere who would soon be mourning him.

  A noise outside brought their attention to the door. The door banged open and Officer
Kirkland stepped into the room.

  “Sorry, Chief, but the ME is here,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Show him in and then gather everyone in the library into another room.”

  “The story time room in the children’s area will work,” Lindsey said. She liked it for two reasons: One, it was big enough, and two, it was on the complete opposite side of the building from the crime scene.

  “Excellent,” Emma said. “Thanks.”

  “If you don’t need me here . . .” Lindsey let her words trail off. She wanted to be the stalwart library director, but honestly, the dead body was giving her a severe case of the wiggins and she wanted out of this room in the worst possible way.

  “Go ahead,” Emma said. “I’m sure Officer Kirkland could use the assistance.”

  Lindsey did not wait for her to change her mind. She hurried out of the room, passing Officer Kirkland. He was a big-boned, redheaded farm boy newly minted from his public safety training, and he followed Chief Plewicki around like an eager puppy.

  “Are you sure you don’t need me, ma’am?” he asked.

  “No, I’m good,” Emma said. “I don’t think our vic is going to put up much of a fight.”

  Kirkland narrowed his eyes. “It sure looks like he didn’t at any rate.”

  Emma studied him. “What makes you say that, Kirkland?”

  It was all the invitation he needed. Kirkland crossed the room to her side and pointed to the vic’s hands. “There’s nothing under his fingernails. If he’d put up a fight, there’d be blood or skin. He looks like he just had a manicure.”

  Emma raised her eyebrows. “What else?”

  “His clothes aren’t in disarray or torn. There are no scuffs on his shoes. If he’d kicked out at anything or anyone, there is no sign of it,” he said. He pointed out the pristine shine on the man’s leather shoes. “Since he doesn’t appear to have put up a fight, it makes me wonder if he was unconscious when the person attacked or if the strangulation marks are postmortem, trying to throw us off the real cause of death.”