Sifting through old issues of the Briar Creek Gazette, Lindsey found the articles written after Sarah Milstein’s disappearance. The stories were fast and furious at first, speculating on everything from kidnapping to murder to the possibility that she had orchestrated her own disappearance. Sadly, there was no evidence to prove any of the theories, and as the months went by, the articles appeared less and less, until the community seemed to accept that it was a mystery that would never be solved.
Larry Milstein was never considered a suspect, as he was proven to be in Virginia at the time of her disappearance and also because he seemed utterly distraught at losing his wife. It was observed that he was tireless in his search for her, following any lead, pursuing every avenue available to locate a missing person, from hiring a private detective to offering a reward. There was nothing. Sarah Milstein had vanished without a trace.
Lindsey leaned back from the microfilm machine. The last article written about Sarah Milstein was ten years after she vanished. After that, there was nothing. No mention of her or her disappearance. The police chief at the time Sarah disappeared was not a name Lindsey recognized, and the ones who followed afterward had even less to say about the case.
Lindsey knew that the only people who might be able to tell her more were people who had been around at the time, who knew Sarah and Larry. Given that a housekeeper had collected Liza from school that day, she seemed like a good person with whom to start. Unfortunately, there was no mention of the housekeeper in any of the papers. Lindsey didn’t know her name and couldn’t figure out how she could ask Larry. She didn’t want to ask Liza, because she had no wish to make the young woman revisit what must have been a very painful and confusing time in her life.
Lindsey rewound the final reel of film while she mulled over the possibilities. She could talk to Ms. Cole. She had lived in town her whole life and might know something, but she wasn’t one to gossip, which was one of the things Lindsey liked about her—except in this case. She could ask Milton Duffy, her newly reinstated library-board president, as he was also the town historian. The only problem was that he was dating Ms. Cole, and she wouldn’t like it if Lindsey dragged Milton into her quest for information. Bad things had happened before when Milton had helped her out, and now that she and Ms. Cole were getting on somewhat, she didn’t want to jeopardize the relationship.
Larry wouldn’t be inclined to talk to her, since he hardly knew her, but he might talk to Robbie. Maybe the new drinking buddies could share another glass of the good stuff, and Robbie could slyly interrogate his new friend and get the name of the housekeeper and, with any luck, her address and phone number.
Lindsey put the film from the machine back in its box. She’d always liked the microfilm machine; if she hit just the right speed when she was spooling the film, she could give herself a nice case of vertigo. But as the Gazette got archived digitally, she knew the microfilm was going to be weeded out of existence, taking with it it’s grainy photos of the actual paper from days gone by. Sometimes progress was hard.
She left the reference area of the library and did a sweep of the facility. It was late afternoon, and the chess club had taken over the glassed-in study rooms as they practiced for a tournament this weekend. The computers were all in use by a mix of town residents. The children’s area had two large families in it, running roughshod around the room. Beth was there, corralling the kids by bringing them to the puzzle table in the center of the room. It looked like she was herding cats. She’d get all of the kids at the table, and then two would take off for the puppet theater, which was fine, although there were kids already using it. Thankfully, the kids already dressed in garb from the costume box were more than happy to have more players in their puppet production.
Lindsey turned away with a smile, admiring not for the first time her friend’s ability to manage chaos. She saw Ann Marie Martin helping one of their regular patrons with the copy machine by the front door. Ann Marie had the toner cartridge out and was giving it a good smack. To get more prints out of it, no doubt. Working at a small-town public library with a limited budget, Lindsey and her coworkers had refined the art of stretching their spending like squeezing pennies into copper wire.
In the two soft chairs by the new magazine display, Leo O’Donnell and Chester Jones, two of Lindsey’s favorite patrons, were asleep with their heads tipped back, and Leo—yep, it was Leo—was snoring. She had no idea what shenanigans the two men had gotten into the night before, but if she were a betting woman, she’d place money on CJ doing his stand-up comedy routine (he was always good for a laugh) and Leo breaking out his rendition of “Mack the Knife” (he had an amazing singing voice) at the amateur talent night held weekly at the Blue Anchor.
She decided to let them nap. Life moved pretty fast; sometimes a body needed some shut-eye. She wouldn’t kick them awake until someone complained or the snoring got too loud. Knowing them, they’d wake up unassisted as soon as happy hour started.
She circled back toward her office, thinking about the articles she’d read. How had Sarah just disappeared without a trace? With the world under surveillance at all times by phones, cameras, security checkpoints, and so forth, it didn’t seem possible. True, her disappearance had been fifteen years ago, but surely if she was alive, someone must have picked up a trace of her somewhere. Unless she didn’t disappear. Lindsey thought about the face she’d seen in the window; could it have been . . . ? No. That was crazy. Still, the air suddenly seemed colder, and she shivered, pulling the sleeves of her sweater down over her wrists.
Lindsey thought about her colleagues from library school. She considered them and their various fields and knew that Susie McAllister had taken a position as a genealogy librarian. She was an expert with vital records and had databases at her fingertips that Lindsey could only dream about. She decided to send her an email asking her about Sarah Milstein. If only she had Sarah’s social security number—but that was going too far.
She was standing by the front doors when they whooshed open.
“Lindsey, your office, now,” Emma Plewicki said as she strode into the building, not slowing down or stopping but cruising right past Lindsey.
Lindsey could tell by the tight set of her shoulders that something was bothering the police chief. She scanned her brain. Other than her visit to the Milstein house, she had steered clear of Theresa Huston and whatever was happening—well, other than looking up old articles of the Gazette, but that was just being a librarian. It wasn’t as if she’d expected to find anything, not really.
Lindsey followed Emma into her office. Emma sat in the chair opposite her desk, and Lindsey closed the door and sat down.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Water or coffee?”
“No, thanks, I don’t have time,” Emma said.
She stared at Lindsey for a moment. Lindsey got the feeling she was considering her words very carefully. Lindsey waited, not wanting to rush her. Whatever Emma had to say, it was clearly important to her.
“I can trust you, can’t I?” Emma asked.
“Do you really have to ask?” Lindsey responded. “I mean, I know we don’t always see eye to eye on things, but I like to think you feel I’m trustworthy.”
“I do, but you have a knack for getting into trouble, and I really don’t want any trouble right now,” Emma said.
“Trouble? Me?” Lindsey asked. She blinked, as if she were the picture of innocence, but Emma wasn’t playing.
“Save it,” Emma said. She tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder and leaned her elbows on the edge of Lindsey’s desk. “We found the car.”
“The car that hit Theresa?” Lindsey leaned in.
“Yes, and the driver was still in it,” Emma said.
“So you caught him? This is great! Did he say why he did it? Was it an accident, or was he aiming for her?”
“Let me be more specific: we found the dead driver in the car,” Emma said. “Charlie Peyton has confirmed that he was the man who tried to run him down outside the Blue Anchor.”
“Oh.” Lindsey slumped back in her seat. She could feel her heart beating hard in her chest in a rush of anxiety. “Did he have any tie to Kayla?”
Emma shrugged. “He’s not local, and we’re still working on identifying him. Kayla says she’s never seen him before.”
“Do you believe her?” Lindsey asked.
“In my line of work, you never believe anyone,” Emma said.
They were both silent, and Lindsey wondered how far she could press Emma for information. She decided to go for it, knowing Emma would stop talking whenever she felt like it.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance he died of natural causes,” she said.
“Not judging by the bullet hole in his head, no,” Emma said.
“Do you think it was Kayla?” Lindsey asked. She tried to picture Kayla as a killer. She couldn’t do it, not that that signified anything.
“I’m not sure yet,” Emma said. “Kayla says she doesn’t own or know how to operate a gun, and I have no evidence to the contrary, so . . .”
Her voice trailed off, and Emma leaned back and clasped her hands in front of her. While Lindsey was pleased that Emma had decided to trust her, she couldn’t help but wonder why. A murder victim found in a car that had been involved in a hit-and-run really had nothing to do with the library—or her, for that matter.
“Was there something I can do to help you in regard to this?” she asked.
“Maybe.” Emma didn’t say any more.
Lindsey waited. Emma didn’t elaborate. Lindsey could hear the ticking of her big, round battery-operated office clock in the silence.
“Can you give me a hint?” Lindsey asked. “Or at least tell me if we’re dealing with animal, mineral, or vegetable?”
“Twenty questions? Robbie loves to play that game.” Emma’s lips tipped up on one side. Lindsey shrugged. She didn’t think it was prudent to mention that’s where she got the idea.
“All right, I’ll tell you why I’m here, but this is in the strictest confidence,” Emma said. “And I mean that. You can’t tell Sully or Robbie or any of the crafternooners, no one. Do you understand?”
“Absolutely, I won’t say a word to anyone.” Lindsey sat up straighter. She had no doubt that Emma was as serious as a heart attack.
“The state police are helping in the investigation,” Emma said. “Both the body and the car have been turned over to their crime scene investigators and medical examiner.”
Lindsey nodded. Briar Creek was too small of a town to support a crime lab, so things were frequently turned over to the state.
“This includes everything that was in the car,” Emma said.
Lindsey felt her tension ratchet up. This was what Emma wanted to share; she was certain of it. She waited while Emma pulled a small notebook out of her pocket. She flipped through the pages and then ripped one out and handed it to Lindsey.
Lindsey glanced at the list. Being a librarian, she caught on right away that it was a list of music CDs.
“I don’t have the discs, because the crime scene unit took them,” Emma said. “But every one of those titles came from your library.”
Lindsey recognized a few and nodded as the pieces fell into place. “These were found in the car.”
“Yes,” Emma said. “And I need to know if they were checked out to Kayla Manning. If they were, then they signify nothing except that she used the library.”
“Which would be odd,” Lindsey said. “As far as I know, Kayla has never been in the library, never mind checked anything out.”
Emma’s brown eyes glowed like a predator spotting prey. “Excellent. Then I’ll need to know who checked those CDs out.”
Lindsey felt her stomach twist. “It’s not that simple.”
“What do you mean?” Emma asked. “All you have to do is look up the title and tell me who checked it out. Surely, in this day of technology, you can do that.”
“Well, yes, if I had the library barcode from the CDs, but you’ve only given me the title. These are all popular artists, and we own multiple copies, so I’ll have to track them all down and then cross-check them to see who borrowed them.”
“I’m not seeing the problem. I’ll call the crime scene investigator and have them send me the barcodes.”
“Even with that, I won’t be able to help you.”
“Why not? What’s the issue?”
“You’re going to need a subpoena,” Lindsey said. “From a judge or a court of competent jurisdiction.”
Emma threw her hands up in the air. “What? How can you stonewall me like this?”
“I’m not. I’m merely following the library code of ethics put forth by the ALA and adopted by the Briar Creek Public Library.”
“Screw procedure—I have a dead body in a stolen car and a citizen holed up in her house who has barely escaped with her life—twice. Do you want her death on your hands?” Emma popped up on her feet and leaned across the desk as if she could intimidate Lindsey.
“Don’t!” Lindsey said. She rose, too, and met the chief of police halfway. “Don’t simplify privacy laws like that. You know why we protect our patrons’ right to privacy.”
“That’s not the point,” Emma argued.
“Yes, it is,” Lindsey snapped. “You were there last year when Tammy Moore was sneaking into the library, checking out books on how to leave an abusive partner. Her husband tried to bully me into turning over her circulation records, and what would have happened if I did? It would have gone really badly for her, and you know it. Tammy got away from him because we were able to give her the privacy and resources she needed, so don’t you diminish it.”
“I am not Steve Moore,” Emma said.
“No, you’re not,” Lindsey agreed. “But the privacy laws remain. Get a subpoena.”
Emma stomped toward the office door.
“And, Emma,” Lindsey said before the door shut. “By the time you have the appropriate paperwork, I should have a name for you.”
Emma met her gaze, gave her a curt nod, and slammed the door behind her. So, still mad.
Lindsey glanced at the list of titles. It was an eclectic list, and she couldn’t help wondering what a man who was about to commit a hit-and-run had been doing with everything from show tunes to Metallica in a stolen car. Weird. She set to work.
Lindsey had just brought up the holdings records for the first CD, which had seven copies in the system, when there was a polite knock on her door. She glanced up, surprised to see Sully leaning against her doorjamb. He had a small smile that tipped the corner of his lips, and she got the feeling he’d been watching her for a moment before he knocked.
“Are you ready, darlin’?” he asked.
It was then that she noticed he wasn’t in his usual captain’s attire of jeans and a flannel shirt but was spiffed up in khaki pants and a waffle-knit pale blue Henley. She blinked at him.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” he asked. “We have a dinner date with Beth and Aidan tonight.”
“No, or not completely,” she said. It was a fib. She had absolutely spaced that they had dinner plans.
Sully gave her a dubious look, and she sagged in her seat. “Oh, all right, I admit it. I’m working on a project, and I was so engrossed I forgot.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “If we leave in five minutes, we won’t even be late.”
Lindsey bit her bottom lip. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay here and work on tracking down who had checked the CDs out. So far, she had a complete list for only one of the CDs, and Kayla Manning’s name was not on it. Not a big surprise, since when Lindsey had checked the patron records, she’d noted that Kayla Manning didn’t have a library card.
“Oh no,” Sully said. “You are not thinking of canceling.”
“Well.” She drew out the word while she studied his face. He did not look like he was going to be swayed. She decided she needed to tell him what was up. “Emma stopped by and asked me to look something up for her. I don’t think I should put off the chief of police, do you?”
“Does it involve Theresa or the car that was found with the dead man in it?”
“Heard about that, did you?”
“Yup,” he said. He pushed off the doorjamb and walked into her office, closing the door behind him. He sat in the seat across from her desk and bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “So, which is it?”
“The dead man,” she said. “This is between us, but they found some library materials in his car, and Emma wanted me to see if I could figure out who checked them out.”
“Aren’t there privacy laws protecting patrons’ records?” he asked.
Lindsey nodded. “She’s going to need a subpoena.”
“Think she’ll be able to get it tonight?”
“No,” Lindsey said. “She has to prove her cause to a judge. It might take a while.”
“So, dinner is a go.” He rocked back up to his feet. “Come on—they’re probably waiting for us.”
“I don’t want to. Beth is driving me crazy with her post-wedding talk,” Lindsey said. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
Sully dropped back into his chair with a laugh. “Yes, you did.”
“Bad form,” Lindsey said. “I mean, I was her maid of honor. I should be more supportive of her post-wedding glow.”
“She has been talking about it pretty much nonstop for weeks,” Sully said. “Even I know that the filling in her cake was wrong, but it tasted good so she was okay with it, oh, and that the organist played the march down the aisle so perfectly that she was standing in front of Aidan on the last note just as she had always imagined.”
He clasped his hands over his chest and made an earnest face that was such a spot-on impersonation of Beth that Lindsey laughed out loud.
“So, it’s not just me?” Lindsey asked. “I mean, I’ve tried to be patient, but good grief. I’m beginning to feel like it’s Groundhog Day and I am reliving the wedding again and again and again. I honestly don’t think I can go through with dinner tonight.”
Sully considered her for a moment. He squinted one eye and then said, “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to it than that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Be straight with me,” he said. “I’ve sensed that things are off between us, so I have to ask, are you regretting moving in together?”