Due Or Die

The books donated to the Friends were everything from a lifetime collection of National Geographic to an oily repair manual for a Yugo. Why would anyone want to bust into their shed?

Having no answers, her mind wandered back to Markus Rushton’s murder. A rifle shot through a sliding glass door that no one heard; there were so many things wrong with this scenario it was hard to tell where to begin.

Could it have been one of the men he’d recently had an altercation with? It seemed unlikely, but any newspaper in the country reported stories of murder for even less. It was a mystery. One she intended to solve before Carrie became the winner of the most-likely-to-have-shot-him award.

* * *

A light awoke Lindsey first thing in the morning. She blinked against the intrusion, and it took her a moment to realize it wasn’t just any light but the lamp beside the chair where she was sleeping. They had electricity!

“Charlie!” she shouted as she bolted upright. “Wake up. We have light!”

“Hunh, what?” Charlie grunted.

“Light and power!” Lindsey repeated.

Nancy and Carrie stumbled from their rooms, looking bewildered.

“What’s happening?” Carrie asked.

“Behold,” Lindsey said. “Light.”

She flicked on all of the nearby light switches, and Nancy clapped her hands together and jumped up and down.

“I’ll start the coffeepot,” she said.

“Shower,” Lindsey said. “I’m going to take a hot shower, plug in my cell phone and reprogram my clocks. I’ll be back.”

She bolted up the stairs with Heathcliff at her heels. It was such a relief to go back into her apartment and be able to turn on the lights, play the radio and know that she wasn’t limited by battery life.

She was towel drying her long blond hair when her phone rang. She was so happy to have her cordless working again that she didn’t bother checking the caller ID.

“Hello,” she answered.

“I’ll be watching you,” the voice on the line said.

“Excuse me,” Lindsey said. She clutched the phone to her ear, concentrating on the caller’s words.

“You heard me. I’ll be watching you, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do the right thing.”

The caller hung up. The bubble of joy Lindsey had been feeling at listening to NPR popped like a soap bubble.

She knew that voice. She was unlikely to forget that shrill tone anytime soon. It was Batty Bilson.

She settled the receiver in its cradle. Should she call the police? It seemed trivial given all that they had going on. Marjorie hadn’t threatened her exactly, although it sort of felt that way.

No, she wasn’t going to cause a stir over this. She would call her staff and get the library back open, then she would deal with Marjorie Bilson and her cryptic message.

It took Lindsey and Beth the better part of the morning to shovel out the building. Once the walkways were clear and Lindsey felt that patrons and staff could navigate the stairs and enter the building without risking a broken limb, she opened the library. It was a few hours later than usual, but at least they were open.

The book drop was full. When they opened the door to the small room, a tidal wave of books slid into the main room. Lindsey stooped down to pick them up and put them on a cart. The covers were icy-cold to the touch.

Ms. Cole was logging in to her computer at the check-in desk, getting ready to deal with the deluge of books. Once she and Beth had filled a cart, Lindsey wheeled it over to Ms. Cole. She glanced at the check-in screen on Ms. Cole’s monitor and frowned.

“Ms. Cole, you have today’s date as the check-in date,” she said.

“We are checking them in today,” Ms. Cole said.

Lindsey could almost hear the unspoken duh at the end of her sentence.

“Yes, but the library was closed for two and a half days. We need to go back three days, so that people who returned their books on time don’t get fined unfairly.”

Ms. Cole looked outraged. “But what about people whose materials were due three days ago, who just returned them today?”

“They get amnesty,” Lindsey said with a shrug.

“Well, I just…that’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“It’s setting a horrible precedent,” Ms. Cole said. Her bosom heaved with her agitation. “I mean, people might expect…they might demand…”

“Good customer service?” Lindsey supplied.

“Exactly!” Ms. Cole said. “They might think that we’ll always bend the rules just for them. I’m telling you, you’re inviting anarchy.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to risk it,” Lindsey said.

When Ms. Cole looked like she might continue her protest, Lindsey held up her hand, indicating the conversation was over.

“I’m sorry, but this is how we’re going to do it,” Lindsey said. She leaned over Ms. Cole’s chair, took her computer mouse and clicked the check-in date back three days. She saved the change and then went back to the book drop to load another cart, leaving the lemon sputtering behind her.

“How very unlike Mr. Tupper you are,” Beth said with a teasing smile. She handed Lindsey a stack of books.

“He wouldn’t have rolled back the check-in date?” Lindsey arranged the books on the truck.

“He would have let Ms. Cole decide,” Beth said.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s wise,” Lindsey said.

“It wasn’t,” Beth agreed. “But between you and me, I think he was afraid of her.”

Lindsey glanced over her shoulder to where Ms. Cole was muttering while the check-in machine beeped with each item. She was in shades of brown today. Not her best color.

“Maybe that’s why he retired to Florida,” Lindsey said.

Once the drop was empty, Beth went to man her desk in children’s while Lindsey wheeled the cart over to Ann Marie to assist Ms. Cole with the check-in. She’d called in their teen shelvers for an extra afternoon shift later in the day to help get them on track, and all was slowly getting back to normal in the quiet little library.

Lindsey walked over to the big windows that looked over the town. Huge drifts of snow still covered the park, but the roads had been sanded and salted and were just becoming passable.

She glanced over at the pier. She wondered if Sully was around. She noticed that several of the boat owners were out checking their rigs, including the charter boat that Dale Wilcox owned.

She could just make out a man in a navy blue hooded sweatshirt, unzipped, with a knit cap on his head and yellow waders. He was stomping around the end of the pier, looking ornery. She knew without being told that this was Dale Wilcox.

She glanced over her shoulder at the library. It was quiet. Most people were home digging out from the blizzard or they were back at their first day of work.

The clock on the wall showed it was fifteen minutes until her lunch hour. Good enough. She turned away from the window and headed toward her office.

If she dragged it out, getting suited up to go out into the cold could take at least five minutes. She slipped off her favorite loafers and slipped on her storm chaser boots from L.L.Bean. Scarf, hat, jacket and mittens were next and she was ready.

She strode out of her office and stopped in the children’s area.

Beth glanced up in surprise. “Going somewhere?”

“I’m going to get some soup at the Blue Anchor,” she said. If she actually did pick up soup, then it wasn’t a total lie. “Can I bring you some?”

“Are you kidding? If you bring me some of Mary’s chowder, I’ll be your best friend,” Beth said.