“You already are.” Lindsey laughed. “Back in a few.”
She stopped by the circulation desk and offered to bring Ann Marie and Ms. Cole some chowder as well. Ann Marie was game but Ms. Cole declined with a sniff. Lindsey suspected she was still miffy about the backdated check-in. Ah well, she’d just have to get over it.
Lindsey stepped on the rubber mat and the doors slid open. A blast of frosty air smacked her face and she sucked in a breath.
Ducking her head, she hurried out into the cold and headed for the pier. The packed snow on the road had melted just enough to freeze again after the abrupt temperature drop from the second half of the storm and had formed a nice sheen of ice.
Lindsey stepped carefully but still managed to half slide across the road as she navigated the treacherous conditions.
The parking lot of the Anchor was surprisingly clear, but then again, because it had become a meeting place for the plows, it had gotten the most use over the past few days.
She strode past the Anchor, keeping the man in the yellow waders in sight. She wasn’t sure exactly how she was going to broach the subject of Markus Rushton with him, but she’d worry about that when she got there.
The pier, made of thick solid planks, hadn’t been shoveled, and the snow had drifted over to one side of it while the footprints of the many boat owners had stomped the deep snow into matted patches.
Lindsey approached the boat, noting that the name
Dale was up on his boat sweeping the snow off the bow. Huge chunks fell over into the water with a splash.
Lindsey could hear him muttering while he swept. She wasn’t positive, but it sounded like a nice string of profanity he had going. She hated to interrupt.
For the first time, she debated the wisdom of approaching a man known to be volatile when he was irked.
But she was only going to ask him some questions; it wasn’t like she was going to accuse him of murder or anything.
“Hello?” she called out.
The boat went silent and then a knitted hat appeared over the side. Unshaven, with a jailhouse tattoo on his neck of what looked like a dragon or maybe a mermaid on steroids, and sporting a gold incisor that sparkled in the morning sun when he sneered, Dale Wilcox looked like he ate small children for breakfast.
CHAPTER 20
BRIAR CREEK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
Lindsey swallowed. She briefly wondered if her storm chaser boots could get her out of here before the man on the boat jumped over the side and whacked her with his broom.
“What do you want?” the man growled, glaring at her. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Sorry,” Lindsey said. She was pleased that her voice didn’t betray how nervous she felt. “You know, the original
“By Wheeler Shipyards,” he said.
“Oh, so you did know.” Lindsey smiled.
“That’s not surprising,” he said. His scowl relaxed into a wary look. “I’m a fisherman. What is surprising is that you know.”
“Not really.” Lindsey shook her head. “I’m a librarian.”
“Ah, then you also know, ‘a man is never lost at sea,’” he said.
“
“Hemingway was a brilliant writer,” he said. He looked her up and down. Not in an insolent way, but as if trying to get the measure of her. “I read all of his works when I was in prison.”
“I think he would have liked that,” Lindsey said.
Dale indicated the ladder with a shrug. “Feel free to climb aboard.”
Lindsey had a feeling he was testing her, to see if she was brave enough to be on the boat with the big, bad ex-convict. For some reason, she wanted to pass his test and show him that she wasn’t afraid.
She stepped forward and pulled herself up the short ladder. Dale continued sweeping, completely ignoring her. At a loss, Lindsey saw a second broom propped in the corner, so she picked it up and began to sweep the snow off the side. Dale paused to watch her for a moment and then set back to work.
They worked silently for a while. There wasn’t much snow left to sweep, but the stuff she managed to push off the starboard side fell into the water with a satisfying splash. When they were done, she handed the broom back to Dale.
“You know, if you like Hemingway, there are other authors I could hook you up with,” she said. “Library cards are free.”
“Is that why you’re here?” he asked. “To drum up business for the library? Things must be slow.”
“No, actually, I came by to find out if you killed Markus Rushton,” she said.
Dale’s mouth opened in a small O and he blinked. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that,” she said. “Right now the police are focusing on his wife, but everyone knows you had an altercation with him a few weeks ago over a parking space.”
Dale’s brow lowered, bringing his knit cap with it so it rested just over his eyes. “So, naturally, because I am an ex-convict, you think I couldn’t control my anger and I went and shot him over a stupid parking space. You know, it’s assumptions like that that made Hemingway hate women.”
“No, I think it was more due to his domineering mother and a crushing heartbreak from his relationship with his nurse while he was recuperating after being injured in the war,” Lindsey said.
Dale grunted and looked out at the sea. “I should know better than to debate a librarian.”
Lindsey lowered her head and smiled. People were wrong about Dale. He had a certain grouchy charm.
“For your information, the police have already been by to question me. I don’t own a gun and I have an alibi. I was visiting my mother in Madison. She’s in an assisted-care facility over there, and the place has the sign-in log to prove how long I was there. Satisfied?”
Lindsey sighed. “I’ve offended you.”
“You think?” he asked. “You can’t accuse a guy of murder and not expect him to get a little testy.”
“Fair enough,” Lindsey said. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help out a friend.”
“I know,” Dale said. He glanced away, and Lindsey was surprised by the sudden softening of his features. “Carrie is a good woman. She was always nice to me even when we were kids. She never judged me because my family was poor. If I hadn’t gotten sent to jail…well, you can’t go back.”
“What do you mean?” Lindsey asked.
Dale shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. She deserved better than that mealymouthed whiner. I don’t know who shot him, but they did her a favor.”
His words were harsh, but Lindsey knew he was only saying what everyone else seemed to think of Markus Rushton. She glanced at her watch and realized she was pushing it if she was going to get back to the library with food within the hour.
“Thanks for talking to me,” she said. She held out her hand.
Dale hesitated and then clasped her gloved hand. His grip was firm but not punishing.
“Maybe I’ll stop by and see what you’ve got in that library of yours,” he said.
“I’d like that,” Lindsey said. She climbed down the ladder and waved as Dale stood and watched her go with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“So, I know that Mary’s clam chowder could cause a person to walk a mile on shards of glass sans shoes, but I have a sneaky suspicion that there was something else motivating you to go for soup,” Beth said.
Lindsey dipped her clam fritter into her chowder and took a bite. It was rude to talk with your mouth full, after
