On Borrowed Time (6 page)

“M
e?” Lindsey asked as she put her coffee mug down and reached for the phone. She watched Ronnie give them all a little finger wave as she tucked her purse under her arm and trotted out the front door into the night.

“Hello?” Lindsey said into the phone.

“Linds, it's me,” Jack said.

“Jack!” she cried. Both Sully and Beth gave her wide-eyed looks. “Are you all right? Where are you? Are those the people who killed the man in my library? Who are th—”

“Linds, I don't have time,” he interrupted her. “Are you all right? I saw the explosion and I told them if anything happened to you . . .”

His voice trailed off as if he couldn't even bear to finish the sentence.

“We're fine,” she said. “We were far enough away.”

Jack made a sound like he'd been holding his breath for a very long time and was finally able to let it go.

Lindsey lowered her voice and asked, “Jack, who were those people? What's happening?”

“You have to let this go, Linds, for me. Don't worry. It's not like I've been taken to Camazotz—” His voice was cut off and a scuffle sounded. Lindsey got the sense the phone had been forcibly taken away from him.

“Jack!” she cried. “Jack!”

“He can't talk to you now,” a voice said. It was a woman's voice. Deep and sultry with an exotic accent, the woman sounded nonchalant, as if this sort of thing happened to her every day. “Do not call the police. Do not call anyone.”

“Oh, I'm calling the police, the Coast Guard, the FBI, you name it, I am calling them,” Lindsey snapped. “I want my brother back—now.”

“If you do that”—the woman's voice dropped in tone, sounding suddenly weary—“your brother will die.”

“If you hurt him . . .” Lindsey growled through gritted teeth.

“Not me, my husband,” the woman said. She paused as if giving Lindsey a second to absorb that. “Your brother and I are lovers. We are on the run from my husband. He is a very jealous man. He has already killed once, as you know, and you saw how he blew up our boat. We were lucky to get away. He will kill us if he finds us. Do you understand?”

Lindsey was speechless. This was like something out of one of her favorite Robert Ludlum novels. This was not real life. How could this be happening? What sort of
married
woman had Jack gotten himself involved with?

“Do you understand?” the woman asked. Her voice was now urgently imploring. “Your brother's life is at stake.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Lindsey said. Although she really didn't, not even a little.

“Good. I know you don't want to do anything that will help my husband find us.” The woman hung up.

Lindsey stared at the receiver in her hand. The message was clear. Jack could be killed if she went for help. So there would be no police, Coast Guard or FBI, and she was left with no idea where her brother was or when she might see him again.

“Well?” Beth cried, throwing her hands up in the air. “Obviously, that was Jack. What did he say? What's going on? Who was that woman?”

Lindsey looked from Beth to Sully and back. What could she say? Could she say anything? The woman on the phone hadn't said she couldn't tell her friends. That seemed like a technicality, but still.

She slowly replaced the receiver, giving herself a second to think. She didn't want to put Beth in jeopardy by telling her about Jack being kidnapped. Then again, Beth had already seen the woman at the Anchor, and Lindsey didn't want Beth to stumble into something she shouldn't by not knowing what was going on.
Gah!
This was impossible. She decided to go with her gut.

“Jack was kidnapped,” she said. Whether he and the woman were lovers or not, the woman had taken him forcibly, and as far as Lindsey was concerned, that was kidnapping.

Beth gasped but Sully didn't even flicker an eyelash, which told her more than words that he had suspected as much. It also told her that he had expected her to let Beth into the loop and that he would have done the same, which made her feel better about her choice.

“But he was just here, and he went with that woman. Oh, is she the kidnapper?” Beth asked. “What does she want? Is she a stalker?”

“I don't know,” Lindsey said. The fight went out of her, and she slid into a nearby padded chair, feeling as if she could not be upright for one more second.

Beth took the seat opposite her while Sully retrieved her coffee cup and handed it to her before taking the seat beside her.

“What did she say exactly?” Sully asked.

Lindsey glanced at him. How did he know she'd spoken to the woman?

“When you yelled, I figured she took the phone from Jack once he knew you were safe,” he explained. “Probably he was refusing to cooperate until he knew you weren't hurt in the explosion.”

“Explosion?” Beth cried. “Is that why you brought that charred wreck in? It exploded?”

“We were hoping to turn it over to the police,” Lindsey said. “That can't happen now.”

Sully nodded as if he expected as much. Beth shoved her hands into her short spiky black hair as if yanking on her follicles would make all of this clearer.

“Explain,” she ordered. She let go of her hair. “From the very beginning.”

Lindsey glanced at Sully. Even he didn't know the very beginning—that Jack had been at the library before the dead guy showed up. Oh, well, there was no turning back now.

She took a long sip from her coffee and started at the very beginning with finding Jack in the crafternoon room and cataloged the day's events all the way through to the phone call. No one said anything when she was finished. She didn't know if she'd offended them by not telling them about her first contact with Jack or if they were just dazed by the info dump she had unloaded onto them.

“Jack's in big trouble, isn't he?” Beth asked.

“I'm afraid so,” Lindsey said.

“We have to help him,” Beth said.

“We can't go to the police,” Lindsey said. Sully looked like he was going to protest, but she cut him off. “I won't put him at risk.”

“Noted,” Sully said. “What I was going to suggest was that we hire an independent outfit to check out the wreckage, maybe an investigator with an insurance agency. They wouldn't be ‘the authorities,' but they might be able to give us a lead.”

“That's brilliant,” Lindsey said. Sully gave her a small smile, and she was suddenly very glad she had told them everything. She would have hated to try to figure this out alone.

“I'll call some of my old Navy contacts and see what they suggest,” he said.

“What should we do in the meantime?” Beth asked.

“Nothing,” Sully said. “If what this woman says is true and her husband killed the man in the library, then we want to make sure we stay off of his radar, especially you, Lindsey. If this jealous husband figures out that Jack is your brother, you could be his next target.”

Lindsey nodded. She couldn't help but glance at the windows, wondering if someone was watching them even now.

Sully walked them back to the café, where they loaded up their bikes into the back of his truck and he drove them home. He dropped off Beth first, helping her unload her bike and waiting until she was safely inside before leaving.

Lindsey noted the cat tree in her large bay window was fully loaded with her three felines, Skippyjon Jones, Slinky Malinky and Pete the Cat, all named for Beth's favorite picture book cats. After Pete arrived a few months ago, Beth had made Lindsey promise not to let her acquire any more cats for fear that she would become a spinster cat lady, but as Lindsey pointed out, there were plenty of men who adored cats and she would be just fine. But after watching Beth practically swoon at Jack's feet, Lindsey was rethinking. The girl needed to get a boyfriend stat.

“We need to hook Beth up with a date,” she said when Sully got back into the cab of the truck.

He gave her a sidelong glance. “I might know someone,” he said.

“Really?” she asked. “Who?”

“He's a charming British bloke, new to the area,” he said. “The ladies all love him or so I hear.”

She smiled. “Don't tell me, let me guess, Robbie Vine?”

“You have to admit they'd make a cute couple,” he said. “Of course, it would help if he wasn't besotted with you.”

“I wouldn't say he's besotted,” Lindsey said.

“Oh, yeah, he is,” Sully said. He turned onto the road that led to Lindsey's third-floor apartment. “Otherwise why would he stick around here?”

“Because it's his son's senior year of high school and he's missed so much of Dylan's life already,” she said.

“
Hmm
,” Sully hummed, which Lindsey figured was his less rude version of
whatever
.

Sully wheeled her bike into the garage, and Lindsey followed him, closing the side door after him. Together they walked to the house. During the time they'd spent in Sully's office, their clothes and hair had dried out, but Lindsey doubted she'd ever truly feel warm again.

It was too bad she and Sully weren't still dating. He made the best hot chocolate in the world, and on a night like tonight, she could really use a mug or four.

The front door opened as soon as they stepped onto the porch, and a black ball of fur charged at top speed right for them. Heathcliff, Lindsey's rescued puppy who was now almost full grown, stood on his hind legs while he wrapped his front paws about her knee. Lindsey knelt down and scratched his head and sides while he wiggled and waggled. No one was ever as delighted to see her as Heathcliff. She felt her heart pinch at the thought that Jack would have loved her furry baby and Heathcliff would have adored Jack.

“He has been squirrelly all night,” Nancy Peyton said as she followed Heathcliff out the open door. “About two hours ago, he just started barking and pacing and then he calmed down, but then he got so excited about ten minutes ago. I swear he can tell when you're almost home.”

“That's because he's the best dog ever,” Lindsey said. She straightened up and Heathcliff ran over to Sully to give him the same effusive greeting.

“How are you, boy?” Sully asked, squatting down and giving him the same rubdown Lindsey had.

Lindsey had no doubt that Heathcliff was overjoyed to see his buddy.

“So how did Beth's steampunk shindig go?” Nancy asked. “I know Charlie was looking forward to having a built-in crowd for his gig. Did the band sound all right?”

Sully and Lindsey exchanged a look. She was not about to put her landlord in jeopardy by telling her about Jack. Sully gave her an imperceptible nod, letting her know that he was thinking the same.

“The band sounded great,” Lindsey said, which was true. “Charlie sure does own a stage.”

Nancy beamed with pride. “Well, don't stand out here, you two, I just finished my famous fruit cake cookies, and I have all the fixings for Sully's hot chocolate if he's willing?”

Nancy's sparkling blue eyes twinkled at Sully, and Lindsey got the feeling that Nancy had been quite the looker in her day. Despite the gray hair and preference for sweat suits, she still knew how to flirt, and Lindsey had yet to see a man resist her wiles.

“I'm game if you are,” he said.

Lindsey nodded. She had no desire to be alone in her apartment, where she'd undoubtedly just brood about her brother all night. Nancy had a fire going in the fireplace, and Lindsey sat down on the hearth and let the heat pour into her. Sully and Nancy disappeared into the kitchen while Heathcliff stretched out on the floor, propping his head on her feet.

She absently stroked his fur while she wondered where Jack was right now. Was he warm? Was he safe? She felt her throat get tight and her eyes burned as she tried to push down the question that bobbed to the surface like an apple in a water barrel: Would she ever see him again?

L
indsey did not sleep that night. Not a big surprise, she supposed. It seemed like every memory she'd ever had of Jack converged in her head in a cheesy montage just to torture her. She remembered him helping her learn to ride a bike and beating up a bully who was picking on her. He'd gotten a fat lip for his effort, but as he told their parents with the beginnings of his future swagger, “You should see the other guy.”

She remembered him showing her the shortcut through the woods that led to a convenience store on the main road where they emptied their piggy banks on candy and made themselves sick. Together they discovered the best climbing trees, made the best skateboard ramp, and when they were older, he taught her how to drive a stick shift by parking the car at the bottom of a hill and making her drive up it.

Jack was a free spirit, the last of the rogues, with a brilliant brain for business and a weakness for the ladies. He'd knocked around the globe, circling it at least six times, and always coming home with exotic tales and strange gifts.

Lindsey rested on her side, looking at the enamel lotus charm that hung on the wall beside her bed. Jack had sent it to her from Tibet right after she had moved to Briar Creek to start her life anew. It was supposed to symbolize good fortune, like the lotus flower, which rises out of the mud to bloom, he had explained in his note. She thought about her life in Briar Creek. She didn't know if the enamel lotus blossom was responsible, but she had definitely found happiness here in her new life.

Heathcliff let out a yawn from his blanket at the foot of the bed. She nudged him with her foot, and he grumbled under his breath even as he rolled over so she could rub his belly. Heathcliff preferred to sleep in on chilly mornings and frequently stayed in bed while she went and made her coffee. Usually, only the sound of the front door opening, which signaled outside time, got him moving.

“You are a slug,” Lindsey said as she pushed back her covers and shoved her feet into her slippers.

Heathcliff growled something unintelligible, and Lindsey suspected it was a good thing he couldn't talk. She had a feeling she didn't want to hear what he had to say, especially as she suspected that he could be a bit of a sassy pants.

Once the morning routine was finished, which included a long walk for Heathcliff, Lindsey tried to muster the energy to get ready for work. Today was her day to go in a bit later, as she would close the library in the evening.

She glanced out her living room window to try and get an idea of what to wear. She noted it was another flannel day outside. She always thought of gray days as flannel days partly because she wanted to burrow in her flannel jammies and not go out and partly because it looked like a big sheet of gray flannel was blanketing her world.

Her third-story apartment overlooked the bay, and she could see the outline of the islands dotting the landscape, or rather the waterscape, all the way to the horizon. There was no sign of a big yacht, however, which depressed her to no end.

For the millionth time, she wondered where Jack was, whether he was safe, and how he had gotten involved with a married woman with a psychotic husband. She was just turning to freshen her coffee when her cell phone rang. She snatched it off the table where it sat in its charger.

The display showed a library number. She frowned. Not Jack then.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Lindsey,” Beth said. “You have to get down here right now.”

“Why? What's happening?” Lindsey asked.

“Detective Trimble is here and he's asking for you,” she said. She sounded like she was whispering.

Lindsey wasn't surprised. Beth had gotten up close and personal with the state investigator, and Lindsey was pretty sure she had some emotional scars from the encounter.

“What does he want?” Lindsey asked. “Did he say?”

“No, and I didn't ask. In fact, as soon as he came in, I hid under my desk. That's where I'm calling you from,” Beth said.

“Wait, you're under your desk?” Lindsey asked.

“It seemed best,” Beth said. “Ann Marie is chatting with him at the circulation desk. She's using her best dimples and everything.”

“Good plan,” Lindsey said.

Ann Marie, their part-time clerk, was the mother of two precocious young boys who were notorious in Briar Creek for their shenanigans, like the time they decided to have a snack at their old preschool in the Lutheran church, disregarding the fact that the church was closed and the kitchen locked up.

The church alarm could be heard throughout the small town, and Ann Marie had left the library at a run, knowing as only a mother does that her two were somehow responsible. She found them sitting in the church kitchen munching on animal crackers. They'd had to make a formal apology to the pastor and do a week of chores around the preschool in repentance. Needless to say, Ann Marie had been using her dimples to charm irate neighbors, teachers and law enforcement officials since the boys had been born.

“Tell Ann Marie to tell him I'll be right there,” Lindsey said. “And please don't mention
anything
else.”

“Got it,” Beth said. “You don't have to worry about me. My lips are sealed with superglue, no, Gorilla Glue. You can't pry that stuff loose even with a banana, I tell you.”

“Uh-huh.” Lindsey hung up and flew into her bedroom as if she'd been shot out of a canon.

*   *   *

“D
etective Trimble,” Lindsey said as she extended her hand in greeting to the man in the sharp navy suit. “Good to see you again.”

“You, too, Ms. Norris,” he said. His grip was firm and warm. “I wish it was under a better circumstance.”

“Me, too,” she said. “How can I help you?”

“Chief Plewicki called us in to help investigate her John Doe,” he said. “Since her resources are limited, she was hoping the state police might give her a few more avenues of inquiry and identification.”

Lindsey nodded as if this all made sense, which it did except that she was concerned that her brother was connected to this mess and that the police might already know this and be looking for him as well.

Detective Trimble pushed the gold-rimmed glasses up on his nose and studied her. He hadn't changed much since she'd met him a year and a half ago. He still had the same precisely cut short black hair, same glasses and impeccable suit and the same intelligent gaze. Just as before, she felt as if he knew more than he was saying. It was very unnerving.

“So I'm assuming you want to reinterview me and see the scene of the crime?” she asked. She was pleased that she sounded so matter of fact.

“If it's no trouble,” he said.

“None at all,” Lindsey assured him. Meanwhile in her head, she kept saying,
Just the facts
. Surely, she couldn't blow it if she kept to the facts.

“If you'll follow me,” she said.

She led him down the hallway to the cordoned-off room. The door had been kept locked to keep away the curious. Lindsey opened the door and they both stepped under the yellow crime scene tape and into the room.

“Now what happened the day that you found the body?” Trimble asked.

Lindsey told him the same information she'd given Chief Plewicki. She had a spasm of guilt for omitting the part about finding Jack, but she couldn't risk it. Not knowing whom Jack was running from, she didn't feel like she could mention him at all and risk drawing attention to him, which, according to the strange woman who had taken him, might get him killed.

Trimble asked many of the same questions that Emma had asked. He walked around the room while he listened to her answers. He clarified points about how the body had been positioned when it was found and about the open window.

Lindsey tried to look like she thought she would if she didn't know anything else. It was hard to make her features blank, however, when she knew more than she was telling and she'd gotten no sleep last night.

When Trimble finally seemed satisfied with the information, she turned to go. Relief welled up inside her, and she felt like she was stepping off the hangman's platform in a stay of execution granted just in the nick of time.

“Oh, there's one more thing, Lindsey,” Trimble said. “One thing that doesn't make sense to me.”

“Yes?” Lindsey felt a prickle of unease tingle the back of her neck.

“You said that it was too cold in here to have your craft club meeting—”

“Crafternoon,” she corrected him. She didn't mean to be picky but a crafternoon was a book discussion, a craft and a shared meal, which made it so much more than a craft meeting.

“Pardon me,” he said, “crafternoon meeting.” He said the words as if trying them out. He lifted his eyebrows as if it wasn't so bad and then he continued, “So why would the window be open?”

“Beg pardon?” Lindsey asked as her heart knocked around in her chest, probably trying to dodge the surge of panic that was rocketing through her and would undoubtedly cause her heart to seize up in a paralyzed knot of anxiety.

“Why was the window open?” he asked. “It seems to me if you'd found the room too cold earlier, you would have shut and latched it, correct?”

Lindsey didn't know what to say. Was this it? Was the open window like the single hair or clothing fiber found on a murdered corpse that identifies the killer? Her throat went dry. She mentally begged for a rescue, in any form, even if it was Ms. Cole arriving to chew her out for something ridiculous.

She glanced at the door. Trimble raised his eyebrows as if he knew she was considering a run for it.

“Uh . . . well . . . I don't remem—” she began when a male's voice, an unhappy male's voice, interrupted her.

“What's this I hear about you and that salty dog dancing at the Blue Anchor last night?” Robbie Vine asked as he ducked under the crime scene tape and stepped into the room. “I thought we had an agreement.”