Read It and Weep (A Library Lover's Mystery) (11 page)

I
love this database
, Lindsey thought as she sat at her desk looking at the unending list of articles that had been brought up using the magazine and newspaper search option in the library’s online catalog. Now she just needed to narrow her parameters to weed out the fluff pieces.

More than twenty thousand articles had been written about Robbie Vine. This sure beat using a lame Internet search engine and getting random web pages, or even worse, some unverifiable bits of information cobbled together by a collection of self-proclaimed “experts.”

If she sorted out all of the articles that were reviews of his shows and movies, that should trim it down. She revised her search. Wow. Still a lot of articles, but if she was looking to know about Robbie’s past, she was betting she wanted the interviews from when he was a breakout star and had been less cautious with his words.

A knock sounded on her door, and she called, “Come in.”

Emma Plewicki walked in, and Lindsey suddenly felt like the kid caught reading a comic book in history class. She leaned forward, covering her monitor.

“Hi, Emma, how’s it going?” she asked.

“Why do you look weird?”

“Weird? What do you mean?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “Chief Daniels warned me about you. Are you being a buttinsky?”

Lindsey sat back in outrage. “Did he call me that? Because that’s just rude.”

“Is that an article search on Robbie Vine?” Emma asked. She leaned around Lindsey to see her computer. “He was right; you are a buttinsky.”

“I’m not—okay, I am,” Lindsey said. She dropped her head into her hands and then peeked at Emma through her fingers. “I can’t help myself. Seeking information is an occupational hazard.”

“Or interfering with police work,” Emma said. “Depending upon your point of view.”

Lindsey raised her right hand. “I swear I’ve done no interfering of any kind.”

Emma took the seat across from her desk and said, “Are you quite certain?”

“Yes, it’s just . . . well, I can’t help wondering who could have had such a grudge against Robbie that they would kill him,” Lindsey said. “Yes, he was arrogant and a narcissist, but from what I could tell from Kitty and Lola, they both still cared for him.”

“I thought you said you weren’t interfering.” Emma sat up straight and glared at Lindsey. “What were you doing talking to Lola and Kitty?”

“I just ran into them in the theater,” Lindsey said. “And by that, I do mean literally ran into them. I came around a corner and Lola was standing there crying, then Kitty came up and they both started talking about Robbie.”

Emma raised one eyebrow and stared at Lindsey. “And now you’re looking up articles about him?”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like either of them had a reason to kill him if you take the whole crime of passion equation out, and a poisoning does seem a bit too plotted to be a crime of passion. But then there are the two incidents with him getting hit by a piece of set and then stabbed in the dark.”

“Either of those two could have been a crime of passion, but I agree, it seems unlikely,” Emma said. “Statistically speaking, in a crime of passion the weapon is usually something that was at hand, which is why you get the blunt-object trauma so often in those scenarios.”

“Really? I had no idea,” Lindsey said. “I would have guessed a gun or a knife.”

“No, that would indicate premeditation,” Emma said. “Which would not be a crime of passion.”

“Huh,” Lindsey said. “Is it wrong that I find this fascinating and horrifying at the same time?”

“I wouldn’t say wrong, necessarily,” Emma said. “Human beings and what they are capable of doing to one another is intriguing and repellant.”

“So, you’re pretty clear that it wasn’t a jilted lover who did Robbie in?” Lindsey asked.

“Yes; in fact, it’s why I came to see you,” Emma said.

“Me?”

“Everyone says Robbie was showing an interest in you,” Emma said. “Did he say anything about anyone to you, anyone who was giving him grief or causing him concern or anything like that?”

“No, he didn’t mention anyone specifically,” Lindsey said. “I did overhear him in an argument with Brian Loeb.”

Emma raised her eyebrows but was silent, letting Lindsey continue.

“Brian accused Robbie of having an affair with his wife, Brandy,” Lindsey said. “Robbie denied it, but Brian didn’t seem to believe him.”

“Did Brian threaten him?” Emma asked.

Lindsey thought back to the argument. It had been a nasty one. “Yes,” she said. “He did threaten him. First he said he was going to squash him like a bug. Robbie laughed him off and then—”

“Then?” Emma prompted her.

“Brian said that he was going to kill Robbie when he caught him with Brandy,” she said.

Emma pursed her lips. “As far as you know, did Brian ever catch Robbie with Brandy?”

“No, not that I know of,” she said.

“Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted to harm Robbie?”

“Other than Harvey Wargus, the critic, no,” Lindsey said.

“I’ve already had him in for questioning,” Emma said. “He’s a squirmy little fellow.”

“Right,” Lindsey agreed. “And I don’t like him. Did Violet talk to you at all about her ex?”

Lindsey felt as if she were betraying her friend by mentioning him, but how could she not when he could very well be the reason that Robbie was dead?

“Yes, both she and Charlene mentioned that Sterling Buchanan could be vindictive when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

“Robbie was like family to them,” Lindsey said. “Do you think Buchanan would have been angry enough to have him harmed in order to hurt them?”

“I don’t know,” Charlene said. “But I have made inquiries in that direction. The man has so much money that he’s made himself quite untouchable. Good thing I’m not easily deterred.”

Lindsey smiled. No, she didn’t imagine that Emma would be easily put off.

“If you think of anything else, let me know,” Emma said as she rose to leave. “Oh, and if you find anything of interest in those articles about Robbie—”

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Lindsey promised.

“Thanks,” Emma said, and Lindsey was pretty sure that it was non-ironic.

She spent her lunch hour eating a tuna fish sandwich at her desk while reading the articles. The later ones all read pretty much the same about a boy born in Manchester being raised by a single mom who got a scholarship to the Italia Conti Academy of Theater Arts in London. The articles glossed over his rebellious youth, his troubles with the law and a stint in jail. The earlier articles had more meat and more bite, since Robbie was not yet a huge star with PR handlers who could cushion and bend his interviews to their will.

It was an article in the
Times
that caught Lindsey’s attention. Robbie had just starred in Noël Coward’s
Design for Living
at the Gielgud Theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue to rave reviews. The reporter joined Robbie for breakfast and found him quite distraught. He had just been informed that he was to be a father. He was not happy about the news. He told the reporter that he and the mother, an American soap opera actress, had just had a fling, one that hadn’t been good enough that he’d want a reminder of it for the rest of his life.

Lindsey cringed. He was young in the article, true, but he came off as harsh, selfish and frankly nasty. He did not sound like the charming man she had come to know. She wondered if the PR firms took over his press shortly after this mess.

She scanned the next two years’ worth of articles. There was no mention of a wife until he’d married Kitty ten years ago. Kitty was American, but Lindsey doubted she was the mother of Robbie’s unnamed child; as far as she knew, they had had no children.

Lindsey wondered what had happened to the mother and child. She checked the date of the article and she figured the baby would be somewhere in its late teens now. She scanned the next few years of articles. The pieces were much less invasive. It was easy to see that Robbie had control of his interviews now, and he gave away nothing that he didn’t want known.

The actress was out of the business. She had married a tycoon and moved to Austria. There was nothing current about her, but Lindsey looked up the story line to the soap opera and her character had been pregnant at the same time she would have been. Had they written it into the show just for her? It seemed likely.

Violet had known Robbie since before his debut on Shaftesbury Avenue in London when she had been a guest teacher at his acting school. Lindsey wondered if they’d been close back then and if so, did Violet know he’d fathered a child?

She hated to disturb her when she was under so much stress, but there was only one way to find out if Robbie’s child or its mother had ever resurfaced in Robbie’s life and that was to ask Violet. She had a feeling Charlene would know, too.

She knew from Beth that Charlene had taken a few days off from the television station to deal with what had happened. She and her three kids were at their cabin on Wishbone Island, one of the smaller Thumb Islands out in the bay. Lindsey suspected that Charlene was trying to protect her kids from the media scrutiny surrounding Robbie’s death.

• • •

I
n fact, before Lindsey had come into work, she had baked a batch of pumpkin squares that she had hoped to bring to Charlene and her family. She had been wondering how Charlene had been handling Robbie’s death. This would give her a good reason to pop in and see her friend. Lindsey was off the clock at six, and left the library in the very capable hands of her library assistant, Jessica Gallo. Beth and Ms. Cole both headed straight to the theater while Lindsey stopped by the house and retrieved Heathcliff for a walk. Charlie was home and Lindsey rapped on his door on her way out.

“Door’s open,” Charlie called.

“Charlie, I need to run an errand,” Lindsey said as she entered the apartment into his living room.

He was sprawled on his neon orange velvet couch reading
Mad
magazine. Heathcliff did not hesitate but launched himself on top of Charlie and began to lick his face.

“Okay, okay.” Charlie laughed. “I’m petting you. See? Lots of pets. Ugh, why does he always lick me on the mouth?”

Lindsey laughed.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “He has boundary issues.”

“As in, he doesn’t have any?” Charlie asked with a grin. He rubbed Heathcliff’s head and said, “Love me less, little dude.”

“About my errand . . .”

“Did you want to use my van?”

“Uh . . . no,” Lindsey said with a shudder.

She had borrowed his van once and it had taken her three washings to get the man stink out of her clothes. Charlie’s decrepit van was used primarily to schlep his band to all of its gigs, and the smell of stage sweat and stale beer permeated its shag interior.

“But thanks for the offer,” she said. “This errand is actually a run to Charlene’s cabin on Wishbone Island.”

Charlie glanced up at her from the magazine still in his free hand and said, “Oh, so you need a boat?”

“Y
ep.” Lindsey nodded. She clutched the Tupperware tub full of pumpkin squares to her chest and tried to look the part of the concerned friend.

“You’re in luck. I’m on call for the water taxi tonight, since both Sully and Ian are working on the set for the play,” he said. “I’m getting double overtime. Let’s go.”

“Can I bring Heathcliff?” Lindsey asked.

“Sure, he loves the taxi,” Charlie said.

“When did he go out on the taxi?” Lindsey asked.

“Oh, um . . .” Charlie grabbed his jacket off of a nearby chair. Lindsey already had hers on.

“Charlie,” she said in a warning voice.

“Well, sometimes when I’m watching him for you, I take him down to visit Sully and we go for a ride on the taxi,” Charlie said. He made a face like he was expecting her to slug him. “He missed Sully and I know Sully missed him, too, since you two—”

“Since Sully dumped me,” she said. “It’s fine. I’m not mad. Much.”

Heathcliff’s ears perked up at the name
Sully
, and he did a happy dance.

“No, we’re not going to see him,” she said. Heathcliff sat back down and gave her a sulky look from under his bushy eyebrows. “I’m not going to cave in, so forget it.”

“Come on, boy. They’ll get back together, you’ll see,” Charlie said.

“Charlie!” Lindsey protested.

“What?” he asked. “You, Sully and Heathcliff are like PB &J. You just go together.”

“Whatever,” Lindsey said. She knew it was pointless to argue with him.

“Cheer up, buddy,” Charlie said to Heathcliff as he led the way out the door. “At least you still get to ride in the boat.”

• • •

T
he air was cold out on the water, and Lindsey’s nose began to run. She had forgotten to wear gloves and kept her hands jammed into her pockets when she wasn’t blowing her nose.

Wishbone Island was halfway out into the islands, so it only took a little over twenty minutes to reach. Heathcliff loved it. He had his own spot on the boat where he stood and rested his paws on the side; he barked at the wind and tried to bite the waves that splashed up against the boat, and he never stopped wagging.

Lindsey sat in the seat next to him, keeping a hand on his leash just in case a stray wave knocked him overboard. She realized it was unnecessary, as he seemed to have better sea legs than she did, but still, he was her baby.

“Charlie, exactly how many times has he been out on this boat?” she called.

Charlie looked at her and then cupped a hand to his ear and yelled, “Huh?”

Lindsey knew he could hear her. The engine and wind weren’t that loud. She shook her head at him, not buying his dodging of the question.

“Oh, look,” Charlie cried. “Here we are.”

He cut the engine back and turned the wheel to follow the perimeter of the island toward Charlene’s cabin. Wishbone Island was named for its shape, and Charlene and Martin’s cabin was at the pointy end of the wishbone.

Although the line of the island was rocky, the island itself was lush with trees. There were several cabins on it, as it was one of the few of the Thumb Islands that had electricity. Given the modern conveniences and boat-only access, it was a perfect getaway spot, especially for a local celebrity like Charlene. Lindsey knew that Charlene loved the peace and quiet that her family could get on the island, away from her life as a busy news anchor.

Charlie brought the boat right into the long dock that belonged to Charlene’s cabin. Heathcliff jumped out as soon as he could, and Lindsey scrambled out to tie the boat while Charlie shut down the engine.

Heathcliff was dancing on his feet and Lindsey finally said, “Okay, go ahead.”

Heathcliff took off at a run, down the dock and up the stairs that led to a large deck. From there he crossed the deck to scratch against the door, which led into the cozy red cabin with the white trim nestled against a thick thatch of fir trees.

Lindsey waited for Charlie, and together they made their way up the steps. Lindsey had just reached the landing when she saw Charlene come out the door, shutting it behind her.

Charlene was a tall, lithe black woman, who while strikingly good looking, also possessed a keen intelligence that was easy to see in the spark in her eyes. She carried herself with an air of confidence, and she was a successful news anchor quite simply because people trusted her. They trusted her to report the facts and keep them informed about their world.

Right now, she was a casual version of her usual self in jeans and a black turtleneck sweater with her shoulder-length hair tied back by a plaid scarf. She glanced at Lindsey with a worried look.

“Lindsey! Charlie!” she cried when she saw them. “When Heathcliff showed up at the door, I didn’t know what to think. Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine,” Lindsey assured her. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to check and see that you are doing all right?”

“So you came all the way out here in a boat with your dog?” Charlene asked. “Cell phones reach the islands, you know.”

“I know, but I wanted to see you for myself,” she said.

“Well, as you can see I’m fine,” Charlene said.

Lindsey glanced at Charlie and he shrugged. Charlene was definitely not herself. Lindsey had expected her to be sad or distraught; instead, she seemed stressed and slightly irritated.

Lindsey held out the Tupperware tub she’d brought with her. “I made you pumpkin squares. I thought the kids would like them, and they’re somewhat healthy.”

Charlene’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. This was so nice of you and I’m, well, I’m just out of sorts.”

“That’s okay; you’re grieving,” Lindsey said. “It’s perfectly normal to feel angry, scared, sad, all of that.”

She reached out and hugged her friend around the tub of cookies. Charlene gave her a firm squeeze back, and Lindsey pressed the tub into Charlene’s arms.

“How are the kids? Are they doing all right?” she asked.

A squeal of laughter sounded from the open window of the cabin, and Charlene glanced over her shoulder at the house.

“Yes, I haven’t really told them anything,” Charlene said in a low voice. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Kids are tougher than people think,” Charlie said. “They’ll be okay.”

“Maybe,” Charlene said. “How are you doing, Lindsey?”

“Me?” Lindsey asked.

“Yes, I know that you and Robbie seemed to really hit it off,” she said.

“Oh, I—” Lindsey glanced at Charlie and saw his outraged look. He had been very clear over the past few months that he fully expected her and Sully to get back together.

“Explain,” he said.

“Well, Robbie certainly was a charmer. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered to be noticed by him and I was very sad about, well—” Lindsey’s throat got tight and she realized she didn’t even want to utter the words that he was gone. She shook her head. She had a purpose here more than just to check on her friend.

“You cared for him a lot, didn’t you?” Charlene asked.

“Yeah,” Lindsey admitted, ignoring Charlie’s huff of indignation.

“I understand,” Charlene said. Her voice was so sympathetic that Lindsey was afraid she would burst into tears.

“Look, I don’t want to keep you,” she said. “I’m sure the kids must be getting ready for bed, but I feel better now that I’ve seen you. Will you please call me if you need anything?”

“I will absolutely,” Charlene said. She took Lindsey’s hand and squeezed it in hers. “You’re a good friend.”

“Thanks,” Lindsey said. She turned to Charlie and Heathcliff, who was busily sniffing all of the corners of the deck. “Charlie, why don’t you take Heathcliff down to the boat? I’ll be right there.”

“All right,” he said. “Good night, Charlene, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

Charlene gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Charlie.”

Lindsey waited until they had started down the stairs before she turned back to Charlene.

“What is it, Lindsey?” Charlene asked. “What’s on your mind?”

“Charlene, did you know that Robbie fathered a child?” she asked.

Charlene’s eyes went wide and she blew out a breath. “Did Robbie tell you that?”

Lindsey lowered her head. “No, I was reading some old articles about him and it was mentioned in an old
Times
interview.”

Charlene put the tub of pumpkin squares on the table and crossed her arms over her chest. She did not look happy.

“Why are you digging into Robbie’s past?” she asked.

“Because I’m a buttinsky?” Lindsey suggested.

The sound of laughter came from the cabin and Lindsey cringed. She sincerely hoped that was from the television and not because the kids were eavesdropping and laughing at her.

“Yes, you are,” Charlene said. “But given that I’m a reporter, I can’t really fault you for it. You need to stay away from this situation, however.”

“I promise I’m not getting involved,” Lindsey said. “It’s just that someone was out to get Robbie and that someone is still out there, and I’m worried—”

“Worried about what?” Charlene asked. She was watching Lindsey closely under the yellow porch light, and Lindsey wished she had just kept her mouth shut. Charlene had enough to deal with without getting all riled that her mother might be a target, too.

“Nothing,” Lindsey lied.

“Oh, no, you started to say something,” Charlene said. “You need to finish it.”

Lindsey blew out a breath. She was going to go for vague and hope that Charlene didn’t put it together. “All right, I’m just worried that Robbie wasn’t the only target.”

“Meaning you think my mother might be next?”