Jenn McKinlay - Due Or Die

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.

“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 Pilar was written in a forest green script across the stern. Interesting.

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.

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 Pilar was custom built in 1934 in Brooklyn.”

“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.

“ The Old Man and the Sea ,” she said. “Brilliant book.”

“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.