Антон Смирнов – Secret of Lina Green (страница 2)

"It's okay," I shrugged.

"What do you do, Mr. Havebrook?"

"I'm a writer!" I think I'm a writer. Now I am looking for inspiration for my novel.

"It's so exciting, promise to write about this amazing town!"

"I don't mind at all," I smiled.

"Marcy, the lasagna is ready for the guest!" The owner of the diner shouted from the kitchen.

She ran off to get my order.

I began to eat with pleasure. The food seemed ordinary, homemade, you won't find such a thing in the metropolis. After eating the sandwiches and finishing my lasagna, I got up from the table, left my tip, and went outside, satisfied with my satiety. I decided to go to the house by the lake and settle in.

The house was completely tidy and peaceful, only a layer of dust from long-absent residents. Since the death of my grandparents, only my dad has been here. Obviously, he had put things in order here, but more than five years had passed, and no one had appeared here. I examined the first floor. The kitchen – so many pleasant memories flashed in my head! It seemed that I could even smell the smells coming from the stove: it was my grandmother making pancakes with maple syrup for me, and my grandfather was sitting at the table and reading the morning newspaper. Everything here is as I remember. In the living room there is the same sofa standing in front of the fireplace, on it there is a photo of me as a child, my parents. I decided it was a nice opportunity to light a fireplace and succumb to memories with a glass of whiskey and a good cigar. A photo album came to hand. I flipped through a few pages: here is a photo of my young grandparents, you can see that they are in love, there is so much joy in their eyes, so much love. I felt uneasy at the conclusion that I would never see them again. Brushing off the delusion, I nevertheless pulled myself together and began to sort things out.

After getting used to my dwelling a little, I went for a walk around the modest town. I have always been attracted to this kind of cozy cities. Cute little shops, narrow streets, friendly locals, everything is clean, it is impossible to find even a cigarette butt on the ground. As I wandered the streets, I noticed a few interesting places to look into, including the police station. Who knows, maybe I'll find inspiration in this place.

I swerved once again, and it was as if a building suddenly grew up in front of me. This building was quite old, as indicated by its narrow and high windows, as well as the architectural style in which it was made, but still it had been restored not so long ago in an attempt to preserve the spirit of that time. I came closer and saw the inscription "PRIVATE LIBRARY". As a child, I was not particularly interested in such places, although I may have been here once. Pulling the handle, the door swung open in an instant, and I found myself in a large hall, where I was met by the old librarian.

"Good evening," he greeted me politely.

"Good... Can I look around here? You see, I am a writer, however, recently in a deep crisis, and I am looking for something suitable and motivating for myself.

"Are you a writer from New York?"

"How do you know?" I just arrived.

"The whole city here already knows about it. In small towns, it's hard to hide anything.

"Yes, I suppose you are right.

"Please, watch whatever you want." And if you want to borrow a book, I will make a form in your name, and you will be able to get any book without hindrance. However, our library is private, so all books are paid...

"Okay, I understand you, thank you.

"Maybe you're interested in something?" Can I help you navigate?

"I don't even know, while I'm just looking closely.

"We used to have a hall with private collections. We kept the books and records of various people who were afraid of losing them. In the past, this hall was closed from prying eyes, but now a lot of time has passed since people stopped paying the rent for our halls, and the books became our property, they were obliged to do so by contract. Therefore, you can look there. The hall is located in the left wing of the library. Come on, I'll see you off...

"You've intrigued me. I have just arrived, and you are already pleasing me with something unusual.

In New York, you can't get into private collections so easily, even if someone doesn't pay rent, because it's privacy... And even there, without prying eyes, there is someone to look at these collections.

The hall was quite spacious. The librarian, by the way, his name is Mike, was an elderly man, but still very vigorous for his age. After escorting me to the place, he obediently left, and I was left alone. Looking at the books from floor to ceiling, I ran my eyes over the shelves. In general, nothing unusual: classics and gift editions, for the most part nothing that could interest me at the moment. But still, without haste, I examined the regiments: Hugo, Hemingway, Blake, Dostoevsky... A thick volume without a title on the spine. I wondered what it was. Tolstoy with "War and Peace"?! Taking the book from the shelf, I distinctly heard something fall. Then a certain bundle attracted my attention. As it turned out, it was a book wrapped in a towel or something. I carefully unwrapped the towel and saw a book without any titles. When I opened the first page, I realized that this was not a book at all! This is someone's diary. Glancing through the text, it immediately caught my eye that the diary was not so simple. Several times on one page I came across the word "murder". I smiled, no, not at the murder, but at the fact that I think I had found my homework. However, the diary was hidden, and it was unlikely that Librarian Mike would want to give me a book that was not in the register. So I hid the book, and I took the same volume that was untitled on the spine. As it turned out, it was really Tolstoy with his "War and Peace".

Mike started a form and wrote down a book. I paid a deposit for it, and in a month I had to pay 30 dollars and return the book no later than in a month. Otherwise, another $30 will be added to it. However, I didn't care, I was ready to return it right away, in my pocket there was a much more intriguing read. But I did not show it, saying only goodbye:

"Thank you, see you!"

"All the best!"

I was very hungry because of my excitement, and I decided to go to the diner where I stayed for the first time.

"Have you decided to have dinner?" "I was greeted nicely by the same waitress as in the morning, I think her name is Marcy.

"Yes, I'd like to have something to eat!" "Looking around, I didn't even notice how hungry I was.

"Great, now you will be our regular customer, I hope," she smiled.

"If it's possible," I couldn't hide my smile either.

"What shall I bring you?"

"Let's go to your taste, I trust you..."

"Excellent!" While I pour you coffee to brighten up the wait...

She left to fulfill my order, and I, sipping coffee, stared out the window with a thoughtful look. Maybe this diary is a joke? Although it is obvious that it was hidden there, so it matters. I was bursting with curiosity, and nevertheless I decided to look in and read a few entries.

3 June 2002

I didn't think something like that could happen in Lingfield. She was a friend, not sexually, more platonic, she was dear to me, and now she's gone. I don't know how to cope with it and how to survive this pain – it shackled my body and soul. Every day I replay that terrible incident in my head and can't find the answer. It's been a couple of weeks since her death, and I'm still writing day after day to find a clue, but nothing comes of it. This is a dead end! I promise you, Lina, I'll get to the bottom of the truth, no matter what it takes.

"Your order!"

I didn't even notice how she approached. I was so engrossed in reading that I couldn't see anything around me.

"Thank you," I muttered.

"Enjoy your meal!" If you need anything, just tell me, I'll come up in a moment.

"yes," I replied detachedly.

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