Mrs. Fix It Mysteries, Season 2 (5 Cozy Mystery Books Collection)

by Belle Knudson

  “I already spoke to Clara,” she said. “She didn’t seem to know anything.”

  “Does that sound right to you?” she challenged.

  Kate tucked the receipt into the front pocket of her overalls.

  “I’ll let Scott know.”

  “What the heck for?” asked Hazel, whose expression reminded her of Clara’s. “You work faster, and you’re far more effective.”

  “Just because I kept meddling years ago, doesn’t mean I should have,” she pointed out.

  “Oh, nonsense. No one in this town wants a killer hiding among us. The sooner they’re caught, the better.”

  Kate couldn’t argue there, but there was no reason to doubt Scott’s investigative skills. Focusing on her work so as not to incite Hazel into further debate, Kate began stroking blue paint up and down the house.

  “I’ll put on a fresh pot,” said Hazel with a smile. “Come inside whenever you’d like a break.”

  “Okay,” she said, laughing. “Sounds good.”

  As Kate worked into the afternoon, stroking paint up and down the side of the house and taking coffee breaks whenever she craved caffeine, the temperature rose to uncomfortable levels and Kate told herself for the rest of the summer she would wear shorts. She was sweating like a pig. Soon she had the entire front of the house coated in a thick layer.

  She went inside to let Hazel know and get one more cup for the road.

  “All finished,” she said when she found Hazel in the kitchen flipping through a coupon booklet.

  “Record time,” she said, smiling, as she rose from the table. Her purse was on the kitchen counter, and when she reached it, she fished her checkbook out and a pen.

  Kate was quick to write up an invoice. Hazel was one of her most loyal customers, so she kept her labor costs as low as possible and charged her very little for the paint.

  As soon as she handed Hazel the invoice, the woman began making out the check.

  “I’ll let you know about the other sides of the house. I’m on a very fixed income and the library pays me bi-weekly.”

  “No rush,” said Kate. “Just let me know and I’ll swing by.”

  Hazel walked her out to her truck then took a moment to look at Kate’s work. “It looks like a brand new house,” she said, marveling. “Great work matching the color.”

  “My pleasure,” she said, climbing into her truck.

  She waved goodbye, and Hazel started for the door then disappeared inside, Mitsy charging after her and yapping her head off.

  Jason had been on Kate’s mind all afternoon, and as starving as she was, she would rather pick her son up from the hospital than eat, so she gave him a call.

  “Honey, are you finished up over there?”

  “I’m at home.” He sounded exhausted. “Drawing blood only took a few minutes. I got a cab home.”

  “So were you drugged?”

  “Mom!” He snapped. “I know I was drugged!”

  “Yes, I believe you. I mean, did the drug test find anything?”

  “They sent it off to the lab. I think they’ll know by the end of the day.”

  “Okay, that’s good,” she said, turning the key to get her truck idling. “I’m about to get lunch. I can come by. Have you eaten?”

  “I really want to be alone.”

  “Honey, don’t lose hope,” she said, worrying that Jason was falling fast into depression. “Scott knows what he’s doing.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Okay, talk later?”

  But Jason had already hung up.

  Concerned for him, she dialed her other son, Jared, who she knew was at the Mayor’s office and would be until six or seven that evening.

  When she heard his outgoing voice message start up, she muttered a curse to herself then dove into her message.

  “Jared, it’s Mom. If you could check in on Jason, maybe swing by his house for lunch, I’d really appreciate it. Give me a call or text me.”

  She hung up and realized that as starving as she was, she would prefer to look into Cookie’s mysterious time at Drake’s Firing Line. Why would a baker suddenly feel the need to know how to fire a gun? Had she been debating buying a firearm? Why would she have felt the need to protect herself in that manner? Why not go to the police?

  There were too many question, and she would have no way of guessing the answers, so she pulled out into the road, driving north towards the address of Drake’s Firing Line.

  It was twenty minutes before she arrived at the firing line. The building looked like an old warehouse and was situated where the forest met with a small lake.

  Kate stepped out of her truck and heard the muffled pops and bangs of guns going off inside. She wasn’t at all a gun person and never understood the appeal. When she had been married to Greg, they often went camping, and Greg had tried to convince her that it would be good for the boys to learn how to hunt. “Over my dead body” had been her reaction, though eventually she allowed Greg to teach Jason and Jared how to set traps for rabbits and other small game.

  She was cautious when she pulled the glass entrance door open. Inside, the light was dim, and the sound of guns going off was much louder, but she realized the actual shooting range was set off from the lobby.

  A registration desk was situated at the back of the lobby, and she saw a man behind the counter. He appeared to be cleaning a handgun, which was dismantled, its pieces strewn across the counter.

  As she approached, she noticed that the man had a nameplate pinned to his chest, which read: Drake. He looked about fifty with weathered skin, an old flannel shirt, and worn out jeans. His fingers were thick, but he worked the grease out of the gun’s chamber with ease and was in such deep concentration that it wasn’t until Kate cleared her throat that he glanced up at her with a surly grin.

  “First time here?” he said, as though it wasn’t a guess, but an instinct.

  “Yes, but I’m not here to shoot.”

  That caught his attention, and he set down the metal chamber and rested his gaze on her with an air of curiosity.

  “I was hoping you could tell me about one of your customers,” she began, taking the crumpled receipt from her overalls. “A woman named Cookie Halpert was here a few days ago. She was about my height with long brown hair. She’s a baker.”

  He cocked his head then asked, “What’s this about?”

  “She was killed the other day.”

  “You don’t look like a cop,” he remarked.

  “No, I’m not a cop. I’m a handy woman.”

  He stared at her, waiting for her to make the connection for him.

  “It would seem Cookie knew someone was after her, which was why she showed up here to learn how to shoot a gun. Do you remember her?”

  Drake sucked his teeth and pulled his ratty baseball cap off his head as though it would help him think. To jar his memory, Kate pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, found Cookie’s website on the browser, and then tapped onto the “About Me” page to show Drake her photo.

  “This is Cookie,” she said, angling the cell for him to look at.

  “Yeah, I remember her,” he said. “I remember every female customer since we don’t get many. She was a terrible shot.”

  “So you taught her how to use a gun?”

  “I tried. She was so jumpy and skittish, I didn’t have much of a chance.”

  “Did she mention at all why she felt the need to learn how to use a gun?”

  “Look, lady, I’m a marksman, not a shrink. I don’t ask, and they don’t tell. The running assumption is that whoever steps through those doors has a healthy respect for the second amendment and a love for weapons.”

  Kate drew in a deep breath and wondered why she had thought this might be productive.

  “I did sell her a gun though,” he said, offhandedly.

  “You did? Can I have a copy of the information?”

  He frowned at her then shrugged, as though he wouldn’t care one way or the other.
>
  “Let me pull it up.” He took a moment to type into the computer then printed out the serial number and registration for her handgun and set it on the counter. “That woman was behaving strangely. She came every day for three weeks to shoot her gun, and then one day I’m in the firing range, keeping an eye on all the customers and helping them out when they asked for it, and I see a man pass through the back of the range whom I didn’t recognize. It meant that Jeffrey, who sometimes works the counter here, had stepped out for a cigarette and didn’t get the guy’s information. Then, as soon as your friend sees him, she gets really weird. Tries to hide behind the partition of her firing line, packs her weapon up fast, then rushes out the back door, not the front. I never saw her again, but the guy came a few times.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “No, he was a weird one, too. Other than the time he slipped past Jeffrey, I was behind the counter, and as soon as I asked him for his driver’s license—we keep a record of everyone who shoots here, you see—he refused to give it. He tried to convince me to let him in anyway, and when I wouldn’t, he rushed off without saying another word.”

  “And you didn’t report this?”

  “What’s there to report?” he challenged. “He didn’t break the law. He’s just a weird guy, and quite frankly, we get a lot of those.”

  “Do you have security cameras here?” she asked urgently. She knew in her gut the man had to be Cookie’s killer.

  Drake lifted one of the handguns that was resting under the glass countertop, held it up demonstratively for her, and said, “This here is the only security I need.”

  “Right,” she said dryly. “Do me a favor,” she went on, pulling out her business card from her wallet and offering it to him. “Would you give me a call if you see him again?”

  Drake grumbled, taking the card, but agreed.

  After thanking him, she made her way out of the lobby, eager to get away from the warehouse full of shooters.

  She had just enough time to swing by Bean There for a fresh cup of coffee and a little late lunch, but as she drove along Main Street, her cell phone vibrated with an incoming text message.

  Pulling over to the curb so as not to have an accident trying to read the message, Kate brought her truck to a complete stop then swiped the LCD screen on her cell and Marla Zook’s number came up with a brief text message that read: I’m home!

  Marla must have gotten out of work early. Kate knew it would be in her best interest to eat, but she had been worried about Jason, and if she could wrap up her day hours earlier than expected, it might settle her nerves. Instead, she texted Marla back that she was on her way, hit send, and checked her side view mirror, pulling a U-turn to start back towards Marla’s house.

  “Fixing her sink properly shouldn’t take much time,” she said out loud, mostly addressing her grumbling stomach, but also promising herself she’d stop by Bean There before heading over to Jason’s. He had said he wanted to be alone, but she knew he didn’t really mean it. That was just how he was, how he’d always been. She remembered when Greg had disappeared that Jason had reacted in the same way, walling himself off in his room, listening to loud music, and refusing to talk. She’d had to nag him into opening the door, and when he finally did, she knew she had done the right thing. Jason had dove into an outpouring of emotion, and after hours of talking, he felt much better, the depression lifted, and he was able to come to terms with his father’s disappearance.

  Kate knocked on the door of Marla’s house and heard her teenaged girls arguing inside the house. Then the door sprang inward, and she was face to face with two skinny blondes, who were shoving at one another.

  “Hi girls, I’m here to fix the sink.”

  One of them shouted over her shoulder for her mother, and the other thwacked her arm, saying, “You know she’s in the shower. Come on in.”

  Kate followed the girls into the kitchen and couldn’t help but notice she was staring at the coffee maker and not the sink.

  “Is there anything you need?” asked one of the girls.

  She lifted her tool kit. “I’ve got it all right here. But would your mom mind if I helped myself to a cup of coffee?”

  “Whatever,” said the older of the two, before stomping into the living room.

  “She won’t mind. She’ll be right out anyway,” said the other, who then joined her sister in the next room.

  It only took a few minutes to scoop dark roast grinds into the maker, fill it with water, and get it percolating. Once the carafe filled with dark coffee, Kate helped herself to a mug then found the cream in the refrigerator. Ordinarily, she liked her coffee hot and black, but considering how hungry she was, a good three tablespoons of heavy cream should hold her over—or at least quiet her grumbling stomach.

  Then she got to work, lying on her back under the sink and using her wrench to remove the old pipe and replace it with a new one.

  As she worked, Marla padded into the kitchen.

  “Sorry about that, Kate. I was filthy. Did you hear about Cookie Halpert?”

  “I did,” she said, twisting a new washer and matching bolt onto the pipe and securing it tightly.

  “If you ask me, it was that new boyfriend of hers.”

  Kate’s ears perked up at that, but she finished her work. Once the pipe was on tight, she slid out from under the sink, dusted her hands off, and collected her tools into her kit.

  “Clara mentioned a boyfriend, as well,” she remarked. “But I thought they were getting along.” Kate hadn’t known the guy—or even heard of him, other than Clara’s brief mention.

  “I don’t know for sure. I only heard what I heard, and you know how gossipy this town can get, but apparently Cookie had been in a relationship with him years back, in high school. They lost touch and then all of sudden he shows up here right out of the clear, blue sky. That’s when Cookie started getting secretive and acting strangely. Again, not that I observed this, it was just something I heard.”

  Strangely? thought Kate. Like how Drake had described her.

  “Who did you hear this from?” she asked.

  “Oh, all over. It’s practically a game of telephone out here.”

  “Who, Marla?”

  Marla looked taken aback by her intensity and frowned. “Celia for one,” she said, which made sense. Celia was the town gossip, as well as Carly’s mother. “And also Mrs. Briar, the librarian.”

  “You talk with Mrs. Briar?” Kate was surprised. No one really liked Mrs. Briar, and Kate couldn’t imagine the grouchy woman holding a conversation with anyone about anything.

  “I don’t know why people dislike her. She’s so nice to me,” said Marla, pondering the conundrum.

  Kate figured she could speak with Celia. They had a good relationship, and there was no one in town easier to get going with gossip than Celia.

  “Thanks for letting me know,” said Kate, as she began making out an invoice. When she handed it to Marla, she said, “That pipe should serve you well for the next eight years at least, but if it gives you any trouble, you let me know and I’ll take a look at no charge.”

  “Thanks, Kate.” Marla made out her check and gave it to Kate then walked her out to her truck. “Thanks again!” she called out, as Kate drove off down the road.

  By now she was downright starving and her blood sugar felt so low, she could snap at just about anyone, so she made a beeline for Bean There, knowing one of Clara’s sandwiches would hit the spot.

  But when she pulled up to the curb, she noticed the entrance door was closed and the lights inside didn’t appear to be on. Hopping out of her truck and walking towards the doors, she saw that the “Closed” sign was out. There were a few people peering into the coffee shop, their noses pressed to the glass, and she had to assume they were as confused as she was.

  “Bean There is closed for the day?” she asked an older gentleman, who had just turned around.

  He shrugged as if he didn’t know, but then a younger woman, who K
ate recognized from the Mayor’s office, touched her arm.

  “Kate,” she said with a concerned smile. “I’m Mary-Anne. I went to school with your boys, remember?”

  “Yes, of course. You work for Dean now,” she said.

  “And closely with Jared.” Mary-Anne drew her away from the others on the sidewalk, then said discretely, “Clara’s been arrested.”

  “What?”

  Mary-Anne grimaced and nodded. “For Cookie’s murder.”

  Chapter Five

  Kate drove like a bat out of hell to the Rock Ridge jail, which was located beneath the police precinct in the municipal building not far from Bean There. She pulled to a screeching stop and jumped out of her truck then raced into the precinct. She was unsure of who she wanted to see first—Scott to get answers, or Clara to get information. Clara’s arrest had her thoughts scrambled. Having learned about a mysterious man rattling Cookie so badly at Drake’s Firing Line, plus hearing from Marla that Cookie had reunited with an old boyfriend, led Kate to believe Cookie’s killer was most definitely a man, and definitely not Clara.

  She quickly greeted the first floor receptionist and told her she had to see Clara.

  “She might still be going through booking, but I’ll check,” said the woman behind the desk.

  Kate drilled her fingers on the counter, waiting, and when the receptionist set her phone down and said, “You can go downstairs to the jail cells,” Kate rushed off without a second thought.

  As soon as she presented her ID to the guard standing post in front of the jail cell entrance, he gave her a smile and opened the door. Not everyone who worked in the precinct knew her well, but mostly all who read her name recognized her immediately as Scott York’s new wife.

  She barreled up the cells and found Clara hunched on a bench in the last cell.

  “Clara,” said Kate urgently.

  She glanced over her shoulder, and hers eyes brightened to see Kate standing on the other side of the bars.

  “Why on earth did they arrest you?”

  Clara rushed to the bars and grasped them.