“Okay, look,” she said, nearing him. “I don’t want him to get behind on his bills.”
“How are you going to prevent that?”
“I was thinking of swinging by the bank and paying for his upcoming mortgages. Maybe sending a check in to cover a few months of the electric and gas.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t have to do that.”
“I’m not going to let his life fall apart.”
Jared grasped her shoulders and offered a weary smirk. “I’m not sure anyone cares more than you. It’s your Achilles’ heel, you know that, right?”
She laughed but it wavered badly. “Yeah, I know.”
When Jared left her, she used a box cutter to strip away the packaging on one of the smaller shelving units and got to work.
In a matter of hours, she assembled all three units and then helped Jared carry his desk into the room. He seemed impressed, walking around his new office and taking in the overall feel of it.
“I think you’re right about the couch,” he remarked. “Oh, and I know your schedule might be hectic, but I put in a request for a window.”
“You did?”
“It’s getting bureaucratic, but management told me if I get a building permit, I can knock out a square in the wall right here and install a window.”
“You mean I can, if I get a permit,” she teased.
“Do you have time?”
“It’s a big job,” she said. “I’d need to check with the town to see if there’s asbestos in the wall. You might be looking at at least a week out in the hallway.”
“It’ll be worth it,” he said. “I’m excited about my new office, and I don’t want it to feel like a dungeon.”
She couldn’t agree more, and as she lifted her toolkit she told him she would get the ball rolling.
Kate took her time passing through the anteroom. Her eyes were glued to Dean’s door and her ears pricked up, overhearing his conversation. It sounded like the mayor was pleading with an investor, and after the long night he must have had, coming home and learning of Bradley’s foray into selling drugs, Kate did not envy him one bit.
It seemed more lives than one were falling apart.
When she reached her truck, she gave Justina a quick call.
“You know where the key is,” she said in a rushed tone on the other end of the call. “I haven’t scheduled any open houses for the rest of the day, but would like to show the place around six. Can you be squared away by then?”
“Unless something unforeseeable happens.”
Justina grumbled about unforeseeable happenings being the trend around here, then hung up.
The drive to the art deco house across town was irksome. Every time the road cleared of traffic, a news van would cut in front of Kate’s truck and slow to a snail’s pace as if breaking news were happening on the shoulder. Several times she tried barreling up the double yellow to pass one of the trucks, but only once did she succeed.
When she finally reached Meredith’s house, her nerves calmed, but only by a fraction. It unnerved her to anticipate setting foot in the same place where she had found a murder weapon. But she reminded herself that Meredith Joste was in prison for her involvement with Daisy’s drug ring, the more prominent characters of which had yet to be discovered. Daisy had been incarcerated, as well, but Rock Ridge felt no safer because of it.
Shaking off her anxiety, Kate climbed out of her truck and rounded to the bed where she pulled on a pair of work gloves. With the mirror in her hands, she walked to the front door, found the key after propping the mirror against the house, and unlocked the door.
Once she placed the mirror in the upstairs bathroom, eyeing the cracked one on the wall—it looked like a kaleidoscope—she doubled back for her toolkit. As soon as she had it in her grasp, a white sedan pulled up along the curb on the opposite side of the street.
Thinking little of it, Kate made her way back through the house. When she reached the bathroom, she used a Phillips-head screwdriver to loosen the fixtures framing the damaged mirror.
She jolted, hearing a woman call up from the foyer. “Hello?”
Muscling a chunk of the mirror to the ground, Kate cursed herself that she had forgotten to shut the front door.
“Hello?” the woman called out again, her high heels clicking across the wooden floor. “I saw the for-sale sign in the front yard, is anyone here?”
“Hang on!” Kate said, stripping her work gloves off. Quickly, she padded down the hallway and descended the stairs to find a polished-looking woman standing in the living room.
By Kate’s estimation, the woman appeared to be in her mid-thirties, and she wasn’t dressed for the weather. Instead, she wore a dark, designer suit that seemed as fashionable as it was crisp.
“Are you with Carnegie Real Estate?” she asked, gesturing towards the door. “That’s who’s selling the house, correct? It’s on the sign out there.”
“I don’t work for Carnegie, no,” said Kate, taking a few shy steps towards the stranger. “I’m doing a little fix-it job upstairs. The house won’t be open to show until tonight, around six.”
“I’m here now,” said the woman with a quick blink. “Donna Kramer.”
“Nice to meet you, Donna.” Kate made an awkward attempt to shake Donna’s hand then shuffled back. “Like I said, Justina from Carnegie will be here at six.”
“Well, I’d like to make an offer.”
“And I’m sure she’d love to hear it...at six.” This was all too familiar. What was it about this house that attracted pushy, rich women? The fact of the matter was that Kate was as eager for this house to sell as anyone. She was sick of spending her days fixing it up. And it was this very sentiment that prompted her to ask, “What’s the offer?”
“Excuse me, do you or do you not work for Carnegie Real Estate?”
“If you give me a figure, I might be able to get Justina over here to talk to you,” she stated firmly.
“My figure?” she challenged. “I’ll tell you what my figure is. I’ll buy it for half the market value.”
“Half?”
Donna held her gaze with such conviction that Kate felt personally insulted. She might not know much about real estate, but any offer that was shamelessly presented at half of the going rate wouldn’t be a reason to get Justina on the phone.
“I may not be from Rock Ridge,” she went on, “but I’ve kept my ear to the ground. Once the press runs with the numerous stories cropping up around here, half the market value will be the norm, and a good deal at that.”
Kate used a curt tone, as she said, “All right, Donna. I’ll let Justina know you dropped by.”
But the woman wouldn’t be ushered to the door. Rather, she stood her ground.
“A drug dealer was living here,” she pointed out in response. “A murder weapon was found in the back yard—”
“Patio.”
“Whatever,” she cut in, waving the difference off as if it were a pesky fly. “I have cash.”
“And I have no patience,” she countered, leading Donna to the front door. “Come back at six or don’t come at all.”
Donna stepped outside, but turned, staring down at Kate. “You’re everything that’s wrong with this town. And I’m everything that’s right. Out with the old, Kate Flaherty, and in with the new.”
Chapter Five
Juggling multiple cases was taking its toll on Scott. When he finally got home, Kate had dinner ready. She had spent the better part of the evening cooking a casserole—his favorite—along with putting together a mixed-greens salad, all the while reaching out to Jason, an effort that totaled one call and three texts. Her son had only responded once, sending a text message that simply said, I’m back to work tomorrow. Don’t worry.
“How was your day?” she asked, as Scott joined her at the kitchen table.
He lumbered towards the chair adjacent hers, pulled it out, and plopped heavily down, grumbling to sum up a response.
“That bad, h
uh?” she asked, getting to her feet. She had bought a bottle of Shiraz she thought would pair nicely with the meal she had planned. As she listened to Scott’s take on his day, she opened the wine and poured two glasses, then returned to the table.
“Tommy Barkow wasn’t the kind of guy anyone would want dead,” he went on. “He has no relatives to speak of—living, that is. We found out his parents died a good eight years back and his distant cousins claimed they never met him. We haven’t been able to pinpoint a reason for him having been in that room at the inn. None of the employees checked him in or even saw him come.”
As she tallied the finer details of Scott’s uphill battle, Kate was itching to ask if Amelia had mentioned anything about Becky’s old employee ID number. Easing towards the topic, she asked, “Did Amelia say anything? Give you any helpful pointers?”
“No,” he said frankly before drinking his wine. “Only that he worked for her concerning Over the Moon’s IT needs, the website, all that. Most bizarrely, when we went through Barkow’s home, it was virtually empty.”
“Meaning he was about to leave town?”
“It didn’t look that way, no. More like he suffered from some form of OCD where he avoided furniture and belongings. The place was sterile, yet there were signs he lived there. I’m telling you, it was bizarre. The bathroom, for example, had one tube of toothpaste, one toothbrush and one bar of soap. Nothing else. No used towels. No waste bin or shower mat. And the bedroom looked the same. One bed, and it was made, but the closet was empty, no additional linen. He had two outfits hanging, two pairs of shoes, the bare minimum.”
“That is bizarre,” she said. Rising from the table again, she sipped her wine and set it on the counter. The casserole smelled ready, and as she opened the oven door, the timer on the counter chimed.
“I’ll tell you what was bizarre,” he went on, as she began serving two plates replete with a hefty portion of casserole and a side of salad. “We dusted the place for fingerprints. If the killer knew Barkow, and often the culprit has a personal relationship with the victim, then it’s possible that person could’ve been inside his home. My team dusted all day. And you know what?”
“What?” she asked, setting his plate in front of him and lowering into her chair.
“No fingerprints.”
“So the killer didn’t go inside his house.”
“No,” he said, locking eyes with her for emphasis. “I mean there were no fingerprints. It’s like Barkow never touched a single item in his house.”
“What?”
“No prints on the toothpaste tube, for example. None on the doorknobs. Tell me, how is that possible?”
“I have no idea.”
“Was the guy wearing gloves in his own house? And if he was, why?” Scott let out a carefully measured breath and picked up his fork. “Not that we needed to find Barkow’s prints. We weren’t even looking for them. But the fact that there weren’t any completely derailed our investigation today. We were so puzzled by it, we got obsessed.”
“What about Barkow’s body? I know everyone has fingerprints, but did the coroner look at his hands? Maybe he had an accident that burned them off.”
Scott smirked at her. “Always thinking,” he commented. “Yes, we called the coroner right away and Tommy’s fingers, hands, everything were perfectly fine.”
“And you dusted for prints at the inn,” she stated, just to cover the bases.
“We did and there were none, except on the wrought-iron bookend that killed Barkow. We got a partial print. It’s going to take time running it through the database, but I’m expecting news tonight. Unless the killer isn’t in the system...”
Scott looked suddenly tired. The conversation lulled as they ate. Kate sipped her wine in-between bites and soon realized she had drained the glass. She poured a touch of wine into Scott’s glass, though it was debatable whether or not he needed it. Then she refilled her own and drank a good portion.
“Any word on the explosion?” she asked after taking a long sip. “We know that it was a homemade device and the primary explosive was gun powder. So whoever did it is savvy and has the education. The larger question is why would they thwart the ransom exchange? Why blow up the cash?”
Kate had been wondering the exact same thing. “And the kidnapper hasn’t reached out to the Langleys?”
“Nope. If you ask me, Lance and Amelia were involved in something and Becky became a pawn.”
She was dying to say, “I told you so,” except that she had only considered this possibility in her head and hadn’t brought it to Scott’s attention.
“So,” she began, “Jason’s off the hook?”
“Look,” he said, “I know you’re upset with me for even suspecting him. I was only doing my job.”
“I’m not upset. I’m just glad you’ve gotten past looking at him.”
“I have and I haven’t. This entire case is too unusual to rule anything out. Typically, when a person is abducted and it’s for ransom, then the ransom demand comes in relatively quick. For Becky, it didn’t. On top of it, once the ransom terms are set, the kidnapper usually fulfills them, or, at the very least, makes every effort to get the cash. That didn’t happen. So either the kidnapper caught wind that the cops were there or a third party intervened. But in this case, neither makes much sense. If the kidnapper really was tipped off, why show up to throw a bomb? And why throw a bomb and destroy the cash?”
Scott rubbed his eyes. “I can’t think about this anymore. I’ve got two cases with two dead ends on the horizon.”
Kate placed her hand over his on the table.
“Meanwhile,” he went on, “reporters are making a mess of things and the Rock Ridge PD is warding off the FBI. Ordinarily, it would be the police chief who calls in the Feds, but with all the media coverage, the Feds are reaching out to take over, which is the last thing I want.”
Kate had been avoiding the paper, making a point not to read it beyond the headlines. “You’re not saying someone in your department is leaking information, are you?”
“No, not the department. But people are talking. When that reporter from the national news—”
“The blonde I saw outside of Over the Moon?”
“Yeah. As soon as she got inside the friggin' receptionist told her Barkow hadn’t checked into the room. I’m sure the girl meant well, but before she opened her mouth, no one knew the victim’s name or any details. Details like that, no matter how small, can spiral out of control. And the press has been printing every detail they get, even when it’s seemingly insignificant.” Scott let out a shuttering breath then grumbled. “I just said I couldn’t talk about this anymore, and here I am talking about it. Let’s turn on the TV. I need to shut my brain off for a while.”
“You got it.”
As Scott made his way into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, Kate collected the dishes, scraped the dregs of their meal into the trash, and rinsed the plates. When she joined him, a football game was blaring on the TV. She nuzzled into his shoulder, as he hugged his arm around her, and they spent the rest of their evening trying to relax. Though neither talked about the cases that had plagued Rock Ridge, both thought about the quizzical details and how nothing seemed to make sense.
The next day, Kate was craving some Carly time. After a quick call, she arranged to meet her best friend at Sunshine Florist for coffee and some much-needed venting.
As soon as Kate stepped through the glass door, the bell chiming overhead, she caught the rich scent of dark roast in the air.
From behind the counter, Carly smiled, throwing up her hands as soon as she saw Kate. “I’m not putting you to work, I swear.”
“What broke?” she asked knowingly.
“No rush, but the drawer under the counter has been sticking.”
Kate quirked her mouth into a smirk. “Not putting me to work, huh? Give me a second.”
She kept a bottle of WD-40 in the glove box of her truck and had mainly used it on
the drawers in Hazel Millhouse’s kitchen. She grabbed it, shaking the can. It was down to the dregs, but she figured there would be enough to smooth out Carly’s drawer.
When she returned, Carly handed her a mug of coffee and gave her a little bow. They switched spots, Kate rounding behind the counter and Carly lingering only to point out which drawer was causing all the trouble.
As Kate yanked the drawer out, cleared the contents onto the counter, and began spraying the metal track, working the WD-40 into the rungs, she took sips of her coffee with her free hand and explained, “I had a hell of a time at the bank yesterday.”
“I thought you and Scott were doing well?”
“We are. It’s Jason. He’s been working inconsistently so I stopped in at the bank to pay his mortgage. Did you know you can’t pay someone else’s mortgage?”
“I’ve never tried.”
“There’s so much red tape. I had to guilt trip the bank manager just to expedite it.”
“Randall?”
Kate rolled her eyes as if the man’s very name irked her. The drawer was running smoothly and no longer sticking, so she returned the scattered contents inside and shut it.
“On top of it, Jared’s trusting Jason less and less, and Scott’s been run ragged at the precinct.”
“Ut-huh,” said Carly, wagging her finger. “My turn.”
“Ha,” said Kate. Their venting sessions included taking even turns and alternating between their qualms. “I’m all ears.”
“So apparently,” she began, leaning over the counter as though what she was about to divulge was alarming, “Tommy had some kind of invoicing fail-safe in place. Basically, all of his customers like Sunshine Florist, Grayson’s Hardware, even Over the Moon were paying a tiny, monthly admin charge, nothing really, just a few bucks to Tommy as a sort of retainer to keep our websites going. I was on an auto debit so I’d never have to think about it. Well, this morning I got an e-mail that my payment didn’t go through. I have plenty in the bank, so when I looked deeper, it seems that Tommy hadn’t initiated the charge. I don’t really know about these things, but I guess he did it manually from his end each month. Whatever. The point is, he died, didn’t initiate the charge, and somehow this prompted an automatic lockdown on my site.”
Mrs. Fix It Mysteries, Season 2 (5 Cozy Mystery Books Collection) Page 23
