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

by Belle Knudson

  “Automatic lockdown?”

  “My site is down. As soon as I realized this, I had Larry check the Grayson’s site. It’s down. I called Harriet’s Hairdos, their site is down.” Carly laughed as though this was unfathomable. “Is this town not having enough trouble keeping its doors open? These murders aren’t helping. The disaster at the amusement park isn’t helping. And now no one can find us online!”

  Kate was glad she never invested in a website.

  “Well, I did some digging,” Carly went on. “I think you might be proud of me.” She smiled for a beat then elaborated. “I asked around, and apparently Tommy sometimes went to Over the Moon to get some work done in one of the rooms. Amelia didn’t know, neither did the employees.”

  “So how did you find this out?”

  “The groundskeeper. He let Tommy in. The two were close, I guess. But when I asked the man about it—his name is Chucky, by the way—he clammed up. It gave me the impression that Tommy was doing more than a little work at that inn.”

  It certainly was curious.

  Kate shared another cup of coffee with Carly. They chatted about lighter topics, though none seemed as pressing as the killings in Rock Ridge. Soon Kate needed to get a jump on her day, so she gave Carly a hug and started for her truck.

  Knowing how eager Jared was to have his office finished once and for all, Kate drove to the municipal building to apply for a building permit, as her son had mentioned.

  Bobbi Hamden was fanning herself with a stack of papers, as Kate stepped up to the counter, offering her a friendly greeting.

  “How’s it going?” Bobbi asked. “I’m roasting down here.”

  “Is the AC out again?”

  “It was never fixed on this floor,” said Bobbi. “It’s downright miserable.”

  After explaining to Bobbi the ins and outs of the job, Bobbi got her started on the necessary paperwork. When she returned it, she was told, “I’ll send this up to Dean for his signature and let you know. Shouldn’t take longer than a few days for the permit to come through.”

  Kate thanked her (though she had expected a much shorter waiting time) and left the building.

  Carly’s comment about the groundskeeper at Over the Moon had been nagging her. How would Chucky have the means to sneak Tommy into the inn without anyone taking notice? And why would he, for that matter? Wouldn’t doing so violate the rules and risk his position?

  To quench her curiosity, Kate drove over to the inn. As she pulled into the parking lot, she spied only a few vehicles, none of which were the Langleys’ Cadillac. As far as she knew, Lance was at the hospital, but would be released that evening. Most likely, Amelia was with him, if not making arrangements at home.

  Kate pulled the key from the ignition and tucked it in her pocket, stepping into the hot late-morning air. It was muggy again today, and this afternoon was expected to reach the upper nineties.

  As she neared the entrance, she caught sight of movement in her periphery. Where the corner of the inn was flanked with rosebushes, a man hunched, pulling his trowel through the soil.

  “Excuse me,” she called out, as she approached. “Are you Chucky?”

  The man froze, but peeked at her through the rosebush branches and sneezed, which prompted a terrible bout of sniffles.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, getting to his feet and tapping clumps of dirt from the teeth of his trowel.

  “No, no problem,” she said, feigning a smile. “I understand you knew Tommy Barkow.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  She shrugged as though passing this entire exchange off as casual. “Something I heard.”

  “If you have a problem with your room, you can take it up with the staff,” he said curtly.

  Again, Chucky sneezed then sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve, and Kate saw that his eyes were red.

  “Having some allergies?”

  He furrowed his brow at her. “They’re not allergies.”

  “Why were you letting Tommy up into rooms here whenever he wanted?”

  Chucky turned pale, except for his red eyes, and tried to escape the conversation by saying, “I have a lot of work to do.”

  “You know he was killed, right?”

  He frowned at her, indicating he knew.

  “Did you let him in that day?”

  “The room was vacant. There was no harm in it.”

  “But why would you do him the favor?”

  “I’m not talking to you,” he said, annoyed, then turned on his heel and started off for the back yard where a wheelbarrow full of mulch was set near a bubbling fountain.

  Kate watched him go, wondering how a man like Chucky, a simple groundskeeper who seemed to avoid friendly chats, and a tech savvy web designer and IT specialist like Tommy Barkow could forage a secret relationship.

  She rounded through the entrance, preparing to come up with a fib for the receptionist that would enable her to get into the room Tommy had been found in, but discovered the front desk was vacant.

  Voices billowed out from the lounge down the hallway. Thinking fast, she walked briskly to the stairs and padded up to the landing where the floor was just as quiet as it had been the day she met Amelia here.

  Nearing room 5, Kate noticed yellow, crime-scene tape spanning the door. The two narrow bands barred across the upper and lower width of the door, but she was able to duck between the two, as she opened the door and quietly stepped inside.

  Slowly, she walked deeper into the room. What would Tommy be doing in here? Why would he need to come to the inn to work instead of working from home or at each business, as she presumed he would’ve been in the habit of doing?

  Tommy had been found dead on the floor right next to the desk, which told her he had been sitting in it when the killer snuck up behind him and struck the back of his head with the wrought-iron bookend that happened to be in the shape of a mallard.

  Examining the desk, Kate scanned every nook and cranny, before pulling out the drawers, all of which were empty. The room itself was clean, neat, and organized for what little items it had, though she double-checked, walking the perimeter and searching for hiding places and trapdoors, loose floor boards, anything that could conceal Tommy’s secret. Not that his secret would necessarily include an item, but her gut told her it did. Why else would he come here, to the inn, of all places?

  There was nothing. Defeated, she sighed, returned to the desk, and sat on the chair, looking out the window. Outside, the lush scenery looked picturesque, but she was jarred from the general sight of it, when she realized there was a shed where the edge of the lawn met with a sparse line of trees. At that very moment, Chucky lumbered towards the shed, glanced over his shoulder conspicuously, and disappeared inside.

  Rising out of the chair, Kate watched the shed. Of course it was reasonable that the groundskeeper would often go in and out of the shed, but there was something about Chucky that struck her as off.

  A few minutes passed and Chucky emerged, sneezing and sniffling. He rubbed his nose and suddenly his eyes turned wild, as he grew more and more jittery.

  That was it!

  Tommy didn’t want or need to be in this room for any other reason than to keep an eye on the shed, and Kate knew exactly why.

  She hurried down the stairs and slowed only to peer around the corner at the receptionist’s desk. If the receptionist had returned, she might have some explaining to do, but the area was just as vacant as it had been when she snuck in.

  Quickly, she passed through the door and started across the yard. Chucky had turned to his wheelbarrow at the fountain, so she threw the shed door open and slipped inside.

  It was dark, but strips of daylight shone through the cracks between the wooden sidings. After a minute, her eyes adjusted and she could see.

  Edging gradually deeper inside, she noticed a wealth of gardening tools, bags of fertilizer, and some odds and ends she couldn’t identify, except that they looked like old car parts. But in th
e back, she soon saw a stack of boxes, not old ones that would indicate tattered storage, but brand-new boxes.

  Anxiously, she climbed over a mess of old bicycle parts towards the pillar of boxes, the highest of which just about reached her chin.

  When she reached it, she noticed a white, powdery substance, the faintest residue, on top of the box. She had a pretty good idea of what it was.

  Wasting no time, she pulled the top box off the pillar. It was heavy and she nearly dropped it, as she set it on the ground. Tearing the packaging tape off that lined the seam, she opened it and discovered the same white powder in plastic bags.

  She gasped and sat, staring down at the drugs. Were these the same boxes she had seen Daisy drop off at the Langleys’ mustard warehouse? Was this an operation? Bradley came to mind. Jessica had said she had found a similar substance in the teenager’s room.

  Meredith had been arrested for her role in a larger drug ring that Scott hadn’t been able to unravel. Daisy, as well, and the former luncheonette owner hadn’t named names. Was Tommy Barkow a part of this? Or had he tried to get out? Who killed him and why?

  She thought she heard a twig snap on the other side of the shed door and she startled. Frantic, she closed the box, affixed the packaging tape, and returned it to the top of the pillar. As soon as she squared it off so that it wouldn’t topple over, she noticed a stamped address on the side of the box.

  Scanning box after box, working her way down the pillar, she saw the exact same address on all of them. There wasn’t a recipient name, only the initials KD. Quickly, she pulled her cell from her overalls and snapped a pic then hurried through the shed.

  When she reached the door, she pressed her ear to it, but heard nothing other than the faint trickle of the fountain in the distance.

  After easing the door open and slipping out, she couldn’t get to her truck fast enough. As she opened the driver’s side door, a young woman, who she recognized as the Over the Moon receptionist, padded towards the entrance, carrying a tray of Bean There coffee in her hands.

  “Good morning,” she called out to Kate, juggling the coffee tray to muscle the door open since, evidently, the butlers weren’t on the job.

  Kate was too nervous to respond, though she smiled and gave the woman a nod.

  She was quick to get behind the wheel and shut the door. In the privacy of her truck, she opened the photo of the address on her cell phone and memorized it. 28 Pennsylvania Road.

  It wasn’t an address she recognized. The Langleys lived on Rock Ridge Boulevard and their mustard warehouse was on Route 12.

  She started the engine and carefully backed out of her parking spot, arching backwards. When she eased on the gas, leaving Over the Moon and heading towards the address, one fact was undeniably at the forefront of her mind—the Langleys were selling drugs and using their warehouse, as well as the inn, to move the illegal product.

  It felt like an eternity lapsed before she reached the address, which she discovered was a modest colonial house set back from the road. There were no neighboring houses around, and as her truck crawled up the driveway, she guessed the property had about five acres behind it. Not too shabby.

  She threw the truck into park, but kept it idling. The garage door was open, and as she leaned over the wheel, spying through the darkened garage, she saw a white sedan inside.

  The initials on the address were KD.

  But Kate had seen that sedan before.

  It wasn’t KD.

  It was DK.

  Donna Kramer.

  Before Kate could throw her truck into gear, Donna stormed out of the house, shouting, “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

  Chapter Six

  The threat of panicking was all too real. Kate wanted to peel out of there and never look back. She didn’t know Donna Kramer, but had a bad feeling about the woman’s capabilities. If Kate stuck around to talk her way out of this, the danger of finding out those capabilities firsthand would be inescapable.

  Kate began backing out, acting as calmly as she could, but Donna stepped behind her truck, forcing her to slam on the brakes.

  “Excuse me, Flaherty,” she said in a demanding voice. “This is private property. What are you doing here?”

  Cracking the window so she wouldn’t have to shout, Kate watched Donna nearing her. “I’m supposed to be on Pennsylvania Avenue,” she lied. “For a fix-it job. Got the address wrong. Sorry!”

  Donna looked put off, but dropped her grievance and glared at Kate as she resumed her careful U-turn out of the driveway.

  As she drove down the road, she cued up Scott’s number in her cell phone and sent the call through. After three rings, his outgoing voice-mail message came through and she groaned. As soon as she heard the beep, she rushed through her message, telling him to drop everything and meet her at the Langleys’ house.

  When she got to the house, Scott’s truck was nowhere in sight. Neither was Amelia’s Cadillac.

  Just as she was about to climb out of her truck, she felt her cell phone vibrating in her overalls. When she saw the caller ID, she answered it immediately.

  “Where are you?” she asked urgently.

  “I got your message. Amelia’s not at the house.”

  “Fine, at the hospital? I’ll meet you there. There’s no time to explain.”

  “Just hang on a second, Kate.”

  “This is important!”

  “So is this. I arrested Amelia.”

  Taken aback, she asked, “For drugs?”

  “What? Drugs? No. Why would you think that?”

  “That’s why I want to meet you. What did you arrest Amelia for?”

  “You know the partial print we got from the murder weapon? It belonged to Amelia.”

  “She’s in jail?”

  “She is.”

  “You really think she did it?”

  Scott sighed into the phone. “I had my doubts, but forensics doesn’t lie.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Why would you think Amelia was arrested for drugs?”

  “Trust me, you’re going to want to hear this in person.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Come in through the back.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a wall of reporters at the front door. Leading the charge is Eric Demblowski. I’m telling you, he’s hungry for blood and anyone passing in and out is going to wind up in one of his outlandish news stories.”

  “Got it. See you soon.”

  Following Scott’s advice for when she reached the municipal building, she overshot it then turned up a side street, working her way around to the alley behind the precinct where a few parking spaces were vacant, mainly used for freight deliveries.

  She parked and hopped out, and soon she was working her way through the bowels of the building, ascending the back stairwell until she reached the homicide floor of the police department.

  Police officers rushed through the station, each seeming pressed for time and all the more irritable because of it. Kate paused at the receptionist counter, but didn’t have to ask the woman behind the desk for Scott.

  “Katydid,” he called out, stealing her attention, as he wove his way through the cops. “It’s a bit of a madhouse today. Come into my office.”

  Just as he was turning, she grabbed his arm. “Anything I should know about?”

  “I’ll tell you in my office.”

  “I mean about you. Are you all right? You look gaunt.”

  He calmed for a moment and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

  Satisfied, she followed him to his office at the far side of the room.

  As soon as she shut the door, giving them privacy, Kate asked, “Couldn’t Amelia’s fingerprints have been on the mallard for a variety of reasons that have nothing to do with her being guilty of Tommy’s murder?”

  “I’d like to think so, but it’s not looking that way.”

  “Then I have to tell you something.”


  Scott eased into the chair behind his desk, encouraging Kate to take a seat, as well. When she did, she pressed her mouth into a hard line, debating the best way to frame her discoveries.

  “I should’ve told you back when Daisy and her croonies snatched me and threw me into that van...”

  “Yes?”

  “I followed them to the Langleys’ warehouse. That’s where they grabbed me. I saw them dropping off boxes. Boxes I believe contained drugs.”

  Scott narrowed his gaze, contemplatively.

  “Then earlier today,” she went on, “I went to Over the Moon and I happened to find the same boxes out in a shed near the inn. I opened one of the boxes and found drugs. It looked like they were packaged professionally. What if the Langleys are involved in some kind of drug ring? We know that’s why Daisy and Meredith were arrested. It’s too much of a coincidence that two of their establishments have hidden boxes of the stuff. And worse...” She trailed off and drew in a deep breath to wrap her head around coming out with the next piece of information. “Jessica told me she found Bradley with similar packages.”

  Scott remained silent and worked his jaw, mulling over all she had divulged. When he spoke, his tone was low and even.

  “Amelia’s not talking.” He let his statement hang for a long moment then added, “She’s waiting for her attorney. She’s not going to talk to me even with the family relation and how well we’ve gotten to know each other. She doesn’t trust cops.”

  “Am I supposed to be surprised by this?”

  “Just a minute, now.” Scott rapped his thumb on the desk, thinking. “I hope I don’t regret this....”

  “What?”

  “I’d like you to talk to her.”

  “Me?”

  He furrowed his brow and she laughed.

  “You never want me talking to anyone when it comes to one of your investigations.”

  “True,” he said easily. “Which is why I said I hope I don’t regret this. It’s a last-ditch effort and we need it. The partial print was enough to arrest her, but quite frankly, if this goes to trial with what little evidence we have and the muscle behind her high-powered attorney, I’m afraid the DA won’t get a conviction. I have to think long term, here.”