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

by Belle Knudson

  Travis had been a formidable character. Quick to anger, he had also seemed to wear his emotions on his sleeve and it was nagging Kate that there had been something genuinely honest about him. He hadn’t reacted like a guilty man, hiding out in the quaint inn because he had killed Jenna Johansen, but rather had struck her as someone who was grappling with grief. Travis had told her he had warned Jenna about Rachel Meadows, implying Rachel had something to do with Jenna’s murder. But by Rachel’s own admission, she had been in Boston at the time of her predecessor’s death. So how could Rachel have killed Jenna? What would compel Travis to indicate such a thing? What did he know?

  Travis hadn’t elaborated, but instead called her bluff about the nightstand legs, rushing her to reinsert the screws and get out of his room. He was a surly man. Working quickly on the nightstand while he hovered over her, breathing down her neck and barking at her to get on with it, had sent her heart rate through the roof. Its rhythm was only now beginning to settle down into a normal tempo.

  Justina’s building on the south side of town was dilapidated, at best. As she slowed her truck, easing along the curb and rolling to a stop, she noticed the windows were boarded up and there was a condemned sign nailed to the front door. Kate couldn’t necessarily visualize the property turning into a high-rise. Bobbie Hamden crossed her mind. Kate would have to swing by the permits department in the municipal building and double-check that the property was structurally sound enough to build upon, not to mention get word as to why the building was condemned in the first place, which could be for any number of reasons ranging from asbestos to a faulty foundation to the possibility it was overrun with vermin.

  No sooner than she reached the front door, she heard a vehicle purring up the street behind her and turned. Justina’s shiny, black Lexus came to a stop behind her truck. The car was a bit flashy for Kate’s taste, but she was happy for the real-estate agent that she had been doing so well that she could afford to buy a Lexus.

  Justina fanned her face and pulled her hair up off her neck, as she made her way to Kate.

  “I told you it was real fixer-upper, right?”

  Kate smiled nervously. “Condemned?”

  “Oh that.” She flicked her hand as if to brush off the idea. “That’s just politics.”

  “Politics?” she questioned.

  “The town put it up to prevent squatters. You know, scare them off.”

  As Kate watched Justina fit the building key into the lock on the front door, it occurred to her they could very well encounter such squatters. But when Justina pushed the door open and they stepped inside the dark entryway, Kate didn’t hear or smell any evidence that runaways or the homeless had claimed the building.

  Following Justina through the entryway and into the first apartment unit on the left, she noted at least three major repairs. The tiled floor was cracked and moldy. The walls were stained with water—the damage of which could also be mold in the walls—and there was a sizable hole in the peeling plaster just shy of the apartment door they were now stepping through. She found it curious Justina hadn’t pointed out any of those issues.

  “I’d say the foyer could use some work,” said Kate.

  “Oh, that’s all cosmetic, and I doubt a little shabbiness will turn off an ex-con from renting,” she answered easily.

  Kate wasn’t so sure about that. Just because a person spent years in prison didn’t mean they would overlook a potential health hazard, but she didn’t press the issue other than reminding Justina that Larry tended to give her an excellent discount at Grayson’s Hardware whenever she bought supplies in bulk.

  “Well, if it makes sense to you to tackle the entryway, then I trust your judgment,” said Justina. “The priority is renting out the apartments. Let’s fill the first floor before you devote your time to an area I can’t technically rent out.”

  “You’re the boss,” she said, edging into the apartment unit.

  It was dim and dusty and Kate could’ve sworn she had heard the faint pitter-patter of rat paws scurrying behind the cabinets.

  “Most of the apartments are studios,” Justina explained, which was why Kate was staring at the kitchen even though she was standing in what she presumed to be the bedroom. The room was fifteen square feet, at best, and she wondered if it was much bigger than the prison cells the convicts had last lived in. “I want to you think about these repairs in terms of doing the minimal amount of work to get the place into a condition of being rentable. Let’s not redo the floors. Instead, we’ll put in wall-to-wall carpeting.”

  Listening to Justina’s suggestions about cutting as many corners as possible didn’t necessarily sit right with Kate. She had always prided herself on doing excellent work at the lowest cost possible. It wasn’t just about quality work. For Kate, it boiled down to her reputation. Just because her customer might not object to a lower standard than the average Rock Ridge resident, didn’t mean she would do half-assed or faulty repairs. But she humored the woman, taking notes as she followed Justina around the apartment and into the next unit, which was plagued with similar issues.

  As Justina walked her through the finer points of what would be required in the bathroom of the third unit Kate had seen, Justina stopped talking midsentence in favor of answering her cell. Falling into abrupt concentration listening to the caller, she wandered out of the bathroom, leaving Kate to examine the rusty and corroded pipes beneath the sink.

  It wasn’t hard to imagine Kate would be stuck in this building for the next two weeks, at least. And that estimate was conservative. The first floor, alone, could take that long, and there were three more floors above her that were very well in the same state of disrepair.

  Justina rushed to the doorway, filling it. “I’ve got to head out. Something’s come up at the office. Should I leave you the keys?”

  “Is it a spare or would I have to drop it off?”

  Justina pulled the key ring from her purse where at least fifteen apartment keys clanked against one another.

  “It’s the only set, but I won’t need to get back in here. Until you fix the place up, you’ll have the building to yourself.”

  Kate accepted the key ring, tucking it into her overalls.

  “Call me if you need anything,” said Justina before hurrying through the apartment and out the door.

  As soon as it was quiet, she reviewed the list of supplies she had been noting and decided to give Larry a call. If Larry could gather the order, then she could swing by the hardware store on her way home and load her truck up with as many items as would fit in the bed.

  Luckily, Larry picked up right away and had no problem helping her out. As she itemized the materials for him, holding her cell between her ear and shoulder so she could easily flip through her notepad, she made her way out of the building and locked up.

  “Do you know what color tiles you would like?” he asked, referring to one of many supplies Justina had discouraged her from bothering with.

  “It really doesn’t matter,” she said. “Whatever is the most cost effective will do.”

  “You still have options,” he said. “Our most affordable tile brand comes in baby blue, sand brown, soft yellow, white...any of these sound good?”

  “Which color will hold up to scuff marks the best?”

  “I’d guess sand brown.”

  “Let’s go with that one. Can we order carpet?” she asked, knowing Grayson’s didn’t have rolls of carpet on hand.

  “Sure,” he said. “But you really have to come into the store and take a look at our vendor catalogues. Each have dozens of colors, and I can’t walk you through it over the phone.”

  She agreed, telling him she would swing by in a few hours, and then ended the call.

  As always, Kate had forgotten to eat properly, but that wasn’t what was bothering her. She was in desperate need of a cup of coffee. She would also have to remember to put her coffeemaker and canister in her truck. If she were going to be working here day in and day out,
she would need to keep a fresh pot on.

  Jason was on her mind, not that he’d ever left. She had been firm during the voice-mail message she had left. She was sure she had sounded serious, and yet he hadn’t gotten back to her. She wondered if he had given Jared a call and was tempted to see, but it wasn’t lost on her that every time she checked in with Jared to get word about her other son, it put pressure on him.

  She tried not to let the urge get the best of her, as she walked to her truck and set her notepad on the passenger’s seat. She rounded to the driver’s side and glanced at the building, as she popped the door open. But before she climbed in, she spotted a shadowy figure beyond one of the second-floor windows that wasn’t boarded over.

  Curious, she neared the entrance door and unlocked it. She stepped into the entryway as quietly as possible, straining to hear someone on the second floor. After a moment of listening, she heard the distinct sound of footfall overhead. She hadn’t heard a thing in the hour she had spent with Justina. Perhaps there was a squatter upstairs who knew to be quiet when the real-estate agent had arrived, but was now under the false impression everyone had left.

  She padded up the stairs as quickly and soundlessly as she could, and was cautious about peering around the landing in the direction she had heard footfall. To her surprise, she saw Gillian O’Reilly holding a cardboard box.

  The second Gillian realized she wasn’t alone, she shrieked, dropping her box. “God, you scared me,” she said.

  “What are you doing here?” Kate asked, approaching the young woman.

  Gillian collected a few personal items that had spilled out of the box then picked it up, cradling it against her hip. Sheepishly, she admitted she lived here. “And I’m not the only one.”

  “Other ex-cons have been squatting here?”

  Gillian confirmed it with a nod and said, “And they’re not going to like having their homes rented out to them. Why is that woman so interested in this building anyway?”

  “She’s in real estate.” Kate shrugged. “Where are you going to go?”

  Gillian sighed. “I have no idea, but I’m not going to get arrested for living in a condemned building. I’ll figure something out.” After a moment of staring down the long barrel of her predicament, her eyes snapped up to Kate. “I should be thanking you. Amelia Langley called me. She wants me to work at the inn.”

  “That’s great! When do you start?”

  “Tomorrow.” She groaned at the thought. “I’ll have had a terrible night’s sleep and no shower.”

  “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

  “I don’t know where I’m going,” she said, though she quickly accepted.

  “Who else is here right now?”

  “Just a few people. Most of the squatters work over at the amusement park, and they won’t get back until after dark.”

  “How have you all been getting in the building? It’s boarded up and the front door is locked.”

  “Through the basement. Out back, there’s a door. I guess it was locked, but someone busted it open. We keep it propped.”

  They made their way out of the building, and once again Kate locked the front door. As she led Gillian to her truck, she said, “Starting tomorrow I’m going to be here repairing the place.”

  “I’ll tell the others,” she assured her.

  Kate took Gillian’s box, set it in the bed of her truck, and then settled behind the wheel, as Gillian climbed into the passenger’s seat and fastened her seat belt.

  As they drove off, the young woman told her, “Be careful working there. Try not to be there at night.”

  “Why?”

  “With everything happening around town,” she began in a tone that unmistakably referenced the drug ring, “I think they’re coming to the building at night to recruit.”

  “The drug dealers?”

  Gillian locked eyes with her and nodded.

  When Kate reached the center of town, she slowed, pulling up to the curb outside of Bean There. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “No, that’s okay. I have to make a few calls and figure out my night,” she said, indicating the pay phone around the corner. She popped her door open, but didn’t get out. “Tell your son to be careful, too.”

  “Jason?”

  “He’s been getting too close to the wrong people, and it’s going to backfire.”

  “What has he been doing? Who has he been talking to?” she asked urgently, grabbing Gillian’s arm. The young woman said nothing. “Where’s Becky?”

  “I told you I don’t know about Becky,” she said impatiently, yanking her arm free. “And I’m only telling you about Jason because he hasn’t been listening to reason. He isn’t one of us. He’s not an ex-con, but he’s starting to act like it, throwing his weight around, and I’m telling you, he’s pissing off the wrong people.”

  “Who?”

  Reluctantly, she offered, “Dark Donnie.”

  “What’s his real name?”

  Gillian pressed her mouth into a hard line. “I hope I don’t regret this,” she said. “Drake Kramer.”

  Suddenly, Kate was reeling. Drake Kramer? As in Donna Kramer?

  “They’re related?”

  “Brother and sister,” Gillian stated.

  Drake was also the person who had told Kate that Dean Wentworth had been behind the explosion. Before Donna was killed, she had implied that just because Drake had said Dean was behind it, didn’t mean it was true.

  Kate remembered the initials on the boxes of drugs she had found at the shed—KD. She had thought they stood for Kramer, Donna, but they could just as easily have been noting Drake.

  Ruminating this, Kate began mumbling, “Donna, Donnie.”

  “You wouldn’t know it just looking at them, but Donna and Donnie were twins. Donnie had his name changed to Drake when he became an adult to differentiate.”

  “Twins?”

  “Which is why Jason thinks he has an in with the guy. He thinks they’ve been bonding. But Jason is wrong. And now he’s mixed up in something...”

  Kate grabbed Gillian’s arm again, but this time kept her grip loose. “Did Drake...” she couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t tip Gillian off that her own son had shot Donna. As it stood, only Kate and Jason knew. If anyone else did, it would risk word getting around town, ultimately resulting in her son’s arrest. So she kept her question as vague as possible. “Did Drake put someone up to killing Donna?”

  “Yeah,” said Gillian. “And we both know who that someone is.”

  “How did you find out?”

  Gillian’s eyes turned round as if it pained her to have to put it plainly to Kate.

  “Someone saw him?”

  “No,” she said in a quiet voice. “Jason reported back to Drake.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Drake is smart. He knows how to play the long game. He’s like a chess master. He used Jason and he’s going to make sure Jason goes down for this, but not until he’s done using your son. The reason I know is because Drake’s making an example out of Jason to terrify the rest of us. If you think rumors fly between the residents of Rock Ridge, I’m telling you, the convicts are even worse.”

  “But Jason is only pursuing this to find Becky,” she pointed out, trying to make sense of it all. How could even the promise of finding his fiancée compel Jason to kill?”

  “That’s all I know,” she said softly. “And I wish I didn’t know that much.”

  Gillian climbed out of the truck and shut the door.

  Kate sat in a stupor. She simply couldn’t believe it. She felt like she was standing on a railroad track, trying to get a freight train to come to a screeching halt. It wasn’t going to, and she knew it.

  Chapter Eight

  “Jason, this is your mother. You have got to call me back. I’m worried sick for you.”

  Kate didn’t just hang up her cell phone after leaving her son a panicked voice mail. She threw it at the dashboard and flinched when it ricocheted, bouncing off
the hard plastic and flying in her face.

  “Damn,” she grumbled. It had tumbled between the middle console and the side of her seat. She wedged her fingers down the crack, clamping the edge of it between her fingers, and carefully extracted it. The screen was cracked. “Awe, come on,” she complained before setting it on the passenger’s seat.

  She glanced through the windshield at Bean There. This time, a cup of coffee no matter how strong and hot was not going to fix this.

  Dusk was falling over Rock Ridge. One at a time the streetlamps brightened along Main Street. Bean There looked inviting, but how would she muscle through pleasantries with Clara in order to get a cup of joe? What if she ran into someone? What if she ran into Carly? She cringed at the thought. She wouldn’t be able to conceal her distress if she ran into her best friend.

  But it had been Carly who had tipped her off about Dark Donnie. Her florist friend had heard the man whose alias she’d only just discovered was a regular at Drake’s Firing Line. Well, clearly, thought Kate. Dark Donnie and Drake Kramer were one in the same. Carly had also told her that Dark Donnie had a reputation of taking out bad guys before they could kill someone innocent. At the time it had sounded a lot like what Jason had done. Was Dark Donnie grooming her son, all the while harboring the dark intention of throwing him under the bus? It would seem so according to what Gillian had explained.

  Kate was in agony for Jason. Knowing her son thought he would best an experienced criminal had Kate’s stomach in knots. Jason was under the impression he was getting closer to finding Becky. Had Drake taken Becky? Was he behind her abduction, and subsequently, Ashley’s? Or was he an opportunist? Had Jason stumbled into his dark world of peddling drugs through Rock Ridge, causing Drake to lure Jason with promise of finding Becky and thus roping him into his drug ring to do his dirty work?

  Unless her son got in touch with her and finally told her the truth, she would have no way of knowing.

  She remembered the key, the addresses, and the envelope in her overalls. The key either belonged to Donna Kramer’s former house or to Drake’s Firing Line, which was the second address on that piece of paper.