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

by Belle Knudson

  “Bottom line,” she said, “Jason’s name isn’t on there. He never accepted a wire payment, because he’s not a part of this thing. For Christ’s sake, Grant Conover is listed,” she blurted out, exasperated that Scott was still reading the transactions over and not barreling over to the jail cell to release her son. “You know who that is, right? The prison warden. Scott,” she said, leaning over his desk and forcing him to grant her eye contact, “you’re right that this is a huge conspiracy, but you’re wrong about Jason.”

  “I’ll look into this,” he said, indicated the bank statement, though his tone struck her as aloof.

  “What don’t you believe?” she challenged. “Let my son go.”

  “Kate, I’m not going to coddle you,” he warned. “This is a solid lead. And I’m with you in terms of trusting that whoever owns this company is behind this thing.” He stood, angling over his desk, and she had to take a step back before they came nose to nose. “I don’t know that Jason doesn’t own this company.”

  “You’re insane!”

  Scott swallowed hard, composing himself.

  “I’m going to give you your space,” he declared.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t see us living under the same roof until this case is completely closed.”

  She felt her jaw dropping, but snapped it shut, gritting her teeth. Soon her lower lip began quivering, so she bit it. “You’re turning your back on me?”

  He sighed and a shred of humanity melted his hardened expression. But he didn’t confirm or deny what he was doing.

  Why was she surprised he would propose separating? She should’ve seen this coming. He wasn’t protecting their family or Jason. He was tearing it apart for the sake of his career. She told herself that a little time apart would be best, but deep down her stomach was bottoming out and her heart ached.

  “Fine,” she whispered. “Where are you going to be staying?”

  He frowned and shrugged his shoulders. “Reporters have booked just about every room in this town, so I can’t be sure. Possibly Over the Moon, if Amelia can do me the favor.” Kate snorted a laugh. She doubted either of the Langleys would jump to help Scott. “Maybe the Holiday Inn just outside of town. I’ll come by the house tonight to get a few things.”

  What could she say except to agree?

  She turned for the door, but he stopped her, saying, “We’re going to be okay, Katydid. We’ll get through this.”

  She glared at him over her shoulder, refusing to do him the courtesy of facing him fully. “If my son ends up in prison, I promise you, we will never be okay.”

  She slammed the door on the way out and felt the overwhelming urge to collapse, but she pressed on, holding her head high and making her way through the precinct. She stepped out into the hot evening air where birds were chirping happily and laughter billowed from down the sidewalk as residents went for their evening strolls, blissfully unaware of her anguish. It was like a slap in the face. She wished it would rain.

  As she started for her truck, a cluster of reporters rushed towards her from out of nowhere. She quickened her pace, but they soon swarmed her, thrusting their microphones in her face, angling their cameras on her, the lights atop blindingly bright. They were yelling so many questions, she couldn’t make sense of it.

  “Did you know your son Jason Flaherty was the drug kingpin?”

  “Are you facing aiding and abetting charges?”

  “Will the crime in Rock Ridge stop now that Jason is behind bars?”

  Kate shoved them away and yelled, “No comment!” She forced her way through the crowd and was so disoriented that when she reached the passenger’s side door, she made no attempt to round her truck, but rather dove in the vehicle and slammed the door shut.

  Awkward as she landed, she wriggled across the seats, bending her legs and fitting them under the steering wheel. The reporters were surrounding the car, and as Kate inserted her key into the ignition, she had to beg herself not to run the lot of them over.

  She pinched her eyes shut and turned the engine. It growled and settled into a quiet purr. When she opened her eyes, the reporters were still there, so she leaned on the horn and put her truck in gear.

  “Don’t test me,” she grumbled, tapping the gas and the brake in manic alternation. Her truck kept bucking forward in response. It did just the trick. The reporters scrambled backwards, watching their toes, and Kate was able to roll off into the street.

  She didn’t breathe deeply until she had driven a few blocks. There weren’t any news vans in her rearview mirror. The reporters weren’t following her, thank God, but that didn’t mean they weren’t camped out at her house, ready to steal their stories.

  Luckily, when she reached the long and winding driveway to her house and peered through the sparse trees, she didn’t spy any reporters loitering at her house.

  As she gunned it up the long driveway, it suddenly occurred to her that the drug used on Jason the morning of Becky’s so-called abduction could’ve been something off the streets of Colombia…Colombia & Partners International...maybe the company was literally located in Colombia. It was more than possible that a Colombian company could smuggle in Colombian sedatives, as well as cocaine. What if American drug tests didn’t cover a full range of international drugs? What if Jason’s system had been flooded with a drug that the Rock Ridge hospital couldn’t test for?

  The notion excited her, but as she pulled up to the house and killed the engine, she realized there was virtually nothing she could do with her hunch. Scott wouldn’t believe her. And even if she poked around the hospital, investigating the particular drug test Jason had been administered, it wouldn’t reveal the actual drug that had been used on him.

  If anything, Kate needed to keep close tabs on every individual listed on that bank statement who wasn’t already dead. It would be the only way to locate Becky, and in the process she just might learn a thing or two about the drugs being smuggled in and sold, as well as the sedative drug used on Jason.

  Grant Conover, the prison warden, came to mind. Dean had mentioned he was getting in good with Grant. And Kate trusted Dean. If she could plan things out carefully with the mayor, she might be able to get some record of Grant’s involvement, as well as everything the crooked warden knew about Colombia & Partners International.

  Kate made her way to the door, while ignoring her vibrating cell phone. Whoever it was, she didn’t want to talk to them.

  But after keying in and disarming the security alarm, which she had finally decided to start using, her curiosity got the best of her and she checked to see who had called.

  It had been Carly.

  Kate felt badly that she hadn’t picked up. Surely all of Rock Ridge had heard about Jason’s arrest, and because of it, her best friend was probably concerned. But she just didn’t have it in her to clue Carly in on the myriad details or go over the faulty logic Scott had used to put her son in jail.

  When she reached the kitchen, she was craving both coffee and wine. She reasoned that coffee would be the better choice, so she flipped the cabinet open to grab the canister of dark roast. But as soon as the wooden door swung open, its upper hinge popped off the frame, causing the weight of it to drop. She caught it and watched the small screw bounce and rattle in the sink.

  “Damn,” she grumbled. The only thing she wanted to fix right now was Jason’s life.

  Careful not to strain the lower hinge, which appeared to be loose, as well, she eased the door closed, held it there with one hand, and used the other to fish around her overall pockets. She had dropped a hair elastic in one of the pockets a while back, but she couldn’t remember if it had been this pair of overalls or the one with shorts.

  She sighed a breath of relief to feel the elastic against her fingertips. Quickly, she twisted the band around the cabinet knob, as well as its twin, which braced the doors together, giving her just enough time to pad out to her truck, grab her tool kit from the truck bed, and h
urry back to the kitchen.

  “You couldn’t have broken after I made my pot of coffee?” she asked the door as she plucked a screwdriver out of her tool kit.

  It wasn’t easy to hold the cabinet door, while pinching the screw out of the sink. She used her shoulder to hold the door up, fit her screwdriver into the screw-back, and began twisting the little bugger through the hinge.

  Once she fastened it tightly, she tightened the screws on the lower hinge, and tested the hold, drawing the cabinet open and closed a number of times. It would hold, she decided, finally grabbing the canister from the shelf and putting on a fresh pot of coffee.

  As it percolated, she checked the refrigerator for a bottle of crisp white wine, but remembered Scott and she had finished the chardonnay she was thinking of a good week ago.

  Should she pour a glass of red?

  The real question was, would she want to be here when Scott comes home in a few hours? Did she really want to watch him pack up his things and leave for a hotel? If she settled in with a glass of wine it could easily lead to two, and then she would be grounded in the house. Kate never drove her truck after she had been drinking.

  She sighed and told herself that a cup of coffee would be enough for the time being. After filling her mug and slipping the carafe back onto the burner, she made her way into the living room and eased onto the couch.

  Again her cell phone began vibrating, and when she checked it, she saw that it was Carly. Maybe she would save the phone call for when Scott arrived. That way she wouldn’t be tempted to yell at him or plead with him. Carly would keep her sane, or at least distracted.

  As soon as she brought her mug to her lips, smelling the rich aroma of dark roast and feeling the sweet steam on her cheeks, there came a knock at the front door.

  She stole a quick sip, nonetheless, then set the mug on the coffee table in favor of seeing who was at the door.

  Cautiously—she reasoned she could never be too careful these days—she asked, “Who is it?”

  “Mom? It’s Jared!”

  She opened the door, and as soon as she saw her son, Kate threw her arms around him.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked, urging her back.

  As he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, Kate began resetting the security alarm. “I wish I could make sense of it.” She led him into the living room and reclaimed her coffee mug. “Coffee?”

  He frowned. “Why did Scott arrest Jason? This is ludicrous.”

  “I agree,” she said in a defeated tone. “The truth will come out eventually.”

  “Will it?” he demanded. “That’s it,” he went on, “I’m going to pressure Dean to call in the Feds. Scott’s obviously lost his mind, and he can’t handle an investigation of this magnitude. A call from the mayor will get the FBI here. It’s the only way.”

  “Slow down, Jared.” If Kate thought the reporters were bad now, and they certainly were, an FBI presence would only attract more of them. Not to mention she couldn’t be sure the FBI would arrive at a better conclusion than Scott had. “I’m in the process of finding Jason a good attorney. The right lawyer will easily dismantle whatever proof Scott thinks he has. Even if this thing goes to trial—”

  “I’m not worried about a trial,” he cut in, then growled in aggravation. “I don’t want my brother sitting in a jail cell for the next six months until a trial, which by the way, I can’t even think about or else my head will explode.”

  Ordinarily, Kate wasn’t one to encourage drinking, but if anyone needed a little help taking the razor-sharp edge off, it was Jared. She rounded into the kitchen, found a bottle of Shiraz, and popped the cork. It wasn’t until she returned to the living room with the bottle and a glass in hand that she poured a generous serving and handed it to her son.

  “I’m driving,” he said, staring at the wine glass, as she held it out for him to take.

  “You can stay here tonight,” she offered.

  “And get in the middle of whatever blowout you and Scott have coming over this.”

  Kate let out a stuttering sigh and admitted, “We already had our blowout. He’ll be back later, but only to pack some things.”

  Jared’s jaw dropped. “Is it serious?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “We haven’t talked really. He thinks it would be best if he stays someplace else while he’s working with the district attorney, and I can’t blame him. I don’t want to sleep in the same bed as someone who’s trying to lock my son up.”

  “Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry.” Jared looked pained for her and took the glass of wine.

  They drank in silence for a long moment, Jared gulping his wine and Kate taking small sips of her coffee that was still piping hot. When Kate realized she was still standing, she lowered to the couch. Following her lead, Jared took up in a sofa chair.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, breaking the heavy silence. “You can keep me calm when Scott gets back.”

  Jared shot her a devious smile. “Like you think I’m going to be calm about this, myself?”

  “Oh boy,” she said, nervously gulping her coffee until she drained the mug. She plucked the wine bottle off the coffee table and filled her mug, which wasn’t her brightest idea. When she took a sip, the wine tasted both warm and coffee like. She had to laugh.

  “What?”

  “This is disgusting,” she mumbled, heading for the kitchen where she set the mug in the sink and grabbed a long-stem wine glass.

  Jared was ready on the quick with the bottle and poured Shiraz into her glass.

  “Not that I want to help the guy,” he said, setting the bottle on the coffee table, “but Scott could stay at Jared’s house.”

  “Jared would be furious,” she countered then quickly realized Jason’s house was, in fact, entirely vacant. She had never hunted around his home, and he had never told her the finer details of who within the drug ring he had gotten close to during his effort to find Becky. She sprung to her feet, realizing this. “I need to go out for a bit.”

  “Where?”

  “You’re welcome to stay.” She was already padding towards the foyer, and when she reached it, she disarmed the alarm.

  “Mom? Where are you going?” he demanded, trailing after her.

  “I’ll just be an hour.”

  Catching her arm as she turned for the door, he insisted, “Mom!”

  “I want to have a look around Jason’s house. Wouldn’t you?”

  “You can’t go off alone,” he stated. “I’m coming with you.”

  The look of ironclad determination in his eyes told her she wouldn’t be able to stop him. She pulled the door open.

  The second she motioned to step outside, a deafening spray of gunfire arched across the landing.

  Kate screamed, shuffling back into Jared, but she managed to slam the door, as bullets pelted against it.

  Over the sound of her pounding heart, she heard tires screeching outside, dirt and gravel kicking up and a screaming engine as the attacking vehicle tore down her driveway.

  “What in God’s name was that?” Jared asked, out of breath and trembling.

  Kate eased the door open a crack and peered out at the darkness.

  It was quiet.

  Widening the door, her jaw dropped at the sight of bullet holes.

  Her eyes locked with Jared’s, and he said, “Scott’s truck isn’t outside.”

  He didn’t have to elaborate. Kate knew exactly what her son had implied.

  The assault had been meant for her.

  Chapter Two

  By the time her alarm started blaring the next morning, Kate had barely slept three hours. She groaned at the thought of climbing out of bed. Rolling onto her back, she thwacked the snooze button on the clock radio, but knew she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. Besides, five extra minutes wouldn’t fix the fact that her muscles felt like cement. Grumbling, she whipped the comforter aside and didn’t get out of bed so much as roll off the edge and land with a th
ud to the carpet.

  Last night had been long and arduous. After calling the police, the full cavalry had arrived, Scott leading the charge. Of course, he had muscled his way through the investigation, ordering his men to direct forensics and ballistics, as they set up giant work lights. They combed for shell casings in order to identify the weapon. They took countless photos of the tire tracks along the driveway.

  In the commotion, Kate hadn’t realized the first thing the assailant had shot at was the security camera angled over the front door. Despite this, she had high hopes that there would at least be some good footage of the vehicle creeping up the driveway. Scott had assured her he would look into it. It was one of the few things he had said to her.

  Jared had been a nervous wreck, which had mirrored her general state. When finally the police had begun to clear out around four in the morning—an effort that ended up taking them nearly an hour—Jared had insisted she stay at his house. “People want you dead,” he had told her, his eyes round and pleading. “You can’t be alone!”

  But Kate had refused. This was her house—her home. No one would scare her out of it.

  Once every last police officer had cleared out, Jared had reluctantly driven home. Scott—the last to leave—had offered her a parting smirk that sunk her heart, and it was then that Kate realized what the bullet spray had truly revealed.

  Whoever was at the top of this twisted pyramid wasn’t pleased Jason had been arrested.

  But why?

  Kate would’ve thought that Jason’s arrest would be to the drug ring’s benefit. He was its scapegoat. He would take the fall so they wouldn’t have to. Who would take issue with that?

  It was curious, but not more so than the possibility that Kate had been attacked, nearly killed, not because of Jason’s clandestine involvement with the drug ring, but because she posed a direct threat to the kingpins. Had her reputation for being a sleuth investigator gotten so far around town that the person behind this mess actually feared what she might do?