It was possible, which meant she was getting close.
Of course, she functioned with a general sense that she was completely in the dark, so she felt frustrated to no end.
But she would keep pushing.
This wasn’t going to end with Jason going to prison. It would end when the bad guys were exposed and the entire network of drug peddlers were taken down.
As determined as she felt on this front, nothing about her demeanor that morning conveyed it. She dragged herself into the kitchen, stumbled through making a pot of coffee, and barely had the energy to fry a few eggs.
At least she would be working alone today. If she slogged through the morning, no one would be the wiser since she was scheduled to work on Justina’s apartment building.
After choking down a few runny eggs—she hadn’t the patience to fry them through and through—and drinking two cups of coffee, she packed up the coffeemaker and set it along with her coffee canister on the floorboard in front of the passenger’s seat. She climbed up behind the steering wheel and started off, driving south when she reached the heart of Rock Ridge.
Before she knew it, she was pulling along the curb in front of Justina’s apartment building. The concept of fixing the place up was daunting, but Kate reminded herself she would take it one repair at a time, as she rounded the back of her truck and grabbed her tool kit, the coffeemaker, and canister of dark roast.
Inside, the morning light hadn’t yet poured in through the windows of the first apartment. She made her way into the kitchen and tended to her first priority—getting a fresh pot to brew.
As it percolated, she stalked towards the center of the room. It was a studio apartment, and though Justina had suggested that Kate simply roll down some wall-to-wall carpeting to hide the shabby wooden floor, Kate had a much better idea. She could tile the floor as a means to differentiate the bedroom area from the living room. Then she could rent a floor buffer from Larry at Grayson’s, to buff out the bedroom portion.
Just because ex-cons were going to be living here, didn’t mean she shouldn’t give this job her all. Kate prided herself on the high level of care she brought to every repair. She vowed that by the time she was done with this unit, it would look like the kind of place she, herself, would be happy to live in.
The coffeemaker sputtered on the kitchen counter and a puff of steam shot up the back, indicating the pot had brewed.
As she poured a mug, the aromas reviving her already, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket.
It was Carly.
If her best friend had been concerned for her welfare before, Carly was probably aching to speak with her now. Kate had been shot at, after all. Certainly, her friend had heard the news.
She swiped the LCD screen, accepting the call, but before she could get a greeting out, Carly blurted out, “Why haven’t you returned my calls? You know I’m worried sick over here!”
“I know. I’m so sorry,” she said, eyeing the dark liquid in her mug.
“You can’t isolate!” she asserted. “Not at a time like this.” Sighing, Carly let her anger go. “Are you all right? I heard your house got shot up last night.”
“I’m fine, and so is Jared,” she quickly offered to put her friend at ease.
It backfired.
“I doubt you’re fine, Kate. No one would be fine after something like that.”
“I mean I’m fine physically.”
“I really don’t think you should be alone—”
“Well, I work alone. I’m a one-woman show.”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” she hissed. “I’m talking about you staying in that house all by yourself. I heard Scott checked into Over the Moon in the wee hours. Are you guys okay?”
“How can we be? You heard about Jason.”
It was only an assumption, but a fair one. And, of course, Carly had heard.
“I think Scott’s making a mistake,” her friend went on.
“Of course he’s making a mistake.”
“I mean about checking into Over the Moon, but yes, I doubt Jason is the mastermind behind all this. Scott should be with you, if not at all times, then at least through the nights. You’re vulnerable alone in that house!”
“That house is a fortress and you know it,” she countered. “Greg had installed state-of-the-art security technology. I’m pretty sure the front door is bulletproof, as well as the windows. If I’m safe anywhere, it’s inside. My error was opening the front door.”
“You can’t be a prisoner in your own home,” she pointed out.
“And I’m not going to be. I’m already at work—”
“Christ, where?” she demanded. “Take a few days off, for God’s sake.”
“I’d go insane. I’m fine here. I’m renovating Justina’s new apartment building—”
“Where criminals are planning on living?” Carly sounded irate, which was the last thing Kate needed right now.
“Carly, I appreciate the call, but I have to let you go.”
“When can we get together? You want to come over for dinner tonight? Get your mind off things? Larry’s getting pretty excited about our second honeymoon,” she said, and Kate could hear the smile in her voice. “He’s been making lookbooks.”
“What’s a lookbook?”
“It’s basically a scrapbook, vision board of how he wants our honeymoon to go.”
Kate had to laugh because she couldn’t see Larry doing such a thing. He was a tough, though kind, working-class guy, who was more expert at laying drywall than being romantic.
“I’ll get back to you on that one,” she said finally. “Hey, thanks for the call.”
“Be safe, Kate. I don’t know who these people are, but they’re not messing around. Enough people have died in this town. If anything were to happen to you...” she trailed off, getting choked up.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” she promised and again thanked her for the call.
When she finally hung up, she dropped her cell into the front pocket of her overalls and drank a good portion of her coffee.
Kate refilled her mug and then padded over to a stack of tiles she had set down near the windows days ago. As she sipped the dark roast, she eyed the materials, wrapping her head around the most productive course of action, but was soon distracted.
She heard voices whispering in the hallway just beyond the apartment door, which she hadn’t shut entirely.
It sounded like two men. Their voices grew louder, as she stepped quietly towards the door.
“I’m not doing this, man,” said one of the men, his voice trembling. “I want out.”
“Are you crazy?” the other man asked, his voice pitching up with alarm. “The middle of this pyramid is thinning out. They’re all getting killed. This is the opportunity, man! They need more guys, don’t you get it? They’re not going to pull in strangers, they’re going to promote from the bottom. This is our chance! We don’t have to be at the bottom of the food chain anymore. All we have to do is rise to the occasion!”
The other man groaned. “I don’t know…I already feel like a slave. I don’t need to be a better paid one.”
“Then you’re missing your own point. If you’re a slave then you know there’s no getting out of this, and you’re right. There isn’t. You might as well get a bigger cut of the pie.”
Kate was itching to hear them be more specific. She winced, as she widened the crack in the door, praying that the hinges wouldn’t creak. Placing her left eye to the inch she had created, she could clearly see one of the men—the one who was reluctant to upgrade his role in the drug ring.
Short and stalky, he wore a hard hat, beat-up jeans and work boots. A flannel shirt was tied around his waist, and there were dark pit stains on his dingy, white tee shirt. She guessed he was about thirty years old, or maybe in his late twenties. His skin looked weathered, but she figured that was less an indication of age than lifestyle. She smelled stale cigarettes and was fairly certain it was comin
g from the pair of them.
“Mark my words,” said the man beyond Kate’s view. “Another bigwig is about to fall. If we don’t jump on this, the moment will pass.”
Another bigwig? Who? Was he referring to Jason? Was he that misinformed? Or were the drug kingpins planning another murder? And if so, who?
Kate hoped they would elaborate and reveal the name or names of the higher-ups. Maybe, if she heard a name, she could confirm that they owned Colombia & Partners International, get the information to Scott, and completely exonerate her son.
But their conversation shifted. “Let’s get our stuff,” said the pushier of the two. “They’re going to start renting out these units. We can’t hole up here anymore.”
Grumbling, the hesitant man followed his leader up the dusty wooden stairs, and it wasn’t until Kate heard them reach the landing, boots stomping around the corner and into the hallway, that she widened the door and tiptoed after them, taking the stairs two at a time, her coffee mug in hand all the while.
When she reached the landing, she crouched, duck-walking around the corner until she was able to peer at the men. It wasn’t lost on her that she was acting ridiculously. If anyone had a right to be here, it was Kate and not the pair of ex-cons who clearly worked for Dean at the amusement park. But she couldn’t take any chances. What if these were the men who had shot at her last night, proving their commitment to the drug lords?
The reluctant man seemed to be coming around, as he picked up a cardboard box overflowing with personal items—unfolded shirts, a few books with dog-eared corners, a stick of deodorant that fell to the floor. He picked it up and returned it to his box, saying, “I’m afraid of her, man. I want to sign up for this, but she scared the living crap out of me. She plays the long game, don’t you get that?” When the other man didn’t respond, he went on to point out, “She got some fool to fall in love with her, that’s how long a game she’s playing. Day in and day out she’s building a life with someone, and in the back of her mind she knows she’s going to throw him under the bus at the perfect moment, draw the cops’ attention away, so she can make her final move. That’s some dark stuff, my friend. Why are you fighting to work for her?”
“Because,” he hissed, angling over the other man. Kate realized he had to be at least 6-foot-4. He was built like an ox. “She’s going to get this operation back on track. She’s sick of being used, just like us. She’s going to overthrow them, and when she does, she’s going to need guys like us, loyal guys to be her right- and left-hand men.”
“I don’t know,” the other man said for the millionth time.
“You don’t have to know, not yet. Come to the meeting tonight at nine. Listen to her plan. You’ll get onboard.”
They shifted in her direction and Kate quickly leapt down the stairs so as not to be seen. Her steps weren’t as quiet as she would’ve liked, but soon she was ducking into the apartment on the first floor and spying them trail down the staircase.
As she watched them, she kept wondering. What’s the address of the meeting?
Neither said it, but when the aggressive man spoke, it gave her enough of an indication. “You like shooting guns, right?”
Kate knew where the meeting was going to take place.
Drake’s Firing Line.
And Becky would be there.
Chapter Three
Jared had called twice and Jason called once as the morning ticked into the early afternoon. Both her boys were concerned about how she was holding up. While she appreciated them checking in—Jason, especially—she didn’t want them fussing over her.
She gathered her tools, returning them to her tool kit, and then collected the materials that were scattered across the studio apartment, stacking tiles that she would lay after lunch.
After locking the apartment door behind her, tool kit in hand, she listened out for anyone who might have drifted into the building, but heard nothing. Gillian O’Reilly, one of the ex-cons who was actively turning her life around, had mentioned to Kate that the rear of the building had a cellar door that had been busted open. It was how the convicts had been getting into the building to sleep.
Kate would need to repair the lock or figure out a way to keep the door closed and the building secure. But that wasn’t how she wanted to spend her lunch break. She made a mental note to tend to the repair after getting some food and fresh air.
Before making her way out to her truck, she set her tool kit on the stoop and locked the entrance door. She gave the door a hard push then a pull, making sure it was fastened shut.
A gust of warm wind rolled down the street, as she padded to the bed of her truck and set her tool kit down. Today would be the perfect day to go for a swim, not that she had time. She frowned at the thought. The only lake in Rock Ridge was on the old campsite grounds, and now that the area was under construction as the amusement park gradually rose, she wasn’t sure who would be able to go for an easy swim. Would Dean wall off the lake? Or would he fashion a beach, hire lifeguards, and encourage people to swim? She didn’t like the idea of residents having to pay an admission fare just to enjoy the lake that had been free to them their whole lives.
So much of this town was changing. She wondered if she would even be able to recognize it in a few years’ time.
Climbing up behind the wheel and shutting the door, her promise to Jason came to mind. She needed to find the best lawyer she could afford and retain him or her for Jason’s defense. With the right attorney, her son could be released on bail.
She decided to get ahold of Amelia. Since all charges had been dropped regarding Donna Kramer’s murder, the real killers having been arrested, Amelia’s attorney should be available. Kate dialed the front desk at Over the Moon, and Gillian picked up on the first ring.
“It’s Kate,” she said as soon as Gillian’s raspy voice came through.
“Hey!” she said happily, but her tone soon dropped. “I can connect you with Scott’s room, but he’s already left for the day.”
“Oh,” said Kate, feeling thrown off her axis. “So he’s staying there? You guys had a spare room?”
“Yeah, isn’t that why you’re calling?”
“No, actually. Is Amelia around?”
It sounded like Gillian was lowering the phone and rising to her feet as if to peer into the lounge. When she returned to the phone, she said, “She isn’t here. I’m holding down the fort since she needed a break. I think she’s at home, or she will be. She left about ten minutes ago.”
“Okay, I’ll try her at home, thanks.” Gillian murmured then groaned, plopping into her seat. “What’s wrong?”
“I ate way too much mustard. There’s so much mustard here. Ugh.”
Kate chuckled and told her to eat some bread.
“Thanks again for recommending me,” said Gillian before letting her go.
Kate contemplated her options. She could give Amelia a heads up before driving over, but something was telling her to simply show up. Her relationship with Amelia had suffered its ups and downs, and the woman often bristled when Kate was around. She hadn’t seen Amelia since Jason was arrested, and she really couldn’t guess how the innkeeper had taken the news. Would she believe the right man had been caught? If so, Amelia would regard Kate as the mother of the culprit who had abducted her daughter. Yet, it was possible Amelia would be in agreement with Jason’s innocence.
She reasoned that she might as well tell her that she would be stopping by, so that’s what Kate did, as she pulled out into the road and accelerated.
The Langelys’ house could best be described as a mansion. White, Grecian pillars held the stately portico up, framing the grand entrance door. The house was lined with planters, roses in bloom, and as Kate neared the door, she heard the frenetic thwacks of the sprinklers shooting water across the yard.
She rang the bell and took a step back, as someone on the other side padded through the foyer to answer.
When the door drew inward, Kate was faced with a
tired-looking woman in a maid’s uniform.
“Can I help you?”
“It’s Kate Flaherty for Amelia. I saw her car in the driveway,” she said, just in case the maid had been instructed to turn all guests away.
“Come in,” she said on a sigh, widening the door, which she closed as soon as Kate had entered. “Amelia’s in the drawing room.”
Kate followed the maid through the foyer and then crossed the lofty living room. Midway down a marble corridor they rounded into the drawing room, which, in Kate’s estimation, was a library replete with leather sofa chairs and matching settees. The walls were mahogany and Civil War-era portraits hung on either side of a fireplace. Amelia was sitting on the couch. A cup of tea rested on the oak coffee table in front of her, and just as she was reaching for the steaming teacup, Kate caught her eye.
“Ms. Kate Flaherty here to see you,” the maid announced, to which Amelia gave her a tight smile then waved, excusing her from the room.
As soon as the maid drew the drawing room door closed, affording them privacy, Amelia’s smile drooped. “I heard about Jason,” she stated. It was neither a condolence nor an “I told you so.”
“Yes, he was arrested. That’s why I’m here.” Kate hesitated when she reached a sofa chair, but Amelia gestured for her to have a seat and she did. “I know he isn’t guilty.”
The woman’s eyebrows floated up to her hairline.
“I take it you think he did it?”
Amelia sighed, taking her teacup into her lap. “If the Rock Ridge police had enough to arrest him, then they have enough to prove he did it.”
“And the same was said of you after Donna Kramer’s murder. Sometimes the police get it wrong.”
“But the truth always comes out eventually,” she corrected, revealing a clever smirk.
“I’m sure you’re right about that. You must be relieved that Scott dropped the murder charge, cleared your name.”
“I am.”
“Look, I’ll cut to the point. I need to get Jason the best attorney available, and now that yours isn’t occupied with your case...?”
Mrs. Fix It Mysteries, Season 2 (5 Cozy Mystery Books Collection) Page 40
