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

by Belle Knudson

  “Kate,” she smiled as if trying to communicate with a child who wouldn’t understand, “do you have any idea how expensive Bart Vaughn is? Lance and I do quite all right between Langley Mustard and Over the Moon, and it was a stretch for us to cover his retainer. I doubt you’ll be able to afford him.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” she said impatiently, trying not to be offended, even though that was clearly Amelia’s intention. “Bart Vaughn, you say? What law firm is he with?”

  “He has his own private practice under his name. He’s listed,” she allowed, then took a sip of her tea.

  Kate told herself to get going. She had the attorney’s name, and she could give him a call and get the ball rolling. But she couldn’t seem to rise to her feet. Amelia’s daughter was the reason Kate’s son was in jail. There had to be a way to get to the bottom of this.

  “I know we’ve had our fair share of friction in the past,” she began. Amelia snorted, which Kate didn’t appreciate. “Back when Becky went missing, why didn’t you tell the police about her criminal record?”

  The woman nearly choked on her tea. She began coughing and set the teacup on the coffee table. When she lifted her eyes to Kate, they were wide with abject horror. “Excuse me?”

  “Come on, Amelia. You can’t play this off. I found out about her record, about how she did time. I also found out she had been receiving wire payments from a company called Colombia & Partners International, the very company that’s most likely behind the drug operation that has corrupted this town.”

  “How do you do it?” she asked, appearing impressed if not alarmed. “How do you find out these things?”

  “Because I never give up,” Kate said easily. “Do you know about Colombia & Partners—”

  “No!” she insisted. She let out a shuddering sigh and added, “Of course Lance and I knew about her criminal record, but Becky had completely turned her life around the second she got out of prison. Lance and I nearly spent a fortune covering her record up so she could get into college. And while she was at school, she was a perfect angel. We had every reason to trust her and absolutely no reason to believe her abduction had anything to do with that old, crooked life of hers.”

  “Except that she wasn’t abducted,” Kate pointed out. “She’s involved with the drug ring. She attempted to extort money from you and Lance, and the deal got thwarted when Tommy Barkow, wanting out, tried to blow up Lance.”

  “Why would she try to extort money from us if she was receiving wire payments from this Colombia company, as you say?”

  “Because,” Kate began, remembering what she had overheard between the two ex-con construction workers at Justina’s building, “Becky wants out, too. But not out of the drug life, just out from under the higher-ups at Colombia & Partners International. She’s working to steal the operation out from under them.”

  “I refuse to believe my daughter would do such a thing.”

  “Well she is,” she insisted. “And she’s quite good at it. She managed to frame Jason.”

  “How dare you come into my home and—”

  “Has she been in touch? Has she come back here?”

  Amelia’s jaw dropped. “My daughter is being held somewhere against her will.”

  “If that were true, there would’ve been a second attempt at collecting ransom,” she pointed out. “There would’ve also been...and I hate to say this...a body. She would’ve been killed. That’s how it works when kidnappers don’t get what they want.”

  Reluctantly, Amelia admitted, “No, she hasn’t been back here. I’m just as in the dark as you, if not more so, since you’ve obviously dug up a great deal of information that I knew nothing about.”

  Kate studied her expression. Amelia was being truthful. She was a bitter, difficult woman, but she wasn’t lying.

  Amelia let out a distressed groan, staring into her teacup that now rested in her lap. “I don’t believe Becky would do any of that,” she muttered in a defeated tone. “I can’t believe it. She was doing so well.” She lifted her eyes, meeting Kate’s. “She even maintained a relationship with the prison warden. He’s such a caring man. He kept tabs on Becky and kept her walking the straight and narrow.”

  “Grant Conover?” Kate asked to confirm the name.

  “Yes, you know him?”

  Kate sighed, dreading having to reveal another piece of bad news. “Grant Conover was also receiving wire payments from Colombia & Partners. He was dirty.”

  Amelia’s mouth drifted open with shock.

  “My number one priority right now is finding Becky. I have a decent lead. She might show up at a location tonight, but I need a fail-safe. I need to know where she’s staying in case she never makes it tonight.”

  “And you think I know where she is? I don’t know anything.”

  Kate allowed, “I don’t think you know where she is. But you know your daughter. Where would she hide out? Where would she go if she didn’t want to be spotted, but couldn’t leave Rock Ridge?”

  Her effort to think it through seemed honest, her brow furrowing and eyes shifting as though she were flipping through a series of memories. But when Amelia once again met Kate’s gaze, her expression looked drawn, pale, and blank. “I just don’t know.”

  “She was close with Grant Conover?” Kate asked, and as Amelia nodded, she said to herself, “I wonder where he lives....”

  Amelia’s eyes misted over with tears. “I don’t want my baby going back to prison.”

  Kate felt for her. The anguish she saw in Amelia’s face matched her own. It also told Kate that the woman was beginning to believe her about Becky. Mothers always defended their children and fought for their innocence. To discover evidence of the contrary was on par with death, and Kate couldn’t feel worse that Amelia was now being faced with the ugly truth.

  “That’s not why Scott is staying at Over the Moon, is it?” she asked with sudden concern. “Is he there to spy on me? I have nothing to do with Becky’s decisions.”

  “No,” said Kate. “That’s not why he’s there.” She didn’t elaborate. Instead, she got to her feet and thanked Amelia for her time. “How’s Lance doing?”

  “Oh, he’s bouncing back. He’s been working, though only from the home office here. Physically, he’s okay, but emotionally...”

  She didn’t have to finish the thought. Kate could read her mind. Again, she thanked Amelia and left her.

  As she approached the foyer, the maid scurried up behind her and then opened the door for Kate.

  Compared to the crisp air conditioning in the Langleys’ house, outside felt hot and muggy. As she made her way to her truck, she pulled up a web browser in her cell phone and punched in Bart Vaughn’s name, along with Rock Ridge. A list of articles came up, but after scrolling down, she found his Web site, which included the address.

  She checked the clock on the dashboard as soon as she started her truck. Her lunch break was nearly half over and she hadn’t even eaten. What else was new?

  Still, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on tiling the apartment floor if she was fretting over Jason, so she hit the gas and drove as fast as she could through Rock Ridge, cutting north after she passed through the center of town.

  Bart Vaughn’s office was located in a brick, corporate building that looked more small-town than she had expected. Wedged between a dentist’s office and a day-care center, the attorney’s door was open and Kate entered the anteroom where a serious-looking receptionist flitted about behind her desk, organizing files and answering the telephone.

  Kate waited patiently at the counter until the woman returned the phone to its cradle.

  “Hi, I’m hoping to see Bart Vaughn. I didn’t have the chance to make an appointment.”

  “Ah,” said the woman like a deer in headlights. Clearly Mr. Vaughn didn’t take walk-ins. “What’s your name?”

  Kate leaned in and spoke quietly, since she noticed a few people were seated in the waiting area. “Kate Flaherty.”

>   The receptionist’s eyes widened and then a huge smile spread across her face. “As in, Jason Flaherty’s mother?”

  Kate confirmed as much with a slight nod, realizing that a client like Jason meant massive publicity for a private-practice lawyer like Bart. Maybe she could use that fact to finagle a discount, she told herself, as the receptionist jumped on the phone.

  “He’ll be right out,” she said excitedly, hanging up the phone.

  “Should I have a seat?” Kate didn’t even get so far as to turn towards the chairs when a dapper, well-dressed man burst into the anteroom from the office that read Bart Vaughn across the door.

  Bart thrust out his hand for her to shake, but Kate was momentarily thrown by his appearance. His hair was dark, nearly black and slicked back so tightly she could see the comb’s teeth marks through the strands. Contrastingly, his teeth were large and so white that they seemed almost cartoonish. Veneers? She tried not to stare and finally shook his hand.

  “Bart Vaughn,” he stated, vigorously shaking her hand even though she had loosened her grip to end the custom. “Very pleased to meet you, Ms. Flaherty. I’ve been watching the case closely.”

  “Please,” she said, retracting her hand. “Call me Kate.”

  “Right this way.” He guided her into his office where he shut the door and quickly rounded to the business side of his desk. “Have a seat.”

  For an attorney who required a ten-thousand-dollar retainer, his office didn’t look it. And as she glanced around, lowering into the chair across from him, she spied at least two items in need of fixing—a broken bookshelf and water damage in one corner of the ceiling.

  “As I’m sure you’ve guessed,” she began, “my son Jason needs a good lawyer—”

  “I would love to take his case,” he said eagerly.

  Kate began to explain, “It’s very important that whoever represents him—”

  “Me,” he interjected. “I’ll represent him.”

  “Right. Well, it’s crucial that you believe he’s innocent. I won’t engage anyone who wants to cut a deal for Jason. Jason is not going to admit wrongdoing, because Jason didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Bart’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, as he leaned over his desk. “Fascinating.”

  “Isn’t the truth always?”

  “I defend criminals,” he said easily, leaning back in his chair. “I rarely deal with the truth. What makes you think you know the truth when it comes to Jason’s involvement?”

  Kate cocked her head, asking, “How much time have you got?”

  Two hours later, she had thoroughly explained to Bart every last detail she could think of regarding Becky Langley’s disappearance, the drug ring, Colombia & Partners International, those incriminating wire transfers, Ashley’s bizarre accusation that Jason had been behind it all, and the damning evidence that had been planted to frame her son. But the issue of Bart’s retainer had never come up, and she knew her stomach would stay in knots if she didn’t bring it up before leaving.

  “We should probably discuss your fee,” she said after following Bart’s lead, rising to her feet. “As you might have guessed,” she went on, demonstratively glancing down at her overalls, “I’m just a fix-it woman. I don’t exactly have the kind of money the Langleys do....”

  Bart waved him hand as if dismissing the topic. “Not to worry. High-profile cases like this bring in a ton of additional income for the firm. So I can wave the retainer and charge a discounted hourly rate on one condition.”

  “Anything,” she said eagerly, and she meant it, too…until she heard what he had in mind.

  “We need a strong presence in the media. I’m talking as many on-camera interviews as my office can book. I want your face on every network, every news hour, on a national scale. We are going to plaster the nation with Jason’s story—a man wrongly accused, a mother fighting for her son’s innocence, an attorney stopping at nothing to clear Jason’s name.”

  “Ah...”

  “Kate, this is very important. It’s not just about influencing the nation. It’s much more strategic than that. We need to taint the jury pool. By the time the court is picking those twelve people, everyone in town needs to be deeply invested in Jason’s story and already believe he’s innocent.”

  “So you think this will go to trial?”

  “It damn well better,” he said in a booming voice. “We need to milk the spotlight.”

  She sighed. This was literally a nightmare within a nightmare. “What about Jason, in the meantime?” she asked, trying to stay focused on her son’s wellbeing. “Can you get him out on bail?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll head over this afternoon. But given the charges and the magnitude of this case, even if they do grant him bail, you can expect it could be quite steep. I’m talking upwards of a million dollars.”

  Heart sinking, Kate wanted to cry, but then she remembered her house. “Can I put my house up as collateral? I’m not exactly sure of it’s worth, but it’s up there. It has a state-of-the-art security system.”

  “See about getting an appraisal and e-mail me the figure, paperwork, all that,” he offered, handing her his business card.

  She tucked it in her pocket. Justina came to mind. Kate might be able to swing a trade with Justina to get a fast and free appraisal.

  Bart walked her out through the anteroom, shook her hand again at the front desk, and thanked her twice as many times as she thanked him.

  “I’ll have my assistant call the networks, set up some interviews, so keep that schedule of yours open.” He flashed her a big, toothy grin that nearly blinded her when the overheads bounced off his porcelain caps, and then rushed back into his office.

  Kate gave the receptionist all of her information and then leaned over the counter. “So what will Bart’s hourly rate be with the discount?”

  “Let’s see,” she said, typing quickly on her computer. “One twenty-five an hour.”

  It didn’t sound bad, but who knew how many hours Bart would rack up by the time this thing was over. “Billed monthly?” she asked.

  “Unless you prefer weekly—”

  “No, monthly is fine,” she said quickly.

  The receptionist offered her a sympathetic smile. “Bart really is the best,” she said. “Plus, as soon as the story starts catching on, all these networks and stations are going to pay you an appearance fee. Bart can negotiate it for you. This story is hot. You could easily take in a grand or two per interview.”

  “Really?”

  The woman nodded. “What we can do is collect your appearance fee then detract Bart’s fee from it on a monthly basis. Or you can get those checks cut directly to you. Either way.”

  Kate told her she would think about it. She was hoping to avoid the interviews, get conveniently sick or something, but if they really did pay that well, she wouldn’t avoid them.

  As she made her way out to her truck, she realized that not only had she blown her entire lunch break three times over, but she also had a bunch of missed calls from Justina. Grumbling, she listened to the voice messages, as she hopped in behind the steering wheel and started the truck.

  Justina needed some repairs done at Carnegie Real Estate, according to her first voice message, which she ended by mentioning she was on her way to the high-rise.

  The next message reflected one very worried Justina as she rushed through the apartment building in search of Kate.

  The last message was Justina saying she had just called the police, and that if Kate was fine she had to call her immediately.

  She sighed, leaning her head on the headrest. Of course Justina was worried sick. Everyone was worried sick for her now that she had been shot at, but really, enough was enough.

  She dialed Justina, who answered on the first ring.

  “My God! Where are you?”

  “I had to meet with Jason’s new attorney. You called the police?”

  “How could I not?”

  “Look, I have
one more errand, but I’ll come to the apartment directly after and I can work into the night to catch up,” she explained.

  “Someone tried to kill you the other night, and you think you’re going to work in a dark, busted-out apartment building where ex-cons have been coming and going freely? Are you insane?”

  Kate wondered...

  “I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll let the police know. Why don’t you do what you need to for the rest of the day and get home early, before dark, and stay safe?”

  “Thanks,” she said, getting off the phone. It had crossed her mind to ask Justina about an appraisal on her house, but the timing wasn’t right. She would ask tomorrow or maybe leave her a message later tonight.

  In the meantime, she had to plan carefully for the so-called secret meeting Becky Langley planned to hold at Drake’s Firing Line tonight at nine.

  Grant Conover’s name had come up a number of times, and considering that the prison warden had maintained a relationship with Becky Langley after her release many years ago, Kate felt in her gut that swinging by the prison would be a worthwhile place to start.

  She had no delusions of grandeur that the warden would admit anything outright, least of all if he was harboring Becky at his home, but Kate had an excellent eye for knowing when she was being lied to. With that in mind, she drove off, heading south towards the prison.

  Twenty minutes later, Kate slowed her truck and rolled towards the fenced perimeter. Coiled barbed wire laced the top of the fence, and she noticed there were watchtowers at the two corners within view. The building was a gray, industrial-looking slab with barred windows and a security checkpoint yards from the entrance.

  She drove up to the checkpoint, rolled her window down, and came to a stop at the guard’s booth.

  “Name,” he barked without looking up from his clipboard that presumably had a list of visitors’ names. He was also holding his hand out, so she placed her driver’s license in it.

  “Kate Flaherty,” she said, speaking up over the guard’s radio that was blaring some kind of sports game. “You won’t find me on the list. I need to speak with the warden.”

  That got his attention, but not in a good way. He stared at her for a beat then burst out laughing. She scowled, repeating that she would like to talk to Grant Conover.