“I’d actually been meaning to ask you something,” she began. His stern eyes and furrowed brow relaxed, so she went on, “Do you know if my husband Greg was involved in the Anarchist Freedom Network?”
“What would make you think he was?”
“Come on, Clem. He disappeared with the funds to build the development you’re now proceeding to build. I just want to understand what happened.”
“Who told you that?”
“Kendall. She may be a murderer, but she had no reason to lie about that. I believe her.”
“Well, I can’t help you there.”
“But this new development is for the anarchist group,” she stated, though it was a question. When he didn’t respond, she pressed, “Jackie was killed because of her involvement. Your sister was killed because she found out about it. Even the reporter, Beth, discovered the deal, and when she confronted Dudley about it, he threatened her so she tasered him to death. Too many people have died because of this deal. Rock Ridge has always been the safest place to live until this land deal cropped up. And now Walter Miller is dead.”
“No one knows why Walter Miller was killed, and Justina had nothing to do with the land deal.”
“No? Who took over Jackie’s role after she was killed?”
“Are you finished with the shelves?” He didn’t wait for a response. It was obvious the shelves were installed. “What do I owe you?”
Kate sighed. He wasn’t going to help her, but she couldn’t be shocked. His phone call had alerted her to which side of the fence he fell on. She wrote up an invoice then handed it to him and he made slow work of reviewing the charges and making out a check.
After he handed it to her, she tucked it in her overalls and picked up her toolbox.
“Thanks again for thinking of me,” she said.
“Kate, I’m telling you to stay out of this.”
She didn’t like his tone.
“For your own good,” he added.
“Finding out what happened to my husband is good for me,” she countered then walked out before he could warn her further. His warning had sounded like a threat. And she wasn’t one to entertain such things.
Kate spent the greater part of the afternoon tackling what she could on Justina’s list. First, she stopped by Grayson’s Hardware to pick up supplies and ten gallons of paint. It seemed most of the properties Justina was preparing to sell would need freshly painted walls, and Kate grabbed five cans of spackle, figuring the previous owners probably nailed a painting or two in each room, and she’d need to cover the holes before painting.
The first house on the list was next to Jessica Wentworth’s mansion. It was a two-story Colonial set between Maple trees that swayed in the autumn breeze.
As she pulled her truck up the driveway, she noticed a Mercedes parked in Jessica’s driveway. It struck her as odd until it occurred to Kate that in the crisis of being arrested, Justina might have forgotten to cancel her appointment to show the property. The car looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
It took three trips into the house to load in her supplies, and by the time she’d carried in the three cans of paint she estimated she’d need, her hands felt sore. She started back for the front door to close it when she realized Mayor Harvy Stuart was walking up the driveway.
Though he was the late mayor’s brother, Harvy lacked Dudley’s regal appearance and easy charm. In fact, the closer he came, the clearer it was that he looked disheveled, out of breath, and a bit peeved. Well, his wife Kendall was in prison for murdering Meghan. He had every right to have come undone.
“I was interested in seeing Jessica’s house now that it’s on the market,” he explained. “You work for Justina. Do you have a key?”
Kate frowned. She worked for herself and no one else. And why would he be interested in Jessica’s house? Kendall certainly had been, but you’d think that would leave a bad taste for it in the mayor’s mouth.
“I don’t have a key,” said Kate. “I returned it as soon as I finished my work.” It was a lie, but she wasn't about to let Harvy in without Justina present.
“Justina isn’t answering her cell,” he said.
How could he not have heard about her arrest?
“I recommend getting in touch with the other agent at Carnegie Real Estate,” she suggested. “I can give you the office number.”
“No, I have it,” he grumbled. As he headed down the driveway, he said, “Vote Stuart!” with a wave.
His wife was a murderer. There was no way he’d get reelected.
Four hours had passed by the time Kate was loading empty paint cans and her materials into the bed of her truck. Her arms and shoulders felt sore from rolling paint in five rooms. It could very well take her longer than a few days to get through the repairs on her list. However, with Justina in jail, there was probably some flexibility with the timeline.
She checked her cell for the hour and noticed a new text message, as she climbed into her truck. The sun was setting and dusk fell over Rock Ridge, but she was focused on the message from Scott.
Burritos or tacos?
She noted it was 6:15 p.m. and his text had rolled in about fifteen minutes earlier, so she called him.
“Have you ordered?” she asked as soon as the line opened up.
“I’m inching up the line,” he said. She could hear the smile in his tone. “Looks like everyone in town felt like Mexican take-out tonight. Let’s eat at your place. Mine’s overwrought with case files.”
“Sure.”
“So a chicken burrito?”
“You read my mind,” she said. “And a salad if they have it.”
“You think a Mexican joint has salad?”
“Anything healthy will do,” she explained. “I need to justify some pastries I ate earlier.”
He laughed and told her he’d be at her place in a half hour.
Kate felt exhausted when she returned her cell to her overalls. The one downside of fixing up houses to be put on the market was that the homes were vacant. No one was there to offer her coffee and she’d been too busy to get her fix at Bean There.
She had more than enough time to stop off at the coffee shop on her way home. She could use a cup or five. But the thought of Justina sitting in a jail cell caused her guilt. She decided she could grab a coffee at the county college since it was near the county jail where Justina was being held. It wouldn’t be the greatest cup of Joe, but it’d do the trick.
Assuming the college wouldn’t have the greatest cup of Joe was the understatement of the century. As soon as she’d paid, she edged away from the counter and took a sip. Hot, brown liquid, it was so watered down and stale at best. It seemed like a distant cousin of her beloved beverage, but she didn’t have time to complain. She splashed in a generous quantity of half and half, which she usually never drank, and then added a heap of sugar. Of course that made her cup lukewarm, but she downed it none-the-less, knowing that any caffeine was better than none.
After getting through five minutes of red tape at the county jail, presenting her ID, walking slowly through a metal detector, getting her picture taken, Kate followed a guard through the cellblock. Rock Ridge had virtually no crime so all the cells were empty except for Justina’s.
The real estate agent looked downtrodden, as Kate stepped up to the bars. But her blue eyes sharpened and a faint smile appeared when she realized Kate had come.
“Can’t you make bail?” she asked, as Justina wrapped her hands around the bars.
“I’m still waiting for them to set it,” she explained. “I think they’re waiting on the murder weapon. My defender told me they got a warrant for my house and are searching it.”
“What would the murder weapon have to do with setting bail?”
“I guess it’s the difference of murder in the first or second degree,” she shrugged, as if the logic of any of this was entirely lost on her. “It’s that detective, Ken Johnson. I think he’s dragging his feet on purpose.”
“Justina, where were you this morning? Do you have an alibi?”
Regretfully, she shook her head. “I’m desperate, Kate,” she said. “I was home alone. I asked my attorney if they could check my water usage since I was taking a shower when Walter was killed.” She laughed sadly at herself. “As though running a shower would clear me of this.”
“What do they have on you to justify arresting you? Your lawyer must have found out.”
Justina looked at her hands and her expression drew long.
“I moved here from Philadelphia,” she began. “People who were born and raised in a safe town like Rock Ridge don’t understand how much crime goes on in the bigger cities. Philly is a rough city, and when I lived there, I was in a dangerous neighborhood.”
“Okay,” said Kate, following along.
Justina sighed and worked up the nerve to continue her tale.
“One night a friend of mine got attacked.” She swallowed hard. “It was a real wake up call for me. I wasn’t going to be victimized.”
“I’m not going to judge you, Justina. Just tell me what’s going on.”
“I ended up buying a gun for protection. I only fired it once in a firing range in Philly right after I bought it. Just to practice. I never touched it again, but of course, I kept it in my purse. But when I moved here I kept it in the closet. There was no need to have it on me.” Again she sighed. “The detectives found a shell casing in Walter’s office. Then they found out I had a registered fire arm.”
“And it was the same caliber,” Kate guessed.
“It was. I know my gun was still in a shoebox in the closet. I know it, Kate. But the cops have been searching for it all day. According to my attorney, they haven’t found it.”
“So they think you used it to kill Walter and then got rid of it,” she said.
“I didn’t kill him. I swear. I needed Walter. And I would never hurt someone. I’d never take a life.”
“I believe you.” Kate pondered the dilemma. “Did anyone have access to your house?”
“It’s possible. The weather’s been so nice I’ve left the windows open. I rarely lock my front door.”
A common mistake of city folk who move to the country; the change in setting could be so dramatic they assume crime doesn’t exist.
“What’s your address?” she asked, pulling her cell from her overalls.
“You’ll look into it?”
“I’ll poke around.” Kate punched the address into her contact for Justina when she recited it then returned her cell to her pocket. “Did Walter ever mention the specifics of his work for Jackie?”
“No, he was a steal vault.”
“Justina, I have to ask you. Did you take over Jackie’s deal with Dudley Stuart for the land out east?”
“No,” she said quickly and with conviction. “I don’t do corporate real estate, only private property and store front space here and there, but it’s small time. In fact, I was against those big development deals. I voiced my concerns in several town meetings. I want Rock Ridge to stay quiet and quaint, and if big corporations come to town, the landscape and economy is going to shift for the worst. The middle class won’t be able to afford this town. It was the last thing I wanted.”
Could that have been the real killer’s motive to frame Justina?
“Do you know Clem Tully?”
“Only by face and name,” she said. “I never really talked to the guy.”
“Okay,” she said, thinking things through. “This could be an uphill battle, but I’ll do what I can.”
Justina smiled. “Thank you.”
“Sit tight. They can’t keep you in here forever. You’ll be up for bail soon enough.”
Kate didn’t have much time to get to her house. Scott would be waiting. However, she needed to show up with an incentive to get him talking, so at the risk of being tardy, she stopped off at Rosalie’s Wines and picked up his favorite bottle of red.
Chapter Four
As Kate drove up her long, windy driveway towards her two-story house, she spotted Scott leaning against his pickup truck, which was parked a good twenty feet from her front door.
“Katy did,” he said when she climbed out of her truck, Meghan’s box in her arms. “I didn’t want to set off the alarm.”
One of the biggest surprises she’d learned about her husband, Greg, was the state-of-the-art security system he’d installed during their marriage. Scott had told her it was suitable to fortify a bank, and the model was rarely used on private homes. Between the security system Greg had installed, the doomsday book Meghan had told her he’d checked out of the library, the mysterious camping equipment charges on his MasterCard she hadn’t been aware he had, and his international travels to the Middle East—Scott had discovered on Greg’s passport—her husband was becoming more and more of a complete stranger to Kate. She couldn’t get to Meghan’s files fast enough.
Kate smiled and handed Scott the bottle of red wine.
He turned the label up and grinned. “My favorite.”
“It was the least I could do,” she said. “You brought dinner.”
She balanced the box on her hip, as she keyed into the front door then quickly punched the security code into the alarm and it stopped beeping.
Scott pulled plates from the kitchen cupboards and set out their burritos then poured a salad into a bowl while Kate set Meghan’s box onto the granite counter and grabbed two long-stem wine glasses.
When they got situated at her dining room table, Scott asked, “What’s with the box?”
“It’s some of Meghan’s stuff from the library,” she said, as she poured the wine.
“Why do you have it?”
“Meghan had been keeping some files. I haven’t looked at them yet, but they could shed light on why she was killed.”
“Kendall’s in prison,” he countered. “What’s there to find out?”
“You tell me,” she said, but managed a smile, as she raised her wine glass encouraging him to do the same.
“Are we toasting to something?”
“Just that it’s been a very long day, and I’m glad to be home.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said then took a sip.
“Meghan was the one who told me about the doomsday book Greg checked out of the library,” she explained. “I’m hoping her files contain more information on him.”
“But you think they’re related to her murder as well?” he asked, catching on. “You think Greg was tied up in her death?”
“Kendall told me Greg had taken the money for the anarchist land deal. So yes, he was involved. Did you know that land deal went through? Clem Tully was contracted to build it.”
Scott frowned, but she couldn’t be sure if it was because he hadn’t known or wasn’t pleased she found out.
She waited to press any of her burning questions until Scott drank his glass of wine. Their conversation skimmed over how his day went, though he failed to mention Justina or his investigating detective, Ken Johnson. She refilled his glass and kept topping it off after every sip and soon their plates were clear.
It wasn’t until Scott’s gaze grew dreamy that she realized the unintended romantic overture of getting him tipsy. So there was no better time to sober him up with a few questions.
“Why is it taking so long for Justina’s bail to be set?”
“How did you hear about that?”
“I spoke with her. It seems like Ken Johnson is stalling the process.”
“Ken’s a good detective. We’ve been backed up with paperwork. The last chief of police left more than a few things in disarray. I’m still playing catch up.”
The previous police chief, Neil Motley, had abruptly moved to North Carolina. Kate had gotten a weird feeling about the man during his reign in Rock Ridge, and it never sat right with her that he’d moved down south around the same time Gre
g had disappeared. She wondered if he had something to hide.
“Justina’s gun could’ve easily been stolen from her house,” she said.
“You heard about her gun, too?” Scott pushed his plate aside and leaned back in his chair as if to distance himself from her nosey ways. “Look, you’ve got to let Ken do his job. He’s good at it.”
“I don’t think she killed Walter.”
“Well, forensics don’t lie.”
“A shell casing from a weapon that was likely stolen? That doesn’t link Justina to his murder.”
“Actually, it does.” He sighed. “I wanted to relax with you, Kate. Not get strong armed into divulging confidential information.”
“Why would she kill him?” she challenged.
“It’ll take time to sort through his office and review all the files he had for her real estate deals, but trust me, we’ll find out.”
Kate could tell he wasn’t going to make her privy, and as frustrating as it was, she accepted there was nothing she could do about it.
“Have you looked into Greg’s MasterCard? Did you find anything else out?”
“I’ve been canvasing the cities he traveled to in the Middle East, trying to find out where he stayed, what he did there. So far, once he landed in Dubai, Beirut, Cairo, and Baghdad there’s no trace of him. I checked every hotel and cross-referenced the dates with his MasterCard and there’s no record of him being there. He could’ve functioned under an alias in those cities. I’m doing what I can, but there’s a lot of red tape and even though I work in law enforcement, I don’t exactly have jurisdiction.”
Her heart sank, which Scott must have sensed, because he added, “I have a few more tricks up my sleeve. Don’t worry.”
She then remembered Meghan’s box. Quickly, she excused herself to the kitchen where she’d left it on the counter then returned. Scott was collecting their plates to clear space, and when he sat down, she began lifting items out of the box.
Kate set the manila file folder on the table then, standing over the box, lifted out a framed photo of Meghan smiling in front of the library. It struck Kate as possibly Meghan’s first day of work. Next she pulled out a mug, a stapler, a stress ball, and a few romance novels, which made her smile. Meghan had often surprised her with a dirty joke or two, and the steamy books seemed to resonate her humor. She placed each item on the table then found a loose photo of a young boy, who she didn’t recognize. Meghan had never been married and certainly didn’t have children. She wondered who the child was.
Mrs. Fix It Mysteries (5 Cozy Mystery Books Collection) Page 32
