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

by Belle Knudson

  “You know I think I forgot my purse,” said Kate offhandedly and hoped Celia wouldn’t realize Kate never wore a purse. “Have a good lunch, Celia.”

  Celia waved her off as the elevator doors closed between them, and as soon as they did, Kate rushed back into the anteroom.

  Their arguing voices boomed through the door loud and clear.

  “I’m not bringing anyone else in on this,” yelled Mike. “There are too many cooks in the kitchen as it is.”

  “Losing Walter hurt us, don’t you get that?” said Harvy. “We need to make up the loss.”

  “We made up enough of it,” said Mike.

  “No, we didn’t. I did, and we agreed it was only temporary. I just bought a house for Christ’s sake.”

  “Well, you should’ve thought about that before you—”

  “Don’t even say it. We both knew it had to be done,” yelled Harvy.

  “Knowing and doing are two different things,” Mike pointed out.

  Were they referring to killing Walter? Kate wished they’d come out with it. Celia had been right. They were careful about what they said.

  Then, in a low tone, Mike asked, “Did you get rid of it?”

  Harvy didn’t respond, and Kate sensed a strange tension between them.

  “You can’t sit on this,” Mike pressed.

  “If you’re going to worry about anything, worry about getting another investor. Worry about getting my money back.”

  Kate got the sense their argument was coming to a close, and she didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping. Quietly, she padded through the anteroom, walked briskly to the elevator, and pushed the call button. Thankfully, the doors popped open just as Mike stormed out of Harvy’s office. She sidestepped out of view behind the closing door.

  More than anything, Kate felt certain the thing Mike had alluded to that he wanted Harvy to get rid of was the gun. It had to be, right? And if Harvy had kept it in his office for some unspeakable reason, wouldn’t he have simply given it to Mike to get rid of? The more she thought about it, the more practical it seemed that that would’ve been the case, which had to also mean that Harvy had the gun elsewhere, his house perhaps.

  The gun was the one piece of evidence that would exonerate Justina, and also put the real killer behind bars. She had to find it, and the fact that Harvy was in the midst of moving would give her just the excuse.

  When she settled behind the wheel in her truck, she wasted no time dialing up Justina.

  “Hey! How’s the painting coming along?” she asked right away. “I’ve got a check here for you.”

  “Thanks, Justina. It’s going well. Hey, listen. Is Harvy Stuart moving into the mansion today?”

  “As we speak, which reminds me, I should really get the key back from you. Could you drop it off later when you come for your check?”

  “Sure, that’s no problem. Out of curiosity, his house is on Kent Street, but do you know the address?”

  “Ah, I can look it up.” Kate heard her begin to type away. “Why?” she asked, as she pulled up the address Harvy was in the throws of moving from.

  “Let’s just say the Rock Ridge police won’t be bothering you anymore if I’m right about something.”

  Justina paused on the other end of the phone. Her curiosity clearly peaked. However, she didn’t question Kate; she only read off the street number and told Kate she hoped to see her later.

  Harvy Stuart’s house on Kent Street wasn’t in a bad neighborhood, per se, but his decision to move into this particular location with Kendall had been a surefire sign he wasn’t from Rock Ridge. People who lived here knew this side of Kent Street was notorious for loud, ruckus parties since the rent was much lower and it attracted young adults who'd just graduated from college. Hardly the area a burgeoning mayor would want to spend time, much less live.

  When she drove down the block, she spotted a moving truck in Harvy’s driveway, and she only hoped Harvy hadn’t stashed the gun within one of the boxes or suitcases the movers had already loaded into the truck. But when she pulled up to the curb, she realized only furniture had made its way into the truck.

  As she walked, toolbox in hand for good measure, up the driveway, keeping out of the movers’ way, she heard one of them complaining to another about how these rich types never packed anything.

  Apparently, Harvy had expected the moving company to box up all of his belongings.

  “Sent from Carnegie Real Estate to make a few repairs,” she announced to no one in particular. The movers, quite frankly, didn’t seem to care, so she proceeded through the living room.

  Soon the movers cleared out, and she noted that the furniture had gone with them.

  Outside, one of the guys shouted, “Let’s get the furniture over and unload it. We’ll do the rest next trip.”

  The guys seemed efficient, and the mansion Harvy was moving into was less than a fifteen-minute drive. At best she’d have forty-five minutes to find that gun.

  Frazzled, but thrilled, she took off up the stairs two at a time, figuring the most likely place Harvy would hide the murder weapon would be in his bedroom.

  Harvy’s bedframe and mattress were gone, and it looked like the movers had made a fast attempt at gathering his belonging, but it amounted to leaving disorganized piles on the floor, which was also strewn with open, empty moving boxes. She noticed his closet door was ajar, and when she opened it wide, Kate saw that the movers hadn’t gotten to it. Clothes hung on the rack, and the top shelf was a mess of shoeboxes stacked high. Below, she found more shoes set out in a neat row and behind them was a satchel.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed the satchel and immediately rummaged through it, but the sound of a punctuated metal click behind her stole her attention.

  A pistol being cocked?

  She turned and found Harvy Stuart aiming a gun at her from the doorway.

  “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” he asked smugly.

  “Like wife like husband, I see,” she said coolly, though her heart was in her throat.

  “You could say that. Now where does a low-life woman get off meddling in the affairs of people far more important than you?”

  “I know you killed Walter,” she said, trying hard to keep her tone steady.

  “It doesn’t matter that you know that, because as far as I’m concerned you’re already dead.”

  “What does Greg have to do with all of this?” she demanded.

  “Greg?”

  “My husband, Greg. He was involved with Mike Waters. He disappeared. If you’re going to kill me, then I’m going to die with the truth.”

  He cocked his head at that. “Feeling bold are we?” He chuckled. “You think this is a bluff you can call?”

  “I think I’ve been dying to know the truth anyway, so it’s only fair you tell me before taking my life.”

  “It bothers me you aren’t scared,” he said, tone suddenly ice.

  “Oh, I’m scared, but I’m not going to grovel. Not with a man crazy enough to get into bed with a bunch of anarchists.”

  “Is that what you think they are?” he challenged, as though he knew something about the land deal that she didn’t.

  Kate kept the sarcasm out of her voice, as she stated, “They're called the Anarchist Freedom Network, so yeah, it wasn’t hard coming up with that theory.”

  He laughed, but then his smile fell from his face so fast it startled her. “Look, Kate, the top of this pyramid is so high you’ll never get a glimpse of it.”

  “You killed Walter because he withdrew his investment. What did you do to Greg?”

  “Greg was a traitor.” Harvy seemed deeply betrayed.

  “Like Walter?”

  “Walter was a chicken,” he corrected her.

  “When he found out what he was really investing in, anarchy,” she supplied, but it was only a guess.

  “So easily fooled by titles,” he mused.

  “If they’re not anarchists, then what are
they?” she challenged.

  He grinned, as though she’d never get it out of him.

  “Just tell me if Greg was with you or against you,” she demanded. “I have to know at least that much.”

  His grin turned plastic, and he said, “If you weren’t the reason my beloved Kendall is now in prison, I might tell you. But I’ll never get back what you’ve taken from me. Your time is up.”

  Harvy straightened his firing arm, but just as he was about to pull the trigger, Scott slammed into him from behind. Together, they fell to the floor. The gun flew out of Harvy’s hand and skidded into the boxes, as Scott wrangled Harvy’s hands behind his back cuffing him.

  “You knew it was Harvy?” Kate asked, astonished, as Scott hauled him to his feet.

  Officers Gunther and Garrison swooped in and took charge of yanking the mayor out of the room.

  Scott went to her and put his hands on her shoulders, which made Kate realize she was trembling.

  “How did you know?” she asked again, as if the commotion had sent her into a daze.

  “Oh, Katydid, what am I going to do with you?”

  ~~~

  CHISELED

  Chapter One

  Kate Flaherty, Rock Ridge’s infamous handywoman, snagged the closest seat she could to the podium, muscling between two residents who weren’t pleased to have to make room, and scanned the crowd for Scott York.

  Murmurs and abject worry billowed throughout the town hall where the council was set to announce the new mayor of Rock Ridge now that the dust had settled on the previous mayor’s arrest for premeditated murder of Walter Miller.

  It had been a tense three weeks since Harvy Stuarts’s arrest. Residents had indulged in idle speculation, while the town ran amuck ungoverned. Not that democracy passed so quickly in Rock Ridge (quite the opposite, in fact), but certain civic grievances had gone unaddressed since they hadn’t a leader to vote on such matters. Hazel Millhouse’s petition to strip Mrs. Briar of her status at the public library, for one. Another unaddressed issue was a vote to put a new stoplight at the corner of Main and Rock Ridge Road where a number of accidents had occurred. And yet another was to cease and desist the building development for the Anarchist Freedom Network out east, helmed by Clem Tully’s construction crew. All matters would be voted upon as soon as the new mayor was announced.

  But as all eyes locked on and scanned the empty stage, nothing but a faint rustling from behind the velvet curtain could be seen. Kate thought she might’ve heard arguing voices back there, except that the crowd was much too loud for her to pick up on any conversations that would otherwise billow out.

  She wondered what could be keeping Scott.

  Their relationship had blossomed rapidly over the course of the past three weeks. He’d been spending more nights at her house. Daily lunches at Daisy’s Luncheonette had become a given. They’d both arrive around one in the afternoon. The waitress Mary was so used to their clockwork rendezvous that she’d come to reserve their favorite table at the window, which overlooked the rolling hills behind Main Street. Now that it was late autumn, the foliage was not to be missed. The real accelerator of their closeness had everything to do with Kate’s new divorce attorney, Arthur Joseph. The man worked swiftly and soundlessly, and there’d been virtually no bumps in the road. Kate’s space in the local paper had run her notice of divorce daily and without fail for the past three weeks. Soon it would be time to officially file with the courts, and Scott’s happiness seemed to elevate with each passing day because of it. Most surprising was that Scott had been inviting Kate over to his apartment. After months of excuses for why it made more sense to dine at her house instead of his—too many case files, nowhere to sit, iffy heating—he’d finally dropped his reservations and welcomed her into his home.

  Which wasn’t to say he welcomed her nosing about in his cases. It had always been a bone of contention between them and probably always would be. At least they’d reached a dynamic where no matter how meddling she became, they could both let go of their opinions on the matter and enjoy a hot meal. In so many ways, things were really looking up for Kate.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught a thick tuft of snow-white hair and stood, turning to the back of the room.

  “Scott!” She exclaimed to get his attention. He’d been scanning the crowd and likely grimacing that there wasn’t a seat in sight. “Over here!”

  Her neighbors grumbled from where they sat to the left and right of her, but she paid them no mind as Scott wove his way through the crowded aisle to find her row.

  “We’ll squeeze in,” she said easily and got some curt objections from the row.

  Likeminded, Scott barreled down the row, passing some residents who stood for him, others who merely shifted their legs to the side, and a few who downright refused to oblige him.

  “Police chief coming through,” she said, irritated by these people. “Make room.”

  They did, but they didn’t seem happy about it.

  Scott gave her a quick peck on the cheek, perhaps shy in the highly public setting.

  “Who should we expect?” She asked excitedly, as she grabbed his arm.

  The vote had been a comedy of errors, if not chaotic. With less than a day’s notice, the town council had announced all residents were welcome to vote in the next mayor, feeling that their determination alone could very well backfire. After all, it had been the town council that voted in Harvy Stuart, and he turned out to be a downright murderer.

  No one had time to campaign, and even less people had time to vote. The ballot had listed only two names—Milton Avery, who was the town treasurer, and Samantha James, who was the vice president of Tully Construction but had also dedicated her thirties to assisting Senator Rhinecliff, who represented Philadelphia and still did. In lieu of more candidates, the ballots simply included an additional blank line that a voter could use to write in their preferred candidate. It was anyone’s guess who would come into office as a result of this meeting, and no one was more excited than Kate to find out who.

  “Let’s hope it’s not Samantha,” said Scott as they settled into their tight seats. “I don’t think anyone working in corporate development should have a say in running Rock Ridge. It’s a conflict of interest.”

  Kate agreed but felt that Milton Avery wouldn’t be much better. At eighty-seven, the man was breaths away from expiring, and the last thing Rock Ridge needed was to lose another mayor before the term was up.

  “Who did you vote for?” she whispered, as the director of civic relations stepped up to the podium and the crowd fell into an eager hush.

  Scott shot her a sideways glance and a wry smile.

  “You voted for yourself?” She was astonished.

  “No, for goodness sake, do you think I’m insane?” He had a good laugh at that. “No, I voted for your friend Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy Cranston? In the permits department?”

  “I like his politics and he has a good head on his shoulders.”

  “When did you learn about his politics?”

  “It’s a small town. We’ve chatted.” She must have looked stunned, because Scott continued to defend himself. “He’s a nice guy, open minded. Why? Who did you vote for?”

  Kate became suddenly bashful. She didn’t want to have to say it.

  “Who?”

  “Well, I’ve been running around town so much. The voting hours were ridiculous. Two hours? I couldn’t make it.”

  “You didn’t vote?”

  “I wish I could’ve,” she shook her head, “but it just wasn’t possible. By the time I wrapped up staging one of Justina’s houses and raced over to the town hall, it was already locked up tight, no lights on. I tried.”

  The director of civic relations, Marshal Krane, tapped the microphone. He was a bookish man in his late forties whose bald spot, thick glasses, long fingers, and doughy physique reminded Kate of a cartoon bookworm—the ones featured on giant plastic signs in the children’s section of the li
brary.

  “Thank you for your patience,” he said in a nasal tone, as he pushed his glasses up his nose. They slid right back down when he glanced at the index cards in his hands. “Without further adieu, it is my pleasure to announce our new town mayor.”

  The crowd fell into a hush, everyone on the edge of their seat and anxious to hear the name of the individual.

  “Oh my,” said Marhsall, reading the name to himself. He laughed, and under his breath, he muttered, “Did not see that coming.”

  Someone from the back shouted, “Tell us already.” When Kate turned her head to see who’d spoken, she found Jimmy Cranston in a ball of nerves. His sweaty brow and wringing hands told her he had high hopes of hearing his name.

  “Well folks,” Marshall went on. “Our new mayor is none other than Mr. Dean Wentworth.”

  “Dean?” Kate’s voice sounded aghast, but she was only shocked because she hadn’t had an inkling that Dean would be interested in such a position. He was a wonderful man, young and smart with a good head on his shoulders. She couldn’t be happier for him, and the longer it sank in, the better she felt about the direction Rock Ridge would take under his command. Though not a native, Dean regarded Rock Ridge with the same ardor as Kate and the other lifelong residents. He wanted to keep this town small and quaint, favoring mom-and-pop stores over the big chains. Though he was a contractor on par with Clem Tully, Dean conducted and executed his deals with the greater good of Rock Ridge in mind. Having him as mayor was just what this town needed.

  Gradually, and careful not to trip over any of the youngsters seated in the aisle, Dean made his slow way to the podium where Marshall was waiting for him with a smile and the keys to the city.

  After shaking the director’s hand and accepting the symbolic keys, which were comically large, Dean laughed into the microphone and began his speech.