Mrs. Fix It Mysteries: The Complete 15-Books Cozy Mystery Series

by Belle Knudson

  She decided she would spackle the living room and bedroom, filling in the holes and dents, and then use the drying time to head over to Justina’s house. So that’s what she did.

  Bobbie must not have hung too many paintings, because Kate only had to spackle three holes in the living room and two in the bedroom, which didn’t take long, then she rounded through the house and stepped outside into the fresh air.

  Pennsylvania Lane was sleepy. No cars rolled through, and she noted only a few were parked in driveways here and there. Most everyone was at work. And when she observed that the houses to the left and right of Justina’s looked dark within and didn’t have any vehicles in their driveways, she felt that no one would spy her. In case someone did, Kate grabbed a can of paint from the bed of her truck along with a roller. If anyone questioned her, she’d mention she was there to paint, which no one would be able to argue with.

  Justina had told her she kept a spare key in a fake rock in front of one of the planters beside her front door. Not the safest security measure, she thought, and when she found the rock she realized how easy it would’ve been for the killer to let themself in. The fake rock was shiny plastic and didn’t at all match the other real rocks it was clustered with.

  She slid the bottom of the fake rock out and plucked the key out then let herself in the front door and immediately her heart dropped for Justina. The police had ransacked her home and left it an absolute mess. She set down the paint can and roller, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. What was she even looking for? And how would she find it in this mess?

  Kate crept through the living room, which looked like a tornado had passed through it and lifted items as she went. She returned a lamp to the end table it'd fallen from. She set the cushions back on the couch. A chair was on its side so she righted it, all the while loose papers rustled under her boots. She thought to gather them up, maybe skim each document, when she sensed she wasn’t alone.

  “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  She whipped around and found Ken Johnson standing at the edge of the living room just shy of the foyer. She hadn’t heard him come in and being startled, she stammered to remember her excuse.

  “Justina permitted me,” she said finally. “She asked me to paint.”

  “And yet you’re sorting through this mess?” he challenged.

  Suddenly, she felt like she was eight years old all over again and Carly’s dad had caught them playing in his office where they didn’t belong.

  “She’s not going to be pleased when she gets home. I thought I’d straighten up.”

  “You need to leave now,” he ordered.

  Then it occurred to her. What was Ken doing here if the police had concluded their search? Did he have the murder weapon? Had he come back to plant it now that his team of officers were gone? During Clem’s phone call, he’d certainly implied Ken was looking out for whomever he was talking to. Had it been the killer?

  All of these questions were on the tip of her tongue, but confronting Ken with no witnesses present seemed too risky an endeavor, so she said, “Fine,” and started for the foyer where she’d left her paint can and roller.

  He barely moved as she passed, but soon she was out the door, paint and roller in hand.

  More and more she felt like these murders in Rock Ridge were somehow connected to Greg’s disappearance, and it caused her to feel like the walls were closing in all around her. But could she really have spent the last five years with people who had kept Greg’s reason for disappearing a complete secret from her? The very notion made her blood run cold. Was Rock Ridge even more of a stranger than her husband was turning out to be?

  Chapter Six

  Kate spent the rest of the morning re-tiling Bonnie’s kitchen floor. She sliced through the old linoleum with a razor knife and pulled up the strips to clear the surface for the new tiles. Next, she positioned the new tiles in the mortar she’d brought, pressing each into place. The adhesive had a strong chemical smell, so she opened all the windows before spreading a thin layer to set the tiles down row by row. As she worked, Clem’s phone conversation that she’d overheard kept nagging at her. And by the time she’d laid down all the tiles, she realized what she could do about it.

  Since the land deal out east had gone through, it meant that Bonnie might be able to help. The permits office would have record of who owns the property, because they would’ve needed a permit to build, which could possibly list the investors. It was a safe assumption to think that the killer was involved in the project. Tully Construction was at the helm of the build. Clem, the owner, had assured someone on the phone that with Justina’s arrest there was no need to worry. That alone told her that the construction project required Walter Miller to die. Her mind started racing at the prospect all these murders might somehow explain what had happened to Greg, Meghan’s files coming to mind. However, she calmed her speeding thoughts and reminded herself to take it one step at a time.

  The permits office was located in the Rock Ridge Municipal Complex adjacent to the police station where Ken Johnson would eventually turn up. Scott, as well, had warned her about snooping, so she parked in the back so that her gray truck boasting Mrs. Fix It wouldn’t be in plain view.

  When she reached the second floor, Bonnie was buried in a mountain of paperwork at her desk, but she smiled at Kate as soon as she caught her eye.

  “How’s it coming along?” she asked, grabbing her purse then making her way to the counter to reach Kate.

  “Great,” she said. “The new kitchen floor looks amazing.”

  Bonnie was quick to reach for her checkbook to pay Kate.

  “I’ll finish up tomorrow if not this afternoon,” she explained, which implied there was no need to pay yet.

  “Oh, then what can I do you for?”

  “I’m interested in getting a little information on the land deal that went through out east. Tully Construction is building a new development over there, and I figured you’d have all the information since they would’ve had to secure permits with you.”

  “True,” said Bonnie. “But our paperwork only notes the builder. So if you already know its Tully Construction there’s not much more I can do for you.”

  Shoot. She hadn’t thought of that.

  Bonnie added, “The town clerk would have that information though.”

  “Are they on the first floor?” she asked, not quite remembering.

  “No, one floor up. I’ll call up to Jimmy to let him know you’re headed his way.”

  “Thanks,” said Kate.

  Bonnie smiled then started for her desk, as Kate veered through the door and down the hall to the stairs.

  One flight up, she found the town clerk’s suite and asked the receptionist for Jimmy Cranston. As soon as she did, Jimmy came barreling into the anteroom from his office.

  He was a big bear of a man, towering at six foot four with a thin tuft of wispy brown hair and round, glassy eyes behind thick, tortoise-shell glasses.

  “Kate, come on in,” he said in his deep, booming voice.

  She followed him into his office, which was as disheveled as any government employee's, but she found a chair in front of his desk and eased into it.

  He sat with a grunt then typed quickly on his keyboard.

  “I understand you’d like the see the deed for the new development.”

  “Yes, any and all information would be great,” she said.

  A moment passed, Jimmy typing and breathing hard with the effort, then his printer whined and began spitting out a copy. He grabbed it as soon as the sheet was free, then looked it over, getting his thumb on the pulse of the deal he’d probably long since forgotten.

  “Looks like the deed was signed over to a company called AFN.”

  AFN? That would have to be the Anarchist Freedom Network.

  Jimmy went on reading. “And the principal appears to be Michael Waters.”

  Mike Waters? The library patron who’d checked out the same anarchist books
her husband had according to Meghan’s files.

  “Let’s see here,” he continued, skimming through the report. “We’ve got some investors.”

  “Perfect,” Kate said, eager to have the copy in her hand.

  “Looks like a corporation called the Beirut Building Project, another called Princes of Dubai, as well as a few individuals, Harvy Stuart—”

  “The mayor?” Kate was stunned.

  “That’d be the one,” he confirmed. “And Walter Miller.”

  “Walter Miller?” she asked in disbelief just as the printer began spitting out another sheet.

  Jimmy chuckled and said, “This old thing,” as he tapped the printer. “Takes forever.” Then Jimmy passed the first sheet to Kate and began looking over the second. “Oh, scratch that,” he said. “Walter pulled out of the deal.”

  Which would give Harvy Stuart, Mike Waters, or any of the other investors motive to kill Walter for backing out. But would this copy of the deed be enough to clear Justina’s name?

  “If he pulled out, did anyone else step in to invest the balance?” Kate wondered.

  “Not that I can see, but the deal went through, so you’d have to figure one of the other listed investor’s stepped up and filled the gap.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the second sheet. “I can’t tell you how helpful this is.”

  “Any friend of Bonnie’s is a friend of mine,” he said with a smile.

  As she crossed through the back parking lot towards her truck, she pondered why Walter Miller would have gotten involved in an investment with the Anarchist Freedom Network. Equally puzzling was the fact that Harvy, too, was involved, though considering he was married to Kendall, a woman Kate discovered had been directly linked to the anarchists and knew her husband Greg had taken their money, it actually made sense.

  It also wasn’t lost on her that the investing companies, Beirut Building Project and Princes of Dubai, were clearly founded from the same Middle Eastern cities Greg had traveled to according to his passport.

  Had Greg played a similar role as Walter Miller? Had Greg been involved with the development then learned something he couldn’t live with, attempted to extricate himself from the project, and been killed? Or had he been threatened when he expressed leaving the project and had the good sense to disappear before he could be killed? Or had he been working for the government as a spy essentially and been yanked from his investigation before he could come into life threatening danger?

  Had Greg been the one to travel to these cities in the Middle East to garnish the investments in the first place?

  Her head was swimming by the time she inserted her key into the ignition, but one thing was clear, if Walter had withdrawn his investment then no one had more motive to kill him than Harvy Stuart and Mike Waters. She needed to get this information to Scott if for no other reason than to exonerate Justina.

  But it was fast approaching four o’clock and she couldn’t be late for her appointment with her new divorce attorney, so when she pulled onto Main Street, she headed left towards Arthur’s office.

  Again she slipped into deep thought. It was as though she had all the dots and could see them clearly, but couldn’t quite connect them, the dot representing Greg being the most glaring. But when she spotted the bright pink sign for Harriet’s Hairdos she made a fast decision to pull curbside directly in front.

  Nothing made Kate feel more androgynous in her overalls, work boots, and mussed hair than encountering well-polished and well-dressed stylists, which described the ladies who were snipping and fluffing their customers’ hair in front of a row of mirrors.

  Sheepishly, Kate approached a young woman sitting behind the counter who seemed to have taken her fashion cues from Lady Gaga’s music videos. Kate wasn’t sure where to look, so she smiled and began rummaging through her purse for her debit card.

  “I’d like to get a gift certificate for a cut and color,” she explained, handing her card to the woman. “It’s for my friend.”

  “No problem,” said the young woman. “I’m Molly.”

  “Nice to meet you. Kate Flaherty. I’m the local handywoman, so if you ever need a repair or fresh coat of paint, I’m your girl.”

  “Good to know,” she said. “Do you know which stylist you’d like?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Well, each stylist costs a different amount,” she explained. “Harriet, the owner, is the most experienced. And we have Jane and Samantha. Jane is priced in the middle and Samantha’s the most affordable.”

  Kate didn’t want to be cheap with Carly, but she had a feeling Harriet might cost an arm and a leg. “Let’s go with Jane.”

  “You got it,” she said, as she processed the charge and inserted one of their gift cards into her system. It popped out a moment later, and she tucked it into a pink foil cardholder that read the name of the salon and all its contact information then handed it to Kate along with her debit card and a receipt.

  Arthur Joseph’s legal firm was just a few blocks up the street, so Kate decided to walk now that the sun had warmed the chill out of the air.

  The sky overhead was clear and blue, and she hoped for Carly’s sake it’d stay that way for her birthday party since the plan was to barbecue outside.

  When she reached the law firm, she pulled the heavy oak door open and checked in with the receptionist for her appointment with Arthur. She was told to head straight down the hall to his office, which she did, finding his door wide open.

  Arthur was a lanky man, who looked as though he rarely saw any sunlight. He was pale, and his cheeks were gaunt and sunken in, but his eyes were clear and bright, the mark of a highly intelligent and discerning attorney.

  “Kate Flaherty,” he said with a smile, as he got to his feet and rounded his desk to shake her hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve brought all the documents my last lawyer, Walter Miller had asked me to collect.”

  “Great,” he said, taking the files. “I couldn’t get my hands on Walter’s client file on you,” he mentioned, as he returned to his seat behind the desk. “Apparently, his entire office is considered evidence, so why don’t you get me up to speed on where things stand.”

  She’d been hoping she wouldn’t have to, but she gave him the basic rundown anyway, taking her time to explain how Greg had disappeared over five years ago. He’d left without a trace, and though she’d hired investigators, nothing had turned up. For the sake of her sanity, she didn’t delve into the harrowing findings she and Scott had discovered about Greg since she figured it’d have no bearing on the actual divorce. Arthur made notes in his laptop computer when necessary and took a deep breath after she concluded all that she thought pertinent to tell him.

  “Ah,” he said, wrapping up his notes. “There are a few more hurtles for us in your situation as opposed to a normal divorce where the filer can issue the divorce papers to their spouse. The first step is, we’re going to have to run a notice of your intent to divorce Greg in the newspaper.”

  Kate gulped. Broadcast my divorce? It unnerved her.

  “You see, ordinarily you’d file either a no-fault or at-fault divorce decree. But since you don’t know where Greg is, we must file something called a Divorce by Publication. We’ll ask the court for an Order of Notice by Publication, which we’ll run in the paper for three weeks. Of course, Greg won’t respond, so after three weeks of no response we’ll then get an affidavit of marshal service attesting the publication has run, and we’ll use that to file for divorce with the court. It’s a lot of work on the front end, but I think we can assume that there won’t be too much hassle on the back end involving dividing the marital assets.”

  “No, I doubt it,” she agreed. “He left everything behind, so I don’t foresee him popping up to demand half the assets.”

  “Okay,” said Arthur. “I’ll get started on the paperwork. Margie out front can go over billing and get you set up on a payment plan if need be. The only costs you’ll have to p
repay with her are the actual cost of obtaining the Order of Notice and the actual space in the paper.”

  “I understand,” said Kate, as she got to her feet and shook his hand. “Thanks again.”

  She stopped by Margie’s desk where Margie was already printing out an invoice for the charges Arthur had mentioned. The total didn’t gouge Kate too badly, so she wrote a check.

  “You’re in good hands,” said Margie, as though she was already intimate with the details of Kate’s strange marriage. Suddenly, she realized who Margie was.

  “You went to high school with my boys, didn’t you?” she asked.

  Margie smiled. “I was a senior when they were freshman, but yes.”

  “I remember you were one of the cheerleaders at their football games.” Margie lit up that she remembered, and Kate soon laughed. “Mostly brains and little brawn,” she mused. “Jared and Jason spent most games on the bench.”

  “They’re better off,” said Margie. “It’s not good getting hit in the head like that.”

  The second she left the building and stepped into the fresh air, Mrs. Briar stomped angrily towards Kate with her finger pointed at Kate’s face.

  “That’s her!” Mrs. Briar exclaimed. “That’s the thief who stole Meghan’s box!”

  Jarred, Kate quickly noticed Scott staring at her, raising his hands as if it might calm Mrs. Briar down.

  Chapter Seven

  “She took it from right under my nose!” Mrs. Briar narrowed her beady eyes at Kate, but Scott gently urged her back.

  “All right, Mrs. Briar,” he said in a contrived calm tone. “Let’s keep the big picture in mind.”

  “Let’s!” she agreed, completely missing Scott’s point. “There are consequences.”

  Kate was appalled the woman had demanded that the chief of police address this matter.

  “And the big picture,” he went on to clarify, “is that Meghan Tully’s belongings should go to her brother. I’ll make sure that they do.”

  The librarian seemed offended that Scott was falling short of meeting her idea of justice and became suddenly speechless, though her mouth gaped.