As she approached, she noticed that the man had a nameplate pinned to his chest, which read: Drake. He looked about fifty with weathered skin, an old flannel shirt, and worn out jeans. His fingers were thick, but he worked the grease out of the gun’s chamber with ease and was in such deep concentration that it wasn’t until Kate cleared her throat that he glanced up at her with a surly grin.
“First time here?” he said, as though it wasn’t a guess, but an instinct.
“Yes, but I’m not here to shoot.”
That caught his attention, and he set down the metal chamber and rested his gaze on her with an air of curiosity.
“I was hoping you could tell me about one of your customers,” she began, taking the crumpled receipt from her overalls. “A woman named Cookie Halpert was here a few days ago. She was about my height with long brown hair. She’s a baker.”
He cocked his head then asked, “What’s this about?”
“She was killed the other day.”
“You don’t look like a cop,” he remarked.
“No, I’m not a cop. I’m a handy woman.”
He stared at her, waiting for her to make the connection for him.
“It would seem Cookie knew someone was after her, which was why she showed up here to learn how to shoot a gun. Do you remember her?”
Drake sucked his teeth and pulled his ratty baseball cap off his head as though it would help him think. To jar his memory, Kate pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, found Cookie’s website on the browser, and then tapped onto the “About Me” page to show Drake her photo.
“This is Cookie,” she said, angling the cell for him to look at.
“Yeah, I remember her,” he said. “I remember every female customer since we don’t get many. She was a terrible shot.”
“So you taught her how to use a gun?”
“I tried. She was so jumpy and skittish, I didn’t have much of a chance.”
“Did she mention at all why she felt the need to learn how to use a gun?”
“Look, lady, I’m a marksman, not a shrink. I don’t ask, and they don’t tell. The running assumption is that whoever steps through those doors has a healthy respect for the second amendment and a love for weapons.”
Kate drew in a deep breath and wondered why she had thought this might be productive.
“I did sell her a gun though,” he said, offhandedly.
“You did? Can I have a copy of the information?”
He frowned at her then shrugged, as though he wouldn’t care one way or the other.
“Let me pull it up.” He took a moment to type into the computer then printed out the serial number and registration for her handgun and set it on the counter. “That woman was behaving strangely. She came every day for three weeks to shoot her gun, and then one day I’m in the firing range, keeping an eye on all the customers and helping them out when they asked for it, and I see a man pass through the back of the range whom I didn’t recognize. It meant that Jeffrey, who sometimes works the counter here, had stepped out for a cigarette and didn’t get the guy’s information. Then, as soon as your friend sees him, she gets really weird. Tries to hide behind the partition of her firing line, packs her weapon up fast, then rushes out the back door, not the front. I never saw her again, but the guy came a few times.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No, he was a weird one, too. Other than the time he slipped past Jeffrey, I was behind the counter, and as soon as I asked him for his driver’s license—we keep a record of everyone who shoots here, you see—he refused to give it. He tried to convince me to let him in anyway, and when I wouldn’t, he rushed off without saying another word.”
“And you didn’t report this?”
“What’s there to report?” he challenged. “He didn’t break the law. He’s just a weird guy, and quite frankly, we get a lot of those.”
“Do you have security cameras here?” she asked urgently. She knew in her gut the man had to be Cookie’s killer.
Drake lifted one of the handguns that was resting under the glass countertop, held it up demonstratively for her, and said, “This here is the only security I need.”
“Right,” she said dryly. “Do me a favor,” she went on, pulling out her business card from her wallet and offering it to him. “Would you give me a call if you see him again?”
Drake grumbled, taking the card, but agreed.
After thanking him, she made her way out of the lobby, eager to get away from the warehouse full of shooters.
She had just enough time to swing by Bean There for a fresh cup of coffee and a little late lunch, but as she drove along Main Street, her cell phone vibrated with an incoming text message.
Pulling over to the curb so as not to have an accident trying to read the message, Kate brought her truck to a complete stop then swiped the LCD screen on her cell and Marla Zook’s number came up with a brief text message that read: I’m home!
Marla must have gotten out of work early. Kate knew it would be in her best interest to eat, but she had been worried about Jason, and if she could wrap up her day hours earlier than expected, it might settle her nerves. Instead, she texted Marla back that she was on her way, hit send, and checked her side view mirror, pulling a U-turn to start back towards Marla’s house.
“Fixing her sink properly shouldn’t take much time,” she said out loud, mostly addressing her grumbling stomach, but also promising herself she’d stop by Bean There before heading over to Jason’s. He had said he wanted to be alone, but she knew he didn’t really mean it. That was just how he was, how he’d always been. She remembered when Greg had disappeared that Jason had reacted in the same way, walling himself off in his room, listening to loud music, and refusing to talk. She’d had to nag him into opening the door, and when he finally did, she knew she had done the right thing. Jason had dove into an outpouring of emotion, and after hours of talking, he felt much better, the depression lifted, and he was able to come to terms with his father’s disappearance.
Kate knocked on the door of Marla’s house and heard her teenaged girls arguing inside the house. Then the door sprang inward, and she was face to face with two skinny blondes, who were shoving at one another.
“Hi girls, I’m here to fix the sink.”
One of them shouted over her shoulder for her mother, and the other thwacked her arm, saying, “You know she’s in the shower. Come on in.”
Kate followed the girls into the kitchen and couldn’t help but notice she was staring at the coffee maker and not the sink.
“Is there anything you need?” asked one of the girls.
She lifted her tool kit. “I’ve got it all right here. But would your mom mind if I helped myself to a cup of coffee?”
“Whatever,” said the older of the two, before stomping into the living room.
“She won’t mind. She’ll be right out anyway,” said the other, who then joined her sister in the next room.
It only took a few minutes to scoop dark roast grinds into the maker, fill it with water, and get it percolating. Once the carafe filled with dark coffee, Kate helped herself to a mug then found the cream in the refrigerator. Ordinarily, she liked her coffee hot and black, but considering how hungry she was, a good three tablespoons of heavy cream should hold her over—or at least quiet her grumbling stomach.
Then she got to work, lying on her back under the sink and using her wrench to remove the old pipe and replace it with a new one.
As she worked, Marla padded into the kitchen.
“Sorry about that, Kate. I was filthy. Did you hear about Cookie Halpert?”
“I did,” she said, twisting a new washer and matching bolt onto the pipe and securing it tightly.
“If you ask me, it was that new boyfriend of hers.”
Kate’s ears perked up at that, but she finished her work. Once the pipe was on tight, she slid out from under the sink, dusted her hands off, and collected her tools into her kit.
“Clara me
ntioned a boyfriend, as well,” she remarked. “But I thought they were getting along.” Kate hadn’t known the guy—or even heard of him, other than Clara’s brief mention.
“I don’t know for sure. I only heard what I heard, and you know how gossipy this town can get, but apparently Cookie had been in a relationship with him years back, in high school. They lost touch and then all of sudden he shows up here right out of the clear, blue sky. That’s when Cookie started getting secretive and acting strangely. Again, not that I observed this, it was just something I heard.”
Strangely? thought Kate. Like how Drake had described her.
“Who did you hear this from?” she asked.
“Oh, all over. It’s practically a game of telephone out here.”
“Who, Marla?”
Marla looked taken aback by her intensity and frowned. “Celia for one,” she said, which made sense. Celia was the town gossip, as well as Carly’s mother. “And also Mrs. Briar, the librarian.”
“You talk with Mrs. Briar?” Kate was surprised. No one really liked Mrs. Briar, and Kate couldn’t imagine the grouchy woman holding a conversation with anyone about anything.
“I don’t know why people dislike her. She’s so nice to me,” said Marla, pondering the conundrum.
Kate figured she could speak with Celia. They had a good relationship, and there was no one in town easier to get going with gossip than Celia.
“Thanks for letting me know,” said Kate, as she began making out an invoice. When she handed it to Marla, she said, “That pipe should serve you well for the next eight years at least, but if it gives you any trouble, you let me know and I’ll take a look at no charge.”
“Thanks, Kate.” Marla made out her check and gave it to Kate then walked her out to her truck. “Thanks again!” she called out, as Kate drove off down the road.
By now she was downright starving and her blood sugar felt so low, she could snap at just about anyone, so she made a beeline for Bean There, knowing one of Clara’s sandwiches would hit the spot.
But when she pulled up to the curb, she noticed the entrance door was closed and the lights inside didn’t appear to be on. Hopping out of her truck and walking towards the doors, she saw that the “Closed” sign was out. There were a few people peering into the coffee shop, their noses pressed to the glass, and she had to assume they were as confused as she was.
“Bean There is closed for the day?” she asked an older gentleman, who had just turned around.
He shrugged as if he didn’t know, but then a younger woman, who Kate recognized from the Mayor’s office, touched her arm.
“Kate,” she said with a concerned smile. “I’m Mary-Anne. I went to school with your boys, remember?”
“Yes, of course. You work for Dean now,” she said.
“And closely with Jared.” Mary-Anne drew her away from the others on the sidewalk, then said discretely, “Clara’s been arrested.”
“What?”
Mary-Anne grimaced and nodded. “For Cookie’s murder.”
Chapter Five
Kate drove like a bat out of hell to the Rock Ridge jail, which was located beneath the police precinct in the municipal building not far from Bean There. She pulled to a screeching stop and jumped out of her truck then raced into the precinct. She was unsure of who she wanted to see first—Scott to get answers, or Clara to get information. Clara’s arrest had her thoughts scrambled. Having learned about a mysterious man rattling Cookie so badly at Drake’s Firing Line, plus hearing from Marla that Cookie had reunited with an old boyfriend, led Kate to believe Cookie’s killer was most definitely a man, and definitely not Clara.
She quickly greeted the first floor receptionist and told her she had to see Clara.
“She might still be going through booking, but I’ll check,” said the woman behind the desk.
Kate drilled her fingers on the counter, waiting, and when the receptionist set her phone down and said, “You can go downstairs to the jail cells,” Kate rushed off without a second thought.
As soon as she presented her ID to the guard standing post in front of the jail cell entrance, he gave her a smile and opened the door. Not everyone who worked in the precinct knew her well, but mostly all who read her name recognized her immediately as Scott York’s new wife.
She barreled up the cells and found Clara hunched on a bench in the last cell.
“Clara,” said Kate urgently.
She glanced over her shoulder, and hers eyes brightened to see Kate standing on the other side of the bars.
“Why on earth did they arrest you?”
Clara rushed to the bars and grasped them.
“I didn’t do it. I would never hurt Cookie. She was my best friend.”
“I know, but what do they have on you? How can they justify arresting you?”
Clara’s face went long. “Because I was the last person to be seen with her.”
“What does that matter? I found her alone in her car at the side of the road.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to believe I didn’t do this.”
“Okay,” she said, seeing the fear in Clara’s eyes and preparing herself for the fact that whatever Clara had to say, it wouldn’t be good.
“There’s a traffic camera along Mercer about two miles from where Cookie was found in her car.”
“Okay,” she said, not at all seeing how that could’ve incriminated Clara.
“It shows I was in the passenger’s seat of Cookie’s VW bug.”
“Were you?”
Clara nodded then let out a long sigh.
“We were fighting, not physically. It was only an argument, but I was leaning towards Cookie and she was shifted away from me. It looks like I was threatening her, but I wasn’t.”
“Clara, were you in the car when she was shot?”
“No!” she blurted out. “No. Cookie had been acting strange. We were supposed to go back to her place to go over our budget and look at the bottom line. Bean There has been doing really well, and we needed to figure out how to use our funds wisely for some local advertising. But then, all of a sudden, Cookie became terrified. She’d been becoming more and more withdrawn during the car ride. She kept checking her rearview mirror. So I called her out on it. I started yelling that she needed to get focused. She’d been acting more and more out of it at work, and she stopped participating in our business conversations. She started arguing back, and then for no reason, she pulled over and demanded I get out of the car. She said it wasn’t safe. By that point, we’d driven far beyond the traffic camera. So I walked home. No one saw me. No one can verify my whereabouts. And the police think our argument escalated into me killing her. But she was shot in the chest, and I didn’t have the means to do something like that. I don’t own a gun.”
“It shouldn’t have been enough to arrest you,” said Kate.
“No, it shouldn’t have been. But I made a stupid mistake.”
“What was that?”
“It was late when she pulled over. The road was dark. I didn’t want to walk without a light, so I opened her glove box after she pulled over. Kate, there was a gun inside. And I told the police.”
“So they took it as an admittance of guilt,” she supplied.
“Cookie was shot. I admitted there was a gun in the car. Now they think I shot her and want to know where the gun is.”
“What happened after you saw the gun?”
“Cookie flipped out. She snapped the glove box door shut and pushed me out of the car then peeled out, but I saw her swerve onto the shoulder again way up the street. I figured she was too emotional to drive, that she needed to pull over to collect herself, and since my house was in the opposite direction, I just started walking. I should’ve run up to her car. I should’ve tried to do something.”
“You can’t blame yourself for what’s happened,” Kate pointed out.
“No, but I can’t fix it either. I can’t go to prison for this, Kate. I didn’t do
it.”
“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I have some information that might help. I need to talk to Scott.”
“Really? You think you can get me out of here?”
“I can try.”
It was a very long walk back up to the precinct. It wasn’t that Kate didn’t feel absolutely certain that Clara hadn’t killed Cookie. What she dreaded most was stepping on Scott’s toes when they had spent the last two years getting along beautifully. Looking back at the long, sordid summer the Anarchist Freedom Network had invaded Rock Ridge and bodies had turned up left and right, Kate remembered how she and Scott had been constantly at odds. They had tried so hard to get to know each other, but their effort to date had been strained by her constant need to find out the truth even after Scott had forbid her to meddle. Did she really want to strain her marriage after years of good times?
She really didn’t. However, she also knew there would be no way for her to sit on information that could very well draw suspicion off of Clara and onto the guilty party.
Reminding herself of that, she knocked on Scott’s doorframe to get his attention. He was seated at his desk, but looked up when he heard her.
“Kate, what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” she said, easing the door closed behind her. “It’s about Cookie Halpert.”
She winced when she saw a look come over his face that she hadn’t seen in years. Scott’s eyes narrowed, and he was holding his breath.
“I’m sorry, but I have to bring this to your attention,” she went on, placing both Cookie’s gun receipt and a copy of her handgun purchase on his desk. “I went to Drake’s Firing Line earlier today. Cookie bought a gun there. She was going every day for about three weeks to learn how to shoot.”
Scott cocked one brow up at her. “So she took on a new hobby.”
“The owner, a guy named Drake, told me that Cookie stopped going the day a man came in. Drake said it looked like Cookie was terrified of him. She ducked out before he saw her. I also talked to a few people around town who said Cookie had a new boyfriend, a guy she used to know in high school.” Kate paused and took a moment to read Scott’s expression, but his face only hardened. “I’m afraid you’ve arrested the wrong person.”
Mrs. Fix It Mysteries: The Complete 15-Books Cozy Mystery Series Page 51
