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

by Belle Knudson

  When it seemed their brief confrontation had concluded, Kate veered over to Jason.

  “How were you and Becky doing during the past few weeks?”

  “Fine,” he said curtly.

  “Her behavior was normal? Nothing out of the ordinary?”

  “Yeah, totally normal,” he said impatiently. “Why are you asking me this?”

  “She was targeted for a reason,” said Kate, echoing her other son’s sentiment. “It’s possible you don’t know everything there is to know about Becky.”

  Jason stopped and gaped at her, his mouth parting then hanging open, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “I’ve known her for years, Mom. We were practically inseparable in college, and then we moved in together after graduating.”

  “But you spent many summers apart. I’m just saying it’s possible she had secrets. And sometimes when a person can’t manage their secrets, they get irritable. Their mood changes. You didn’t notice anything like that?”

  To avoid the question, Jason started off again, this time walking briskly and weaving through tree trunks that jutted up in his path. Kate kept up to assert she wouldn’t let the topic go so easily.

  “I know you think that because you found Dad and because you nosed your way into all those murders and solved them that you’re some kind of expert, but you’re not. And you should really stay out of it.”

  Kate slowed up, giving Jason his space to trek ahead, and when she met Jared’s eye, he gave her a sympathetic shrug.

  Checking her cell phone after pulling it from her pocket, she noted the time. It was barely eight in the morning, and as well as Celia had organized the search party, Kate could’ve really used a cup of coffee. But edging deeper and deeper into the woods, she knew her next cup would be hours from now if she were lucky. She had a few fix-it jobs lined up in the late morning, and then she would have to drive over to Meredith Joste’s to continue working on her patio. All told, Kate was looking at a very long day.

  Suddenly, Jared, who was a good five yards to her right, called out, “Hey, Jason!” And her other son stalked over to where Jared was pointing then kneeling on the ground. “Isn’t this Becky’s?”

  Making her way over, Kate saw Jason’s eyes widen before she saw what Jared had found on the ground. But Jason’s expression didn’t strike her as shocked or even confused, but agitated, as though he would’ve preferred his brother had found nothing at all.

  When Kate was finally standing over them and peering down at Jared’s hand, she saw a thin, gold chain dangling from his finger. It appeared to have snapped, and if it was Becky’s necklace, it was now missing the heart pendant that usually hung at its center.

  “I think this is Becky’s,” said Jared, looking up at her when Jason refused to confirm it.

  “It could be anyone’s,” he pointed out.

  “Why are you being so negative,” Jared demanded. “I think this is Becky’s.”

  “Here,” said Kate, taking a Ziploc bag from her pocket. “Let’s get this to Celia.”

  Obstinately, Jason quipped, “I’m not walking back through the woods.”

  “You don’t have to,” she said. “I will. Jared can you lead the group onwards? I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “Sure, Mom,” he said, dropping the necklace into the bag as she held it open.

  When she tucked it into her overalls, she pulled Jared in close. “Keep an eye on him. I’m worried.”

  “I will.”

  Turning, Kate started out through the woods, heading back towards the dog park where Celia was holding down the fort, offering water and Gatorade to whoever drifted back and waiting to call in to the police any items the various search groups might find.

  The temperature was rising, and by the time she spilled out through the tree line that separated the woods from the dog park, Kate felt slick with sweat. Today was shaping up to be a hot one.

  “Celia!” she called out when she spotted the woman lifting a jug of water from beneath the refreshment table to set it on top. “We found something!”

  Celia met her half way, and Kate caught her breath as she neared a sandy run where smaller dogs often wrestled with one another. As she pulled the plastic bag from her pocket, she noticed Hazel Millhouse setting down her yippy little dog, Mitsy—for her to run and play on the far side of the park.

  “Jared’s convinced this was Becky’s necklace,” she explained. “But Jason doesn’t agree.”

  “That’s okay,” said Celia. “Everything helps. Do you remember the exact location?”

  “Ah, yeah I think so.”

  “The police will need to know.”

  Quickly, Kate dialed Jared on her cell and when he picked up, she said urgently, “Hey, can you stay put in the exact location where you found the necklace?”

  “I’ll have to double back, but yeah.”

  “Great. Jason can keep going with the group, but if you could stay put where the necklace was then Celia can get a police officer out to look around that area.”

  “They’ll bring a dog!” Celia shouted. “Hopefully Becky’s scent is still strong around there!”

  Celia wasted no time to do just that, dialing her cell and pressing it to her ear. As she did, Kate felt her own cell vibrating in her pocket and expecting it might be Jared, she answered it quickly, but Amelia came through the line.

  “Kate?” She asked.

  “Yes, hi, Amelia.”

  “Sorry for the delayed response. I’m at the inn now, in the office. What was the name of the individual you think might be staying here?”

  “Clifford Green,” she said quietly, as she turned her back to Celia and paced away.

  Kate heard Amelia typing away on a keyboard then the woman said, “In fact, he is staying here.”

  “Really?” Kate asked, excitedly.

  “He checked in, let’s see, three weeks ago.”

  Kate wondered how much money Clifford had. Over the Moon was not a cheap motel, quite the opposite.

  “Oh, that’s strange,” said Amelia.

  “What?”

  “Someone’s been discounting him on the room. I’m scrolling through his customer account now, and it looks like every morning one of my employees has credited his account with the full amount of the night prior, as though he’s been paying per night. He has a zero balance. But when I click into the payment field, there’s no information.”

  “Who would do that?”

  “I have no idea. And I don’t know Clifford Green. But I can ask around.”

  Kate wanted to handle this delicately, and if Amelia began inquiring, it could tip Clifford off, or his accomplice, and he could disappear, so she said, “Actually, why don’t you sit tight. I’d like to head over. Do you happen to know if he’s still there?”

  “I can call up to his room and see?”

  Again, Kate feared that if Amelia did such a thing, it could tip the guy off. “That’s okay. I’ll wing it and hope for the best. I should be there in about ten minutes.”

  After Amelia agreed, Kate hung up, returned her cell to her pocket, and asked Celia if her search group could spare her for the rest of the morning.

  Celia didn’t look pleased, but in the next second a police cruiser pulled into the sandy parking lot at the edge of the dog park, and she lost all focus on Kate as she rushed to the officer, Gunther, who was stepping out.

  “Officer Gunther!” she shouted then patted the police dog that hopped out of the passenger’s seat. “We found Becky’s necklace.”

  As Celia went on to explain Jared Flaherty was waiting in the woods where the necklace had been found, Kate started off for her truck and then climbed in.

  Over the Moon was a three-story, Victorian house set at the foothills on the south side of Rock Ridge, where a creek rushed through. Likely the most picturesque area of her beloved town, Over the Moon had a storybook feel to it that reminded her of Thomas Kinkade paintings.

  She pulled to a sto
p out front then looked up and down the row of parked cars, scanning for a Delaware license plate, but she didn’t find one. It was possible Clifford had taken a rental, but if he had, he wouldn’t have done it in Rock Ridge, since to Kate’s knowledge there wasn’t a car rental service in town. However, none of the vehicles out front looked like a rental car.

  Then Kate remembered that if Cookie had been killed when she was in her car, after swerving onto the shoulder of the road, it was possible Clifford didn’t have a car. Maybe she saw him walking alone and pulled over. She tried not to let her imagination run wild, but rather ducked into the inn and met Amelia at the reception desk.

  Using a discrete tone, Amelia said, “He’s on the second floor, room #5.”

  Kate thought about how she might handle this. Was she going to simply knock on his door and demand answers? Why would he tell her anything?

  “His room has a window, I assume?” she asked, thinking out loud.

  “Yes,” said Amelia, cocking her head with curiosity for a moment before she grasped where Kate was going with this idea. “If you round the right side of the inn, his window is on the second floor to the far left.”

  “Okay,” said Kate. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Leaving the inn, she walked around the right side of the inn as Amelia had indicated. The grass was soft under her feet, and the sun was beating down. It had to be at least ninety degrees already, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

  When she glanced up at Clifford’s window, she realized the angle was too steep to see into his room, so she backed up by about ten yards until she could see inside.

  Not only were the curtains drawn to the side, but his window was open, and she noticed a woman standing inside. The woman was facing away, but there was something oddly familiar about her. It was her hair. Kate noticed streaks of funky colors and then saw a flower tattoo on the woman’s arms.

  A man stepped into view, who had to be Clifford. He looked just like the driver’s license Kate had seen. He turned the woman and immediately kissed her.

  That’s when Kate realized who she was looking at.

  It was Clara.

  Chapter Eight

  Shocked, Kate rushed around the inn to get to her truck as quickly as possible. Why would Clara meet with Cookie’s old boyfriend as soon as she got released on bail? Why would she kiss him? Cookie had been her best friend, what was the real story behind all of this?

  Complicating matters were the facts as Scott York saw them: Clara’s fingerprints had been found on the gun, she was the last person seen with Cookie alive, and according to Scott, she had been arrested for a reason.

  As fiercely as Kate had defended Clara, she had to wonder if her instincts had been completely wrong.

  What was the real reason Cookie and Clara had gotten into a fight in Cookie’s car that night? Had it really been because Clara was confronting her about the fact that Cookie had become withdrawn, on edge, and secretive? Or had their argument gone much differently? Had it been Cookie who had confronted Clara about her relationship with Clifford? Had Cookie not feared for her own life but feared for Clara’s, and that’s why she allowed Clara into her car that night?

  And how could someone Kate had known for years and years manage to keep such a colossal secret from her when Kate was the only one willing to help Clara clear her name?

  Kate was so long in thought, hovering along the front bumper of her truck, that she didn’t realize Clara was stepping out of the entrance door of the inn until Clara exclaimed, “Kate!” as though she was excited to see the handy woman and not at all concerned she might have been caught.

  “You made bail,” she said, trying to sound upbeat so as not to give away all that she had spied through the window. “What are you doing here at the inn?”

  “Avoiding my house, you could say,” she said grimly.

  It amazed Kate how Clara could lie so easily. Her performance seemed flawless.

  “They found Cookie’s gun with my prints on it,” she stated as though she might cry.

  “At your house?”

  “In the trash bins outside my house,” she clarified. “As if I would be stupid enough to stash a murder weapon at my own house. Clearly I’m being framed.”

  “By who?”

  “I really don’t know,” she said.

  Kate neared her and tried to keep her tone even.

  “Is it possible Cookie’s old boyfriend did this and is framing you?”

  Clara’s eyes shifted, and as they did, Kate thought she saw the light dimming out behind her pupils, and it chilled her.

  “I don’t see why he would,” she said in a dead voice that Kate didn’t trust.

  “I don’t know how well you think you know him,” said Kate, keeping her tone sympathetic to instill she was on Clara’s side now more than ever, even though it was far from the truth. Everything had changed the second she saw Clara kissing Clifford. “But I heard some rumors about Clifford, that he fell in with the wrong crowd in high school, that it strained his relationship with Cookie, and that Clifford wound up in prison.”

  “Rumors,” she snorted. “I thought you would be the last person to fall prey to rumors, Kate.”

  “I’m being cautious. Did you know Clifford did time?”

  Clara’s voice hitched in her throat, and when she answered, her tone was too high. “I don’t know anything about him.”

  It sounded like a lie.

  “Clara, I’m trying to help you. If you haven’t noticed, I’m the only person trying to clear your name, but if you keep things from me, if I don’t know the whole truth, then there won’t be anything I can do for you.”

  “What are you saying, Kate?” she challenged. “Are you saying I’m lying to you?”

  She held her gaze, as tension rose between them, and Kate pressed, “I wonder if you are.” After a beat, she added, “What are you really doing here at the inn?”

  Clara said nothing, though her widening eyes seemed to have a lot to say.

  “Look, Clara. Right now Scott thinks you did it. I think Clifford Green did it. But if you protect him, if you withhold information, then I’m going to start to think you both did it together.”

  “I told you I don’t know him.”

  “Then what were you doing kissing him in his room?”

  Clara’s jaw dropped.

  “He’s staying here. I saw you. Explain.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong, Kate. You’ve lost your touch.”

  Clara motioned to get to her car, but Kate grabbed her arm, and when Clara jerked free, she said, “I’m going to find out whether you tell me or not.”

  “I told you I didn’t do it.”

  “Stop telling me what didn’t happen and start telling me what did,” she demanded.

  “All right,” she said, tiring. “Clifford didn’t come to town to hurt Cookie. And Cookie didn’t buy a gun to protect herself from Clifford.” She sighed, folded her arms, and came out with it. “I asked Clifford to come. I asked him to help me with Cookie. I knew she was still in love with him, and I knew she would listen. It’s my own fault I got involved with Clifford. I suppose I shouldn’t have, but we didn’t make that leap until after Cookie was killed. The point being...” she trailed off, collecting her thoughts. “Cookie had been acting weird ever since she became close, secretive friends with Becky Langley.”

  “What?” Kate asked, astounded.

  “That’s right. Becky,” she repeated. “Becky who drives a red Fiat. A red Fiat that looks a hell of a lot like Cookie’s red VW bug.”

  “Cookie was killed the night before Becky was taken,” said Kate, thinking this through.

  “My guess is that whoever ran her off the road that night thought she was Becky. And when they realized she wasn’t, they couldn’t simply let her go on living.”

  “Becky and Cookie look nothing alike,” she countered.

  “Which tells you that the killer and the kidnapper don’t know either of them—other than t
heir names and cars.”

  After holding Kate’s gaze for a long moment, Clara diverted her eyes, walking briskly to her car and climbing in. Kate watched her drive off. Was Clara telling her the truth, or creating a smokescreen that she and her secret boyfriend could hide behind? The notion that Cookie’s death was at all related to Becky’s abduction was mind-bending, and yet, she couldn’t help but sense it was true. It would be too much of a coincidence that two major crimes could’ve taken place within a day of each other and not be connected. She had thought that from the very start, but for some reason hearing Clara suggest the connection out loud made it seem all the more ludicrous.

  Kate felt her cell phone buzzing in her front pocket, but when she glanced at the screen she didn’t recognize the number that was flashing. She swiped it anyway, answering the call.

  “Mrs. Fix It, Kate speaking.”

  “Kate, hi! It’s Marly Jones, how are you?”

  Kate hadn’t spoken to Marly in nearly a year. The woman lived on the outskirts of town near the Pennsylvania State Game Lands, kept to herself, and rarely ventured along Main Street. Every call Kate had received from Marly was in regard to her chicken coop, which foxes and other small scavengers had various ways of damaging in their attempts to get to her hens. In a few short words, Marly indicated this was the reason she was calling.

  “Do you have any time today?” she asked, hopefully.

  “I can squeeze you in,” she said, wracking her brain for her schedule. “I have two quick fix-it jobs at Daisy’s Luncheonette, but I can swing by after. How bad is the damage?”

  “I think it was a fox,” she mentioned. “The little sucker tore up an entire wall of chicken wire, so it needs to be put back in the ground, but the actual wall of chicken wire is intact, so no need for new materials.”

  Kate wasn’t sure if that would be true. She’d probably need to bring a few wooden posts to anchor the chicken wire to, but that would be easy enough.

  “I’ll see you in a few hours then,” she said, and once Marly thanked her, Kate hopped off the call and stared at the entrance to the inn.

  Clifford Green was upstairs, and she might as well dig deep and see if she couldn’t get an answer or two out of him.