“One last question,” said Kate, feeling like the reporter of the two of them. When Rachel lifted her brows expectantly, Kate asked, “Do you have any idea why someone would’ve killed Jenna?”
“When it comes to our line of work, people really don’t like us poking around. She could’ve been onto something here in Rock Ridge, or someone could’ve wanted her job.” Rachel smiled, leaning in. “But don’t go thinking I killed her to take her place. I was in Boston.”
“No, I wouldn’t think that,” said Kate, as she watched Rachel climb out of the truck. “You should file a police report against Samuel.”
“Please,” she said, brushing it off. “He’s awful, but he’s harmless. I’ll have him fired.” With that, she shut the door and strode into the Rock Ridge Tribune, presumably to see Eric Demblowski, but about what, Kate hadn’t a clue.
She kept her eyes on the entrance, but had the impulse to call Amelia Langley.
When Amelia picked up on the other end, Kate heard a desk phone ringing in the background and then a second one chimed in. “Yes? Kate?”
“Amelia—”
“Things are crazy over here,” she blurted out. “I never realized how much Ashley does. The inn has been filled with reporters, both as guests and as pests that won’t stop harassing me. The phones are ringing off the hook.”
In her curiosity to find out about this Travis character, it had momentarily slipped Kate’s mind that Amelia would be in a panic now that Ashley had been taken, which only went to show that Kate was in desperate need of a strong cup of coffee.
“Amelia,” she said. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Amelia sighed into the receiver. “All I can hope is that Ashley’s abduction sheds light on Becky’s.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. Listen, I won’t keep you,” she went on, shifting topics. “Do you have a guest staying at Over the Moon named Travis? Unfortunately, I don’t have a last name. He’s a camera guy.”
“Let me see.” Kate heard Amelia typing on a keyboard through the phone and then the woman said, “It looks like I do, why?”
“Mind if I head over?”
“Do as you please, but I won’t have a moment to help you. I’m swamped.”
Kate thanked her and returned her cell to her overalls. She wasn’t entirely sure what she would do or say if she happened to speak with Travis, but that didn’t stop her from pulling out into the street and heading through town to the Langleys’ inn.
As she drove to Over the Moon, Jason and that key were on her mind. She would need to look into it if Jason didn’t get back to her, and she would need to do it soon. Justina had mentioned fixing up a residential building on the south side of town, one that was intended for the convicts filtering out of the local prison to live in. As soon as she got word from the real-estate agent, she would have to dive in. The days would be long and the pay would be excellent.
Today was shaping up to be one very busy day.
With her tool kit in hand, Kate approached the entrance doors of the inn and the butler was ready with the door, drawing it inward and inviting her inside.
She found Amelia at the front desk, rushing around with the phone clamped between her ear and shoulder. Through the archway, the lounge looked bustling. Kate recognized many faces from the evening news. If Rachel Meadows’s team was staying a few towns over to save money, the reporters here would have to be far from concerned about the bill. It made sense to Kate. Being closer to the action probably gave them a leg up to out-scoop their competitors.
She placed her tool kit on the ground.
Amelia set the desk phone in its cradle and groaned. “This day needs to end already, but the hell of it is, is that I might have to stay on anyway.”
“Isn’t there anyone you could hire?” Kate asked.
“Plenty,” said Amelia, lifting a stack of resumes off the counter. “But they’re all convicts,” she whispered. “How would our guests feel if they found out their credit cards were being run into our system by former criminals?”
Curious, Kate took the stack of resumes and began flipping through them. As she had hoped, Gillian O’Reilly’s resume came up. It was true that Gillian had recently gotten out of prison, but Kate had seen in her eyes the desperation to lead a straight-and-narrow life, no longer tangled in crime. If given the opportunity, Kate had a feeling Gillian would do good work and be grateful for it.
“What about her?” said Kate as she handed Gillian’s resume to Amelia.
The woman grimaced while reading it over. “I’m not sure working in the prison kitchen counts as applicable career experience.”
“But towards the bottom you can see she spent a year at an ice cream shop.”
“Meaning?”
“Isn’t customer service pretty much the same across the board?”
Amelia frowned.
“I can’t say I know her very well,” Kate went on, “but I know she really does want a good job and to keep her nose clean.”
“It’s just that this inn can’t afford another scandal. Between Clifford Green’s murder,” she whispered, “and Tommy Barkow’s and then Donna Kramer...” She cringed, pinching her eyes shut. “And the drugs and my own daughter going missing...” Her eyes popped open with realization. “Good Lord, I should just close the inn and save myself the grief.”
The way Amelia had put it, it would be hard to argue against.
“Well, if you need the help, I recommend Gillian.” It was all she could say.
Amelia studied the resume as if she might come around. “I’ll think about it.”
Shifting gears, Kate asked, “About Travis...?”
“Oh, right.” Amelia placed her fingertips on the keyboard. “My memory has failed me, I’ll have to look him up,” she said while typing. “Most of our rooms are set at a two person maximum, and I just know these reporters have their entire crew in their rooms. Chucky has seen them carrying in cots from God knows where. They’re probably sleeping six to a room.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you refuse them service? They were badgering you before.”
Amelia locked eyes with her. “Lance and I do very well for ourselves, but our attorney’s retainer was outlandish. I can’t turn down the income, quite frankly.”
“I thought Scott dropped all the charges.”
“Not all of them. Donna Kramer may have told you she killed Tommy Barkow, but Scott is still looking for proof to corroborate it. I’m not getting my hopes up to tell you the truth. Not to mention I don’t see how Scott will have time to look into it now that he’s trying to find Donna Kramer’s killer as well as Jenna Johansen’s.”
“I’ll testify for you if it comes down to that,” said Kate. “People in this town trust me, and the jury pool will certainly be picked from the residents.”
“I appreciate that,” said Amelia. “Okay,” she added, glancing at the computer monitor on the desk. “It looks like Travis is in room 3. It’s just up the stairs, first door on the left.”
Kate grabbed her tool kit from the floor and began weaving her way through the lounge, which was packed to the gills with reporters. Shouldn’t they be off swarming around Ashley’s house and bothering her husband? She nearly tripped reaching the stairs, but righted her balance in the nick of time.
After padding up the stairs and stepping onto the landing, she noticed the hallway was remarkably quiet. Perhaps everyone was downstairs, regrouping before heading out to broadcast the evening news.
She found room 3 easily and angled her ear to the door. It was quiet, but she thought she detected the muffled creak of someone leaning back in a wooden chair. If room 3 looked anything like room 5, then there would be a desk in it facing the window.
She knocked. Someone inside got to their feet and padded to the door, but said nothing. Studying the wooden door, Kate noted there wasn’t a peephole. She knocked again.
“Who is it?” A man barked.
If he was apprehensive e
nough not to open the door, he probably wouldn’t let her in to start asking questions. “It’s Mrs. Fix It. I’m here to do a repair.”
If it had worked in the past, and it had, then this trick should work on Travis.
And it did.
The door drew inward and Kate found a scowling, middle-aged man towering over her. Dressed in a flannel shirt, beat-up jeans, and hefty work boots, Travis glared at her, his thick eyebrows knitting together and his weathered mouth pulling taut into an annoyed frown.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“Just need to do a few repairs—”
“I didn’t tell management anything was broken.”
She shrugged and lifted her tool kit. “I won’t take long.”
Begrudgingly, he let her in, stepping aside and closing the door.
She scanned the room for anything she might be able to pretend to fix and decided on the nightstand drawer.
“Pretty busy today,” she commented, kneeling in front of the drawer. He acknowledged her with a grunt and folded his arms, watching her. After fishing a screwdriver out of her tool kit, she began unscrewing the screws that kept the legs attached, figuring she could replace all the screws. He wouldn’t know the difference. “They must be here to cover Jenna Johansen’s story,” she said, daring to glimpse him over her shoulder. “Is that why you’re hiding out in here?”
“Why would that be why I’m hiding out in here?” he challenged. “I’m not hiding out at all.”
“Oh, excuse me,” she said, feigning sheepishness. “I heard you had worked closely with Jenna.”
“Where the hell did you hear that?” he demanded, planting his fists on his hips.
She smirked. “Welcome to Rock Ridge. Everyone knows everything about everyone else.”
She wasn’t naive to the possibility that this was a futile effort, both in getting him to talk and in fixing a nightstand that wasn’t broken. But maybe, just maybe, she could rile him up into letting all he knew slip. “People around town are saying you did it.”
“What?” he exclaimed, advancing on her so fast she barely had time to process it.
Her palms flew up in surrender. “It’s just what I heard.”
“From who?”
“Ah...” She wasn’t sure if committing to this lie was a very good idea anymore. “Well, my husband is the chief of police.”
Travis straightened his back, mulling that over. Clearly he couldn’t assault a police officer’s wife. He began pacing back and forth through the room.
“I had nothing to do with that,” he said, mumbling under his breath. “I warned her.”
“Warned her?” asked Kate, popping up to stand. “About what?”
He glared at her for a long moment. “About Rachel Meadows.”
Chapter Seven
Kate thought she would have the day to herself to investigate Jenna Johansen’s murder, make sense of the key she had found in an envelope under Jason’s doormat, and otherwise build a strong defense for her son in case Scott began suspecting him for Donna Kramer’s murder—or worse, found hard evidence that he had done it. Not to mention her ten o’clock meeting with Dean Wentworth was hanging over her head. But then her open schedule was suddenly filled when Justina called her.
Kate was weaving her way through the crowded lounge at Over the Moon when she felt her cell phone vibrating in her pocket. She groaned when she saw Carnegie Real Estate flashing across the LCD screen. Finally, she cleared the lounge, offered Amelia a parting nod as she rounded through the lobby, and slipped out the door, answering the call.
“What are you up to?” Justina was quick to say as soon as Kate greeted her.
“Just running some errands.”
“About the high-rise I mentioned,” she began. Justina didn’t have to state that she was ready for Kate to begin work at the residential building, repairing the first-floor units. Kate was well aware that was where this conversation was headed, but she listened anyway.
“I can certainly have a look around the units and make a list of supplies I’ll need,” she offered. “Can you text me the address?”
“No problem,” said the plucky real-estate agent. “I’ll meet you there and walk you through what I have in mind.”
Kate wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. Generally, small repairs jumped out at her, and if Justina felt she would need to walk Kate through her vision, the implication was that this job would go above and beyond the territory of a few small repairs. Nevertheless, she agreed, hopping off the call and climbing into her truck.
The drive south would take at least twenty minutes, she estimated, pulling out of the parking spot and accelerating onto the road.
Travis had been a formidable character. Quick to anger, he had also seemed to wear his emotions on his sleeve and it was nagging Kate that there had been something genuinely honest about him. He hadn’t reacted like a guilty man, hiding out in the quaint inn because he had killed Jenna Johansen, but rather had struck her as someone who was grappling with grief. Travis had told her he had warned Jenna about Rachel Meadows, implying Rachel had something to do with Jenna’s murder. But by Rachel’s own admission, she had been in Boston at the time of her predecessor’s death. So how could Rachel have killed Jenna? What would compel Travis to indicate such a thing? What did he know?
Travis hadn’t elaborated, but instead called her bluff about the nightstand legs, rushing her to reinsert the screws and get out of his room. He was a surly man. Working quickly on the nightstand while he hovered over her, breathing down her neck and barking at her to get on with it, had sent her heart rate through the roof. Its rhythm was only now beginning to settle down into a normal tempo.
Justina’s building on the south side of town was dilapidated, at best. As she slowed her truck, easing along the curb and rolling to a stop, she noticed the windows were boarded up and there was a condemned sign nailed to the front door. Kate couldn’t necessarily visualize the property turning into a high-rise. Bobbie Hamden crossed her mind. Kate would have to swing by the permits department in the municipal building and double-check that the property was structurally sound enough to build upon, not to mention get word as to why the building was condemned in the first place, which could be for any number of reasons ranging from asbestos to a faulty foundation to the possibility it was overrun with vermin.
No sooner than she reached the front door, she heard a vehicle purring up the street behind her and turned. Justina’s shiny, black Lexus came to a stop behind her truck. The car was a bit flashy for Kate’s taste, but she was happy for the real-estate agent that she had been doing so well that she could afford to buy a Lexus.
Justina fanned her face and pulled her hair up off her neck, as she made her way to Kate.
“I told you it was real fixer-upper, right?”
Kate smiled nervously. “Condemned?”
“Oh that.” She flicked her hand as if to brush off the idea. “That’s just politics.”
“Politics?” she questioned.
“The town put it up to prevent squatters. You know, scare them off.”
As Kate watched Justina fit the building key into the lock on the front door, it occurred to her they could very well encounter such squatters. But when Justina pushed the door open and they stepped inside the dark entryway, Kate didn’t hear or smell any evidence that runaways or the homeless had claimed the building.
Following Justina through the entryway and into the first apartment unit on the left, she noted at least three major repairs. The tiled floor was cracked and moldy. The walls were stained with water—the damage of which could also be mold in the walls—and there was a sizable hole in the peeling plaster just shy of the apartment door they were now stepping through. She found it curious Justina hadn’t pointed out any of those issues.
“I’d say the foyer could use some work,” said Kate.
“Oh, that’s all cosmetic, and I doubt a little shabbiness will turn off an ex-con from renting,” she answere
d easily.
Kate wasn’t so sure about that. Just because a person spent years in prison didn’t mean they would overlook a potential health hazard, but she didn’t press the issue other than reminding Justina that Larry tended to give her an excellent discount at Grayson’s Hardware whenever she bought supplies in bulk.
“Well, if it makes sense to you to tackle the entryway, then I trust your judgment,” said Justina. “The priority is renting out the apartments. Let’s fill the first floor before you devote your time to an area I can’t technically rent out.”
“You’re the boss,” she said, edging into the apartment unit.
It was dim and dusty and Kate could’ve sworn she had heard the faint pitter-patter of rat paws scurrying behind the cabinets.
“Most of the apartments are studios,” Justina explained, which was why Kate was staring at the kitchen even though she was standing in what she presumed to be the bedroom. The room was fifteen square feet, at best, and she wondered if it was much bigger than the prison cells the convicts had last lived in. “I want to you think about these repairs in terms of doing the minimal amount of work to get the place into a condition of being rentable. Let’s not redo the floors. Instead, we’ll put in wall-to-wall carpeting.”
Listening to Justina’s suggestions about cutting as many corners as possible didn’t necessarily sit right with Kate. She had always prided herself on doing excellent work at the lowest cost possible. It wasn’t just about quality work. For Kate, it boiled down to her reputation. Just because her customer might not object to a lower standard than the average Rock Ridge resident, didn’t mean she would do half-assed or faulty repairs. But she humored the woman, taking notes as she followed Justina around the apartment and into the next unit, which was plagued with similar issues.
As Justina walked her through the finer points of what would be required in the bathroom of the third unit Kate had seen, Justina stopped talking midsentence in favor of answering her cell. Falling into abrupt concentration listening to the caller, she wandered out of the bathroom, leaving Kate to examine the rusty and corroded pipes beneath the sink.
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