by Sofia Belle
“Go out on another date and let the police handle things,” Layla said. “You have to get back out there.”
“It just feels like it’s too soon,” I said. “Maybe the article’s a bad idea.”
“Hank was dead before you got there, which means you really just stumbled across a crime scene,” Layla said. “I’m just stating facts here. Even if you hadn’t been on a date, you’d probably have shown up anyway to get the scoop.”
I pressed my lips together, nodding in agreement. If I had been at the office, I still would’ve heard word about Hank. Dead bodies didn’t appear every day in Fairyvale, and word traveled fast.
“It’s not just about you, either,” Bel pointed out. “I agree with Layla that you should focus on your article. If you truly believe that you can help save the newspaper, you owe it to yourself to give it your best shot.”
“Fine,” I said grudgingly. “I’ll set up a date for tomorrow night on one condition.”
“What’s that?” Madrina asked, polishing off a hunk of brownie.
“You guys have to keep your ears open for news of Hank. You don’t have to ask any questions, just let me know if you hear anything, okay?”
Layla bobbed her shoulders up and down. “I suppose there’s no harm in that. I wanna help Jo, too, and plus—I want to read this article on love. If that means I’ll have to help solve a mystery, count me in.”
“I’d do anything for Jo,” Bel said. “So long as it’s not illegal, I’m in.”
“Why wait? Let’s start at the beginning.” Layla pushed her computer towards me, Hank the Handyman’s dating profile staring back. “This is where it all started.”
Chapter 7
The next morning, I woke up, thoughts still swirling in my head about the previous evening. After Layla had pulled out her computer, I’d stared at Hank’s profile picture for hours, wondering who on earth had the desire to kill him. Those blue eyes and sandy brown hair gave off a pleasant vibe, and it was hard to imagine he had a lot of enemies.
Eventually, I scrolled past his face and onto the nitty gritty details. I couldn’t discount the fact that maybe Hank wasn’t as nice as his picture looked. Maybe behind those blue eyes there was a deep, dark secret that had gotten Hank killed.
There has to be a secret, right? If Hank was murdered, then that meant someone wanted him dead. If someone wanted him dead, there would be a reason. It was my job to find it.
After spending hours going around in circles, Bel, Layla, and I had landed on one conclusion. We needed to talk to someone who knew Hank personally. Someone who could give us a sense of what Hank had been like when he was alive: good guy, bad guy, happy guy, sad guy. That would give a feel for the sorts of people Hank hung out with, and in turn, if any of those “friends” wanted him quiet.
We bounced a few ideas back and forth, but in the end decided to start at the place where Hank spent the most time. Judging by his Facebook profile, that would be his job. Per the captions on his public profile pictures, Hank loved his job. Most of his photos featured a smiling Hank standing in front of some project that he likely just finished himself: a coffee table, a new deck patio, even a fence he put up for his neighbor.
I had squinted closer at one of the photos, recognizing the fence he’d built for his neighbor. Assuming the fence butted up to Hank’s property, then I knew exactly where Hank lived.
The house in question was in an average-looking suburb of Fairyvale. Since it wasn’t technically considered part of town, the area didn’t contain the amounts of beautiful streams, cobblestone paths, and blossoming trees as Fairyvale Proper, but it was a perfectly respectable neighborhood to raise a family away from the constant barrage of tourists.
I had also double checked his relationship status which, thankfully, said single. As it should be, since we’d met on a dating site. However, I couldn’t find any information about family. No siblings listed, no pictures with his parents, not even old photos of a girlfriend.
If I had to guess, he liked to work alone. There weren’t a bunch of friends hanging around the edges of his photos, and aside from a few birthday wishes from random folks a couple of months back, it didn’t look like his profile page had seen a lot of action.
When we had finally broken up the Facebook viewing party and went to bed, it was late. Too late to do anything, so we’d agreed to sleep on it and start in the morning.
I wasn’t an early riser by nature, but the next morning I leapt out of bed like a crazy person by seven a.m. Before I even bothered to put on my normal jeans, tank top, and sweater, I dialed the phone number I’d found for the construction company listed as Hank’s place of employment.
“Hi there,” I said, adopting a nasally tone that sounded nothing like my normal voice. “I was expecting Hank Sterner to show up this morning to work on my bathroom pipes, and he’s running late for the appointment.”
The poor receptionist on the other end of the phone hesitated for a moment, before she coughed. “I’m really sorry about your appointment, but Hank is no longer with our company.”
“He’s not with the company? What do you mean?” I puzzled on her answer for a moment, wondering if the receptionist didn’t know about Hank’s death, or if the police had asked her to keep things quiet. “Is someone else gonna finish the job? What happened to Hank?”
She hesitated again. This time, I had the feeling she knew what was going on, but she wasn’t sure if she should tell me about it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”
“Listen, I’m paying for Hank’s services. I was told that Hank was the best, and I’m paying a premium. What’s got him so bothered that he can’t finish the job he started?” I felt terrible pushing the poor woman so hard for answers, but it was for the best. For Hank. For Jo. The real killer needed to be caught.
“He died, okay?” Her words came out in a loud burst, followed by a hiccup. Breathing heavily, she continued. “He passed away last night, which is why he’s not there.”
I had no doubt that the sadness in her voice was real, which made me feel worse and worse and worse. At the same time, it gave me a surge of determination to catch whoever had wanted Hank dead.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. That makes me such a jerk, doesn’t it?” I didn’t have to fake the sadness in my own voice. “Here I am, complaining about some old pipes and a silly appointment, while Hank… I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It’s no problem,” she said. “But we’ve been asked to keep things quiet for now; you know, until funeral arrangements are made and everything, so please don’t tell anyone else.”
“Of course not,” I said. “I’ll keep this quiet, I promise. But do you know what happened? I just talked to him last week. Seemed like a real sweetheart, and I didn’t see this coming. Not that I knew him well, but I always hate to hear things like this.”
I could almost see her leaning into the phone as she lowered her voice. “I’m not supposed to say, but there are rumors that… well, that his death was unexpected.”
“Wow,” I gasped in feigned surprise. “I just can’t imagine anyone wanting him dead. He was a real charmer during my consultation.”
“That’s the million-dollar question, now isn’t it? I’ve been wondering the same thing. We had almost no complaints for Hank, and even the best workers get complaints now and again.”
“Terrible,” I agreed. “Well anyway, I’m sure you have a lot on your mind today, so I’ll let you get going. I appreciate your help, and I’m sorry to hear about Hank.” I fiddled with the phone for a moment, waiting what I considered the appropriate amount of time for a pause of silence. “One last thing, before I let you go, though.”
“What can I do to help?”
“What happened to Hank is terrible, of course. And I hate to be insensitive, but my pipes are still broken. Do you have any recommendations for a company that could finish the job?”
“Oh, yes of course. We made phone calls this morning to all our existing clients, bu
t your name must have slipped through the cracks somehow. I apologize for that.”
“It’s no problem, I’m a new client, and I found Hank directly, so maybe that’s why. I’m sure you’re busy, so I can just call the company to set up a new time if that works for you? I’d just need the name of the place you’d like me to use.”
“Of course. We’re short staffed, and as this is a surprise, we’re hiring Handy Services to cover any slack. They’re mostly freelancers, and they’ll just stick around to complete the open assignments. Just mention Hank’s name when you call, and they’ll know what to do.”
“I appreciate your help, and I’m really sorry for your loss.”
“I just hope whoever was responsible for his death is caught,” she said. “Something doesn’t feel right about this, you know. Hank was excited about life, and healthy.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said, hanging up the phone. I turned to the notepad where I’d scratched the number for Handy Services, and then I shook my head, climbed out of bed, and pointed a finger towards the coffee pot in the kitchen, muttering a spell to light the flame underneath. “We’ll find him, Hank. Just you wait.”
Chapter 8
“Hi, are you Mr. Reynolds?” I looked up, tapping a pencil on my clipboard.
“Who are you?” The man answering to the name of Mr. Reynolds swung the door open to a split-level home situated on an unobtrusive block on the edge of Fairyvale. He flaunted his Tuesday best, which happened to be a pair of jeans ripped from wear and tear, and a white T-shirt with minimal stains.
“My name is Rosie,” I said. “I’m here with Handy Services.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You know, the company who will be handling the replacement for Hank.”
“What are you handling?”
I glanced down at the clipboard, where I pretended to have notes and a schedule written down. Really, I stared at the leftover receipt from a coffee I’d bought on the way over here. “You did have Hank working on your pipes, correct?”
He nodded, confirming a fact that I already I knew. Per the schedule that the woman from the real Handy Services had so kindly provided for me, I had discovered that Mr. Reynolds was one of two clients for whom Hank had worked this past week. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was a start. Maybe he’d had a beef with one of his clients.
The receptionist for Handy Services hadn’t exactly offered up all this information, but she hadn’t hidden her computer screen, either, when I stopped by to ask about their availability to work on my bathroom. I’d jotted down a few notes and then realized my plumbing was just fine, thank you very much.
“Hank wasn’t scheduled to come back until tomorrow.” Mr. Reynolds’ eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve never heard of Handy Services.”
“Oh, I’m sorry that you haven’t heard. I didn’t think I’d have to be the one to break the news to you…” I fidgeted with my clipboard again. “I’m afraid Hank won’t be able to finish the job.”
“Why not? He’s the best in the business, that’s why I hired him. I paid him most of the money, already.”
I blinked and stared at my toes. It wasn’t hard to look awkward. “I’m really sorry, but Hank passed away last night. I don’t really have any more information.”
Surprise flashed across Mr. Reynolds’ face. “What? No. Really? No. Do you have any idea what happened?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just the replacement scheduler. I don’t even really work for Handy Services, I’m more of a freelancer.”
“Which brings you here… why?”
Trying to remain calm, I cleared my throat. “I wanted to break the news to you in person, and let you know that our construction company will be sending over a team of handymen to finish the job to your satisfaction. They should have given you a phone call already, but maybe they’re behind.”
He waved a hand. “Maybe they did. I haven’t checked my messages, and I didn’t hear the phone ring because I was mowing the lawn this morning. But now that you mention it, I did see the light blinking when I walked through the kitchen to answer the door.”
The smell of freshly cut grass lingered in the air around us, and Mr. Reynolds’ hands were stained the tiniest bit green.
“I came here for one other reason,” I said, my voice softer. “The uh… the construction community is very tight knit, and I was hoping to honor Hank by writing a little column in the paper. An obituary of sorts for uh, Construction Times.”
“Construction Times?”
“It’s new.” I bobbed my head in excitement. “We’re still building our readership.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Well, since I didn’t know Hank personally, I was wondering if you could give me a few words about his personality.”
“Um, sure, I suppose. He was a nice guy.” Mr. Reynolds ran a hand through his hair looking slightly bewildered. “Honest man, as far as I could tell. Did good work, too, and seemed like he enjoyed it. I don’t know what else to say, I guess. He showed up, did a good job, and left. Friendly but not too much so. Average Joe.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” I said, jotting down some unhelpful notes on the piece of paper. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this, yet I felt like something was missing. How did an Average Joe go from normal to murdered overnight? There was a part of Hank’s life that I was missing, I could feel it.
“I normally don’t hire plumbers, since I do most of the repairs myself. But the bathroom is on the upper level, and I didn’t want to risk ruining the pipes or my entire first floor. Plus, he was a nice guy. I like to give the hard workers a job, if you know what I mean.”
“That’s very considerate.”
Mr. Reynolds looked at me, but his gaze fell a little past my shoulder. “Yeah, really sad to hear the news. He showed up at his job, didn’t ask too many questions, seemed like a respectable guy. When I asked him for a quote he gave me one so far below all of the other construction company quote that I talked to that offered to pay him more.” Mr. Reynolds chuckled softly.
None of this made me feel better about Hank’s death. If anything, it made me feel worse.
“Would you mind if came in and just saw the workspace where he was fixing up, really quickly? I want to leave a note in the file for the guys when they show up for your appointment.”
I didn’t particularly want to see a set of pipes, but I figured that maybe if I could keep him talking, I could get a hint. The name of someone else Hank knew, be it a friend, another client… something.
“Sure. It’s upstairs, like I said.”
“Have you worked with Hank before?” I asked, as he led me towards the foot of a staircase off the front hall.
“No, I usually do most of the repairs myself. This was just because—”
“—it was the upper floor, right,” I said. “How did you hear about him?”
“A friend recommended him to me. I get the sense that Hank’s business grew by word of mouth; it’s not like he was running advertisements on the television.”
I smiled and started to respond, but I stopped when the whistle of a tea kettle sounded in the background.
Mr. Reynolds thumbed in the direction of the kitchen. “Do you mind if I grab that? Go on up. Should I bring you coffee or tea or something?”
I shook my head. “I had some already, thank you.”
Mr. Reynolds went to attend to his coffee machine in the kitchen while I climbed up the staircase and opened the bathroom door. As expected, panels were removed, tiles torn up, and pipes poked out from the ground. This was a much bigger project than I’d expected. No wonder Reynolds didn’t want to do it alone.
I couldn’t put a finger on what exactly I was looking for, so I settled for a quick surface scan which, unsurprisingly, turned up nothing. By the time I finished looking for obvious clues, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I had to pull my nose out from the guts of the repair job.
“Looks like a big project,” I said, turnin
g around to face Mr. Reynolds. I froze at the expression on his face. “Is everything okay?”
“Who did you say you were again?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. His posture was meant to intimidate, and intimidate it did.
I fought my pumping heart rate and reminded myself that I’d been in much stickier situations than this one. “I’m… I’m from—”
“Don’t say Handy Services,” he said. “Because I listened to the message while I was downstairs. Imagine my surprise when the message claimed that Sarah is the scheduler from Handy Services, and that I’m supposed to call her to schedule a follow up appointment. What did you say your name was?”
Wringing my hands together, I looked down and used a trick I’d picked up during a few tough scrapes in my reporter days. I let my nervousness take hold and used it to my advantage. I didn’t have to pretend to be nervous or scared since I was nervous and scared.
“I’m really sorry I lied,” I said. “I’m not from Handy Services.”
Mr. Reynolds’ eyebrows arched high, and frankly, I couldn’t blame him. If a construction worker entered my house and I’d found out they’d lied to get inside, I’d probably be angry, too.
“I… I went out on a date with Hank,” I said. “He seemed really, really nice. You know how it is. I’ve been going out on this string of terrible dates with terrible men, and then along came Hank, who actually seemed like a gentleman, granted we’d only gone out once or twice.”
Maybe I was stretching the truth here a little bit, but the sentiment was true. Hank did seem nice, and he did seem like a gentleman—at least, during my very limited interaction with him.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“Well, we went out the other day, and he never called me back after,” I said sighing. “Then I learned he died, and it almost broke my heart. I thought we could last, and I guess… I suppose I wanted to see if he’d said anything about me to his clients.”
“You only went out once?”