Brushing over his question might not be easy for Larry to accept, so she went with a partial truth. “Yesterday was a long one, and I could’ve slept for another two hours, at least.”
He seemed satisfied with her response and was quick to pour her a cup of coffee from the new machine behind him. After pressing a lid on the paper cup, he handed it to her and she peeled the tab back.
“Better than last time,” she mentioned, following him out to the loading area where she had seen the boxes.
“You might have to rent a hydraulic uni-tilt dolly,” he suggested, indicating the high-tech dolly he was using to lift the heavy stack of boxes. “And I’m not sure what to recommend in order to get up the stairs in that building.”
“If I can get the material there, I can always carry small loads up the floors.”
“Well, eat your Wheaties, because it’ll be a lot of running up and down, and even a box half full will feel like it weighs a ton.”
Larry loaded up the back of her truck then hoisted the hydraulic dolly into the bed and shut the tailgate. After letting him know to detract the dolly rental from Justina’s account, she climbed in behind the wheel and eased around Grayson’s, coming out on the other side and hanging a right onto the street.
As she drove, she flipped the manila-filing folder open from where it rested on the passenger’s seat and found the sheet with Harold Simpson’s home address. She recalled that when she had spoken with Amelia and Lance weeks ago after she first suspected them of involvement with the drugs at the facility, they had told her that they had fired Harold after discovering he was accepting cash in exchange for allowing the drug dealers to store their product in the factory.
Kate was familiar with the area Harold lived in, but slowed to a crawl when she reached his street in order to check each house number as she passed by.
Finally, she found Harold’s house and pulled up to the curb. A car was parked in the driveway, and she could hear the whirl of air conditioning units in the first-floor windows.
After grabbing the manila-filing folder, Kate ventured into the heat and padded up the walkway. She said a silent prayer—two, in fact—that Harold would be home and that he would be willing to talk. Jason was at the forefront of her mind, as well as Scott. Why did it have to be the case that keeping Jason’s confidence was an act of betrayal against Scott and vice versa?
She pounded on the door, hoping this impromptu meeting would ultimately end the terrible conflict roiling inside her.
The door popped open a crack and she saw a single, beady eye staring out.
“Who are you?” asked the man, who had to be Harold, unless her luck was running out.
“I have some questions, Harold. I’m Kate—” She cut herself off, omitting her last name in case it would scare him off. “I’m here in Jenna Johansen’s stead. Do you have a few minutes?”
He widened the door and Kate saw that he was roughly her age, in his mid-forties with a full head of dark, brown hair and a crisp jawline, all of which made him look like he could play the TV version of a factory worker, too attractive to be real.
“I shouldn’t have agreed to her interview,” he said, but before he could shut the door in her face, she stopped it with her palm. “That woman died because of me.”
“No, she died because someone shot her. That’s on you. You were going to do the right thing by talking to her, and you can still do the right thing before anyone else gets hurt or killed.”
Harold looked past her at her truck parked along the curb, and read out loud, “Mrs. Fix It?”
“I’m a handywoman,” she said, holding her head high. “And I fix a hell of a lot more than broken cabinets and rickety chairs.”
He found that amusing, chuckling with a snort, which caused his boozy breath to waft in her face. He was tanked.
“Really, Harold. If we could talk, please. I’m here now.”
Grumbling, he widened the door and Kate slipped inside.
She followed him into the living room, noting the cabin-like decorum that conveyed he might be a middle-aged bachelor. The deer head on the wall was wearing a beer funnel hat, straw tubes arching around into its mouth.
Jesus.
“I’ll get right down to it,” she stated the second he faced her and plopped onto the plaid couch. “I have Jenna’s questions here,” she said, yanking free the sheet that contained them. “Who owns Colombia & Partners International LLC? Who was paying you and the others?”
Harold hiccupped and lolled his gaze up at her as if preparing to answer.
Before he could say a word, Kate heard the faint click of a gun being cocked behind her. She whirled around and found Rachel Meadows aiming a revolver at her chest. Behind her and from around the corner, Samuel Yeats stepped into view. He was also holding a gun.
“No one is stealing that interview from me,” declared Rachel. “No one.”
Harold hiccupped again, as he said, “I forgot to mention, Rachel Meadows beat you to the punch.”
In an instant, Kate understood, and she directed her statement to the plucky reporter. “You killed Jenna.”
“No,” she said easily. “I was in Boston.”
“So you convinced Samuel to pull the trigger? That’s what you were arguing about in the news van that day.”
“I built that story,” Rachel said with conviction. “I slaved away, staying up late, working on my own time remotely. And then the network just handed it all over to Jenna since she was the first to drive out to this dump of a town. Why? Because she’s prettier? Because she has a better voice for delivering a story? I don’t think so.”
“Think about what you’re doing,” said Kate. “You’re willing to kill to be the face of a news story meant to expose killers?”
“You shouldn’t have come here,” said Samuel. “Rachel, let me take her. I know a back road on the outskirts of town. No one will ever find the body.”
“You think I’m going to let you handle something this important after your screw-up with Jenna?” she yelled.
“Jenna refused to go for a ride,” he protested. “She fought back.”
“Shut up!” she screamed then angled her dark eyes on Kate. “Get on your knees.”
It was the second time in less than a week that Kate was facing death, but this time Jason wasn’t here to save her, and she didn’t see a way out of this.
She grimaced, lowering to her knees and slowly raising her hands in the air.
No sooner than she had, someone pounded on the door and she heard Scott’s distinct voice. “Kate? Kate! I need to talk to you.”
Stunned, Kate’s eyes widened and locked on Rachel.
“That’s my husband, the police chief.”
Rachel advanced on her, pointing the gun at her head. “You had him come here?”
“I didn’t.”
There was more pounding and Scott yelled, “Kate, are you working in there?”
“You have to let me talk to him,” she said. “He’ll break the door down.”
Quickly, Rachel tucked her gun down the back of her skirt suit and Samuel took her cue, hiding his gun, as well.
Kate rushed to the door and threw it open.
“Scott, what are you doing here?”
“I tracked the GPS on your cell,” he said. He looked ill with worry. “I have to talk to you.”
“Okay, but—”
“I hate to interrupt you when you’re working, but—”
“I’m not working,” she said under her breath. She could feel Rachel staring at her.
“I have some really hard news. I’ve known for a day, in fact, and it’s eating me up inside.”
She was only half listening as she stepped out the door to interrupt him.
“Jenna’s killers are inside.”
Scott’s eyes widened with confusion.
“Rachel Meadows and her cameraman, Samuel Yeats,” she breathed. “They’re armed.”
Decisively, Scott drew his weapon. In one fluid motio
n, he pulled Kate out of the doorway and barreled into the living room with his weapon drawn.
“Freeze!”
Immediately, Kate grabbed her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1, as she jogged away from the house. After confirming the police were on the way, she ran back into the house and found Scott handcuffing Rachel. Samuel was already cuffed and seated on the couch, and Harold looked like he had just slipped into a stupor. He probably wouldn’t even remember this.
“I called the police,” she told him, and Scott shot her a nod.
It wasn’t until after the police had arrived to haul the reporter and her cameraman off to jail, and Scott walked with Kate towards his truck, that she saw her son Jason pitched forward in the passenger’s seat. The way he was sitting, she knew in an instant that his hands were cuffed behind his back.
“Oh my God,” she said and rushed towards him, but Scott grabbed her arm.
His eyes were filled with anguish. “I’m so sorry.”
“What have you done?”
“I had to arrest him,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “I didn’t have a choice.”
~~~
WRENCHED IN MURDER
Chapter One
For the first time in her life, Kate Flaherty, the token handywoman in all of Rock Ridge, was facing something she knew she couldn’t fix.
Her son Jason was pacing around his jail cell, his fists planted on his hips, his gaze locked on the concrete floor. Kate could almost see his mind racing from where she stared at him through the bars. He kept shaking his head. When he reached one side of the cell, he turned on his heel, and started back. He looked pale, as sick with worry as she felt.
She wanted to demand he meet her at the bars, but he was fuming. He wouldn’t talk. He had to let his emotions out—the rage, the panic, the confusion. She hoped he would calm down soon so she could talk to him. But she knew talking would do more to settle her nerves than his. This was no time to put herself before her son. Being here for him, even as she remained silent, was enough.
Her husband, the Rock Ridge Police Chief, hadn’t explained much about the arrest. Looking back now, Kate admitted that she hadn’t exactly given him the opportunity. She had been shrieking at him, demanding that he release Jason, calling him names, and completely flying off the handle. Scott had soon given up, rounding the front of his truck, climbing in behind the steering wheel without daring to glance at her, and then driving off.
Nearing the bars, peering into the dim cell where Jason was now kicking a steel bench that was bolted to the concrete floor, she cleared her throat.
Quietly, she said, “I’m going to get you the best attorney that I can afford.”
He grimaced, falling still. “You shouldn’t have to pay for that.”
“You need an experienced lawyer. I’ll talk to the Langleys. Since Amelia is no longer under suspicion, I’m sure her attorney is available.” After a beat, she pressed her face between the bars and whispered, “That’s the silver lining here. The reporter was arrested for Donna’s murder.”
Jason offered her a grim smile, but it wavered badly. Finally, he approached the bars. “Scott’s pinned so many charges on me—conspiracy, attempted extortion, drug trafficking, and the list goes on. I’m not exactly in a better position than I would be if it was one murder charge.”
“Don’t say that,” she insisted. “I’ll talk to Scott.”
“And what’s that going to do?” he demanded, throwing his arm up and pacing away from the bars. When he circled back, looking no cooler—his cheeks were flushed with anger, yet his expression still held that sickened grimace—he stated, “Scott is under so much pressure right now, he’s got the entire department breathing down his neck, not to mention he’s being harassed by reporters left and right. He needs to put a face to these crimes to appease the town. And that’s what I am. He’s not going to let me walk out of here.”
“But you didn’t do any of this,” she pointed out, her voice sounding desperate.
“It all ties in to Becky. Don’t you get that, Mom?” He stared at her for a long beat, searching her eyes. “As long as Becky remains missing, I remain the prime suspect. Scott’s always thought I was behind her kidnapping.” He snorted a disgusted laugh then went on. “And with all the other crimes surfacing, the drugs and the conspiracy, Scott’s just making things convenient, linking every crime to Becky, which he’s pinning on me. I’m caught in a hell of a spider’s web.”
“Well where the hell is she?” she asked, frustrated.
Jason fell silent, appearing suddenly exhausted. He shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
Kate pitched her fists on her hips, staring down at the floor in deep thought. She was motivated, now more than ever, to locate Becky Langley. Though overwhelmed, she told herself that ever since Becky had been snatched from the house that morning, Kate hadn’t focused on finding her. As the weeks rolled on, Kate had often gotten sidetracked, investigating the various murders that had been plaguing Rock Ridge.
This time would be different. She would use every spare second she had to get to the bottom of this. She would not let her son rot in a jail cell or go to prison for crimes he didn’t commit.
She told him, “I’m going to get you a lawyer. I’m going to force Scott to let you out of here. I’m going to find Becky. And before you know it, this will all be behind us, nothing more than a nightmare you’ve woken up from.”
In a tired voice, Jason said, “Okay,” but his eyes told her that he had very little hope. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. From where Kate was standing, Jason didn’t seem to trust Becky. To whatever capacity she was behind this, it had been no mistake that Jason was now taking the fall. Gradually, he offered, “Don’t worry about me, Mom.” He glanced around the cell. “It’s not pleasant, but it’s not going to kill me. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re strong,” she agreed. “I know you’ll be okay.”
Jason wrapped his hand around one of the bars and Kate covered her hand over his, giving him a squeeze and a warm rub before starting through the cells to the exit.
As she rounded through, she nodded curtly at the security guard who was watching the door and padded through the precinct. She avoided looking at the police officers who were staring at her as she made her way to Scott’s office. Officer Garrison told her that he was sorry, and she shot him a tight smile but nothing more.
Scott’s office door was closed, so she pounded on it. In response, he barked, “Come in.”
His eyes rounded, his white brow lifting, as she stepped into the room. He looked remorseful, but also guarded. She knew him well enough to expect Scott would give her a lot of excuses and very few answers. She hadn’t seen the hard-boiled cop side of him in quite a while, but as it emerged in his expression, it seemed like no time at all had lapsed since the last time his face had hardened.
Usually the best defense was an aggressive offense, but with Scott that tactic wouldn’t work. She eased into the chair across from him and kept her tone soft and steady, saying, “Help me understand this.”
Scott let out a carefully measured breath and clasped his hands on the desk, leaning forward. “We’ve been building a case against Jason for a while now.”
“Based on what?” She hadn’t meant to sound shrill, but the revelation was alarming. She had been coming home every night to this man? Sleeping in the same bed and cuddling on the couch as him, all while he had been angling to arrest her son? She felt betrayed.
“Based on pure suspicion at first,” he admitted. “It never added up to any of us here at the department that Jason didn’t have any drugs in his system after he claimed to have been drugged by the kidnapper.”
She wanted to cry. Scott was really latching on to that old discrepancy?
“But the real clincher here,” he went on, “is that Ashley named him.”
Ashley, the young receptionist from Over the Moon who had also been kidnapped, or so it had seemed... Kate had discovered the woman at Donna Kramer’s
house and she most certainly had not been taken against her will. The problem was that, in fact, Jason had been involved with the ploy to sneak Ashley out of town and into the drug ring. Kate, herself, had found an envelope underneath the welcome mat outside Jason’s house. In it had been a key and two addresses, implying that his job was to move Ashley from one location to the next. But what Scott didn’t understand was that Jason had involved himself as a means of getting closer to Becky, to get to the bottom of this, to take the whole drug ring down.
As Kate stared at Scott, she reasoned not to press this point. She had already explained, in emphatic detail, that Ashley was one of the bad guys. If Scott hadn’t believed her when he had come to recover Ashley, he wasn’t going to listen to her now.
Instead, she delved into the one angle that would give her a decent shot of getting Jason out of that jail cell.
“I know why Rachel Meadows killed Jenna Johansen,” she stated. “Jenna had found evidence of a company paying individuals who are involved in the drug ring. Jenna had set up an interview with one of those individuals, Harold, from the Langleys’ mustard facility.”
“I realize all of that,” said Scott.
Interrupting him, she pulled the bank statement from her back pocket. “But you haven’t seen this,” she said, urgently laying the bank statement on Scott’s desk for him to review. Kate tapped her finger on the company name in the upper left corner and read, “Colombia & Partners International. Now, look at these names.” She proceeded to point out each recipient—Clifford Green, Donna Kramer, Drake Kramer, and the rest. Then she pressed her finger on Becky’s name. “Don’t you see? Colombia & Partners is behind this. Becky is in on it. And you know whose name doesn’t appear anywhere on the thirteen-page bank statement? My son’s.”
Scott took the bank statement, leaning back in his chair and eyeing it over more carefully.
“You can talk to Harold,” she suggested. “Ask him the questions that Jenna had planned to. You could easily get to the bottom of this.”
“Harold’s in the drunk tank downstairs,” he mentioned offhandedly, and it didn’t surprise Kate. Harold had quite the drinking problem, and it would likely be hours before he was sober. “And yes, I’m planning on talking to him.”
Mrs. Fix It Mysteries, Season 2 (5 Cozy Mystery Books Collection) Page 38