Mrs. Fix It Mysteries (5 Cozy Mystery Books Collection)

by Belle Knudson

  Mrs. Briar was grumbling about, as she slowly pushed a cart of books through the library, inconvenienced as ever that the patrons had dared remove them from her shelves.

  She pushed her thick glasses up her pug nose, which crinkled as she strained to read the title of the book in her hand. Her hair was in a bun, and her oversized sweater, long matronly skirt, and clogs made her look at least a decade older than her sixty years.

  “What do you want?” she barked, as Kate came up beside her.

  “Thanks for bringing Hazel’s books to her house,” said Kate, figuring kindness might soften the woman up. “She really appreciated it.”

  “Tell her not to get in the habit,” said Mrs. Briar, as she slid another book onto a bookshelf.

  “Well, in the future, I don’t mind checking out books for her,” she offered.

  But Mrs. Briar cut her off immediately. “You can’t. It’s policy. If Hazel wants a book, she’s going to have to get herself down here and check it out herself.”

  Kate had the impulse to point out that Hazel had broken her hip and mobility was difficult enough much less getting behind the wheel of her Volvo, but the fact wouldn’t do much to convince Mrs. Briar, so she got down to it instead.

  “I was close friends with Meghan,” she began, not that the librarian was paying her much mind. “And I heard she was keeping some files.”

  “You heard correctly,” she snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Well, I’d like to take her personal effects. I’m meeting Meghan’s brother, Clem, later today and I can give them to him.”

  “If Clem wants her belongings he can come and get them himself. None of this middleman business. It goes against policy.”

  Kate had no idea where Mrs. Briar was dreaming up all these policies. During Meghan’s reign as librarian, not once was policy mentioned. This was a library after all, not the Oval Office.

  It crossed her mind to drop Scott’s name and imply the police chief could pay her a visit if she didn’t feel like being cooperative, but Kate knew it would likely backfire. If there had been one area that bore a bone of contention in their relationship, it was her compulsion to meddle in criminal affairs that Scott felt were his domain and his alone.

  “Fine,” she said. “I was only trying to be helpful.”

  Kate started through the library, as Mrs. Briar turned down an aisle and continued to return books to the shelves.

  As Kate rounded through the checkout desk, she noticed the library office beyond it was ajar. She saw there was a box with Meghan’s name on it on the desk inside and felt a sudden twinge to grab it.

  But should she?

  Meghan’s belongings weren’t hers to steal. She wasn’t entitled like Clem. And the last thing she wanted was to get into an altercation with Mrs. Briar should she get caught. But something wasn’t right about the librarian. She’d obviously mentioned the files to Hazel. Had she been boasting? Had she meant to stir up intrigue only to then hold it over the heads of those who became curious? What would Mrs. Briar even want with Meghan’s files? They’d clearly been in her possession for the past month since Meghan’s death and she hadn’t done a darn thing with them.

  Kate glanced over her shoulder to be sure Mrs. Briar was tucked out of sight. Confirming that, she padded into the office, grabbed the entire box, which got her heart pounding, and then veered back through the library and out the door.

  With Meghan’s box in the passenger’s seat, Kate drove out of the parking lot and it wasn’t until she cleared a few blocks down Main Street that her racing heart calmed and a strong sense of guilt set in. But she told herself she could return the box once she’d sorted through it and taken cell phone photos of every page in Meghan’s files. Besides, Mrs. Briar wasn’t being ethical. She was being difficult on purpose.

  Kate realized her cell was vibrating in her pocket, and when she checked the screen, Justina Anastasi’s number flashed. Not one to take a call while driving, she pulled into a gas station, shifted into Park, and took the call.

  “Justina?”

  “Hi Kate, could you come by Carnegie?”

  “I was planning to this afternoon.”

  “I’m having an open house for Jessica Wentworth’s mansion this afternoon. Could you come sooner?”

  Jessica Wentworth, formerly Jessica Stuart, had been married to the late mayor Dudley Stuart until his untimely death. She’d since married Dean Wentworth, moved into Dean’s apartment, and now lived a quiet and happy life. It was no wonder she wouldn’t want to live in her old house, too many memories of Dudley.

  “You mean now?” she asked to clarify.

  “Yes, that would be great,” said Justina. “I have a number of houses I’d like to get on the market, but they need to be staged.”

  The more business the better, Kate thought. Having two sons at Penn State wasn’t cheap, and though her twins had taken out student loans and were working part time to help pay off their tuition, Kate helped as much and as often as she could.

  She told Justina she was on her way then swung a U-turn through the gas station and started off towards Carnegie Real Estate.

  The real estate office was located up the street from the library. Carnegie Real Estate was the only business occupying a stone, two-story building. Justina worked on the first floor with one other real estate agent and two assistants, and she lived on the second floor. Like most business owners in Rock Ridge, Justina had built something out of nothing, growing her business, and it soon became the number one name in real estate for the county, though the majority of her clients lived in Rock Ridge. Kate held all her fellow entrepreneurs in high regard.

  The real estate office had a stately presence outside as well as in. The anteroom was carpeted, and the walls were pale lavender. Kate had painted them herself when Justina had moved into the location. She found Justina busily rushing between assistants. Her blond hair was styled with conservative flare, and her sharp blue eyes immediately landed on Kate.

  “Please, come in,” she said and waved Kate up the hall to her private office. Once Kate stepped inside, Justina was quick to close the door. “Great work on Jessica’s house.”

  Kate smiled. Justina had already complimented her handy work several times, but not in person.

  “I’m in a real pickle with Walter Miller’s death,” she went on.

  It piqued Kate’s curiosity.

  “He was handling all of our contracts, and now everything’s on hold.”

  Kate wanted to dive into a million questions, but sensing Justina’s nervous energy, she decided to tread lightly.

  “I didn’t realize you were working with him,” Kate said.

  “He’s the best around,” Justina explained. “No family, no kids, no social life to speak of, Walter lived at his office and handled a tremendous amount of paperwork. He’s fast, and because of his abrasive personality, people generally wanted him out of their hair. As soon as he picked up the phone or dropped off a contract, the person he was dealing with would drop everything, get it done, and hope he’d go away.” Justina smiled sadly. “It’s a real talent.”

  So Walter’s murder had to be over a business matter, Kate extrapolated.

  “Did you know him well?” she asked.

  “If you’re asking me who could’ve killed him, I wish I had an inkling.”

  “How long were you in business with him?”

  “Years,” said Justina. “My father was an attorney, and he helped me, pushed my contracts for virtually no charge, but when he died the year after I got up and running, I went to Walter.”

  Kate found it interesting that anyone in Rock Ridge could work with Walter for so long and not know much about him. In a sense, Walter impressed her for this reason.

  Justina took a thoughtful pause then said, “The only times he got tied up and I had to exercise patience was when he’d worked for Jackie York.”

  Scott’s ex-wife, Jackie, had been something of a real estate tycoon and was
in the midst of drawing up a real estate deal with the late mayor, Dudley Stuart to use part of the Rock Ridge land out east for the anarchist group, Anarchist Freedom Network. Kate had also learned that her husband Greg had been involved, perhaps as a treasurer and subsequently ran off with their funds. Her old friend, Meghan had discovered this and was then killed for knowing too much. Meghan’s box and her files came to mind, but Kate would get to those soon enough.

  Justina fell silent and seemed to fret then managed to shake it off, as she handed Kate a piece of paper from her desk.

  “I made a list for you,” she explained. “Those are the properties where I need repairs and the houses I’d like staged.”

  Kate perused the list, which was detailed.

  “It could take a day or so to get an estimate written up,” she mentioned.

  “No estimate necessary,” said Justina. “I trust you won’t gouge me. Do you have an idea of when you’ll be finished?”

  Kate widened her eyes and reviewed the list again. “The repairs shouldn’t take long, but staging the houses is time consuming. I’d say a week.”

  “And for just the repairs?”

  “A few days. I’ll get to them right away.”

  Kate folded the list and tucked it into her overalls, as Justina rounded to the door to walk her out. But when she opened her office door, Scott York was standing on the other side with two police officers.

  “Police Chief York,” she said, confused to find him at her office. “How can I help you?”

  “Justina Anastasi, you’re under arrest for the murder of Walter Miller,” he stated.

  Justina’s jaw dropped, as she locked eyes with Kate.

  “You’re making a mistake,” she protested. “I didn’t kill Walter.” Desperately, she reached for Kate. “I didn’t kill him. You have to help me.”

  It jarred Kate to see Justina handcuffed. She jerked and resisted, but was no match for the two police officers. Scott recited the Miranda Rights and instructed the officers, Gunther and Garrison to take her out, as Justina proclaimed her innocence.

  “Kate!” she shouted from down the hall. “Please help me!”

  “I’ll do what I can,” she said.

  Scott scowled at that from where he stood filling the doorway.

  Holding his gaze, Kate asked, “Justina?”

  “Unfortunately,” he said then ushered a stern warning, “Leave it alone, Kate.”

  “I know Walter was Justina’s attorney,” she pointed out. “Why would she kill him?”

  Scott pressed his mouth into a hard line so as not to give away a single detail. “I’m sorry.”

  He approached her, but Kate didn’t want comfort. She wanted answers.

  Chapter Three

  Pressed for time now that she had a full list of repairs from Justina and still needed to swing by Clem Tully’s office to install a new set of shelves, Kate got her lunch to-go at Bean There…and it wasn’t a healthy one—an extra-large coffee and two pastries. She reasoned she’d be running around all week and would surely burn off the sugary sweets and then some. Eating behind the wheel wasn’t ideal, but she didn’t want her day to drag much later than seven in the evening. Dinner with Scott could prove fruitful in terms of getting a sense of the evidence he’d collected against Justina. Not to mention Meghan’s box remained at the forefront of her thoughts.

  As she drove to Clem’s office, she wondered how on earth Scott had pegged Justina as the killer. Or was Ken Johnson, Scott’s best detective who also happened to be the father of her best friend, Carly, leading the charge? It would take some finessing with Scott, but Kate decided she could get him to tell her a thing or two.

  Tully Contractors was located on Rock Ridge Road, which intersected with Main Street on the edge of town. It had come as a surprise to Kate that Clem had called her for the repair. She had gotten close with Clem's main competitor, Dean Wentworth not only because of his relationship with Jessica, which led to marriage, but because Dean was also in the fix-it business, though on a much grander scale. Dean had recommended Kate for dozens of jobs in the past few months, and she felt a loyalty to him. Dean wasn’t Clem’s biggest fan. Quite the opposite, in fact, since months ago Clem had nearly messed up Dean’s bid with the Town Planning Commission to construct a new building project. As it turned out, Clem had been working with Dudley Stuart, the prior mayor, who was in the secret habit of awarding new projects not to the lowest bidder as the town mandated, but to whomever would best serve his agenda. And that contractor was Clem. Ultimately, Dean was awarded the building project when Dudley died, but the bad blood between the contractors remained.

  But Clem was Meghan’s brother, and so Kate felt sympathetic for his loss. She still missed Meghan and could only imagine how badly Clem must still be hurting.

  At the same time, she didn’t trust the man. His involvement with Dudley, who had been secretly working with the Anarchist Freedom Network, led Kate to wonder if perhaps Clem knew the real reason her husband Greg had disappeared.

  Kate lifted her toolbox out of the truck bed and entered the building, which was a warehouse large enough to hold all the necessary materials for Clem’s intricate construction projects.

  Workers bustled through the warehouse, driving forklifts and shouting to be heard through their ear protection. Somewhere a table saw shrieked, as Kate padded over concrete towards the office where she expected to find Clem.

  With his back to her, he stood hunched over his desk and was speaking loudly into his phone to be heard over the commotion. Kate paused in the open doorway when she gleaned his distress.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said, “Ken assured me.”

  Why would Detective Ken Johnson assure Clem of anything? She wasn’t aware they were friendly.

  “No,” he went on. “Just listen. Listen to me. Ok, you need to calm down. Justina Anastasi was arrested so you have nothing to worry about. Carry on as usual.” Clem paused, listening. “Look, if you get spooked and try to fix this, you’re going to make a mistake and you’re going to get caught. Don’t do anything.”

  Clem slammed the phone into its cradle, and Kate ducked around the corner out of sight.

  Who had he been talking to? She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it had certainly sounded like Clem knew the real killer, and they were anxious. It also meant that perhaps Ken Johnson had the inside track and had assured Clem not to worry. Was Ken in on Walter Miller’s murder? And if he wasn’t in on it, did he have a vested interest in keeping the real killer safe?

  Her stomach clenched at the notion her lifelong friend’s father, a man who’d been a figure of her childhood and whom she’d trusted her whole life could have anything to do with a murder. Not to mention he worked in law enforcement. There was nothing worse than a crooked cop.

  A few moments had passed, and she heard Clem rustling through paperwork, so she rounded the corner.

  “Here to get those shelves installed,” she said.

  “Ah, Kate. Thanks for coming by.” Clem got to his feet and indicated the shelving unit, which was still packaged up in a large box.

  “Hey, thanks for thinking of me,” she said, deflecting his compliment. “I was surprised you’d need my services. Couldn’t any of your employees take care of this?”

  “We’re swamped,” he explained. “We just got a new contract for some land out east and I need all my manpower focused on that project.”

  Land out east? The deal for the Anarchist Freedom Network? It’d gone through?

  “What’s out east?” she asked, as she used her box cutter to free the shelving unit pieces from its container and set them out on the floor.

  “Just a new development that’s been a long time in the making. The funds finally came through and we need to get a jump on it.”

  Funds? Her husband Greg had disappeared with the funds. Had he resurfaced? Kate’s head reeled at the thought. Or had they raised new funds? Had Walter Miller been involved? Kate was tempted to
ask Clem which attorney he’d used, but then thought better of it.

  “A new development in Rock Ridge,” she mused. “I hope it’s not too close to my house.”

  She’d meant for it to be a light joke, but her tone came off distressed. And she was. She liked her quiet neck of the woods. If bulldozers and jackhammers came to her peaceful road, she wouldn’t like it. Not to mention having an anarchist group as a neighbor made her queasy.

  “You don’t have to worry,” said Clem. “The site is much further east than your house.”

  “So it’s the old campsite?”

  “Word travels fast.”

  Kate tried not to reveal how uneasy she was, as she grabbed her electric drill and found an outlet.

  Clem made a phone call, but it sounded like all business, so Kate got to work drilling the shelves together then righted the unit up against the wall. There were nylon loops in the back that needed to be drilled into the wall to secure the unit from falling forward. She addressed them, drilling in one screw at a time.

  When Clem wrapped up his phone call, it occurred to her that if she appealed to his softer side he might open up.

  “How are you getting on with Meghan gone?” she asked.

  He frowned and placed his hands on his hips.

  “She died too soon.”

  “You were involved with Kendall,” she pointed out. Kate had noticed them a few times in conversation. They’d each denied knowing the other, but Kate had soon learned their clandestine exchanges revolved around Dudley’s secret real estate deal. The deal that had apparently gone through since Clem was focusing all his manpower on building it. Clem had been originally charged with his sister’s murder, but those charges hadn’t stuck because Kendall was found to be guilty. “Poor Meghan. She’d gotten in the middle of it.”

  Clem’s expression told Kate he agreed. “At least that nightmare is over and done with.”

  Was it?

  Once Kate had the unit secured to the wall, she tucked her drill back into her toolbox.