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

by Belle Knudson

  “Let me see,” said Scott when she stared at the photo for too long.

  “I don’t know who he is,” she said, passing the photo.

  “Hmmm.” After a moment, Scott told her, “I can put this through our face recognition software at the station.”

  With the box empty, she sat and opened the manila folder.

  The top sheet was some kind of to-do list written in sloppy scrawls. As Kate skimmed it, she gleaned most of the tasks were relevant to her duties at the library so she set it aside.

  Scott switched his chair so that he was to her left and could glance at the papers with her. He passed Kate her glass of wine, which she sipped absentmindedly then set aside. He refreshed his glass and frowned at the sheet.

  It was a list of library books, and at the top of the page, she read Greg’s full name and his library card number.

  Kate read the book out loud. “The Anarchist’s Bible. The Counter-Culture of Anarchy. Why Civilization Is Killing Us. Manifesto of a Dark Journey: Anarchy in the 20th Century.” She paused to take a deep breath. “Jerusalem Fallen: The Rise of New World Anarchy.”

  “He could’ve been researching the enemy if he really did have government ties,” Scott suggested as though that would make this easier.

  “What if his government ties weren’t with the U.S.?”

  They locked eyes, then Kate set the Greg’s library list aside to find another, but the name at the top of the page was Mike Waters.

  “Who is Mike Waters?” asked Scott.

  “I don’t know,” she said then gasped. “Oh my God.”

  Quickly, she set Greg’s list next to Mike Waters'. His list was far longer, but Meghan had highlighted select titles.

  Scott’s gaze darted from Greg’s list to Mike’s, as he said, “They checked out the same books.”

  Kate diverted her gaze and downed her glass of wine. Greg’s secrets had her overwhelmed. When Scott took the two lists in his hands, Kate realized the last item in the file was another photo. She nearly choked on her wine, as her mind registered who the two people were in the shot.

  It was Walter Miller and the little boy from the other photo.

  Chapter Five

  Kate didn’t have to get out of bed to know today would be a chilly one. In fact, she didn’t want to get out of bed. She could feel the draft even under her blankets. Her nose was cold, and though the air that seeped through the windowpane was crisp and refreshing, it only made her want to linger or perhaps fall back asleep. But she was busier than ever. Justina’s list of repairs would demand the majority of her time, plus she’d gotten other small fix-it jobs to which she’d need to tend. So she whipped the covers back and was quick to throw on her robe and slippers.

  The morning light barely pierced through her kitchen window, as she stood in front of her coffee maker and remembered she was out of fresh grounds. She usually had a cup before hopping in the shower, and realizing she was out launched her into a sour mood, but she shook it off, warmed up in a hot shower, and was sure to dress in layers—a long-sleeved shirt under her overalls, long Johns, and a flannel over that. Once dressed, she grabbed her heavy Carhartt coat, which was too bulky to work in but would warm her up between jobs, and was out the door.

  When she walked into Bean There, she was happy to see her best friend Carly at the counter. She made a mental note she’d need to find time to buy Carly a birthday present before the party this weekend. But like Larry, it was tricky to feel certain about what Carly might like. Funny how you could know someone your entire life and still not be confident about what to get them. Not that Carly was picky or easily disappointed by gifts, quite the opposite in fact.

  There wasn’t a line, so Kate joined her at the counter just as Clara, the barista turned to pour Carly’s coffee.

  “You out of coffee as well?”

  Carly turned to her and brightened. “I haven’t seen you in days,” she remarked. “Yeah, I’ve got a number of deliveries this morning and thought making a full pot at Sunshine would get stale sitting on the burner for hours. No sense in wasting the good stuff.”

  “Excited about your birthday?”

  “If it doesn’t rain.”

  “You think it might?”

  Carly shrugged then accepted her to-go cup from Clara.

  “This autumn weather can be unpredictable,” she said finally.

  Kate greeted Clara and ordered her usual. As she waited, she wondered about Carly’s father, Detective Ken Johnson. He was a formidable man, who she’d grown up fearing, though she never distrusted him. In her adult years, she’d been far less intimidated by him. But now that his name had come up in regards to Walter Miller’s murder, first with Clem then with Justina. Old fears were resurfacing. She was tempted to ask Carly about him, but what sense would that make? If Ken was involved with shady undertakings, it’s not like he’d call a family meeting and give Carly the update.

  “Is something on your mind?” she asked when Kate had fallen into deep consideration.

  “Still half asleep, I guess.”

  Clara set her coffee on the counter and said, “This will help with that.”

  Kate paid then stepped away from the counter with Carly so the customers who had lined up behind them could voice their orders.

  “How are you holding up?” Carly asked, and at first Kate couldn’t pinpoint specifically what her friend was alluding to. She was most shaken by what she’d learned of Greg based on Meghan’s files, mainly because it had stirred up more questions than answers. But her friend, Meghan, had also been killed, which Kate was still processing. And of course she’d discovered Walter dead. Thankfully, Carly clarified so she didn’t have to guess. “It must have been traumatic finding Walter Miller.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Then Carly leaned towards her in a secretive huddle. “I heard Justina Anastasi did it.”

  Carly didn’t know Justina like Kate did. She was only a face and name who occasionally placed flower orders with Carly when she needed to spruce up a house for sale, but even then, they hadn’t interacted face to face. So Kate didn’t blame her friend for hopping on the rumor mill and speculating.

  Carly could read her expression like an open book, however, and asked, “You don’t think she did it?”

  “I don’t see why she would have. But then again I’m not investigating.”

  She shot her a wry smile and sideways glance.

  “Okay, fine, I’m poking around a little. I don’t believe she’s guilty. I’m just trying to help her get a fair shake.”

  “You’re a good friend, Kate,” she concluded. “I just hope you’re right.”

  With that, Carly passed through the door and rounded into her car, a long day of delivering flowers ahead of her.

  Kate checked the time and reasoned she could eat her muffin and pastry at Bean There, as opposed to juggling it behind the wheel of her truck. She took a seat at a round table in front of the window and pulled her cell phone from her overalls.

  She’d looked up the recommended divorce attorney’s office number last night and saved it in her contacts so she put the call through and hoped Arthur would be available.

  A receptionist picked up, announcing the name of the firm, then forwarded her call to Arthur’s assistant, who told her he wasn’t available. She offered Kate an appointment in the afternoon after Kate had stated her reason for needing Arthur’s services.

  By the time she hung up she had an appointment for four o’clock. Hopefully, all the documents Walter had asked her to gather would be all Arthur would need to get the divorce underway and the meeting wouldn’t eat up too much of her time. It was a good thing she’d gotten so much extra work recently. An attorney’s bill would be quite expensive to tackle.

  She took a moment to drink her coffee and eat most of her chocolate chip muffin, which tasted less like breakfast and more like cake, not that she was complaining. She gazed out the window and got a bit lost in the sight of the treetops, leafy and explodin
g with autumn colors, as they swayed into the breeze. Then she hopped up, discarded her muffin wrapper in the trash, and ordered a refill on her to-go cup, which Clara tended to immediately.

  As she walked to her truck, steaming coffee warm in her hands, she felt her cell vibrate in her overalls.

  “Justina?” she asked with her phone to her ear. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m finally out on bail,” she said on a sigh.

  “Does that mean they found the murder weapon?”

  “No,” she said. “But they couldn’t keep me in there forever. I’m not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing they couldn’t find the gun. I’m just glad to be out for the time being.”

  “Let’s hope the killer still has your gun in their possession. It would be the best thing for you,” said Kate. “Are you headed home?”

  “It’s still being searched as far as I know. I was going to head to the office. My normal routine will calm my nerves more than sitting at home anyway.”

  “I’m glad to hear you’re out. I’ll probably swing by Carnegie later.”

  “All my employees are authorized to write you a check,” she mentioned, “so if I’m not there and you need reimbursement on supplies or your labor fee paid for your work so far, then please feel free. But I should be there unless I connect with the mayor to show him Jessica’s house.”

  “Sounds good,” she said and climbed into her truck.

  She returned her cell to her pocket then headed to Grayson’s Hardware to pick up more supplies. Larry was involved with a handful of customers when she walked in the door. He explained to them how to sand spackle smooth while giving a mini demonstration, so Kate helped herself to collecting the materials she would need for the next house on Justina’s list.

  In a stroke of good timing, Larry’s customers had taken to roaming the aisles, as she stepped up to the counter. He rang up her items.

  “Now I’m wondering what to get Carly for her birthday,” she mused. “I feel like a deer in headlights.”

  “What about that new salon on Rock Ridge Road?” He suggested. “You could get her a gift certificate for a haircut.”

  Kate’s brows flew up she was so impressed with the idea.

  “You know, I think I’ll do that,” she said.

  Larry helped her carry her materials out to her truck and set them in the truck bed then bid her a good day and disappeared inside the hardware store.

  The house next on her list belonged to Bobbie Hamden, who Kate was well acquainted with since she worked at the permit office where Kate got all of her permits to build when such a document was necessary. Bobbie had been involved with a nice man, Jimmy Cranston, who worked a floor above her. And their relationship had evolved gradually over the course of a decade. Kate smiled to herself as she carried her materials to the front door of Bobbie's house. She was glad Bobbie and Jimmy were taking the next logical step in their relationship, moving in together, which was the reason Bobbie had contacted Justina to put her house on the market.

  Some relationships took their time and meandered towards real and lasting commitment, and that gave Kate hope. She was certainly taking her time with Scott. It wasn’t at all like their hot and heavy relationship in high school. Young love tended to move swiftly and falter just as easily as theirs had when Scott moved away at the drop of a hat. This time around they were calm and steady in their efforts to rebuild a strong connection. He hadn’t intruded on her solitary life, and she hadn’t inserted herself into his. They were naturally growing closer and closer, gradually spending more time together, and unlike their time in high school, things felt grounded and real between them.

  Kate let herself in and muscled her materials into the kitchen, which she understood would require the most work. She had to replace all the cabinet doors with new ones and re-tile the floor, as well as spackle and paint the living room and master bedroom. Then once the repairs were complete, she would need to stage the house. Bobbie had left the living room sofa and her bed behind at Justina’s request so the house wouldn’t look bare, a realtor’s trick on par with baking cookies at every open house so the prospective buyers would immediately associate the house with a real home.

  As Kate got to work, the effort to hang the cabinets warmed her from the chill in the house. It was an hour before the new doors had been drilled in, and it made a huge difference in the kitchen that was otherwise a bit rundown.

  She wiped her brow with the sleeve of her flannel, as she glanced out the window and realized the house across the street was blocked off with yellow crime scene tape.

  It had slipped her attention that she was on Pennsylvania Lane at an address incidentally across the street from Justina’s house.

  Kate didn’t see any police vehicles or officers in sight, which told her they’d likely concluded their search.

  She was on a very tight schedule and couldn’t be late for Arthur at four o’clock, but still the urge to sneak over and poke around nagged at her. She reasoned that the police officers or Detective Ken Johnson had surely collected any evidence in Justina’s house, but then she realized that his team would have been looking for evidence against Justina, not evidence that could support or prove her innocence.

  She decided she would spackle the living room and bedroom, filling in the holes and dents, and then use the drying time to head over to Justina’s house. So that’s what she did.

  Bobbie must not have hung too many paintings, because Kate only had to spackle three holes in the living room and two in the bedroom, which didn’t take long, then she rounded through the house and stepped outside into the fresh air.

  Pennsylvania Lane was sleepy. No cars rolled through, and she noted only a few were parked in driveways here and there. Most everyone was at work. And when she observed that the houses to the left and right of Justina’s looked dark within and didn’t have any vehicles in their driveways, she felt that no one would spy her. In case someone did, Kate grabbed a can of paint from the bed of her truck along with a roller. If anyone questioned her, she’d mention she was there to paint, which no one would be able to argue with.

  Justina had told her she kept a spare key in a fake rock in front of one of the planters beside her front door. Not the safest security measure, she thought, and when she found the rock she realized how easy it would’ve been for the killer to let themself in. The fake rock was shiny plastic and didn’t at all match the other real rocks it was clustered with.

  She slid the bottom of the fake rock out and plucked the key out then let herself in the front door and immediately her heart dropped for Justina. The police had ransacked her home and left it an absolute mess. She set down the paint can and roller, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. What was she even looking for? And how would she find it in this mess?

  Kate crept through the living room, which looked like a tornado had passed through it and lifted items as she went. She returned a lamp to the end table it'd fallen from. She set the cushions back on the couch. A chair was on its side so she righted it, all the while loose papers rustled under her boots. She thought to gather them up, maybe skim each document, when she sensed she wasn’t alone.

  “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  She whipped around and found Ken Johnson standing at the edge of the living room just shy of the foyer. She hadn’t heard him come in and being startled, she stammered to remember her excuse.

  “Justina permitted me,” she said finally. “She asked me to paint.”

  “And yet you’re sorting through this mess?” he challenged.

  Suddenly, she felt like she was eight years old all over again and Carly’s dad had caught them playing in his office where they didn’t belong.

  “She’s not going to be pleased when she gets home. I thought I’d straighten up.”

  “You need to leave now,” he ordered.

  Then it occurred to her. What was Ken doing here if the police had concluded their search? Did he have the murder weapon? Had he come back to p
lant it now that his team of officers were gone? During Clem’s phone call, he’d certainly implied Ken was looking out for whomever he was talking to. Had it been the killer?

  All of these questions were on the tip of her tongue, but confronting Ken with no witnesses present seemed too risky an endeavor, so she said, “Fine,” and started for the foyer where she’d left her paint can and roller.

  He barely moved as she passed, but soon she was out the door, paint and roller in hand.

  More and more she felt like these murders in Rock Ridge were somehow connected to Greg’s disappearance, and it caused her to feel like the walls were closing in all around her. But could she really have spent the last five years with people who had kept Greg’s reason for disappearing a complete secret from her? The very notion made her blood run cold. Was Rock Ridge even more of a stranger than her husband was turning out to be?

  Chapter Six

  Kate spent the rest of the morning re-tiling Bonnie’s kitchen floor. She sliced through the old linoleum with a razor knife and pulled up the strips to clear the surface for the new tiles. Next, she positioned the new tiles in the mortar she’d brought, pressing each into place. The adhesive had a strong chemical smell, so she opened all the windows before spreading a thin layer to set the tiles down row by row. As she worked, Clem’s phone conversation that she’d overheard kept nagging at her. And by the time she’d laid down all the tiles, she realized what she could do about it.

  Since the land deal out east had gone through, it meant that Bonnie might be able to help. The permits office would have record of who owns the property, because they would’ve needed a permit to build, which could possibly list the investors. It was a safe assumption to think that the killer was involved in the project. Tully Construction was at the helm of the build. Clem, the owner, had assured someone on the phone that with Justina’s arrest there was no need to worry. That alone told her that the construction project required Walter Miller to die. Her mind started racing at the prospect all these murders might somehow explain what had happened to Greg, Meghan’s files coming to mind. However, she calmed her speeding thoughts and reminded herself to take it one step at a time.