She needed to know who was running Colombia & Partners. It wasn’t enough to learn that Becky would soon be running things. Rock Ridge would soon face an all-out war at the time of this supposed assassination of Colombia & Partners. She needed to gather as much information as she could in order to stop it.
If only she could throw her voice and shout from the back of the group the very question she needed answered.
Suddenly she cursed herself for her stupidity. Hoping it wasn’t too late, she grabbed her cell phone and tapped quickly through her apps until the voice recorder function filled the screen. She hit record and angled her cell through the crack, but Becky’s voice had fallen silent as the young woman began organizing the group into teams, presumably to assign members to either the group in charge of collecting and moving the drugs, or the one designated to murdering Kate.
Her gut told her they wouldn’t stay at the range for long. She had to get out of here.
She tried to step softly through the storage room, but in her haste she knocked into a stack of boxes. Grabbing them before they could fall, she broke out into a cold sweat and let out a stuttering breath. She righted the stack and then rounded into the middle aisle. The rear entrance door was straight ahead, and when she eased it open, scanning the darkness, she knew there was no one out there.
Running, she made her way around the corner of the building and sprinted to the front of the shooting range, coming to a halt at the corner. Cautiously, and straining to hear even the slightest noise, she spied around the corner.
The parking lot was empty except for parked vehicles and the entrance door was closed. Her gaze locked onto her truck and her heart punched in anticipation of running and jumping in behind the wheel, turning the engine, and getting the hell of out of the parking lot.
She visualized herself doing it, and then, without thinking, barreled ahead.
But she didn’t peel out of the parking lot. She crawled, rolling at a snail’s pace with the headlights off.
It wasn’t until she turned onto the road that she knew with every fiber of her being that if she drove off, went home or to Jared’s or Carly’s or even dared to barge into the precinct, it would be at the expense of exonerating her son.
She couldn’t merely announce that Becky was alive and planning a deadly assault in the heart of Rock Ridge.
She had to find out where Becky was staying and shut this thing down once and for all.
Willing herself to be brave, she pulled onto the shoulder of the road and angled her rearview until the shooting range bounced off the mirror.
What was her plan? What was her plan?! She needed to come up with a better idea than idling at the side of the road. If Becky drove out of the parking lot and spotted her “Mrs. Fix It” truck, it would be all over.
Kate scanned the dark road and realized there was a dirt road fifty yards behind her truck. She put the car in drive and swung a U-turn. When she reached the dirt road, she eased down it and quickly maneuvered a three-point turn so that her truck was facing the main road.
Drake’s Firing Line was to her left. To the right and a good twenty yards down the road was a flicking streetlamp.
She kept her eyes glued to the entrance door of the shooting range. Becky would be unmistakable whenever she passed through the door. If Kate could spy her, and see which direction she drove off in, then she would have a prayer of following her.
Minutes passed, then an hour, but every time she wanted to give up and drive off, some part of her refused.
Finally, people started exiting the shooting range. Kate leaned over the steering wheel, widening her eyes and searching for Becky to break from the fray. As the men and women climbed into their vehicles and began driving off, she held her breath and ducked beneath the dashboard when some of the cars drove past.
She peered out again and saw Becky pop open the driver’s side door of the black SUV.
My God.
Becky had been the one who shot up Kate’s house.
The black SUV drove in a wide arch around the parking lot. When it reached the road it turned right, which meant it wouldn’t pass Kate’s truck.
Debating whether she should pull out now and trail the SUV or not—the last thing she needed would be for another group member to drive up behind her, recognize her truck, and aim to kill her—Kate squeezed the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip.
But it was now or never. The greatest rewards often came with the deadliest risks. She pulled out into the road and hit the gas, though she didn’t turn on her headlights.
Checking her rearview mirror in panicked alternation with the road ahead to be sure no one was driving up behind her, she kept behind the SUV by about fifteen yards.
Eventually, Becky turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue where traffic flowed steadily. Kate came to a complete stop at the stop sign, letting three cars go by, and then flipped her headlights on and pulled onto the avenue.
“Where the hell are you going, Becky?” Kate asked out loud. She couldn’t see the black SUV, but kept her eyes peeled for when it turned off the road, if it ever would.
Soon the black SUV darted across the double yellow, veering left onto Philadelphia Way, a side street that connected the east side of Rock Ridge to Main Street.
Kate made the turn, but flipped her headlights off so as not to draw attention. Was Becky going into the center of town, or merely cutting through on one of the least traveled roads?
She got her answer when Becky pulled another left then hooked the first right. Becky was rounding the heart of Rock Ridge and soon headed east again.
If Kate didn’t know better, and she wasn’t sure she did, she would think Becky was aware she was being tailed and was trying to lose her. But when Becky pulled up to the curb in front of a modest colonial house in the middle of the suburbs, Kate breathed a sigh of relief. Becky hadn’t suspected she was being followed.
As Kate eased along the curb more than a block away from the SUV, her heart skipped a beat. She knew that house. She knew who lived there.
The editor in chief of the Rock Ridge Tribune.
Eric Demblowski.
Chapter Five
“Scott, you really need to give me a call.”
Kate hung up and tossed her cell phone beside her on the couch. It had been her fifth voice message to Scott. She had left two last night. The first when she was waiting in her truck to see if Becky would come out of Eric Demblowski’s house and drive off to another location—she never did. And the second message she had left the moment she stepped inside her house. She would’ve driven anywhere else, except with Becky tucked away at the reporter’s house, she felt certain she would not be attacked while driving home.
She had nightmares throughout the night and woke with a start, grabbing her cell phone to check for missed calls from Scott. When she had realized there were none, she left her third message.
Now, after so many messages, she was sure Scott wouldn’t get back to her. She didn’t get the feeling it was because he was busy.
She wanted to scream in frustration, but it would do her no good.
As she drank coffee and waited for the sun to rise beyond her living-room window, Kate attempted for the millionth time to wrap her head around the unlikely alliance between Becky Langley and Eric Demblowski.
And then it hit her. Becky’s disappearance had been headline news. The drug ring and string of murders had been even more captivating material for the Rock Ridge Tribune. As more and more reporters had ventured into Rock Ridge to cover the developing stories, Eric had become important, directing the various journalists and getting a ton of credit for their scoops.
She couldn’t believe his deviousness.
Did his wife, Celia, know about this?
Kate wouldn’t think so. Celia had been married to Ken Johnson for decades before the detective’s tragic murder. Celia was a cop’s wife first and foremost. She was moral and ethical, and had often stood by her first husband, supporting him to no end.
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And yet, Celia lived in that house with Eric. She had to know something.
Kate had taken five pictures of Becky after the young woman had hopped out of her SUV, making her way to the front door. Interestingly, Becky had knocked and Eric had let her in, indicating that she didn’t have a key.
As Kate scrolled through the photos on her cell phone, she pressed her mouth into a hard line. Becky was a mere blip in the frame—a small and dark figure. Kate had been too far away when she snapped the shots. It didn’t look like Becky. It didn’t look like anyone, just the shadowy figure of a woman who was dressed in a way Becky wasn’t known for.
But the last photo might prove useful. Eric had been illuminated under the portico. The house address was clearly marked to the right of the door—456. But all it showed was that Eric had let someone into his house last night. It was hardly a smoking gun.
Kate startled when her cell began vibrating in her hand. Bart Vaughn’s name flashed across the screen. Why would he be calling so early?
“Good morning,” she said, noticing how raspy her voice sounded.
“Oh,” he said, surprised. “I’m glad you’re up.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she grumbled.
“I’m going to be meeting with Jason first thing, in about an hour.”
“That’s good news.”
“And I’ll have an idea about his bail later today.”
“Thanks for letting me know. You’ll keep me posted?”
“I will. I’m also calling because I set up our first interview. Can you make 2:00 p.m.?”
If I’m not dead by then. “Of course.”
“Great, I’ll have Anna e-mail you the details.” After a brief pause, he added, “Try to wear something... Try not to wear those overalls. How about a sweater, a long skirt, clogs.”
He wanted her to dress in a sweater when it was in the upper nineties?
“Sure,” she said, hoping that wherever the interview took place would have air conditioners blasting. “I’ll see you then.”
After hanging up, she glanced out the window. The sun was piercing the horizon. She had only worked a half day yesterday for Justina, so she knew she had better get a jump on things.
She set her coffee mug in the sink and then made her way into the bathroom where she took a quick shower. As she dressed, being sure to wear her overalls with shorts, she also pulled a sweater from the rack. She didn’t exactly have many skirts to choose from, but she found a gray one that looked motherly enough, and stuffed the garments into a duffel bag, which she tossed onto the passenger’s seat as soon as she climbed into her truck.
The morning unfolded slowly. Kate was sure to lock herself inside the apartment at Justina’s building, a safety measure she resented having to take. She kept away from the windows as she continued to tile the floor. Her cell phone remained at arm’s reach, but Scott never returned her call. She debated e-mailing the photos to him through her cell, but reasoned it wouldn’t get his attention since the images looked nothing like Becky.
As she padded into the kitchen to refresh her coffee mug, her cell phone began vibrating and she rushed to it. But when she picked it up off the marred wooden floor she had been working on, she saw that it was only Justina.
“Good morning,” she said.
“You mean good afternoon,” Justina corrected. “How’s it coming along over there?”
“I’m making headway.”
“I’d like to show the apartment in a few hours.”
Kate hesitated, looking around the studio apartment. “If they don’t mind seeing a work in progress.”
“If you could consolidate your tools and materials, that would be enough,” she suggested.
Kate agreed and then asked, “If it’s not too much trouble, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I need to get my house appraised....”
“You’re not moving, are you?” she asked.
“No! Nothing like that. It’s for Jason, or really his attorney. I might need to put my house up as collateral on his bail bond.”
“Oh,” said Justina, considering. “I can help you out.” Then she spoke in a low tone, adding, “I can even fudge the numbers a bit. Do you know what the value needs to be?”
Groaning, because she knew it would be impossible to pull off, she said, “A million?”
“Yikes. Well, I’ll have a look. When should we do this?”
“The sooner the better. Tonight?”
They arranged a time, and after hanging up, Kate dropped her cell into the front pocket of her overalls.
She could use a little fresh air and the rear entrance door had been nagging her all morning. If she wanted to keep herself safe, working in a building where anyone could slip in through the back wasn’t her smartest option. So grabbing her tool kit, she made her way out of the apartment, through the hallway, and down a set of stairs. At the bottom was the rear door, which was still propped open with a block of cement. She pulled the block inside and shoved the door shut, then began to assess the best way to keep it locked.
The main problem was that someone had popped the cylinder lock out of the door, leaving a circular hole in its place.
Kneeling, she rummaged through her tool kit, recalling she had dumped a turn lock somewhere inside. She was sure of it. In fact, the only question was if it would be the correct diameter.
She found the lock, still in its plastic packaging at the very bottom of her tool kit. It took twenty minutes to fit it into the hole and attach it. She would make Justina a copy of the key, she noted, straightening up. Lastly, she turned the handle, making sure the door was locked and secure, and then started up the stairs with her tool kit in hand.
When she reached the apartment unit she had been working on, her stomach grumbled. She was starving, but Grant Conover’s murder weighed heavily on her mind. According to Becky’s speech last night, Grant had been killed by Colombia & Partners, giving Becky just the incentive to get organized and follow through with her plan to overthrow the drug ring and take over. But if Kate could bring down C & P by exposing them for Grant’s murder, then she could prevent a potential massacre that could quite possibly put all of Rock Ridge in peril.
Realizing this, Dean Wentworth came to mind. Of all the people Kate knew in town, Dean had been the closest to Grant, and she trusted him. The mayor had been keeping tabs on the crooked warden as a means of eventually exposing his involvement in the drug ring.
Quickly, Kate dialed the mayor’s direct line, as she padded to the glass entrance door and began scanning the sidewalk and road for suspicious characters.
“Dean?” she said urgently as soon as he picked up. “Can we meet for lunch?”
“I’m trying to keep a low profile,” he said in a hushed tone. “The reporters have gotten really bad. There was a pack of them outside my house and another outside my office building. I can’t get away with meeting in a public place.”
“I’ll meet you anywhere,” she offered. “The amusement park is still under construction. It’s private. What about there?”
Dean fell silent as if considering the consequences, but told her, “Okay. Give me twenty minutes.”
Kate kept an eye out for the black SUV, as she drove out of town towards the amusement park, not that she was naïve enough to think she would cross paths with Becky, or that Becky, herself, would come after Kate, but she couldn’t be too cautious.
She pulled into the amusement park and couldn’t believe the progress. The last time she had driven in, half the park had still been under construction. Now, in the light of day, it appeared nearly complete, though a few bulldozers remained, angling around the dwindling stacks of materials.
After parking in front of the executive trailer, she scanned the parking lot for Dean’s car. The reporters had probably held him up on his way out of his building. And to think Eric Demblowski had been promoting their behavior, feeding them more and more news st
ories, as he kept Becky safely hidden.
When Kate thought about it, her blood boiled. Even Celia had been the one to orchestrate the first search party for Becky—one, in which, Kate had participated. Celia had seemed so genuine in her concern, and yet she might have known all along that Eric had been helping the ex-con.
Finally, she spotted Dean’s car driving into the lot. He swung up beside her truck and stepped out, prompting Kate to do the same.
“Sorry it took me so long,” he said, locking his car. “I had to drive in a zigzag through town to shake a couple news vans.”
“Will we have privacy?” she asked, nodding towards the trailer.
“We should,” he told her, starting for the trailer steps.
There was no one inside, she realized, following the mayor in. He shut the door behind her and locked it.
Kate was too nervous to sit, but Dean insisted, as he lowered onto a sofa chair adjacent to the leather couch.
“What do you make of Grant’s murder?” she asked, seeing whether he knew more or less than she did.
“He didn’t see it coming, or if he did, he did a hell of a job playing it cool.”
“Scott’s working the case, but considering Grant was murdered in his own office inside the prison, you’d think Scott would have his man by now. There are numerous security checkpoints just to get into the door, and the entire prison is teeming with cameras.”
“Which means that the killer had full access.”
“You think he works there?”
“In some capacity,” he allowed. “Or else he’s an IT genius.”
Tommy Barkow came to mind. Though the IT specialist had been killed, he was undoubtedly at the center of this thing. Not only had he been the one refining the drug for distribution, he had also wanted out. It stood to reason that after his death, Colombia & Partners would’ve needed to replace him and replace him fast. What if they had managed to recruit another IT specialist, someone who could hack into the prison’s security system and wreak havoc, setting the stage for anyone to penetrate the prison and kill the warden?
“Grant Conover was one of the higher-ups in the drug ring,” she explained. “Did you manage to get any closer to him before he died? Did he ever mention the owners of Colombia & Partners?”
Mrs. Fix It Mysteries: The Complete 15-Books Cozy Mystery Series Page 90