He twisted his mouth to the side, and it made her realize she ought to call Dr. Willard to be on the safe side. But first she pulled the insulation from the kit and got started on sealing the window.
“So how are you getting on without a receptionist?” she asked, as she fixed the plastic around the windowpane.
“Barely,” he complained. “Unfortunately employees are always the biggest expense, so I had to let my receptionist go for the winter. I only hope she’ll be available come spring when we’re bouncing back.”
It made Kate curious. “You haven’t been approached recently—”
“You bet I have,” he said, knowing exactly where she was going with her question.
“Holly—”
“Griffin? Yeah, she came by twice. It was alarming. She acted as though I owed her something, like she was entitled.”
“She did the same thing to Larry and to Hazel at the library, and to me just this morning.”
“I hope she gives up and leaves town.”
Kate had positioned the plastic over the window, so she plugged in the hair dryer and flipped it on, running the hot air over the sealant tape to melt it. Once she felt the plastic was taut, she shut off the noisy hair dryer.
“Have you thought about throwing a winter wonderland party?” she asked. “At the amusement park, that is. You wouldn’t have to get the rides going, but maybe you could hire a band and get the food vendors back. If you charged twelve bucks per ticket, I’m sure you could get the whole town to go.”
Dean perked up from where he was sitting at the desk. “That’s a really good idea.” Excitedly, he pulled a calculator from one of the desk drawers and began mumbling, “A population of two thousand, times twelve dollars, equals...” His eyes widened. “That’s not bad, though I’ll have expenses.”
“Maybe not,” she countered. “You don’t have to pay the food vendors. You could get a band to play for free.”
“What band?”
Kate smiled. “Scott has a band.”
“The Law?”
“They’re more interested in playing in front of an audience that isn’t just me than they are in getting a check. They’d probably do it for a case of beer.”
Stepping back to examine her work, Kate coiled the electrical cord around the hair dryer handle. “That ought to do it,” she concluded. “If you keep the office door closed, you might get away with blasting the heat for an hour in the morning then shutting it off until the afternoon when it gets chilly again.”
“Thanks so much,” he told her, rising to his feet. “What do I owe you?”
“Let’s say the cost of the kit.”
“No labor?”
She smiled at him, as she began filling out an invoice. As soon as she handed it to him, Dean began writing a check.
“I can’t tell you how much I miss Jared,” he mentioned as he gave her the check.
“You and me both.”
Kate made her way down to the lobby and waited just inside the glass door. Light flurries were coming down, and the sky looked drearier than ever as she watched for Maxwell’s Volvo to return.
A brown vehicle caught her eye as it puttered down the street, but it wasn’t her assistant’s Volvo. It was a brown Saab, which she recognized immediately as Holly Griffin’s car. Thinking fast, though she was unsure of what exactly she was doing, she scurried through the parking lot and hoisted herself into her truck, all the while keeping her eyes glued on the Saab.
It made a left onto Pennsylvania Avenue, darting out of sight, but Kate was already reversing out of the parking spot. She hit the gas as soon as she’d thrown her truck into gear. She turned onto the street and made the same left.
She scanned for the Saab and switched lanes to see if she could get a better view. A block ahead, the Saab darted right, pulling a sharp turn onto Rock Ridge Blvd.
The traffic light that Kate was driving toward flipped yellow, but she didn’t slow down. Pressing her foot on the gas and veering around a slow-moving Toyota, she slid through the intersection in the nick of time, pulling the same right-hand turn. But the Saab was picking up speed.
Whoever had killed Mrs. Briar and then went after Maxwell, had to have used some kind of cord in order to strangle them from behind. Kate had a hunch the killer hadn’t discarded the murder weapon, but instead kept it close, perhaps in their house or in their car. She couldn’t explain the bad feeling that Holly had given her, and it wasn’t lost on her that following the woman wasn’t entirely rational, but she had to see for herself.
Keeping her truck at a healthy distance from the Saab so as not to be seen should Holly glance in her rearview mirror, Kate realized they were heading out of the town center and into the suburban neighborhood where all the houses were on a symmetrical grid of blocks. Soon the Saab slowed down and pulled along the curb. Kate checked her side mirror and then yanked the steering wheel, coming to a skidding stop along the curb as well, though a decent half-block behind Holly.
She waited, watching the vehicle, which appeared to be idling. Exhaust was billowing out the tailpipe. She eyed the houses in front of the Saab and across the street but didn’t recognize either address.
Holly climbed out of her vehicle and started up the walkway. Kate spied her approaching the front door. She didn’t knock, but rather tested the doorknob, which must have been locked because when Holly slammed her shoulder against the door, it didn’t open.
The woman backed up a few steps, eyeing the door and the windows on either side of it. After what appeared to be a frustrated moment, she began stalking through the snow and rounded the side of the house where she disappeared beyond Kate’s view.
Was she about to break into someone’s house?
Kate slid out of her truck and kept hunched down. She shuffled in the slushy street toward the Saab. When she reached it, she peered into the rear window, but the back seat was clean and clear. There was no cord, not that Kate was naive enough to think the killer would leave the murder weapon in plain sight. She glanced at the driver’s and passenger’s seats next, but there was nothing unusual about them.
Looking at the house, she noticed the mailbox and rushed across the sidewalk to it. She pulled the tin door down and found a stack of mail resting inside. At least she would be able to find out whose house it was. She plucked an envelope out and read the recipient: Mrs. Briar.
Why would Holly Griffin have come to Mrs. Briar’s house? Why would she stalk around the back of the house?
Kate grabbed the entire stack of mail from the mailbox and began flipping through. There were bills and junk mail, all addressed to Mrs. Briar, but then a card-shaped envelope caught her eye. It was also addressed to the deceased librarian, but when she read the sender’s name and address, her heart began punching up her throat.
It was from Holly Griffin.
She heard boots stomping through the snow, an indication that Holly was making her way back, so Kate jogged at a sluggish pace down the sidewalk. She darted into the street when she reached her truck, having forgotten the entire stack of mail in her hands.
After hopping up behind the steering wheel, she watched Holly pace to her Saab, climb in, and peel out into the street.
Kate let out a heavy sigh and set the mail on the passenger’s seat.
Was Holly family or a friend? Why would she write Mrs. Briar a letter? Had Holly moved to town with expectations of being in Mrs. Briar’s life, and then killed her when the grouchy woman rejected her in some way?
Immediately, Kate found her cellphone in her overalls after fishing under her bulky winter coat, and sent a call through to Scott’s cellphone.
When the line opened up, she could hear a distressed woman in the background shouting, “Get your hands off of me!” and “You’re making a mistake.”
“Scott?”
“Yeah?” he said gruffly before covering the mouthpiece. When he said, “Take her down to the station and put her in Interview Room Two,” he sounded muffled. “Sorry, Kate,
are you there?”
Hearing the woman’s aged voice in the background, Kate had a sinking feeling she knew who it was. “You’re not arresting Hazel, are you?”
Chapter Six
Kate barreled through the police precinct, ignoring the receptionist who had greeted her and then shouted objections. Detective Kilroy met her with the same reaction, but she hurled past him as well, as she labored through to Scott’s office in the back of the bullpen.
“He isn’t in there,” said Kilroy, trailing after her.
Her heart was pounding, but there was nothing she could do about it. Once again, Scott had arrested the wrong person, and this time it had cut too close to home. Hazel Millhouse was a sweet old lady who hadn’t killed anyone.
Whipping around to face the detective, she demanded, “Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Hazel Millhouse?”
“Scott talking with her in one of the interview rooms,” said Kilroy.
Damn it, she knew that. She had overheard as much.
“Kate, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just furious. All right, I’m not okay. Why did you arrest Hazel?”
But he didn’t have to answer. She knew. Hazel must not have explained to Scott the altercation she’d had with Mrs. Briar.
“You found skin under Mrs. Briar’s fingernails that matched Hazel’s and you think she killed her?” she challenged. The look of remorse on the detective’s face was confirmation enough. “They got into a scuffle, but Hazel didn’t kill her.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Kate gaped at him in astonishment. “She’s a little old lady.”
“And so was Mrs. Briar. The way I see it, they could’ve been worthy opponents.”
“You seriously think Hazel strangled her co-worker to death?”
“The evidence is the evidence, not to imply I’m leading this charge, Kate. I’m only following Scott’s orders.”
“I’d like to talk with her.”
Kilroy sighed. “Scott’s talking with her, and then I’m sure Hazel is going to want to meet with her lawyer.”
Kate glanced down at the envelope in her hand and when she returned her eyes to the detective, she said, “I’ll wait.”
“He locked his office,” said Kilroy apologetically.
“Fine,” she shot back and made her way to the bench across from the receptionist’s desk.
As soon as she settled, Kilroy offered her a glass of water. “Or tea, perhaps.”
“No thank you.”
She watched him trail back through the bullpen, and then she slipped the envelope out of her pocket. After eyeing it for a moment—she was fairly certain there was a card inside—she wedged her finger under the flap and began tearing it open. Several times she glanced up at the receptionist and at the room to make sure there were no prying eyes.
Pulling the card out, she noted it was a birthday card and opened it. Though the inside of the card had the printed note, ‘You’re only as old as you feel,’ there was a handwritten letter around it.
Kate began reading.
Grandma, I know it’s been ages and you don’t want to hear from me. I didn’t side with Grandpa. It’s not that I don’t love you, but he’s sick. We both know it. He can’t take care of himself. I felt responsible for helping him. It doesn’t mean that I don’t believe you. I wish you would’ve returned my calls. Letters are so slow. I’m writing you because Grandpa wandered off. Considering his dementia, I’m worried for your safety...because I DO believe you and I’ve ALWAYS believed you. If he thinks it’s 1985 again, then he’s going to come after you. I’m coming to Rock Ridge. I’ll see you soon. Love, Holly.
Kate glanced up from the card. She was stunned.
Clearly, Mrs. Briar had escaped an abusive marriage. Her husband had fallen sick with dementia and their granddaughter had taken care of him. The letter didn’t say who the husband was. Kate thought back. Had she seen any elderly men around town? Had any of them seemed disoriented? She couldn’t recall. No one was coming to mind.
But even if Mrs. Briar’s husband had slipped into a dissociative state thinking it was 1985 and came to Rock Ridge to kill his wife, why then had Maxwell been attacked? Why would Mrs. Briar’s husband sneak into the old Victorian house, know to go to the second floor where Maxwell was working, and try to strangle him?
She felt like she was on to something and yet so far away from the truth. At the very least, however, the letter would shed doubt on Hazel’s involvement. She sprung to her feet and walked toward the receptionist who was setting her telephone down.
“I need to speak with Scott,” Kate blurted out.
“I can let you know as soon as he’s finished talking to his suspect.”
“Tell him I have information on the case,” she insisted, but the receptionist only grimaced and she knew what would come next.
“He really shouldn’t be too much longer,” she promised.
Kate knew where the interview rooms were, and she doubted the skinny receptionist would stop her, so she barreled down the hallway, the card in her hand, and mentally prepared to barge into the interrogation and slam the new evidence onto the table.
But she didn’t get that far.
Her cell was vibrating in her pocket, and when she saw Maxwell’s name and number flashing across the screen, she answered it immediately.
“I have two seconds,” she barked.
“You might want to make a little more time...”
“Why’s that?” she demanded.
“Well, if you really must know,” he began, matching her tone. “I just spent the last twenty minutes fighting a kitchen fire. I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he added sarcastically. “I thought you wouldn’t want your husband and the whole town finding out. We both know Scott would never let you out of the house again if he knew. So, long story short, we have a brand new fix-it job on our hands and it’s called your entire kitchen.”
“Oh, God.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied.
“Crap.” She stared at the door of Interview Room Two, but Maxwell was right. “I’m on my way.”
“Meet me at Grayson’s,” he interrupted. “I made a list of everything we need to buy.”
After agreeing, she ended the call and started through the hallway. She stepped outside and the wind bit into her, whipping sideways and stinging her cheek.
By the time she was pulling her truck through the parking lot in front of Grayson’s, Maxwell was standing under the portico, his shoulders hunched against the freezing wind.
“I took pictures,” he told her, as she shuffled through the snowy parking lot.
When she reached him, he held the door open for her and then produced his cellphone. They paused just inside the hardware store and he handed her the evidence.
As she flipped through the photos of charred cabinets and melted appliances, she said, “Do you think it’s possible that an elderly man attacked you?”
He seemed offended.
“Ah, no,” he said, keeping a lid on how annoyed he was. “I’d say the guy was young and very strong. I’m not that out of shape. There’s no way an old guy could’ve taken me down like that.”
“I can’t look at these anymore,” she said, handing him the phone and feeling a bit ill.
“Well, did it refresh your memory in terms of the type of cabinets we need to buy?”
“Oh,” she said, stealing the cellphone again to have another look.
“We don’t want Scott coming home to a brand new kitchen...”
“Yeah, I got it,” she said, making her way to the counter where Larry was nursing a tiny cup of espresso.
“How goes it?” he asked.
“Cabinet aisle?” said Maxwell before discretely asking Kate, “When is he getting home?”
“Around six, but I could ask him to meet me at Daisy’s. We have dinner plans.”
“You might want to plan on that in case we run out of time. I can finish u
p.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”
They followed Larry down one of the aisles where a number of cabinets were hanging on display.
“I’ve also got the catalogues,” he said, indicating a few that were resting on one of the shelves. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
As he started for the front of the store, Kate said, “Hey, Scott and I wanted to invite you and Carly to dinner at Daisy’s tonight.”
“Yeah? That sounds fun. I’m sure we can make it. What time?”
“After six. I can text you with an exact time,” she told him.
Before long, Kate had found cabinets that resembled the ones in her kitchen. They weren’t an exact match, but she was willing to bet Scott wouldn’t notice. He barely registered when she cut her hair. Larry scanned the cabinets into the system and she paid for half the cost, leaving the balance on her tab, which she planned on paying in a few weeks.
She thanked him, told him she would see him at Daisy’s later, and Maxwell carried the boxed cabinets out to her truck. The bed was covered in a few inches of snow, but she reasoned the cardboard was thick enough that the cabinets wouldn’t warp in the few minutes it would take her to drive home.
By the time she was pulling onto the street, Maxwell’s Volvo was close behind her truck.
He seemed convinced an elderly person couldn’t have attacked him, but the fact of the matter was that Maxwell had lived. Was that a sign he was clever—he had mentioned he’d played dead essentially so that the killer would give up—or was it a sign that his attacker lacked the physical strength to succeed?
When they reached her house, Kate parked as close to the front door as she could manage and Maxwell pulled his Volvo in beside her truck. He was quick to lower the tailgate of her truck and pull the boxes out.
As soon as she entered the foyer, she realized she had a much bigger problem on her hands than replacing part of her kitchen: it smelled like a fire.
“Open all the windows,” she suggested, though she knew it wouldn’t fully fix the problem.
Maxwell hopped to it and they began removing the charred cabinets and swapping them out for the new ones.
Mrs. Fix It Mysteries: The Complete 15-Books Cozy Mystery Series Page 108