But it was only her babysitter.
She breathed a sigh of relief, opening the door and welcoming Maxwell in.
“Man, I feel like I was just here,” he said, starting through the shallow foyer and into the living room. “In fact, I always feel like I was just here,” he mused. “I should have my own room.”
“Very funny,” said Kate as she worked her feet into her sneakers.
“How late will you be?” he asked when she joined him in the living room to gather her cellphone and keys.
“It shouldn’t be too bad, five or six?”
“I heard that rich guy got arrested,” he commented, picking Josie up out of the playpen.
Kate hadn’t dared read the newspaper and though she sensed Hans had played some kind of role in Cherry’s downfall—women didn’t turn into escorts and then prostitutes overnight—she also felt in her gut that he was innocent and that once again Scott had arrested the wrong man.
But she didn’t mention any of that. Instead, she said, “He was.”
“One less killer on the street,” he shrugged as he held Josie in his arms. “Has she eaten?”
“She has, but it was just after six, so she could get hungry again soon.”
“No problem,” he said. “Have a good one.”
She gave her daughter one last lingering glance and then started for her truck.
It took her ten minutes to drive to Hazel Millhouse’s home. She kept the windows rolled down and parked her truck in front of the shrubs that lined the edge of the elderly woman’s property.
Hazel’s little dog was running frantically around the front yard and yapping his head off. Kate gave him a few pats on the head after climbing out of her truck and grabbing her tool kit from the back. Hazel must have heard the commotion, because she came to the door and shouted to the dog, “Quiet!” As Kate approached, she added, “He’s so excitable.”
Kate smiled and stepped into the house.
Hazel led her into the kitchen and began demonstrating how rickety each of the chairs had gotten.
“You know we could use you over at the library,” she said as Kate turned the last of the four chairs on its head along the edge of the kitchen table and began tightening the legs. “A few of our communal tables have gotten wobbly, but I hear you have a long list of customers to tend to.”
Kate could barely think about it without getting overwhelmed. “Well, working on the mansion stole all of my time.”
“No one blames you, Honey,” said Hazel. “Who could turn down that kind of money? But now that you’re free of that project there are a lot of people around town who need your services.”
She thought about the elderly woman’s point as she set the last chair on the ground and wrote up an invoice for Hazel. A lot of people around town did need her services and because of it she felt guilty about even considering hanging up her tool belt. But she had to put her family first. She couldn’t continue to work as a fix-it woman just because people preferred her to using someone new.
After she handed Hazel the invoice, the older woman snapped open her purse and began plucking out bills. After some careful counting, Hazel paid her, and Kate made change, returning a five-dollar bill.
“If there’s anything else you need,” said Kate as they walked to the front door, “don’t hesitate. I can always squeeze you in, and I’ll certainly swing by the library as soon as I can.”
As she walked to her truck, she realized that she was in Celia Demblowski’s neighborhood. It was a little after ten in the morning, and it was safe to guess that Celia was at the Tribune. Will Taylor Rheingold be hanging out at her house all by himself? It’s worth a shot.
Just because Hans had been certain that Taylor couldn’t have had anything to do with Cherry’s murder, didn’t mean he was innocent.
She drove, weaving left and right along the suburban grid, until she came to Celia’s house. She climbed out of her truck and couldn’t believe that this was the home where Becky Langley had hid for months, while the whole town had thought she’d been abducted. Kate snorted with disgust that Celia had been at the helm of the search party. How could she be so two faced as to harbor a criminal and also lead all of Rock Ridge to believe that she was just as worried as they were?
Maybe Dean was right. Maybe Celia did have it in her to kill.
Kate tried not to drive herself crazy as she walked to the front door. It seemed the more people she talked to about Cherry’s mysterious death, the more confused she became in terms of who might have actually done it.
When she reached the door, she gave it a firm pound.
Inside the house, a man called out, “Who’s there?”
“Celia’s friend, Kate!” she said loudly. “Celia asked me to check on the boiler! It might need a repair!”
The door drew inward, revealing a tall blond man with bright green eyes and a light dusting of stubble along his jaw. He was dressed in navy blue slacks and a thin white sweater, but his feet were bare and his hair looked damp as though he’d just come out of the shower.
“I didn’t know anything was wrong with the boiler,” he said. “And Celia didn’t mention it.”
“She probably didn’t want to bother you. May I?” she asked, veering around him and into the foyer. Before he could make sense of the interruption, Kate said, “How do you like Rock Ridge? You’re from Norway, right?”
“Uh, yes, I am.”
“Celia mentioned as much.”
“It’s a quaint town,” he commented, following her into the living room. “I had read about its long and sordid history before I arrived and now that I’m here, I find it hard to believe so many people have been murdered here over the years.”
“It is shocking.”
“I’m sorry; do you not know where the boiler is?” he asked when she’d turned to stare at him in the living room.
“I know where it is,” she assured him and found a closet off the living room where the boiler was located. “Most boilers are in the basement, but not Celia’s.”
“I see,” he said. “Can I offer you anything? Water? Coffee?”
She was tempted to have a third cup of coffee, but decided against it, saying she was fine for now.
As she began to pretend to check out the boiler, she peeked out from the closet. Taylor was settling onto a sofa-chair with the Rock Ridge Tribune in his hands.
“What do you make of your friend Hans’ arrest?” she asked him, as she banged her hand against one of the boiler pipes.
“I’m utterly shocked. You think you know a person...”
“So you believe he did it?”
“How can I not? If you don’t trust the police, then who can you trust?”
“You aren’t worried that Hans will rat you out?”
“Rat me out? I had nothing to do with that woman’s death,” he said in a stunned tone that Kate wasn’t buying. He looked scared but also fuming—hot under the collar. He was mad that she suspected him.
“No, I didn’t think you did, but I do find it curious that you brought Cherry, I mean Elaine Benson, to the fundraiser.”
He stared at her and his expression hardened, but he said nothing.
“Even more peculiar,” she went on, “was what the guard at the mansion said.”
“What did he say?”
“That Cherry seemed drugged…that her hands were tied as she sat in the passenger’s seat of your car. And that you were unusually sweaty.”
He snorted a laugh as if to suggest she was completely ridiculous, but Kate could tell she had rattled him.
“Why did you bring her?”
He said nothing.
“You’re obviously not voting for Dean, which means that whatever friendship you struck up with Hans Geoffrey was a farce. Did you know that bringing Cherry to the event would ultimately result in destroying Dean Wentworth’s reputation and give your new girlfriend a better shot at getting enough votes to become mayor?”
“Are you accusing me of murder
?”
“Should I be?”
“I never told Dean that he had my vote. And I am friends with Hans, which is why I donated to Dean’s campaign.”
“Seems like a conflict of interest to me,” she pointed out.
“That’s because you don’t understand what it means to be a billionaire,” he shot back. “So what if I gave Dean two hundred thousand? It’s a lot of money for a man like Dean, sure. But for me? It amounts to a handful of suits, a weekend in France, or a week of the stock market doing poorly. It’s nothing and quite frankly, compared to what I gave Celia, it was a drop in the bucket.”
Kate flipped the boiler off and then on again so it would make some strange noises.
“And for the record,” he went on. “I brought Cherry to the event because she wanted to see him.”
“Against her will?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “She had taken a lot of drugs earlier that evening—”
“Oh, she took the drugs? Really? The drugs that killed her?”
“No…I mean yes,” he stammered. “Look, I don’t know what happened to her at that party. All I know is what happened to her before she got there. She was worried out of her mind. She said her life was in danger, all right? She was talking crazy, or so I thought. Hindsight is twenty twenty I suppose. I told her she would be safer if she were around people, and when I mentioned I was going to Dean’s benefit, she jumped at the chance. But she got wild in the car. Those drugs took her over and for no reason she began flailing her arms. I would’ve had an accident driving. So, I pulled over and restrained her. It wasn’t malicious. It was for the safety of us both.”
“Who was she afraid of?”
“Not me,” he said quickly. “And not Dean.”
“I never suspected Dean,” she told him.
“And not Hans either. Hans is paying for her one-bedroom apartment for God’s sake. She loved him and if you’re about to say Hans could’ve killed her just to get out of paying her rent, you’re wrong. Her rent was less than a thousand, and I’ll remind you—he’s a billionaire.”
“So who was she afraid of, Taylor?” she demanded, advancing on him from the boiler room.
“Marcy, alright! She was afraid of Marcy.”
“The event coordinator? Why?”
Taylor narrowed his eyes on her and said, “Because Marcy wasn’t always a coordinator and if you ask me, she didn’t want any reminders of her past.”
Chapter Eight
According to Taylor Rheingold, Marcy Clapton was staying at a small motel on the south side of town but wouldn’t be there for long. She was due back in New York to begin planning her next event. Kate couldn’t let her leave town until she got to the bottom of this, so leaving Taylor at Celia Demblowski’s house, she drove through Rock Ridge.
The motel, ironically titled Rock Ridge Resort—it was anything but—was less than a mile from the high-rise apartment building Kate had renovated years ago.
As she rolled to a stop in the parking lot, she eyed the dingy motel and wondered if Marcy perhaps resented her billionaire boss. While Hans lived in a mansion, he had put Marcy up in a grimy motel?
It wasn’t motive enough to kill Cherry in the billionaire’s home, but it certainly revealed their dynamic.
She climbed out of her truck and made her way into the lobby. The clerk behind the desk looked like a teenager or dressed like one at least. As she neared the counter, she realized the guy had a weathered face, and so she pegged him for being around thirty years old.
“I need to speak with one of your guests,” she explained. “Can you tell me which room Marcy Clapton is staying in?”
He eyed her with suspicion, while a small TV set blared a football game behind him.
“Clapton?” he asked as though buying time as he rifled through a binder. There wasn’t a computer on the counter, and Kate had the feeling that this was a cash-only establishment. “She’s in twelve,” he said and snapped the binder shut. “On the second floor.”
She thanked him and quickly walked outside, found a set of stairs leading to the second floor landing, and when she reached the top, she checked the motel door numbers as she trailed along the balcony.
Room twelve was at the very end. She could hear a TV blaring from inside and also the faint sound of Marcy talking on her cellphone.
She sounded upset.
Kate knocked on the door and a moment later the TV went quiet. Kate heard Marcy approach the door as she wrapped up her telephone call.
When the door popped open, Marcy peered out at her, and Kate said, “We met briefly at the mansion the other night.”
“So? What do you want?”
“I’d like to talk to you about Elaine Benson.”
“I already spoke with the police,” she said curtly.
“Did you know that Hans Geoffrey was arrested?”
Marcy snorted a laugh, indicating she wasn’t surprised that the billionaire had killed the escort. “It’s all over the news. How could I not know?”
“Can I come in?” asked Kate. “I don’t want to have a conversation in the doorway.”
“Well, I don’t want to have a conversation at all,” she countered.
As Marcy attempted to shut the door, Kate caught it with her palm and asserted, “You know Elaine. You worked at the same club in New York. You two had history.”
“Who told you that?”
“Taylor Rheingold,” she said frankly, and Marcy’s eyes widened.
“I don’t have any time. I have to get to the airport in an hour and I haven’t even packed yet.”
Though she’d sounded dismissive, she opened the door, allowing Kate to come inside her cramped motel room.
Clothes were littered across the floor. The comforter was bunched at the foot of the bed. And the dresser drawers were ajar to different degrees.
After taking a quick survey of the room, Kate faced her and said, “I don’t think Hans killed her. Hans and Taylor were talking upstairs when Cherry, I mean Elaine, was killed so neither of them could’ve done it.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Why was Elaine afraid of you?”
Again Marcy snorted a laugh, but this time she began shaking her head. “Elaine was high that night.”
“I’m not talking about that night. She had been afraid of you for a while. Is that because you stopped being an escort and started working for Hans as a coordinator?”
“Why would that cause her to be afraid of me?” she challenged.
“I’m not entirely sure, but I trust Taylor was telling me the truth.”
“Taylor told you that she was afraid of me?” she asked, sounding appalled. “She wasn’t afraid of me She was afraid of the other girls.”
“What other girls?”
“The other escorts. I was trying to encourage her to get out of that life, clean herself up, and get a real job like I did. But the other escorts don’t like it when one of their own moves on. They were harassing her.”
“The other escorts who live in New York?” she questioned.
“They’re here,” she explained. “Hans flew them in for the fundraiser.”
“Why would he do that?”
Marcy rolled her eyes as though annoyed that Kate wasn’t connecting the dots. “Hans wanted a little eye candy at the event. Most of the guests were older, so he hired about twenty escorts to wander around and make it seem like an attractive crowd.”
“Twenty escorts?”
“That’s right. God, why would Taylor say that Elaine was afraid of me?” she asked under her breath.
Even though she didn’t say it out loud, Kate had an idea. Taylor was probably trying to throw suspicion off of Celia and any name would do.
“Marcy,” said Kate, leveling with the young coordinator. “Someone killed Elaine, and it wasn’t the man who’s sitting in jail. If, as you say, Elaine was afraid of those girls, can you tell me if any of them in particular had been unusually threatening? Was E
laine more afraid of one of them?”
She sat on the edge of the bed and looked to be deep in thought. After a long moment, her eyes snapped up to Kate and she said, “Maybe Cat.”
“The girl’s name is Cat?”
“It’s short for Catherine. They were really good friends, but I never trusted Cat.”
“Why is that?”
“She was pushing drugs on all of us,” she explained. “It was subtle, and I always stayed away from Cat. I don’t do drugs. But some of the other girls were open to experimenting. And Elaine ended up with quite a drug problem. She was always turning to Cat for more and Elaine thought they were friends, but that’s not how I saw it. Cat was preying on her.”
“Why would Cat want to get Elaine hooked on drugs? How would that benefit her?”
“It would financially,” she replied. “Elaine was pouring a good portion of her earnings into buying drugs from Cat. She even owed her money at times.”
“Was Cat at the fundraiser?”
“Yes,” said Marcy.
Kate considered the information. Elaine had certainly had drugs in her system, but Kate hadn’t spoken with Scott about the case, so she didn’t know if the medical examiner had ruled Elaine’s death as having been from an overdose.
“What kind of drug was it?” she asked the coordinator.
Marcy looked pained to have to say it, but obliged. “Heroin.”
“Was she shooting up as opposed to snorting or smoking it?”
“Of course. Cat never got her hands on the pure stuff.”
So, Cat could’ve led or followed Elaine into the coatroom and shot her up, intentionally giving her an overdose. But even if she had, it would be extremely hard to prove, especially considering Elaine’s history of drug abuse.
“Where is Cat now?” asked Kate.
“All the escorts are staying at Hans’s mansion, but honestly, now that he’s in jail, I have no idea if they’re still there or not.”
Kate studied her for a long moment. The escorts had been given the luxury of staying in a mansion, while Marcy was exiled to a crappy motel? Kate resolved to pay Cat a visit, but she would keep her eye on Marcy. The coordinator had far too much motive to have killed Elaine herself.
Mrs. Fix It Mysteries: The Complete 15-Books Cozy Mystery Series Page 137