Handy at Murder

By Tim Myers

A Brand New Mystery from New York Times Bestselling Author Tim Myers!

 

When handyman Ham Jeffries buys a set of books at auction from a recently deceased lawyer's estate, he has no idea what he's gotten himself into.  Soon he and his uncle, the local sheriff, start digging into the case to determine if it was an accident or just plain old murder, and in doing so, they uncover something that rattles the entire town of Hemlock, North Carolina.  The clock is ticking for the two men to unmask the murderer before it's too late!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tim Myers
• Release date: Sep 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393552918

Book preview

The First Time Ever Published!

Handy at Murder

TIM MYERS, WORKING under a handful of names as well as his own, has written over a hundred mystery novels and has appeared on the New York Times Bestseller list, the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association Bestseller list multiple times, and has been nominated for an Agatha Award and multiple Derringer Awards as well.

This one, too, is for Patty and Emily

Foreword

This novel is very much a period piece, written in the early 1990s.  The technology presented, as well as some of the customs of the times, may seem dated to the modern reader, but they remain true to the era in which this book was written.  As a matter of fact, this was one of several long-forgotten books I wrote when I was starting out that I recently rediscovered.

I considered giving them each a fresh polish and updating the topical references, but I realized that at least for me, that would be a mistake.  In the end, I decided that revising these books, no matter how tempting the thought, could very well steal some of the heart I so carefully poured into them. 

I’m proud of this book, and of all of my novels, and I stand by what I wrote so many years ago.  It’s funny, but looking back, it feels as though it was just yesterday when I first penned these words, but then time has a funny way of doing that.

In any event, I hope you enjoy this trip back to the recent past and find the world we all lived in then as fascinating as I have.

CHAPTER 1

Five dollar, five dollar, five dollar five.  Who’ll give me five dollar, five dollar.  Come on, folks.

Hamilton Jeffries listened and watched as the auctioneer appealed to the crowd with a staccato chant and vivid arm movements.  Grover Hastings and his family had set up their stage on the back of a battered old gray pickup truck.  A table made out of two-by-fours served as the auctioneer’s display area for the smaller items being sold from the Ellington estate. 

Nobody was paying much attention to the auctioneer.  Most of the people gathered for the estate sale were still milling around the coffee pot set up across from the registration table.  The hot drink helped fight the early spring chill in the North Carolina air. 

I know we’re starting a little earlier than we said we would, but give me a bid and let’s get this show on the road.  Grover had on work boots, blue jeans and a freshly pressed flannel shirt.  As always, there was a brightly colored bandanna tied around his neck, and Ham noticed that the auctioneer had stuck a brand-new turkey feather in the brim of his cowboy hat since the last auction Ham had attended.  Grover Hastings had the entire auction franchise for Elmore County, and he used every living relative he could to work the circus-like events.  His wife, Betty, handled the registrations while a friendly horde of sons, daughters and various in-laws did everything else, from handling purchases to renting lawn chairs to selling coffee and donuts.  Ham figured the Hastings family made out better than the seller did himself.

He searched the sea of familiar faces around him for his Uncle Will, but the sheriff must have been called out before he could get a chance to attend the auction.  Otherwise, Ham knew the man who had helped raise him wouldn’t miss the estate sale of the richest man in Elmore County.

The chant of the auctioneer’s voice intruded into his thoughts.

It’s a fine set of books, maybe a little dusty, but I bet they still read real good.  Grover held up a leather-bound title, and Ham felt his pulse race.  This was the box he was waiting for, but it had been numbered Lot 273, so Ham had assumed it would be one of the last items sold.

Five dollars, Ham yelled into the sudden silence as he held up his auction registration number.  Several of the townsfolk turned to look at him, odd expressions plastered to their faces.  Ham didn’t mind.  Just about everyone he met found him to be unusual.

With a worried look on his face, he looked around for Tom Patrickson.  With JP dead, Tom was now the only lawyer in all of Hemlock.  Earlier, Ham had noticed the attorney pawing through the books Ham was now bidding on.  He knew he couldn’t last in a bidding war with such a wealthy man.  Still, the lawyer’s cash might be a little tight.  Ham had heard that Patrickson’s bill at the hardware store was past due.  Probably nothing to it, though.

Ham hoped that the surprise placement of the books would catch the attorney off guard.  His only hope was for a quick sale before Patrickson realized what was going on.

Up on the stage, Grover looked relieved to finally get a bid.  Now we got five dollar, five dollar, do I hear ten dollar?  Ten dollar, ten dollar, can I have ten dollar.

A young man barely into his teens called out, Six dollars.  His voice cracked on the last syllable, sending a hearty laugh rippling through the crowd.  Ham felt a moment of sympathy for the boy, but his burning desire for the books overrode any sense of compassion he had for his young adversary.  Ham had already read every volume in the small town library, and the price of new books had become prohibitive for him.  He had been making do with a loaned book a week from Sassafras Junior College, but they had just hired a pretty young librarian, and Ham’s shyness around her was hampering his reading.

Ten dollars, he called out.  Ham hoped he could drive the boy off with a quick raise, and after a few moments of the auctioneer’s prattle, the gavel cracked, signifying that Ham now owned the books in question.

He took the box from one of Grover’s sons-in-law and headed over to the registration table.  Betty Hastings’s hair had been frosted white so long that Ham figured the woman herself didn’t know its original color.  Large dimples lit up her round, chubby face when she saw Ham walking toward her. 

Why Hamilton, I was wondering why you weren’t hopping all over those books.

Grover caught me off guard.  I wasn’t expecting them ‘til later.

He handed over a faded, torn ten-dollar bill as Betty wrote out a receipt.  Ham was just about to say something neighborly about the weather when a strange man in his late thirties stepped between them.  He was taller than Ham, but they looked to weigh about the same.  The man’s suit and tie looked out of place among the sea of denim and flowery pastels.

The stranger’s voice was full of contempt as he told Betty, That sale is no good.  I put a personal ‘no-sale’ on that box.  Those are from JP’s study.

Ham felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  Mister, I don’t know who you are, but the sale is legal, and this receipt says it’s final.

The stranger tried to stare him down, but Ham returned the glare with one of his own.  Ham finally broke the eye contact and turned to Betty.  It was nice seeing you.

The man grabbed Ham’s arm to keep him from moving, which was a big mistake.  Ham was the town’s handyman, and it took a lot of muscle to do the jobs required around Hemlock.  Ham broke the stranger’s grip with a flick of his free wrist.  The man’s face immediately started to redden.

When the fellow spoke next, his voice was full of condescension.  I want to apologize.  I know I’ve been going about this the wrong way.  I’m Josh Ellington.  He offered a hand to Ham.  He thought about refusing it, but Ham’s good manners wouldn’t let him.

You related to JP?

He was my uncle.  Listen, I’d like to buy those books from you.  Would twenty dollars cover it?

Josh Ellington reached for his wallet, but Ham shook his head.  I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in selling them.

Red color returned to Ellington’s face as he started rifling through his open wallet.  Would fifty dollars change your mind?  When he saw Ham shake his head, he added, All right, I’m not going to stand here all day and argue with you.  Here’s one hundred dollars.  Now give me those books.  Josh Ellington tried to wrestle the box from Ham’s arms as he shoved a crisp new one-hundred-dollar bill at him.  Ham took a quick step backward.

Mister Ellington, I’m not selling, I thought I made that clear.  Why don’t you take that hundred down to the bookstore and buy yourself some new books.

Those have...sentimental value.

Ham could understand that, since books had always held a special place in his own heart.  But blast it, the man had been especially rude, and if there was one thing Ham hated, it was rudeness.

I’ll tell you what.  After I’m finished reading them, I’ll sell them back to you.  How’s that for a deal?

I want them now.  Ham could see a vein throbbing in Josh Ellington’s right temple.

Well then, I guess you’re going to be a little disappointed.

Without saying another word, Josh Ellington stalked off into the crowd.

Ham had forgotten all about Betty, but his gaze was pulled back to her when he heard her whistle loudly.  You are one brave fellow, Hamilton Jeffries.

Ham smiled.  I never could stand a bully.  Why do you think I’m so brave?

Betty shook her head from side to side.  That enemy you just made might end up owning half the town when JP’s will gets straightened out.

Ham’s interest perked up.  Somebody’s contesting the will?  How can you have an auction if there’s any doubt about who owns what?

Everybody mentioned in the will agreed to sell the household items that have been in storage.  It’s a way for them to each get their hands on some ready cash.  Hasn’t Will brought you up to speed?

No, he’s been too busy sheriffing lately.  Can you tell me more about what’s going on?

A group of men approached the table, clamoring to get registered and complaining about the early start of the auction.  Betty apologized to Ham, saying, I’d love to gossip with you, but Grover will kill me if he sees these men standing around waiting for a number.

Ham moved away from the table and headed out in search of Gloria Springfield, the town gossip.  If anybody at the auction had any idea of what was really going on, it would be Gloria.  She had spent forty years teaching English at Hemlock High School, and over the four decades, Gloria had developed more sources for information than the FBI.  Ham found her sitting in a rented lawn chair, bundled cozily up in a beautiful red Indian blanket and sipping a hot mug of coffee.

Ham fought the impulse to call her Miss Springfield.  Morning, Gloria.  Come to bid?

She looked at him with her head tilted slightly to one side and brushed a stray strand of long natural blond hair out of her eyes.  At sixty, Gloria had given up on perms and teases and had decided to let her rich, thick hair grow unimpeded.  In the sixteen years since, it had grown all the way down her back.  Ham thought the style made her look like one of those shrunken heads they sold at the Elmore County fair every year, but he kept that opinion to himself.

Gloria said, I wasn’t about to miss the social event of the season.  I see you’ve already extracted your riches from the trove.

Ham nodded in agreement.  Have you heard anything about JP’s will being contested?

The slight prod was all it took.  Gloria motioned Ham to squat down beside her.  Once he was positioned close enough, she said, It’s a terrible shame.  From the way I hear it, Emma Winslow is getting the bulk of the estate.  You could hear JP’s family screaming all the way to Crockett’s Ridge.

He left all that money to his cleaning lady?  I’m in the wrong line of work.

Gloria shook her head slowly.  I might have made a go at the job myself if I’d known about the potential reward in the end.

Ham started to wonder about Josh Ellington’s earlier behavior over a box of dusty books.  With all of his problems, it didn’t make much sense for the man to be arguing over some past childhood memories.

What are the nieces and nephews getting?

Gloria’s voice dove lower, so that Ham had to get closer to the woman than he liked.  The unmistakable and overpowering scent of lilacs accosted his nose, but he fought down the urgent need to sneeze.  Gloria would probably take it as a personal insult, and the older the woman got, the touchier she had become.

From what I hear, he set aside a trust fund with $200,000 in it, in case any of the nieces and nephews become needy.  As if an Ellington would ever admit to needing anything.  I tell you, that old bird surely did twist a few tail feathers on his way out of this world.  Gloria’s eyes went over Ham’s head.  It looks like someone is looking for you.

Ham turned around to see his uncle approaching, dressed