Loose Screw: Nailed It Home Reno Mysteries, #2

By Barbara Barrett

All Rowena Summerfield wants to do is finish her latest home renovation with her daughter, Valerie. And it seems like all building inspector Mortimer Fonseca wants to do is get in her way. His refusal to help Ro's Nailed It company meet his impossible expectations has her fuming, and she's not the only one — as she learns when Fonseca turns up dead, run over in a parking lot in the middle of the night.

 

His colleagues say he was a loose screw, even if he was wound too tight. But Ro and her former colleague on the police force, Detective Hercules Morgan, soon discover he was a lot more than that. And a lot of people might have wanted to wrench the life out of him, from disgruntled builders to his sneaky co-workers to a relative who stands to inherit everything.

 

The more Ro, Val and Herc interview suspects and other persons of interest, the less they are able to hammer down a motive. But as the case takes an unexpected turn and becomes doubly complex, can a voice from beyond the grave be just what they need to nail down the guilty party?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara Barrett
• Release date: Feb 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781948532419

Barbara Barrett

Barbara Barrett is a Midwestern woman who prefers her winters without snow or ice. Since her retirement, she spends her winters in Florida and returns to Iowa for her summers (which can get just as hot and humid as Florida at times). After graduating from college with a B.A. and M.A. degree in History, she spent several years as a human resources management analyst for the State of Iowa studying jobs and working with employees. She is married to the man she met in floor counselor training at the University of Iowa. They have two grown children and eight grandchildren. When not planted in front of her laptop, she is playing mah jongg, having lunch with friends or watching cooking or interior decoration shows on TV. Sign up for her newsletter: https://www.subscribepage.com/BBContempRom Website: www.barbarabarrettbooks.com Email: [e-mail] Twitter: http://twitter.com/bbarrettbooks Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/barbarabarrett7/

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

"W hat on earth are you doing?" my daughter, Valerie, asked from the worktable in our office/studio.

What does it look like? I’m cutting out fabric for throw pillows, I replied, tamping down my irritation at being interrupted.

She picked up a remnant of the expensive blue fabric and examined it. I can see that. What I meant is why are you playing seamstress when you’re supposed to be finalizing the design plan for our current project? Since when had my thirty-five-year-old daughter become my supervisor? Sometimes her days as a bank loan manager snuck back into her attitude.

Val and I—I’m Rowena Summerfield; they call me Ro—are partners in Nailed It Home Renos, a business we formed when my career as a homicide detective tanked after a car accident sidelined me from investigating full time. Val was seeking a new challenge after her divorce. Our latest project was a one-story, two-bedroom, two-bath ranch on Lakeview Court, a cul-de-sac in the older part of Shasta, Florida.

Although our crew had cleared out the trash left behind by the previous owner, demo couldn’t begin until the city approved our plans. That process couldn’t start until the design plan was finished. Which was my task as interior designer. But I’d hit a wall, which I now attempted to explain to my daughter, who was also the construction chief. The house is small and doesn’t lend itself to the expectations of today’s clients. I’ve switched up projects to free up my brain.

By cutting out fabric?

For throw pillows. I thought I told you about our new business.

She raised her brows. Throw pillows? We can’t augment our coffers much at the ten dollars a pop you’ll get for selling them, especially if you’ve spent more on materials than you’ll make.

These will be my own signature brand to display in our houses, gift to new owners and sell in our own staging boutique. I kept my voice even, like I’d been planning this last part as the next obvious step on our road to an empire. The idea of establishing our own shop to sell some of the items we used to stage our houses had occurred to me within the last hour. I tried out the concept with Val to see if it would fly.

She shook her head in disbelief, her long, dark ponytail swinging in time with her words. Making a few pillows is one thing, but churning them out on an assembly line is beyond our time and resources. Where did this idea of a staging boutique come from anyhow?

Blame Amanda. She stopped by earlier thinking you might be here. When she saw what I was doing, she threw out the suggestion. Amanda Casey has been Val’s best friend since high school and was now our real estate agent of choice, although on occasion we have to bring in one of her competitors.

Val rolled her eyes. Amanda throws out ideas all the time. She can’t help it. That’s how her brain works, but it doesn’t obligate us to follow through on them. Where would you even locate this shop?

Here. I waited for the explosion, although the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a brilliant way to utilize some of the wasted space in this building.

Here, as in our office/studio space? Her volume increased. Much too high for the quality of my idea.

We bought this building for a song when we decided to become business partners. Each of us would have a big, comfy office plus plenty of room to store unused materials and for me to work on design plans. But even with those arrangements, half our space is going unused.

We talked about subleasing it at some future point.

True, which we could still do if this idea doesn’t work. But think of it, Val. Not only could we reduce some of our staging expenses, we could also bring in additional revenue.

She appeared to consider my argument. At least I thought that was what the furrowed brows and scrunched-up eyes signaled. To make this work, you can’t just sell pillows. Even if that’s all you started with, how many could you produce without cutting into your design time?

Occasionally she made very good sense. She was, after all, my offspring. My only progeny, so all my good vibes went into raising her. Plus, the best of my DNA, like my dark brown hair color and wide brown eyes. Her dad contributed too, especially in the height department. She’s tall like he was. Ben passed away from cancer thirteen years ago, but we still missed him dearly. The idea isn’t to have too many on hand. Supply versus demand, you know?

How would you like to take a break and visit Garner’s Gift Shoppe? she asked out of the blue. We’ll call what they’re asking for throw pillows these days research so you won’t feel guilty about putting the design plan on hold a little longer.

Garner’s, huh? I haven’t been there in ages.

It’s real close to Dawson’s Deli, if that sweetens the suggestion any.

I hadn’t been seeing Chuck Dawson long, but my daughter had already decided we were quite the thing and took advantage of every opportunity to get us together. As much as she adored my former partner at the Shasta Police Department, Hercules Herc Morgan, she preferred I focus my romantic attentions on Chuck.

Okay. You’ve convinced me.

It was a pleasantly warm spring day in central Florida. Soon, when it wasn’t raining every afternoon, it would be hot and humid. This was the time of year when Floridians took advantage of the good days.

Val drove, and as we went, she quizzed me. Tell me what’s stopping you from finishing the plan. Color scheme? Style?"

I’ve asked myself the same question more than once and come up with a whole list. There’s the entryway, nine inches higher than the floor in the rest of the house. Architects from that period must’ve had it in for their clients, because those step-downs are death traps, just waiting for the owner to forget or a visitor to miss. Lawsuits waiting to happen.

Amanda texted she might be stopping by between appointments. She’s back on the meeting-men kick again and wants me to sign up with her on this new dating service she’s found for those in their mid-thirties. I’d just as soon avoid her until I decide how I feel about it.

I didn’t know whether to be thrilled or frightened. Val was now several years past her divorce to the unfaithful Larry Kowalski, but she was still vulnerable. Despite her claims to the contrary, she wanted to be back in a relationship, preferably one that came with a marriage license.

Sounds like you’re not interested. My way of staying neutral.

I am but I’m not. Neither one of us has had much luck with these services in the past, but meeting men on my own, eligible men I’d like to spend time with, is getting more and more difficult. Most men are too lazy to meet someone the old-fashioned ways anymore and simply sign up for these services to avoid the hassle. So why shouldn’t I?

Will I get to meet one of these studs?

You? You’ve lucked into a relationship with a guy every one of his female customers sees as her future baby daddy, even if most of them are beyond their childbearing years. Why would you want to meet a guy?

Not for me, silly. I’d just like to be part of your latest adventure.

She glanced over at me when we came to a stop sign. Thanks, Mom. Even though I’m on your case most of the time, I appreciate having you in my life too.

Our afternoon at Garner’s Gift Shoppe helped take my mind off my design plan problems. Even though whoever Garner was preferred the fancy spelling with the extra P and nonessential E, the place was a feast for my eyes with their wide inventory, all the lush fabrics and striking colors and patterns.

But it was also a great research outing for our future boutique as I studied the layout, type of product offered and prices. Especially the prices. So far, we’d used the services of a stager, as we amassed our own inventory through estate sales, flea markets and donations. I’d lost track of the prices of current retail offerings. Perhaps our boutique could provide more income than I’d originally imagined.

The pillows were few and far between, but the ones I discovered were beautiful, the workmanship exquisite. Made of either very high-end upholstery or brocade fabrics, they weren’t suitable for our open houses. Too easy to spill liquid or hors d’oeuvres on. I made a mental note to ensure whatever fabric I used from here on had to be washable—machine-washable, not just dry-cleanable.

Pillow prices ranged from fifty-five to a hundred and twenty-five dollars. Whoa. If I kept my prices under fifty, I might find a market. One even bore the creator’s logo on the satin tag. I tucked that idea away for future reference.

Although I didn’t buy any pillows, Val found a small chest for Amanda’s upcoming birthday. It had been discounted twenty-five percent.

I missed the markdown section where you found that item. Did it have a lot of inventory?

Now that you mention it, I guess there were. At the time, I took it as my good luck. But I see what you’re getting at. Too many items there suggests things aren’t selling at the original prices, which means the business may be in trouble.

Which, if correct, tells me not to go overboard pricing my pillows or any other articles I fabricate.

We left Garner’s and headed for Storage Solutions. Let’s go see if anything here joggles your brain.

I had my doubts. I was sure this place carried lots of great closets and other storage options, which all needed space, the very thing our reno lacked. Nonetheless, I nodded and headed inside.

I’d only looked into storage ideas at big box stores and discount container stores. Storage Solutions was another story. I wandered around like a kid in a candy store. I would so like to try several of these options, but the prices were out of our range.

Well? Val asked, joining me after a few minutes.

Well, what? Did I find a way to add a hundred square feet to our house? It wasn’t a total waste of time, though, I said. I had her follow me to another section. This one featured storage bins that went under beds.

Val examined a couple of the items. These might work, but have you looked at these prices?

Are you up to customizing something like these? It could be your entrée into the world of these high-end storage solutions.

I’ve considered building underbed drawers but never put the idea in practice because we always found other ways to make more storage. She patted me on the back. Great idea, Mom. You are in top form today. We need to make time for more of these excursions.

Ten minutes later, seated at one of the three customer tables at Dawson’s Deli, we toasted our successful trip with coffee. Me, with a black Kona brew, and Val, a vanilla latte.

What’s the occasion? a sexy male voice asked from behind me.

I promised Mom a stop here if we did well researching some design options this afternoon, Val told him. This place is quite the incentive … because of the coffee you serve.

Chuck Dawson slipped into the empty seat next to me. My heart still did flip-flops when he came near. Who could resist this over-six-feet-tall guy with a short salt-and-pepper buzz cut who was still remarkably built for a man in his fifties? Whatever it takes to get you here, he replied, demonstrating that mind-blowing smile. Both of you, he added, now gazing at Val. He wasn’t beyond appealing to my daughter to work his way even deeper into my good graces.

Val has been attempting to free up my brain from the fog it’s been in when it comes to the design plan for our new project. I suspect she wanted a break for herself as well, but our little shopping trip has helped. Once we leave here, I’m off to put these new thoughts in my computer.

Then we should celebrate, Chuck said. How about I add a muffin for each of you? On the house, of course.

Val answered for both of us. I like how you think, Chuck.

I did, too, but all the goodies I’d been treated to since Chuck entered my life were starting to add up on my hips. But I had to be polite, didn’t I?

While Chuck was retrieving the muffins, Val leaned in. Don’t look now, Mom, but those women over there keep staring at us, and their stares don’t look friendly.

Ignore them. Envious looks like that apparently go with the territory when you’re around Chuck Dawson.

This has happened before? Her voice emerged in an incredulous whisper.

Oh, yes. I enjoyed the notoriety at first, but it’s gotten old. A little envy goes a long way, and sometimes it’s more like animosity.

It’s not enough for you to call things off with him, I hope? she asked in a panic.

What do you think? I may have responded with a question, but my eyes told her I had no intention of breaking things off with the man.

For once, we’re in total agreement.

CHAPTER 2

Energized by our discoveries during our field trip, I returned to the office and jumped headfirst into finishing the initial plans for the Lakeview Court property. The next several days flew by now that I’d unclogged my brain where the spatial decisions were concerned.

Knock, knock. Ryder Tompkins stood in my open door. Though he owned his own construction company, he also worked with Val on our projects. He’d been a terrific teacher for her when she was learning the trade.

Hi. Did we have an appointment this morning?

No. I took a chance you’d be free. Do you have time to talk?

Of course. I always have time for you. Have a seat. What’s up?

He pulled out one of my visitor chairs and settled his lanky body into it. Before he began, he swiped away some of the red hair that had fallen forward across his forehead, as was his habit. A while back I asked for your help finding my long-lost brother or sister that my father sired during an affair. The one my mother has brought up during a few of her lucid periods with her Alzheimer’s.

Right. I remember. I also recall you didn’t have much to go on, not even the gender of the child, although she’d managed to give you a time period when the baby supposedly was born. Have you learned anything more since we last talked?

Not much. Just that the baby’s mother lived near Atlanta. I’ve tried pushing for more, but every time I do, Mom gets very frustrated. Her doctor advised me not to press her, although he also told me the end is approaching.

I reached across the desk and touched his hand. Oh, Ryder, I’m so sorry.

He lowered his head briefly. Thanks. It’s just that, as much as I know where this is going, it’s hard to prepare for it. Until this illness invaded her brain, Sally Tompkins has always been a dynamo. Years ago, when my dad got ill, family responsibilities she’d never been exposed to were suddenly thrust upon her. Instead of complaining or caving to the expectations, she came alive and actually thrived running the household, taking care of Dad and, after his passing, finding a good-paying job she loved.

Did you get the name of the baby’s mother? Probably not, since he hadn’t said so already.

"Mom has tried to tell me several times, but her brain won’t go there. She’s pretty sure the first name started with an N. She was sure it wasn’t Nancy. Nora sounded about right, but she wasn’t sure."

That’s something. Tell you what, let me do some research about locating people with only fragments of information to go on.

He jumped up. Thanks, Ro. I’ll keep you posted if I learn anything more.

And I’ll do the same for you. And Ryder? We’re all here for you. Let us know how else we can help you through this time.

He simply nodded and quickly departed.

Poor guy. I remembered how lost I’d been when my own parents passed and totally torn up when my husband finally succumbed to the cancer. I wasn’t sure I could do much to find the sibling he’d only recently learned about, but if it helped him get through this difficult time at all, I would try. Just as long as I didn’t give him unreal expectations.

I’d welcomed the unplanned visit from Ryder because I truly wanted to be there for him but also because it was a distraction from our current holding pattern while we awaited approval of our building inspection application. We applied to the city building inspection office as soon as I finished the design plan, and we were awaiting a call from Murray Bendix, the inspector we’d worked with on prior projects. As a courtesy, he would do an unofficial review and go over any potential problems with us before the plan went through the official review process.

I was online researching other space-saving methods when Val showed up with a much-needed cup of coffee. Have we heard from the city yet? I asked after thanking her for the brew.

She blew out a breath. No, and I don’t know why. Murray is always so on top of things. We’ve never had to wait this long before.

Have you called him?

Of course. But he wasn’t in. I had to leave a message. Normally when I do that, he gets back to me within a day.

I groaned, a long woe-is-us groan. This seemed like such a slam-dunk project when we first approached it. Until I came face-to-face with the space issues old houses present. Then I had to get creative, and it cost us valuable time.

Water under the bridge now, Mom. I’m more concerned about Murray. It isn’t like him to avoid my calls. If he has major problems with the design plan, he wouldn’t put off telling us.

Do you have time to drop by his office? I asked.

I’ll try calling once more before I resort to that, she said as she pivoted to leave. Herc Morgan, my old partner from my days as a homicide detective with the Shasta Police Department, stood in the doorway. Hi, Herc. Long time, no see.

Herc attempted to smile at Val, who he’d treated like his own daughter ever since her own father’s death. But his smile fell short. His face was tight, his eyes narrowed.

Val read the scene and decided the best way she could help him was to clear out and let him talk to me.

She’s right, you know, I said. It has been a while since we last saw you. Got a tough case?

Before replying, he slumped his bulk into a guest chair. Wouldn’t be so tough if my partner would admit we’ve got a murder on our hands and start treating it that way.

What happened? Was someone killed? An obvious question, I suppose, but I needed more details before jumping to conclusions.

First, let me ask you a question. Do you remember a case we had years ago where there was this elderly guy whose caregiver kept reducing his medications to the point where they weren’t there when needed for an emergency, which eventually happened? Given the man’s age and poor health, we initially dismissed the death as nature taking its course until you examined the pharmacist’s records and discovered more than enough pills had been issued to him.

I took a moment to scan my memory bank. Although Shasta couldn’t exactly be considered a hotbed of crime, Herc and I