Mister Fixit

  Table of Contents

  Title page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other Books by Elle Casey

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  About the Author

  Other Books by Elle Casey

  Mister Fixit

  Elle Casey

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  © 2015 Elle Casey, all rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without author permission.

  DEDICATION

  For Amy Townsend,

  one of my most dedicated reader-fans.

  Want to get an email when my next book is released?

  Sign up here: http://bit.ly/ellecaseynews

  OTHER BOOKS BY ELLE CASEY

  ROMANCE

  Shine Not Burn (2-book series)

  Don’t Make Me Beautiful

  By Degrees

  Rebel (3-book series)

  Full Measure (written as Kat Lee)

  Just One Night (romantic serial)

  Just One Week (romantic serial)

  Love in New York (3-book series)

  Mismatched (with Amanda McKeon)

  PARANORMAL

  Duality (2-book series)

  Pocket Full of Sunshine (short story & screenplay)

  URBAN FANTASY

  War of the Fae (7-book series)

  My Vampire Summer

  Aces High (with Jason Brant)

  DYSTOPIAN

  Apocalypsis (4-book series)

  ACTION ADVENTURE

  Wrecked (2-book series)

  Chapter One

  I DON’T WANT TO BE here in this big apartment all by myself. Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of the love that used to dwell here with me. Cassie. My niece in name but every other way, my daughter… the baby who was thrust into my life when I least expected it, forcing me into the role of mother to a newborn at twenty-six, much earlier than I’d planned. But I made it work. We not only survived but thrived. She grew new teeth. She learned to sit up. She started to eat solid food. She can drink from a cup now and not just a bottle. I changed hundreds, maybe thousands of diapers, walked the floors with her crying in my arms, stroked her soft head when she finally did sleep. But then her father came back from the dead and claimed her as his, and Robinson, that bastard, made it really easy for him to get what he wanted.

  I’ll never forgive him for that. Robinson could have backed out, claiming a conflict of interest or something. It wouldn’t have been a lie, either. He had that conflict, or so I’d hoped. I’d been counting on the idea that after all these years of me looking at Robinson with love in my eyes that he’d finally noticed and began doing all the things he did for our family not out of obligation but out of something else — a connection to me. To my heart. I’d been so sure there was something between us. But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.

  Even if there were something there before, there isn’t now. Robinson and I are over before we began, and I need to get out of here before I start breaking holes in the walls.

  I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder, taking my keys from the front-hall table as I go out the door. As I’m locking up, the door behind me opens, and my neighbor across the hall sticks her head out. That’s all she’s capable of doing, being that she suffers from a pretty severe case of agoraphobia.

  “Jana,” she whispers.

  “Yes, Rose?” I turn when my lock is fully seated.

  “Are you going to the grocery by any chance?”

  I smile weakly. It’s the best I can do when my heart’s in this state. “Not right away, but I was thinking about going out later. Why? Do you need something I can grab for you?” I know for a fact she has her groceries delivered, but once in a while when she only needs something small, she’ll ask me to buy it for her. I don’t mind. She seems like a nice woman, even though I don’t know her very well.

  “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t want to bother you.” She starts pulling her head back inside.

  “No, it’s fine, Rose.” I make an effort at using a cheerier tone. “I’m sorry if I sound so blasé right now. I’m just … tired.”

  Rose’s head re-emerges. For some reason seeing her head coming out like that reminds me of a baby being born, and I lose my smile.

  “What’s the matter?” She smiles kindly. “Baby keeping you up at night again?” She never complained about Casssie’s crying, even though I knew she could hear it on the few occasions I would stay here in the city and not out in Brooklyn. My other neighbors weren’t nearly as understanding, which is why I spent more time out at Jeremy’s place than I did here.

  “No.” I try to say more, but I can’t. My mouth starts to tremble and tears rush to fill my eyes.

  Rose’s face falls. “Oh, dear. Have I said something wrong? Would you like to come in for some tea?”

  I’ve never been inside Rose’s apartment, always leaving her requested grocery items with her at the door, but the need to be with another human being and curiosity have me saying yes to her offer. I need a distraction from all this emotion and maybe she can be that for me right now.

  “Come in, come in,” she says, waving at me from a door open wider than I’ve ever seen from her.

  I walk in with my eyes bugging out. I had assumed that along with agoraphobia, Rose would also suffer from pathological hoarding. I don’t know why; my own ignorance, I suppose. But as soon as I’m just two steps into the place, I realize she’s anything but.

  After entering her foyer, I follow her into another room, past antiques I know to be worth a fortune. We enter a formal living room that’s at least three times the size of mine.

  I smile as a few mysteries connect and finally make sense. No wonder those doors next to hers never opened. She owns the space behind all of them, having combined three apartments into one giant place. I thought my apartment was a good investment, but hers puts mine to shame.

  “Is Earl Grey okay with you, or do you prefer herbal tea?” She shuffles off to the kitchen.

  I watch her go, admiring her dark blue kaftan paired with black pants. Even though she never leaves the apartment, she’s dressed as if she’s about to go shopping and have lunch with a wealthy friend. Her hair and makeup are flawless, which is saying a lot for a woman of her age, and I estimate that to be about eighty-five. Both of my grandmothers eschewed makeup in their later years, claiming it was more trouble than it was worth.

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” I raise my voice to be
heard in the other room. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble, believe me. I’m glad of the company. Tea is always better when shared.” She reappears at the entry to the room. “Have a seat, dear. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She points to a chair and turns around, tottering a little and holding the wall for a moment for support.

  I never noticed any hints of frailty in her before, but then I guess that’s not surprising since I only ever see her head. Who knows, she could be falling all over the place in here, and I’d never find out about it until an ambulance showed up. Jesus, I’m a shit neighbor.

  Imagining her lying on this carpet here with no way to communicate amplifies my concern for her wellbeing. Should she even be living here on her own? I should probably pry a little when she gets here with the tea. Maybe she has a son or a daughter who checks in on her that I’ve never noticed. That would be nice; then I won’t have to worry quite as much.

  Before taking the seat she suggested, I wander over to some shelves on the far wall. There are no photographs to identify any children in her life, just books and archeological artifacts that look like ancient deities carved out of stone, very worn in some places. I’m tempted to touch one of them, but I resist. I’ve been to enough museums with Do Not Touch signs on them that my instincts tell me to keep my hands to myself.

  Her books range from the classics to references on the Bronze Age, Polytheism, and the Middle East. I’m just about to reach for one of them when a noise behind me distracts me and makes me turn around.

  A cat is sitting on the nearby table, staring at me.

  I rest my hand on my chest, my heart fluttering underneath at an abnormally fast rate. “Kitty, you scared me.” I walk over with my hand held out. The cat merely watches me. “I didn’t know you lived here.” I attempt to stroke her head, but she moves away, absolutely not interested in any attention from me. I’ll be honest; the rejection stings.

  I frown at her. What kind of cat doesn’t want a little stroke now and then? She walks along the back of a couch, and I follow with my hand out. “Come here, Kitty, I just want to pet you.” My crazy brain is thinking she’s just misunderstood my motives. As soon as she realizes I’m only there to be her servant, she’ll jump right up for the opportunity.

  She leaps from the couch to a chair, and I’m right behind her. “Just one pet. Come on, you know you like it.” It’s become a personal challenge. She thinks she doesn’t want attention from me, but she’s wrong. As soon as she gets one little tickle behind the ear, she’ll want more. I’m great with cats.

  I nearly pounce on her as I reach the chair, but she’s too fast for me. She leaps to the floor and skitters across the wood parquet, escaping through the legs of her owner into the room beyond.

  Rose looks down at the cat and then up at me, bewildered. “Well! I guess she’s in a hurry to get somewhere.”

  My face grows pink as I wonder whether Rose saw me chasing her cat around the room. How embarrassing. When have I ever been invited into someone’s home and then proceeded to terrorize their family pet? What’s gotten into me? Why am I acting so strangely? So the cat didn’t want any affection from me. Is that a crime now? And why do I feel so utterly rejected? It’s just a damn cat, and not a very friendly one at that.

  “Here, let me help you,” I say, moving across the room to take the tea tray from her. It looks heavy, and I need the distraction.

  “Oh, that’s okay, I have everything in hand. If you’ll just move those magazines out of the way for me.” I follow her gaze to the coffee table that has four magazines spread out around it. One is a Vogue, the others are all journals of some sort.

  Turning to move them out of her path, I smile, still feeling awkward over harassing her poor cat. “What a beautiful tea service that is,” I say, hoping she’ll forget about how fast her kitty was moving when he left. “I rarely see the real thing anymore.”

  “Yes, well, I tend to be a little old-fashioned, you could say.”

  I try to keep smiling, but now I’m feeling even worse. First I stalk her cat, then I tell her she’s a fuddy duddy. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. I really do like it. Some things shouldn’t change.” I stand and give her my best smile, willing my lips not to tremble.

  She laughs as she puts the tray down, the cups and saucers clinking together as they rattle around. “Oh, not to worry, dear. I didn’t take offense.”

  I sit down in a nearby wing-backed chair and fold my hands in my lap. I’m probably better off treating this whole place like a museum at this point. I seem to have lost both my grace and my manners, and Rose seems like the kind of person who’s used to having those things around.

  She starts to pour some tea into one of the cups. “So, you chased Mumfry right out of the room, eh?”

  I nearly choke on my own saliva.

  Chapter Two

  SHE CHUCKLES. “HE’S THE MOST pig-headed pussycat that ever lived. Don’t take it personally if he didn’t let you pet him.” She holds up the saucer and cup. “Sugar, dear?”

  My face if flaming red and I’ve started to perspire. I feel like I’m being punked by an eighty-five year old recluse. Not my proudest moment. “Yes, one please. Thank you. No milk.”

  She fixes my tea and then stirs, speaking absently as the liquid swirls around inside the cup. “He lets me pet him once a week. Twice if it’s Christmas.”

  My laughter sounds fake, even though it’s not. “Why twice at Christmas?”

  She takes her own teacup and drops a lump of sugar into it. “Because I feed him foie gras on Christmas Eve. It’s the one day of the year he gets something special, and he rewards me with access to his head for about five seconds.” She looks off into the distance. “He reminds me of my late husband, actually.”

  When I laugh this time, it sounds more genuine. “Not very affectionate, I take it?” I take my tea and saucer in hand. Sipping, I watch her over the rim. She’s way more feisty than I originally thought she would be.

  “No, not really. A scientist. Archeologist, actually.” She sighs and puts her cup down. “He was always more interested in artifacts than any living thing.”

  I twist around toward her shelves. “I noticed you have some artifacts there.”

  “Yes, I’ve winnowed down our original collection, leaving just my favorites here. The rest are on loan.”

  “Really? Where?” Our family has some pieces on loan too, although I don’t really know what they are specifically, other than the fact that they’re paintings. My brother James always kept track of those things for us. And now that our parents are gone, none of us is really interested in getting the stuff back. Better to let the public enjoy them than locking them away where only we can see them. Thanks to our grandparents’ and parents’ investments, none of us will ever have to sell one of the pieces for money to live on.

  She waves her hand carelessly. “Oh, we have things here in Manhattan. London. Dubai if you can believe that.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Dubai? That’s really cool, actually.”

  She shrugs. “Ancient artifacts have been in my life for over sixty years. I’m kind of tired of the whole game, really. I have other interests now.”

  I turn back to her, more curious than ever. “Like what?” I don’t know what I expect her to say, maybe lion-taming or something equally daring since her career path makes me think of Indiana Jones, but I’m surprised nonetheless when she gives me her actual answer.

  “Knitting if you can believe it.” She laughs as if she can’t believe it herself. “Of all the things.” She shakes her head. “It’s just that my mind starts racing, and since I don’t go out anymore, there’s nothing to rein it in. The knitting is very calming. Very relaxing.”

  “Maybe I should try it.” The words fly out of my mouth out of sense of politeness, but I should have watched what I was saying more closely. I’ve revealed too much, and I’m quickly learning that just because Rose stays inside all the time, it doesn’t mean she is
n’t as sharp as a tack.

  She sips her tea and smiles. “So tell me, Jana. Where’s little Cassie today?”

  I swallow and make a big show of picking up my tea and sipping, giving me time to compose myself before I respond.

  “I can’t remember the last time I heard her, actually.” Rose tips her head, waiting for my answer.

  “Well, uh, it’s because… Cassie’s with her father.” Why was that so hard to say? Probably because I wanted to say, ‘Cassie’s with her drug addict no-show dad who I had to pick up the pieces for.’ But it wouldn’t have been very neighborly to share that much dirty laundry, so instead I stutter my way through the polite answer.

  She frowns. “I seem to recall you telling me her father wasn’t able to care for her.”

  Whoops. Guess I shared a little bit of that laundry already. Oh well. “He wasn’t. But he is now. Apparently.” I nearly choke on that last word. I have to quickly put the teacup in my face again to keep from crying.

  “He’s your brother, right?”

  Rose also has a great memory. Faaaantastic. “Yes. My brother Jeremy. He lost his wife almost a year ago. In March it’ll be a year.” Guilt assails me. Here I am giving him shit in my head about dumping Cassie on me, when I know very well why he did it. He had his reasons and no one blamed him for them; no one except me, of course, but only after he took Cassie back.

  “That’s right,” Rose says. “I read about it in the papers, and I remember her funeral.” She gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go.”

  I shake my head, not wanting her to go down that road. “No, it’s fine. Really. I didn’t expect you to.” I put my teacup down, my drink finished, anxious to leave. I thought having some company would be good for me, but I was wrong. I feel like shit and pretending to be a happy person is taking more energy than I have.

  “So your brother has Cassie now? And he’s okay?”

  I hang onto the arms of the chair to help steady my emotions. “Yes. He and his girlfriend. Or his wife, I guess she is now.” It’s impossible to miss the bitterness in my voice. I blame everything on her, which may or may not be fair, but that’s how I’m playing it. Before she came along, everything was fine. Well, okay, it wasn’t fine; Jeremy was going to hell in a hand basket, but Cassie was great, and I was great. Why did anything have to change? Jeremy could have gotten better and left Cassie with me. I was already acting as her mother…