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  MEASURE TWICE, MURDER ONCE

  NAILED IT HOME RENO MYSTERIES, BOOK 1

  BARBARA BARRETT

  CONTENTS

  About the Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek: Loose Screw

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Barbara Barrett

  A little about Barbara Barrett

  Copyright © Barbara Barrett 2022

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted to any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

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  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-948532-35-8

  A MURDER OF ILL REPUTE ...

  It’s bad enough when your business partner buys a property without consulting you, but when she accidentally acquires a brothel, it’s enough to make Rowena Summerfield want to throw away her hammer. Still, the house is a bargain, and maybe it’s just what Ro and her daughter need to turn around their home renovation business.

  As Ro, a former homicide detective, comes to terms with the deal, she gets a shock when the former owner—and madam—turns up dead. Soon someone from Ro’s past shows up at the work site: her ex-partner, who needs a temporary sidekick to help him solve the case. Reviving their investigative team isn’t easy, especially when Herc gets jealous of the hunky deli owner who takes an interest in widow Rowena. Until now, she was fine with one man in her life—her cuddly cat, Jason.

  Ro and Herc discover the previous residents of the house, including the victim’s daughter, have less than fond memories of their former boss. The bordello’s old customers have a lot to lose if their secrets surface, and the unhappy neighbors still bear a grudge. As the sleuths dig deeper, they unearth a flimsy foundation of anger, greed and fear framing the walls the suspects have built around themselves. Can Ro and Herc find the culprit before someone plays another deadly trick?

  This book is dedicated to those who make foolish business decisions and struggle to recoup their losses.

  CHAPTER 1

  “You bought our next property without me?” I screeched, unable to believe my daughter’s words.

  “You were at the gym,” Valerie replied, attempting to sound more reasonable than I.

  “I could’ve been there in thirty minutes.”

  “There wasn’t enough time. It was all I could do to convince the real estate agent to let me see it before he listed it."

  “That was a ploy to make you anxious to buy.”

  “I resent that. I can recognize a ploy when I hear one. I couldn’t have survived investment banking all those years if I couldn’t.”

  Maybe so, but where had that skepticism been while her husband was cheating on her? But this wasn’t the time to remind her how Larry Kowalski had strayed.

  I pushed my five-foot-five frame up from the couch. At the ripe old age of fifty-seven and after long weeks of rehab, standing cost me more effort than it used to. Upright, I grabbed my sweater—all I needed for February in Shasta, Florida—fluffed up my short, dark bob, attempted to stifle the anger that had bubbled up in my stomach and summoned a modicum of enthusiasm about the purchase. “Okay, let’s go see this great bargain you got us.”

  Though she tried to cover it, I couldn’t miss the quick glance Val threw me with those wide brown eyes, indicating she couldn’t tell whether I was relieved she hadn’t second-guessed herself again, as she’d been doing for months, or gauging whether I was about to throw her out of our company, Nailed It Home Renos.

  Once I calmed down, which I’d do eventually, this new purchase might be a sign we could finally get our young business back on track.

  I’m Rowena Summerfield. Ro to those who know me. Val, thirty-five, is my only child. She looks a little like me with her dark brown hair—at least I tell myself that, although she would claim she resembles her late father more, since she is tall like he was. Possibly her way of maintaining a tie to him. I’ve been a widow for thirteen years, and she’s been divorced for six. When we’re not arguing about independently buying houses, we’re best friends. Besides being partners the last three years, we also share the same duplex. Home reno is a second career for both of us. I’m a former homicide detective sidelined by a brutal car crash, and she used to be an investment banker.

  After we struggled the first year to get noticed, business slowly picked up until a few months ago, when we discovered our latest project was riddled with asbestos. Work stopped until the abatement process was completed. We hadn’t done a good job of due diligence before purchasing the place, so the extra seven thousand dollars to correct the problem put us way over our estimated budget.

  The money part was primarily Val’s responsibility. She’s the construction guru on our team, although we also use a small group of subs. She blamed herself for our company losing money on the project, because she failed to include a plan for catastrophic contingencies. As a result, she began to doubt herself, afraid if she took the slightest chance, our next purchase could bankrupt us. Our partnership suffered as a result.

  I should’ve caught the asbestos problem, too, or at least considered it a possibility. I’d trained in construction engineering, thanks to part of my worker’s compensation. (The other part went to courses in interior design.) As it turned out, it was a case of each of us thinking the other had checked for it. Needless to say, that won’t happen again.

  We floundered like that for weeks until my partner from my cop days, Hercules Morgan, who’s not particularly known for his people skills, visited our latest construction site and, after observing us tiptoeing around each other’s feelings, asked how much longer we intended to stay in business with this sick work relationship. I assumed that’s what prompted this current purchase. Val wanted to show me the self-doubts were a thing of the past. Plus, she couldn’t resist a bargain. She claimed we got this house for half of what we’d normally pay for an older home needing loving care.

  She drove us to our new acquisition in her aging Ford pickup. “Tell me a little about this place before we get there,” I said, attempting to warm to what was apparently a done deal.

  “It’s ripe with opportunities, Mom,” she said as we approached Coral Street, where it was located.

  “Why’s that?” I asked. “Can we make a decent profit?” I refrained from saying, “this time,” but I admit it was in the back of my mind.

  “Though it’s somewhat run-down, for once we won’t have to clear away tons of junk left behind by the previous owner. She apparently sold off as much as she could to pay for her retirement condo.”

  “We usually deal with the estate of the former owner.”

  “This one’s still alive, and she remained in Shasta. That could work to our benefit, if we ever need to learn anything about its history.”

  I wasn’t sure that was a good sign. “Just so she doesn’t turn into a sidewalk supervisor dropping by to critique our work every day.”

  The house, a fairly large two-story, was located in the middle of the block. We got out
of the car and studied the structure. It wasn’t exactly an eyesore, although several shrubs in front needed to be trimmed or removed. The roof looked to be in good shape, but the front porch pillars needed help. And the exterior definitely could use a new coat of paint or siding.

  She pulled out the key. “Ready? I did a quick walk-through with the agent but not long enough to determine the shape it was in.”

  I took a deep breath before proceeding. “Let’s determine if we got a real bargain or a pig in a poke.”

  She laughed. “When you were on the force, you threatened to cut off my allowance if I ever referred to that animal.”

  “You don’t get an allowance now. And the expression pretty much says it all,” I replied.

  She patted my shoulder. “C’mon, let’s take a look at our piggy. You may want to hold your nose at first.”

  Most older houses have a certain odor, but the smell in this one was more offensive than usual, even though it wasn’t the typical stench of decay or animal feces. This was like too much deodorizer. Flowery, cloying. I pulled out a handkerchief I keep in my purse for such occasions, and Val covered her nose with her hand.

  “Our sanitizing company can handle this smell,” she said.

  The first area appeared to have been the living room. “Nice decorating job,” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcastic bent.

  “Overlook the red brocade wallpaper,” Val replied.

  “Is that even possible? Was there actually a time when this stuff was considered trendy?”

  “It can be easily removed. Stop trying to find things wrong with the house, Mom.”

  I did a sort of mental head thump. I owed it to her and what appeared to be her returning sense of self-worth to have an open mind. Be kind, Ro.

  The next stop appeared to have been the kitchen. Gaping spaces remained where a refrigerator and oven must have previously stood. No table, and the existing space wasn’t large enough for us to put in an island.

  I made my way to a door across the room from the kitchen sink, opened it and entered.

  It appeared to have been a pantry based on the few shelves still hanging precariously on the walls, like someone had tried to rip them out and given up mid-task when slabs of wood proved too difficult to remove.

  “What did you find, Mom?”

  I let her see for herself.

  “Big enough to tear down the wall and enlarge the kitchen?” she asked.

  “Possibly. Depends on whether the wall is structural or not.”

  “I’ll have Ernie check it out.”

  Though I’d taken classes on structural engineering, I never got my license and didn’t plan to now that I was spending my time in design work. Ernie Holloway was available on an as-needed basis whenever we needed an official opinion on structural issues.

  We left the kitchen and returned to the front room. There were three doors on the interior wall. Behind Door Number One, we found a small room with one window. It also included a small bathroom with a full-length mirror on the front of the door. Strange. Other than the few shelves I’d seen in the pantry, this was the only remaining feature from the previous occupants. Door Number Two was a twin, complete with its own bathroom and full-length mirror also. The room behind the final door was slightly larger but basically the same as the other two.

  “What do you make of all these bathrooms?” I asked Val. “Did the agent have any explanation?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “They’re not even powder rooms for guests but essentially en suites for each bedroom.”

  “You’ve got your work cut out for you redesigning the layout. That should be fun.”

  “Maybe. If our budget can withstand major structural changes.”

  “Perhaps there’ll be less to change upstairs,” she responded.

  That was our cue to mount the stairs and see if she was correct. The second floor wasn’t exactly a disappointment. In fact, it was exactly what a second floor in an older house like this should be, although there were more rooms than I expected, five plus one bathroom rather than three plus a bath.

  I took the lead exploring each, popping in one after the other. Val tried to follow in my wake, but after the first three, she appeared to lose interest, since they were all the same. She waited in the hall for me.

  “Except for that sickeningly sweet smell, if Ernie agrees with my first-blush take on this place, you’ve done well, Valerie Kowalski.”

  She perked up with that. “Yeah? What about this multitude of rooms?”

  “There is that. Obviously, we’ll have to come up with a plan for knocking down some walls to create larger rooms, but I’d rather face a situation like this than a lack of space any day.”

  “I had no idea we’d discover this layout.”

  What? That was news. “You said you did a walk-through before signing on the dotted line.”

  She made a face. “Just the first floor. There wasn’t time to be more thorough. One of my old contacts from the bank put me onto it. By the time I caught up with the owner’s agent, he was already planning to put it on the market later in the day. I was lucky to convince him to let me have five minutes in the place. The price was too much to resist, so I snapped it up before anyone else learned about it.”

  “Meaning you didn’t stop long enough to examine the details,” I said. I didn’t mean to criticize. Just putting the situation into perspective. I probably would’ve done the same if faced with the same circumstances. Plus, her fast response suggested her risk-taking tendencies had returned, if only for this one decision. “You did obtain the original blueprints, I hope?”

  She nodded. “Haven’t had a chance to check them yet, but yes. Along with the abstract.”

  “How about the backyard?” I asked. “Did you have time to glance at it?”

  “No. Let’s find out now.”

  The backyard was cloistered by numerous trees and high wooden fences on both sides with a large garage along the alley. Outside the door, we found a concrete pad about ten feet by ten feet and beyond that, a gate. I didn’t wait for Val to proceed but opened it myself. I’d seen my share of older houses in Shasta, but I wasn’t prepared for what I found here. “Val? You’ve got to see this.”

  The area was enclosed on three sides by a high wall, the house serving as a wall on the fourth side. The same concrete slab as outside provided the flooring. The most incredible feature was a dilapidated awning that still hung for dear life from the side of the house.

  “This is strange,” I said. “With walls all around it, why the awning? If someone wanted to sunbathe in the nude out here, these walls would provide enough privacy. Plus, if that was the purpose of the enclosure, you couldn’t get much sun with that awning overhead.”

  Even though the awning hung at a precarious angle, I could still envision how this place must have looked at one time. Then it hit me. “The only reason for that metal canopy is to block anyone in the rooms up on the second floor from gazing down here.”

  Val studied the structure a bit longer. “That theory makes sense. But why?”

  “Something was obviously happening in here that whoever occupied the above rooms wasn’t supposed to see.”

  “Like what?” she asked. “Drug deals? Meetings with crooks?”

  My imagination had been piqued. The old detective mentality emerged. Those two scenarios were possible, but why here? With so many rooms in the house, why not somewhere inside? Unless someone wanted to be outside but unseen? The naked sunbathing theory came close to answering the question, except for the awning. But the idea of nudity hung in my mind.

  Then it hit me. Good grief, it couldn’t be. If I was right, no wonder the place had been such a bargain. How would Val’s reemerging hold up when I shared my suspicion?

  Val noticed. “Mom? What are you thinking?”

  I tried to dismiss her. I didn’t want her self-confidence to backtrack. “Never mind. It was a crazy thought.”

  But Val wasn’t one to give up easily.
“Try me. How crazy?”

  I knew I couldn’t hold out on her. It would be easier to share what I suspected and for her to laugh it off than have her keep bugging me. “I need to read that abstract to confirm my theory, but all those tiny rooms throughout the house, the sickening smell, that disgusting wallpaper and now this private area—I think this place may not have been a family home at all. I think it served another purpose.”

  “What?” By now she was almost screaming with curiosity.

  “I, uh, think we’ve bought ourselves a brothel.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “Did I hear you correctly?” Val asked, her volume escalating.

  Despite my growing qualms, I had to keep my cool and question Val’s judgment another day. Right now, I had to be more mother than partner. I kept my own voice steady, but I didn’t try to sugarcoat it. “You heard me. Brothel. We bought a brothel, although perhaps that term is out of date. What do they call those places these days? Cathouses? Houses of ill repute? Whatever, you heard correctly.”

  “I think the more modern term is house of prostitution.” Her tone returned to normal. She surveyed the awning-covered hideaway. “If you’re right, this was an outdoor love nest.”

  “Nice way of putting it.

  “I can’t believe the agent didn’t mention anything about the place’s history. Could we get out of the sale because of that?”

  “I doubt it at this point. We’ll have to bite the bullet with this one and make the most of it. At least there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with this structure other than what we think might have been its history.”