Mrs. Fix It Mysteries: The Complete 15-Books Cozy Mystery Series

by Belle Knudson

  “Looking good,” said Olivia, as Kate fit the final shelf into the unit.

  “Thanks,” she said. “It’s a sturdy set up. Corey’s?” she asked, referring to the local furniture store, Corey’s Cabinets. Most of the residents in Rock Ridge knew the importance of patronizing the local shops instead of rushing off to Ikea every time they needed an item.

  “Indeed.” Olivia pivoted in her chair and stared thoughtfully at Kate. “So, a body turned up at the old Victorian house,” she stated and Kate grew instantly uncomfortable.

  “It did,” she confirmed uneasily, and then quickly added, “it’s an old crime, though. Hardly newsworthy.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Olivia’s tone was airy, and if Kate didn’t know better, she would assume the editor had little interest.

  “It isn’t breaking news. It didn’t happen recently. If that woman was murdered, it happened a decade or two ago.”

  “There’s no statute of limitations of murder,” she countered.

  Kate squared her shoulders at the woman. “Did you actually need a shelving unit or was this a ploy to get an exclusive interview with the person who came across that body?”

  Olivia smiled. “I’m straightforward when it comes to interviews.”

  It didn’t exactly answer her question.

  “And, if I’m being honest here,” she went on, “at the moment I’m more interested in you than your husband’s case.”

  “Me?”

  “Individuals are always more interesting to me than the overarching story. After all, without the individuals there are no stories.”

  Kate wondered what she was getting at and asked as much.

  “You like puzzles,” Olivia said easily. “Considering your history, I’m actually surprised you never went into law enforcement. You’re already an excellent investigator.”

  “Are you trying to figure out what I know?”

  “Why would I pester the police when it’s far more likely you have leads they don’t?”

  Kate would have felt flattered if she wasn’t aware she was also being bamboozled.

  “Clearly, you’ve never used your marriage to establish a position at the precinct,” Olivia stated frankly. “That tells me you don’t want to be a cop.”

  “I don’t,” she agreed.

  “But I wonder if you’d like to be a reporter...”

  “Are you offering me a job?”

  “Would you like one?”

  “I’m happy with the one I’ve got, thank you.”

  Olivia tucked a lock of her chocolate-brown hair behind her ear. “I know the story behind the emerald ring.”

  Kate studied her for a long moment, but decided she didn’t have the energy to play this game. “How nice for you.”

  “You’re not curious?”

  “Why should I be?”

  Olivia simply smiled and turned back to her computer monitor, set her manicured fingertips on the keyboard, and resumed typing.

  Oh, she is good.

  Sighing, Kate asked, “What’s the story behind the ring?”

  Perking up, Olivia twisted in her chair once again. “Do you have a story for me?”

  “I have information. I also have no way of knowing if it’s relevant.”

  “My fact-checkers can handle that,” she said easily.

  Debating, Kate stared at her for a long moment, which must have rattled Olivia, because the editor soon showed her true colors.

  “I also have a few contacts at the hospital...”

  Taken aback, she demanded, “Meaning what?”

  When Olivia shot her another relaxed smile, it came off as threatening. “Meaning I’ll probably know your diagnosis before you do.”

  How did she even know Kate had gone to the hospital?

  “You don’t intimidate me,” she declared, grabbing her tool kit and stampeding toward the door.

  “Kate,” she asserted, stopping her. “It was Mrs. Hyatt’s ring.”

  Gradually facing the editor, she asked, “How do you know that?”

  “She won’t talk to me or any of my reporters,” Olivia went on without addressing her question. “I’ve noticed she’s friendly with you.”

  Noticed? As in Olivia had been spying on her?

  “I just gave you a lead,” she pointed out. “Now, you’re going to give me something in return.”

  “It’s funny you think that.”

  “We both know you won’t be able to resist speaking with Mrs. Hyatt now that you know the emerald ring was hers and that she knew the woman. All I ask is that you report your findings back to me.”

  “And if I don’t, you’ll print my diagnosis as though anyone in Rock Ridge would give a damn?”

  “Something like that.” When Kate did nothing but scowl at her, she stated, “You’re a private person, Kate. You have no qualms about getting into other people’s business, but you can’t stand anyone knowing yours. How are you going to feel when every single person you cross paths with asks you about your health? Imagine, day in and day out, moment to moment, having someone stop you on the street, in Bean There, in Grayson’s to offer you condolences or congratulations on your very private health matter?”

  Kate smiled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I used to respect you,” she said frankly. “That was a mistake.”

  Throwing the office door open, Kate barreled into the hallway and rounded through the bullpen. She couldn’t get out of the Tribune fast enough, and when Celia called out, “Thank you!” Kate didn’t even glance over her shoulder.

  She was fuming by the time she climbed in behind the wheel of her truck. As if it would calm her, Kate told herself that if Olivia printed anything about her health then she would sue the pants off the Tribune, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She didn’t want to retaliate. What she wanted was for Olivia not to print anything in the first place.

  She also wanted to pay Mrs. Hyatt a visit, not to play into Olivia’s manipulative threat, but to satisfy her own curiosity. But the thrill of wondering was spoiled. She grumbled. Whether she proceeded as usual or not, Olivia had her.

  Annoyed, Kate twisted the key in the ignition. As her truck idled, she checked the clock on the dashboard. She needed to get back to the house in about a half hour to meet Scott for lunch, but she was dying to ask Mrs. Hyatt about all that she had learned.

  When her cell vibrated, her impulse was to chuck it out the window. And when she saw Celia’s name and number flashing across the LCD screen, she almost did just that.

  “Yes?” she snapped, answering the call.

  “Kate, you forgot your payment. Have you driven away?”

  Sighing, she told her, “Mail it if you would?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  After hanging up, she merged onto the street, driving toward the old Victorian house. As she turned left on Pennsylvania Avenue, she squeezed the brakes and kept an eye out for any police cruisers. Nearing the house, she noticed there was crime scene tape across the front door, but no sign of the police otherwise, so she pulled along the curb and hopped out of her truck.

  As she made her way toward Mrs. Hyatt’s house, she realized she didn’t feel tired and wondered why that was. Had anger flooded her with energy? She had certainly felt a jolt of adrenaline course through her veins at Olivia’s shameless threat. A strange blessing... Not that she wanted to get angry and stay that way, but at the moment she felt like she could lift a car with her bare hands.

  Mrs. Hyatt wasn’t gardening as usual, so after peeking in the window beside the front door, she gave it a knock and called out, “Mrs. Hyatt? Are you there?”

  She heard movement on the other side of the door, the rickety steps of an elderly woman inching along with the help of her walker. Soon the door popped inward, Mrs. Hyatt frowning on the other side.

  “What took you so long?”

  “Excuse me?” asked Kate since she hadn’t mentioned her plan to swing by.


  “I was expecting you.” Widening the doorway, the elderly woman stepped aside for Kate to enter the cool Colonial home.

  Politely, she asked, “How are you holding up in the heat?”

  “How are you holding up with your fatigue?” she countered. Mrs. Hyatt inched her way into the living room where Kate noticed all the furniture was covered in plastic. “Don’t be offended.”

  “By the furniture coverings?”

  “It beats cleaning up after guests.”

  Kate sat on the plastic-covered couch when Mrs. Hyatt gestured toward it. Without hesitation, Kate asked, “You knew Doris Chestnut?”

  “We’re all connected,” she explained.

  “If we could stick to the facts and avoid superstitions...”

  “But they’re one in the same.”

  “The haunted house connected you to Doris,” she stated skeptically.

  “And to you.”

  “Why did you give Doris the emerald ring?”

  “Why did you find Doris and the emerald ring?”

  “Mrs. Hyatt, I’m interested in finding out who killed her. Aren’t you?”

  “Not especially. The house killed her.”

  “But by your own logic, the house would’ve had to have possessed someone into killing her. So who would that have been?”

  Mrs. Hyatt grumbled her way into a chair. “Have the nightmares started yet?”

  Frustrated, Kate pressed her mouth into a hard line. “Who killed her, Mrs. Hyatt?”

  “First comes the fatigue, and then the nightmares. Soon you won’t be able to tell whether you’re dreaming or awake. That’s when it really starts. You’ll think you’re in a nightmare, fighting for your life. But you aren’t dreaming. You’re murdering. And you won’t realize what you’ve done until it’s too late.”

  Feeling confrontational, Kate shot back, “Is that what you did to your son?”

  “I didn’t kill my son,” she insisted, her voice quavering with emotion. “And I didn’t kill Doris.”

  “But you lived in that house and you seem to be the authority on its effect.” After a moment of no response, she asked again, “Why did you give Doris the ring?”

  Whether she was going to answer or continue to hold her tongue, their conversation was interrupted. Someone was pounding on the front door. And when a man outside shouted, “Detective Kilroy!” Mrs. Hyatt sprang to her feet. “Are you in there, Mrs. Hyatt?”

  Against the elderly woman’s objections, Kate rushed to the door and just as her hand reached the knob, she heard Scott muttering to his detective to step aside.

  Shoot! She couldn’t let Scott catch her here.

  Quickly, she hurried back into the living room where Mrs. Hyatt had turned to stone with trepidation. When their eyes locked, she breathed, “Nightmares...”

  “I’m not going to kill anyone, you crazy old woman, now answer the door,” she ordered, as she scanned the living room for a way to slip out undetected.

  But it was too late.

  Thud.

  Detective Kilroy barreled into the living room with Scott on his heels, having kicked the door open.

  As Scott locked eyes with Kate, his expression growing long with surprise, Detective Kilroy stated, “Jocelyn Hyatt, you are under arrest for the murder of Doris Chestnut.”

  He advanced on her but was very gentle, taking her arm. However, Scott stopped him. “Handcuffs aren’t necessary. Just put her in the back of the cruiser.”

  Following orders, Kilroy did just that, as Scott neared her.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Mrs. Hyatt jerked and cursed, and as Kilroy led her toward the door, she called out, “The ring, Kate! Get the ring!”

  Chapter Four

  Kate didn’t understand it had been a nightmare until she bolted upright in bed, breathing heavily, her chest and back covered in cold sweat.

  The dawning sun was piercing the horizon, lifting the darkness throughout her bedroom. Scott was asleep beside her. Leaning on her elbow, she touched his white hair, ran her hand along his cheek, needing to touch and feel and confirm that he was alive.

  She had killed him in the dream.

  She let out a halting breath. She sat upright again and fanned her t-shirt to dry the sweat on her chest.

  Psychosomatic, she told herself. The fact that she had dreamt of horrors was nothing more than the result of the old woman having suggested she would. It didn’t mean anything. There was nothing to worry about.

  But Kate couldn’t deny that Mrs. Hyatt had gotten under her skin and into her head.

  She’d also gotten arrested, which should’ve told Kate something about the old woman. She was a killer. She had murdered Doris Chestnut. Scott had established her motive, and though it had taken painstaking research to determine her whereabouts fifteen years ago, he discovered photos—date and time stamped—of Mrs. Hyatt holding the front door of the old Victorian house open for Doris Chestnut, proof that the two had been alone together in that abandoned house, proof that Mrs. Hyatt had been the last person to see Doris alive. A neighbor living across the street, Maxwell Stone, who had dabbled in photography back then, had taken the photos. Maxwell had also provided photos of Mrs. Hyatt emerging later that night...alone.

  At the time, Maxwell had only been fourteen years old and didn’t think to alert police of what he had seen and documented, because he had been too young to follow the news.

  Again, she reminded herself that this case was closed. She wasn’t under some spell, some urban legend playing out again. She kissed Scott’s forehead and rolled out of bed, telling herself she might as well get up, though deep down some part of her knew that she was afraid to fall back asleep. She didn’t want to get stuck in another nightmare.

  In the kitchen, she scooped dark roast out of a coffee canister, filled the filter to the brim, and got the pot percolating. The kitchen was bright with sunlight and she expected Scott to climb out of bed any minute.

  He had gone easy on her last night. She had expected him to ream her out for having snuck out of the house against her doctor’s orders, but instead her husband was kind and doting. They had driven to Daisy’s and Scott ran inside to pick up a to-go order. They had eaten lunch at the house, and though Scott left her for a few hours to interrogate Mrs. Hyatt, he returned immediately after and they spent the remainder of the evening watching old movies and trying to get her mind off of her lethargy, which had overcome her once more.

  She had just poured herself a mug of coffee and turned for the kitchen table when the telephone rang, which she quickly picked up.

  “This is Kate,” she said.

  “Good morning, this is Doctor Faulkner. How are you feeling?”

  “Tired,” she sighed. “There were a few shining moments yesterday when I felt like I had energy, but I think that was only because I was angry.”

  “Interesting...” He trailed off. “Well, I have the results of your CT scans,” he went on and Kate immediately lowered into a chair, figuring she ought to be sitting down for this. Scott lumbered groggily into the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee and quietly he asked, "Who is it?”

  Kate covered the mouthpiece and said, “My doctor,” and Scott sat beside her and took her hand.

  As Doctor Faulkner went on, Kate angled the receiver so that her husband could also hear. “All the CT’s came back normal and in terms of the blood tests we ran, they were normal as well.”

  “That’s great,” said Scott loud enough for the doctor to hear.

  “But why am I tired?” she insisted. “There has to be an explanation. I’m sick of this.”

  “Try not to feel frustrated, Kate,” said Faulkner. “I’ve ordered more tests. It’ll take time, but we’ll get to the bottom of this. The good news is that we’ve ruled out cancer and other life threatening possibilities. That means that if you’re feeling up to it, you can return to work. But you’ll have to go easy. I know your fix-it jobs can be highly
physical, and I don’t want you straining yourself.”

  “Hold on now, Doctor,” said Scott, taking the phone. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

  Annoyed, Kate stole the phone back, saying, “It sounds like a great idea.”

  “And I would agree, but you really must take it easy. The point of getting back to work is so that your spirits can stay up.”

  Kate told Scott, “He doesn’t want me getting depressed,” but he grumbled in response.

  “Kate?” asked Faulkner, making sure he had her attention. “I won’t be in the office tomorrow since it’s the Fourth, but I’d like to see you on the fifth.”

  “No problem,” she said before thanking him and returning the phone to its cradle on the wall. She smiled at Scott. “Back to work!”

  “And you’ll take it easy!” he demanded. “No heavy lifting! Maybe we can give Dean a call. He knows tons of contractors, and you can afford an assistant until you feel like your usual self.”

  “I work better alone.”

  “When you’re functioning at 100 percent, Kate.”

  “Gotta get ready for work!”

  Before he could object, she padded off to the bathroom where she quickly showered. Once she was dressed, she found Scott in the kitchen where he was pouring the last of the coffee into a thermos.

  “Let’s do dinner tonight at Daisy’s,” he suggested. When she agreed, he added, “No poking around, Kate. I can’t tell you how rattled I was to find you at Mrs. Hyatt’s.”

  Unwilling to bow to his demands, she said, “I will follow the doctor’s orders to the letter.”

  The look on Scott’s face told her that he was aware she hadn’t agreed, but he kissed her cheek anyway and left her in favor of getting to the precinct on time.

  As tired as she felt, there was pep in her step as she made her way out to her truck. The air smelled fresh and crisp, and the sky looked remarkably blue. But as she climbed into her truck, her good mood faltered. Her doctor hadn’t yet found an explanation for why she had been feeling so tired. What if Mrs. Hyatt was right?