Meredith Potts Fourteen Book Cozy Mystery Set

by Meredith Potts

  As I tried to get over the shock of how this case had ended, my brother handcuffed Gary, read him his rights, then dragged him off to his patrol car. I spent the next half an hour in a fog of disbelief before I realized that it wouldn’t do me any good to keep fixating on something I couldn’t change.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was always a relief to put a case behind me. With this investigation, that was especially true. Not only had we gotten justice for Nick, but we were also able to put his killer behind bars before this case stretched too deep into the holiday season. That part made me especially happy, mostly because it would have been impossible to ring in the season with joyous cheer if the killer was still at large.

  With Gary Newton behind bars, I could cut loose and indulge in some real holiday cheer. Christmas had always been one of my favorite holidays, but this year, it would be even more special.

  Getting my holiday spirit back would also allow me to get rid of all this tension that I had been holding onto. Throughout the case, anxiety and stress had quickly been eating me up inside. I wanted it all to fade away as quickly as possible.

  My brother wasn’t as quick to switch into a festive mood. He always made a slow transition back to normalcy after closing the book on a case. One thing he did in a hurry was poke his hand into a box of donuts. After he had taken a bite of a chocolate-frosted one, he let out a big sigh.

  “What a way to ring in the holidays,” Joe said.

  I shook my head. “This isn’t how I’m ringing in my holidays.”

  “Oh, yeah? Big plans?”

  “Are you kidding? With this case closed, I’m planning on taking part in as many holiday festivities as I can.”

  “Ah, Hope. You always find a way to look on the bright side, don’t you?”

  “During the holidays, absolutely. If there’s ever a time to look on the bright side, it’s now.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t argue with me. Instead, he gave my statement a lot of thought.

  “You’re probably right,” he replied.

  I corrected him. “I’m definitely right. After all, the season is about celebrating the birth of Christ, a man renowned for looking on the bright side.”

  Joe nodded. “True.”

  Joe then got lost deep in thought.

  I decided to pick his brain. “What are you thinking?”

  “Just how glad I am to have this case behind us.”

  I knew there was a lot more going on in his mind than that, but if he wasn’t ready to share it all with me yet, I wasn’t going to force the issue. I had already done plenty of mental prodding with the murder suspects.

  Instead, I commiserated with my brother. “I second that. I have never been happier to put a case to bed in my entire life.”

  Joe held up what was left of his donut and looked like he was about to propose a toast. “Here’s to the Hadley family ingenuity paying dividends yet again.”

  “Absolutely.” My focus then shifted to the future. “So, what’s on tap for you next?”

  My brother polished off his first donut then grabbed a second one from the box. “You know my donuts come first, and everything else comes second.”

  “Right. You want to savor that flavor as long as you can. You have the rest of your life to make plans.”

  Joe smiled wide. “You know me so well.”

  I chuckled. “That’s because you are predictable beyond belief.”

  “I prefer to call it consistent.”

  “Call it whatever you want. There’s no denying that you are a creature of comfort.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “No. I’m just saying that there’s nothing wrong with mixing things up every once in a while.”

  “You do things your way, and I’ll do them mine.”

  I chuckled. “Joe, it is Christmas time. Is it too much to ask to get in the spirit of the season?”

  “You’re right. It’s better to give than receive and all that.” He held out the box for me. “Donut?”

  “That wasn’t what I meant. I was just saying, I get that you don’t want to go too far out of your comfort zone, but surely the bakery makes holiday-themed donuts.”

  “They do, but I’ve been getting the same flavor from them for eight years. I have never gotten a bad chocolate-frosted donut from them, so why should I mess with such a good thing?”

  I shook my head and laughed again. “You’re hopeless.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to have a donut?”

  I turned him down. “No donut for me today, I’m afraid.”

  He seemed surprised. “Really?” Joe shrugged his shoulders. “That leaves more for me.”

  “I’m saving my appetite for something better,” I said.

  Joe looked baffled. “What could be better than a donut?”

  “Daniel’s Christmas cookies,” I said.

  I could see my brother’s thoughts drift off into the land of sweets. “They don’t sound half bad.”

  “They taste even better than you can imagine.”

  “I don’t know. I can imagine a lot.”

  “Trust me, they are the best cookies you have ever tasted,” I insisted.

  “I’ll have to take your word for that,” Joe replied.

  “No, you don’t. Come over to Daniel’s with me. I’m sure he has some extra cookies to spare.”

  Joe declined. “Nah. I don’t want to intrude on you lovebirds.”

  “Joe, don’t be ridiculous. The holidays are meant for family to get together.”

  He was still reticent. “All right. As long as you’re sure I’m not intruding.”

  “You’re not,” I assured him.

  I then moved to get into the passenger seat of his car.

  Joe stopped me before I did. “Hope.”

  I turned to him. “Yes?”

  “Thanks for being such a good sister.”

  “Of course.”

  “No, really. I’m a lucky guy to have a sister like you.”

  “Right back at you. Other than how irrationally stubborn you are about your donuts, I can’t imagine having a better brother.”

  We gave each other a hug before my appetite once again took center stage.

  “By the way, I’m sure Daniel has some eggnog to go along with his delicious cookies.”

  “That sounds good.” He had one caveat. “As long as it’s not spiked. Alcohol has caused enough trouble this holiday season.”

  I laughed. “That’s so true.”

  The End.

  Murder In Happy Creek

  Chapter One

  “Girl, it’s okay.”

  I said the words but didn’t really believe them. The fact was, I only uttered them to calm down Roxie, my loyal, nine-year-old cocker spaniel. Her behavior this morning could only be classified as bizarre. Typically, she didn’t bark her head off unless a storm was coming. Like with all dogs, the rumbling of a thunderstorm sent her ducking for cover. When under duress, she hid under the bed, quivering and barking until the storm broke.

  That’s why her behavior now made me scratch my head. She was under the bed and as panicked as could be, yet when I looked out the window, I saw nothing but clear skies. There was no sign of thunder or lightning over the horizon or in the forecast.

  Even so, there had to be a reason Roxie looked rocked to her core. She hadn’t just lost her marbles overnight. Something very peculiar was going on, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  After all, Roxie was intuitive, so much so that I’d be foolish not to let her frenzied behavior act as a fair warning. Owning a dog was often like having an emergency alarm that went off an hour or two before a major disaster struck. That was because dogs had keener senses than humans and could often detect trouble before it occurred.

  As I watched Roxie tremble under the bed, I began to believe maybe a storm truly was coming, one that couldn’t be spotted with the naked eye. Or, perhaps it was something different entirely. I gave her
a few pets in hopes of calming her down but failed miserably. She was a complete basket case.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  The terrified look in her eyes nearly took my breath away. I could only think of one other thing to do. In situations like this, food typically helped. I went into the kitchen and grabbed her a few treats, calling her name and clapping my hands together as I walked. Come feeding time, I always did this. She’d then take my cue and dart into the kitchen.

  Not this time. I knew she heard me, but she didn’t follow.

  Uh-oh.

  I tried to cajole her out of her hiding place one more time.

  “Roxie, come on, girl.”

  I had no luck. If I was going to get her to eat, I’d have to bring the food to her. Rarely did I make an exception and serve food to her in the bedroom, but in my mind, this qualified as an extraordinary circumstance. I brought a handful of her dry treats back to the bedroom and put them down in front of her. To me, this was a moment of truth of sorts.

  “Roxie. Treats.”

  The lovable little spaniel I knew would immediately jump at them. What kind of dog didn’t pounce on food the moment it was available? So when she didn’t inhale the treats with reckless abandon, I got a nervous feeling in the pit in my stomach.

  That was a telltale sign of serious trouble. I couldn’t tell you the last time I had difficulty getting my dog to eat. Usually, the trouble was getting her to stop eating so much. Some days, she was like a food vacuum cleaner, sucking up everything in sight.

  The situation was quickly turning dire. It suddenly dawned on me that I’d forgotten one possible culprit for Roxie’s uncharacteristic behavior. I touched her nose, checking to see if maybe she was feeling under the weather. Did she have a twenty-four-hour bug? It didn’t seem likely, as her black nose was still cold and wet as always.

  In a last-ditch effort, I put the treats closer to her and begged her to nibble on them.

  “Please girl, eat. You have to eat. I don’t know what else to do.”

  Much to my surprise, she didn’t even look down at the food. Instead, her panicked eyes were focused on the mirror that was beside my dresser. She stared at it with laser-like focus.

  I turned around to see if I could catch a glimpse of what she was so fixated on. That was when I saw something that sent a shiver down my spine. In the mirror was a reflection of my late husband, Harold.

  No, this couldn’t be. Maybe I was the one to have lost my marbles. My face went as white as a sheet. Even though I knew it wasn’t possible, there Harold was, reflected in the mirror, sitting on the bed, looking the same as the day he’d died.

  I could only muster one word. It was amazing that I even managed that.

  “Harold?”

  I received no response. As if the situation weren’t unbelievable enough, when I drew my eyes back from the mirror and looked on the bed, I saw no sign of him. Suddenly, the bed was empty.

  Was I imagining things? After seeing no one on the bed, I looked back at the mirror again, expecting to see the reflection of Harold again. Instead, he was gone.

  I was completely dumbfounded, not knowing what to believe. Did that all really happen? Was it all a hallucination? I had so many questions and zero answers.

  Just as I was at my most fragile, Roxie barked again from under the bed. It took me by such surprise that my heart skipped a beat. I grabbed my chest and took a few breaths to calm myself down.

  It was then that I heard Harold’s voice behind me.

  “I miss you so much,” he said.

  I whirled around, not sure if I was hearing things. So when I looked at the bed and saw him sitting there, it was a most pleasant surprise. Suddenly, I was overcome by jubilation. He was there. He was really there.

  “I miss you too,” I replied.

  I’d craved for so long to be able to hold him again, to feel his touch, to just be in his presence. Finally, I’d get my opportunity. I wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

  Without hesitation, I leaned forward with my arms open to give him a hug. Ultimately, I never got the chance to.

  It was at that exact moment that I was ripped from my dream. My eyes shot open as I sat up in bed in a cold sweat. As I looked around my bedroom, Harold was nowhere to be found, nor was there any reflection of him in my mirror. It truly was nothing but a dream, albeit the most vivid one I’d ever had.

  As further proof of that, my cocker spaniel, Roxie, bounded around the room, barking, wagging her tail, with a desperate look in her eyes for food. I couldn’t get up just yet, not after what I’d just been through. Or, thought I’d been through. Dreams may have been just a product of the mind, but sometimes they felt so real that my emotions didn’t know better.

  I had to take a moment to catch my breath as a sense of disappointment washed over me. The fact was, I may have said it was a dream, but really it was a nightmare. My psyche tricked me into believing I was seeing my darling Harold again, only to rip him away from me just as we were to be reunited. If that wasn’t a nightmare, I didn’t know what was.

  I took a few more deep breaths to get my bearings back and then elected to get out of bed. Lingering would only make things worse. I had to get active, if only to distract my mind. What a crazy start to the day. I wanted to believe that would be the last of the drama, but I had a sneaking suspicion that was far from the case.

  Chapter Two

  My name is Rose Calahan, and I’m seventy-five years young. On a good day, I felt as energetic as someone half my age. On a bad day, well, it’s probably best not to talk about those.

  Every day I did my best to keep busy, always striving to make the most of my retirement. I knew that just reaching my golden years was a blessing in itself. There were times when I wasn’t convinced of that. Over the years, it had become hard to deny, especially with the unexpected passing of a number of my friends and loved ones, including my dear husband, four years ago to the day.

  With each loved one I lost, I became more determined not to take for granted that I was still alive, kicking, and in surprisingly good health. Knock on wood that would continue. Besides, I’d worked so hard to earn my retirement, the last thing I wanted to do was squander it.

  I kept my social calendar full with a long list of activities and groups. To start, I ran a book club. When I added in the tai chi, quilting, scrapbooking, water aerobics, and volunteering at the local soup kitchen, the snapshot of my life was complete.

  If it sounded like a heavy load for a retiree to manage, don’t worry about me, I could take care of myself. Besides, my life was frenetic by design. No quiet moments, that was my motto. I could rest when I was dead.

  By and large, I lived a good life. Unlike so many people my age, I was in good physical health, I was sharp as a tack, I took few regular prescription medications, and I didn’t have the stress of a regular nine-to-five job to weigh me down. There were a lot of blessings for me to count, and I did, each and every day.

  My friends often described me as a glass-half-full kind of person. Rarely was I without a smile on my face. That was why that day was so difficult. I didn’t feel at all like my usual self, and not just because of that awful nightmare I had.

  In addition, I’d had a disturbing feeling in my gut from the moment I woke up. There was no other way to describe it but as a nervous feeling in my stomach followed by a looming sense of dread.

  It was one thing to wake up on the wrong side of the bed; it was another when my nightmares acted as a sign to clue me in to what a difficult morning I was about to have. I typically had such delightful dreams, so when I’d had a nightmare instead, they caused a real stir in my life. That was more than just a nightmare; it was a doozy.

  Only now, I wasn’t sure what was worse, the nightmare I had last night or the fact that I couldn’t shake it off. Trust me, I’d tried everything to move past it. I’d spent the better part of a half hour trying to calm myself down, only to have my anxieties flare up like a storm.

 
No matter how much I told myself it was all just a nightmare, my body wouldn’t listen. My emotions were already stretched to their limit with it being the anniversary of my husband’s death. That just exacerbated things.

  I had to find a way to get ahold of myself before the day went dangerously off the rails. There was only one way I could think of doing that. Luckily, it usually worked like a charm.

  Chapter Three

  So much for that idea. Typically, gardening put me in a Zen-like state of peace and tranquility. Apparently, today was the unfortunate exception. Even keeping my green thumb busy wasn’t enough to distract my mind.

  As I thought about my current situation, I couldn’t believe what a pickle I found myself in. How could things have gone so wildly astray already? The sun had just gotten up a few hours ago. Considering that it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet, there was no telling what else was in store for the day. More importantly, there was a whole lot of time left for things to potentially get worse.

  It was safe to say gardening had done nothing to soothe my troubled mind. You’ll have to forgive me for my sour mood. I assure you, I’m really not usually like this. Most mornings, watering my rose bushes and tending to my vegetable garden in the backyard was a most pleasant experience. I loved smelling the beautiful red roses in my garden and taking in the simple pleasures of nature.

  Only, that morning, watering my garden felt like nothing but a chore. I felt so helpless, like no matter what I did, nothing could keep me from sinking in the emotional quicksand that was slowing consuming me. Even worse, the more I struggled, the quicker I sank.

  It was a good thing Harold couldn’t see me. He knew me as a rock, a pillar of strength that didn’t waver. Yet, there I was, flailing like a tent in a tornado.

  I told myself if only I could get him off my mind, maybe I could return to a sense of relative normalcy. On a day like that, it was a near impossibility. The crazy thing was, going in, I knew the day would be tough, but there was no preparing myself for just how difficult it would truly be.