Book Excerpt from "Fixer Upper Mysteries: Concrete Evidence"

Also, since each of the bedrooms had a maximum of two electrical outlets, I planned to add at least a dozen more on this floor alone.
And it went without saying that every bathroom in the house would be redone from top to bottom.
In the hallway, Mac stopped and studied what looked like another cupboard built into the wall around waist level. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
He pulled on the small handle and the cupboard opened. “Is that a laundry chute?”
“Yes. Isn’t it great? I love those kinds of features.”
He stuck his head up close to the opening. “I can’t see farther than a few feet.”
“I assume it goes to the basement,” I said, “but since it’s underground, it’ll be too dark to see anything.” I took a peek through the opening and ran my hand along the interior. “This one’s made of wood, so you’ll want to re- place it with a galvanized-steel chute. We’ll add a self- closing door at the bottom to comply with the fire code.” He grimaced. “The last thing I want to do is ignore any fire codes.” An hour later, we had finishedthe second-floor walk-through and returned to the ground floor. The good news was that we didn’t find any clothing or sheets that might’ve been used by the person who had brought the mattress into the attic. But that just led to more unanswered questions that would have to be investigated at some point.
“Let’s take another look at the kitchen and the exterior,” I said. “And then I think we’ll be finished.”
“I’ve decided I’d like to redo the kitchen,” Mac admit- ted. “It’s too old and funky to deal with.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “And not that it matters to you, but the Historical Society won’t care about the kitchen.”
He chuckled. “You know I live to keep the Historical Society happy.”
Wade grinned. “Even though they’ve fought you every step of the way.”
“Not me,” Mac said, aiming his thumb in my direction. “Shannon. She’s the one who’s been dealing with all of their demands and requirements.”
I waved off the comment. “That’s what I’m here for.” We walked into the kitchen and looked around at the dark-stained wood cabinets that had been there as long as the house had been standing. It would take an army of housecleaners to scrub off more than a hundred years’
worth of food spills and grime.
Mac might not want them, but those cabinets were real wood and too darn good to throw away. I was al- ready making a mental list of where I might use them once they were stripped down to the bare wood and varnished to a high shine.