Murder Can Haunt Your Handiwork

by Rose Pressey

  “The least they could have done was render first aid,” Grammy said.

  “What if the killer had still been there when you went back in?” my mother asked.

  “I doubt the killer wanted Celeste,” Stevie said.

  “Well, you never know,” my mother said. “People are crazy. And killers aren’t exactly the smartest people.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “Oh, killers think they’re smart, but in the end, they get caught. They’re not so smart after all,” Grammy said.

  “No offense, but I think I want to change the subject,” I said.

  “Of course, dear, you’re still upset over what happened.”

  “It’s probably those creepy paintings you paint,” my father said.

  “What do you mean, ‘creepy’?” I said.

  “All the spooky images . . . you should stop doing that,” he said.

  “It’s not as if I have any control over it,” I said. “I just paint, and that’s what shows up.”

  “Always knew you’re a little creepy,” Hank said.

  I poked him in the side with my elbow.

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “No fighting back there,” my mother said.

  It felt like I was eight years old all over again.

  “I hope no other ghosts show up,” my grandmother said.

  “Have you painted anything spooky lately?” my mother asked.

  “Nothing I’ve painted lately has anything spooky,” I said.

  “Well, good. Maybe it’ll stop,” my father said.

  I wouldn’t count on it, I thought, but I didn’t tell him that. Besides, I kind of liked getting hidden messages. I didn’t think it was all bad. I totally understood my family’s concern, though. The images were crazy at times, but if they helped in the long run, I figured it was worth it. I really wanted to get back, because I had the urge to paint now, and it was hard to push that out of my head once it was there.

  The sign for the Over Easy Diner came into view. A drawing of eggs, bacon, and toast decorated the signage. Thankful for small blessings, we reached the diner without further incident. Well, until we actually got into the parking lot. A silver SUV whizzed into the lot and into a parking space that we were getting ready to take. Oh boy. This probably wouldn’t go well. I felt the tension ooze off my brothers.

  “What’s this jerk think he’s up to?” Hank said.

  A stocky, balding man got out of the SUV, flashed us an obscene hand gesture, and walked into the diner. Was that the same SUV we’d just seen?

  “That certainly was rude,” my mother said.

  “Do you want us to move the car?” Stevie said.

  Stevie and Hank put their hands on the car door handles, just waiting for the okay to make the move.

  “No, don’t do that. No lifting of the vehicle in the parking lot,” I said. “There’s another parking spot right over there. That will work just fine.”

  “But that isn’t the original parking spot,” Hank said.

  “It’s even better, because we will have a view of our car from inside the diner,” I said.

  I’d learned to be pretty good at defusing situations over the years. Now I just had to continue that once we got inside the restaurant. My brothers kept their eyes on that car as if it were the vehicle’s fault. When we stepped into the diner, they shifted their focus onto the driver, who was at the counter talking to a tall, dark-haired waitress.

  My grandmother grabbed my brothers by their arms. “Why don’t you all help me to my seat.”

  She was pretty good at defusing situations, as well. I must have learned from her. The man didn’t even notice us. I was sure he took people’s parking spaces all the time. I was just glad that it seemed as if we’d moved on from the incident and could enjoy our food.

  I was anxious to get back to the trailer and the painting. As soon as we sat down, I grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen from my purse. I wanted to start sketching an idea in my head before my mind went into overload. Too many thoughts in my head would clutter it up, and I would feel like I was going to explode.

  Every so often, I paused my sketching so that I could keep my eye on the parking-space thief. I had to make sure that my brothers didn’t say anything else to him. After a few more minutes of talking to the waitress, the man turned and left. I assumed he hadn’t even ordered food or anything. Thank goodness that was over. Now we just had to get to our meal, and then I could be back to my trailer. Curiosity got to me, though, and I wanted to see what the man was doing next.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, setting my pen down.

  “Where are you going?” my mother asked.

  “To the ladies’ room.” I smiled, hoping that they wouldn’t see through my lie.

  No doubt they would watch to see where I really went. The diner was small, and they would be able to keep track of me. I should have said I was going outside to the car. Oh well, it was too late now. My mother eyed me suspiciously, as I figured she would.

  Without another word, I headed across the diner’s floor. I kept my eye on the outside as I walked. The man was standing beside his car, but he hadn’t gotten in yet. He was on his phone, moving his arms about as if in an argument with someone. It didn’t surprise me at all to see him arguing. Not after the way he acted when we first encountered him in the parking lot.

  What must it be like to constantly argue with people and have such negativity? What a nasty disposition. It was much more pleasant to go through life being nice to people and receiving kindness in return. I firmly believed in karma. People got back what they gave out. Maybe not all the time, but it didn’t hurt to try positivity.

  I’d almost made my way to the ladies’ room now and probably wouldn’t be able to see how this ended. Why was I interested in this man? Possibly because he seemed to be up to no good. I suppose it was my sixth sense peeking through. Once inside the ladies’ room, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Why didn’t anyone tell me I had mascara smudged under my eye? I got a paper towel and wiped off the black mark. Next, I washed my hands. Was that enough time?

  It would have to be enough, because I wanted to get back out there and see if the man was still in the parking lot. I hurried out the restroom door and focused my attention on the windows again. Unfortunately, he was gone. I felt a glimmer of relief, knowing no more confrontations were imminent.

  Feeling the sensation of being watched, I noticed the waitress focusing on me. Had she noticed me paying attention to the man? He seemed quite a lot older than her. Was that her father? I smiled at her, but she remained expressionless. It was almost as if she gave me a glare. I hoped she wasn’t our waitress.

  “Is everything all right?” my mom asked when I sat back down.

  “Of course; why wouldn’t everything be all right?” I smiled.

  “She’s all right,” Hank said. “She’s always weird.”

  I tossed a napkin at him. He laughed.

  I ordered a hamburger, just like Grammy, but I knew it wouldn’t be as good as my Aunt Patsy’s burgers. She had a special touch that I knew no one else could rival. My mother and Grammy were good cooks, too. I wished I had a slice of my mother’s double chocolate cake. Or maybe a plate of Grammy’s funnel cakes. When I had the time, I’d been known to whip up a delicious dish or two. I felt like my best recipes were the peanut butter cookies and the caramel-coconut brownies.

  My family talked and laughed as we ate our lunch. As wacky as they were, I felt lucky to have them in my life. They were always there for me—in good times and bad. After finishing up the meal, we headed for the door. My father paid at the register. The waitress who had been eyeing me was the one who took the money. She barely acknowledged him, but she looked at me a couple of times.

  “Should have let us move that car,” Stevie said as we walked across the parking lot.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, let it go. We’ll never see that man again,” I said.

  We squeez
ed back into the Buick. My father whizzed out of the space and pointed the car in the direction of the hotel. I’d gotten good at holding on while in the car with my dad. Every time we took a turn, it was like being on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair. Fortunately, nothing else happened while we were at the diner or on the way back to the hotel. No strange cars followed us. Maybe that craziness was over. I’d successfully survived the lunch with my family and made it back to my trailer. It was time to paint. Would a mysterious image appear?

  Homemade Funnel Cakes

  Like doughnuts, but easier!

  (Makes 8 cakes)

  Prep time 15 minutes/Cook time 5 minutes

  Ingredients

  2 eggs

  3 cups all-purpose flour

  1 cup milk

  ½ teaspoon vanilla extract

  ¼ cup sugar

  3 teaspoons baking powder

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  Oil for frying

  Powdered sugar

  In a large bowl, beat eggs.

  Add milk and vanilla until well blended.

  In separate bowl, whisk flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt.

  Beat dry ingredients into egg mixture until smooth.

  Using a skillet, heat oil to 375 degrees.

  Covering the bottom of a funnel with your finger, place half a cup of batter into the funnel.

  Funnel batter in a spiral motion into skillet.

  Fry until golden brown for two minutes on each side.

  Drain and then dust with powdered sugar.

  CHAPTER 6

  Travel Trailer Tip 6:

  Add a pop of color to the interior of your

  travel trailer. It will help liven up the place

  even more when the ghosts appear.

  When the urge to paint came over me, I had to do it right away, before the inspiration faded. That was why I’d been in such a hurry to get back from lunch. A face popped up in my mind, and I knew I had to paint it, though I had no idea who this person was or even if he was real. Maybe this was just my imagination. Maybe it was much more than that.

  Recently, I had painted portraits that had turned out to be spirits from the great beyond. Every time I painted an image of a person, I wondered if they would pop up out of thin air and start talking to me. It was spooky and exciting at the same time. In addition, the hidden images in my paintings usually conveyed some hidden message that I had to decipher.

  There was a dazzling blue sky and perfect temperature of seventy-two degrees, so I decided to paint outside. Fresh air was just what Van and I needed. After arriving back from the lunch with my family in one piece, I pulled out a blank canvas and retrieved my paints from the trailer. I set up my workstation in front of the trailer. The sun bathed the whole area in a warm yellow glow, and the tree branches swayed with the gentle breeze. Placing the canvas on the easel, I sat down in front of it, picking up the brush and dipping it into the burnt brown color.

  “Let’s see if we know this fellow, Van,” I said.

  Van sat at my feet, staring up at the canvas as if waiting to see what might magically appear. The man’s face came first, because that was the most prominent part of the image that appeared in my mind. My excitement bubbled over as I waited to see my subject on the canvas and guess who he might be. I enhanced his bright blue eyes with specks of green and quickly filled in the rest of his features. With light strokes, I added streaks of auburn to his brown hair. I colored in his thin pinkish lips.

  I stopped and studied the portrait. As far as I knew, I’d never met this man. This painting probably represented nothing more than my artistic mind at work. Maybe the paranormal experiences were over. Did I want that to be the case? Maybe I secretly enjoyed visits from the spirit world. I always said the ghosts scared me, but deep inside, I found them somewhat thrilling, too. Next, I added his clothing, just from the waist up, since that was all that I saw. He wore a suit that seemed like a style from the turn of the last century.

  “I don’t know this man, Van. Any guess on who he is?” I asked, pointing with the paintbrush.

  Van covered his eyes with his paw.

  “You’re no help,” I said.

  Once I finished the painting, I set my brush down and studied the man’s face. His eyes stared back at me as if he knew exactly what he was doing and what I was thinking.

  “I still don’t recognize him, Van,” I said.

  He barked, and his whole body lifted from the ground.

  I blew the hair out of my eyes. “I suppose it’s just my imagination and not a real person after all.”

  I’d almost forgotten to check the portrait for a hidden image. Lifting the jar that had held my paintbrushes up to my eye, I scanned the painting. I knew this must seem crazy to others, but it was the only way to see the hidden images. I had no idea why or how it worked, but I did it anyway. Going up and down, sideways, and all around, I saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Nothing there, Van,” I said.

  He licked his paws as if unconcerned.

  After cleaning up the supplies, I decided I’d move on with my pursuit of investigating this morning’s horrific event. Pierce and Caleb would tell me not to get involved, obviously, but I wouldn’t let that stop me. They’d see that this was for the best.

  I changed Van’s shirt to the black one with the word SECURITY on the back in white letters. We headed out toward the mansion. I would have to hurry, though, because I still had paintings to finish that I wanted to put out for sale. And to think that earlier I thought I was all set for the craft show. I’d only been kidding myself. I was always running behind, it seemed.

  “We’re going to get to the bottom of this, Van,” I said as he marched along beside me.

  I held his leash as we made our way over to the ticket-purchasing area. With any luck, I’d find someone willing to talk with me about today’s events. I hoped people didn’t realize that I’d been the one to discover the body. Technically, others had seen it first, but they’d run away. After reaching the front area of the mansion, Van decided he had to sniff the grass. I paused to give him a few seconds of fun time.

  “What an adorable little dog,” a dark-haired young woman said. She looked like a college student in her horn-rimmed glasses and holding a notebook.

  Van wagged his tail, relishing the attention.

  “Thank you,” I said with pride.

  “Is it all right if I pet him?” she asked.

  I explained to her the process in order to pet Van. There were rules set up for her safety. Not because Van was a bad dog. Strangers scared Van when they tried to touch him. I totally understood why Van felt that way. All he saw was a giant person leaning down to attack him. That was his perspective, but once he knew that their intentions were good, he was fine. Belly rubs were one of his favorite things, along with treats, toys, and bones.

  “Just hold your hand out and let him sniff it. And don’t try to go behind his head, or he’ll think you’re attacking him,” I said.

  Her big dark eyes widened, as if maybe she were reconsidering. But ultimately, she did as I instructed, and everything was fine. Van had made a new friend. Even better, it appeared that she worked at the estate.

  At least, that was what I assumed, considering she was wearing the same navy-blue uniform worn by the other tour guides. CHERYL was written on her name tag. I wondered if she was nervous, knowing that one of her colleagues had been murdered just hours earlier. Surely the answer to that was yes.

  “You work at the estate?” I asked. “As a tour guide?”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile.

  Apparently, she didn’t know my identity.

  “I’m here for the craft fair,” I said.

  “Oh, how nice,” she said.

  I wasn’t sure how to approach the subject of the murder.

  “Well, it’s nice here, but after what happened earlier . . .” I said.

  I hoped that she would take the bait.

  She shook her head. “It was
tragic. Ellen McDonald was a nice woman.”

  “Did you know her well?” I asked.

  “No, I only recently started working here a few months ago. We spoke on and off. She seemed nice, though.”

  “Was there anything out of the ordinary that happened before her mishap today?” I asked, trying not to sound as if I were a private investigator.

  “Well . . .” She surveyed around, as if she were checking to make sure no one was watching us.

  I doubted anyone would think we were gossiping, but maybe they would.

  “I know her friend was here this morning right before it happened. I didn’t see her leave, but I did see her show up. Maybe she snuck out right after she killed her. They were arguing, or at least that’s what I heard.”

  “What’s her friend’s name?” I asked.

  It was important to get the details right away before she stopped talking. Maybe she’d realize what I was trying to do and clam up. The tour guide scowled. She probably wondered what difference it made and why did I want to know.

  “Her name is Deidre Ashley,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh.” I chuckled. “I thought I might know her.”

  “Why would you know her? You’re not from around here, are you?” Suspicion filled the woman’s questions.

  She was asking too many questions.

  “No, actually, I’m not from around here,” I said.

  I had no explanation for why I’d thought I might know Deidre, so I just remained quiet. The guide was probably starting to think that I was a few nuts short of a fruitcake.

  “Well, I hope they find who did this soon. I bet it will have an effect on attendance to the tours and the craft fair,” she said.

  Whew. Lucky for me, she’d changed the subject.

  “I’m sure that management will want to keep it low-key, but the police will want to keep it in the news so that they can possibly get clues on who did it.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they will. Well, I need to go. It was nice talking to you.” She patted Van again.

  When she walked away, I picked up Van and headed to a nearby oak tree so that he could sniff around some more. “At least we got a few details, right, Van?” That’s when I heard a whispered voice.