Murder Can Haunt Your Handiwork

by Rose Pressey

  “Yes, she did,” the woman said.

  “There’s quite a bit of action happening today, not to mention the horrible event from the other day,” I said.

  This woman probably had no idea that I was the one who discovered the murder victim.

  The woman gestured, showcasing her arm full of earthy-colored bracelets. “Yes, I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s been a lot of turmoil around here. It’s scary. I heard that this woman was stealing things.”

  “What type of things? Was she the one who took the painting?”

  “I hope they recover the painting,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  I would be shocked if it turned out that she took the painting and not Stan Knowles.

  “I don’t think she took the painting. Well, not that I know of, at least, but I suppose if she took something else, she may have taken the painting, as well. She’s probably a suspect, and that’s why they’re taking her away from the premises.”

  “What did she take?” I asked.

  “I heard it was money.”

  “So not actual items, but cash?”

  “I think she was stealing from other employees,” the woman said.

  “Wow, this is an interesting turn of events. Thank you for the information,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

  She seemed confused by my comment. I suppose it appeared as if I were investigating a crime. That was because I was investigating a crime. I turned my attention back to my art. There were no customers right now. Everyone was preoccupied with watching the commotion. This certainly wouldn’t help the craft fair if everyone thought it was full of chaos and crime.

  Deciding to use this opportunity to focus on my painting, I sat down in front of the canvas and picked up my brush. As I dabbed the tip of the brush into the blue-sky color, I let my imagination go. The next thing I knew, without even realizing, I was brushing strokes across the blank canvas.

  “I can’t wait to see what it is,” Mr. Vanderbilt said from over my shoulder.

  I wasn’t used to working with an audience standing so close.

  “Do you already have the image in your mind? Can you tell me what it is?” he pressed.

  “I don’t have the image at all. It just comes to me as I’m painting,” I said.

  “That’s fascinating.”

  The painting was taking shape surprisingly fast. Within a short time, the scene was basically the same as how I imagined it was right before the murder occurred. When Ellen was still working, and everything was fine with her life. But was there a hidden image? I certainly hoped so, because without that, this painting was just nothing more than an innocent painting.

  “That’s inside the mansion,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “Yes, the room where I found Ellen. I assume this is a short time before she was murdered.”

  “Is there one of the hidden images that you described?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked.

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” I said.

  An empty glass jar sat nearby just for this purpose. I knew if anyone saw me holding the jar to my eye and studying the painting, they would think I was bonkers. Nevertheless, I held the jar up to my eye and stared at the painting. It took a bit of scanning to find the hidden image, but it was there. Just as I had hoped.

  My adrenaline was pumping as I stared at a pair of skeletons. I had to make out what this image meant. Were the two skeletons arguing? It was hard to understand what this meant. One skeleton was considerably taller than the other. I suppose that was a clue, but what?

  “What do you see?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked excitedly.

  “There are two skeletons. One is much taller than the other. And they seem to be arguing,” I said.

  “How can you tell?” he asked.

  “Well, one is pointing at the other one, who is holding its hands up. I think that stance is like they are angry with each other. One is more fearful than the other.”

  “Do you think that’s an image of the killer arguing with Ellen?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked.

  “It seems that way,” I said.

  “Psst,” a voice said.

  Caleb was peeking around the side of my trailer.

  “Do I need a white flag of surrender?” he asked.

  That made me grin.

  “No, you don’t,” I said, placing the jar down.

  He stepped out from behind the trailer and over to me. Right away, he noticed the painting.

  “Painting the crime scene now, are you?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly the crime scene, since there’s been no crime yet in the painting.” I pointed.

  “Is this another one of the paintings with the hidden images?” he asked.

  I handed him the glass jar. “Would you like to take a gander for yourself?”

  He studied my face. “I suppose I would, yes.”

  I moved out of the way so that Caleb could get a clear view of the painting as he peered through the glass.

  Caleb scanned the painting before moving the glass away from his eye. “I see it. That’s very odd. What do you think it means?”

  “My guess is it’s showing the argument between Ellen and her murderer. The only thing that gives me a clue to the identity of the killer is that the person is much taller than her. Stan Knowles would be much taller than her,” I said.

  “Well, it’s certainly a clue, but nothing that would lead to an arrest.”

  “No, but it means that I can pursue Stan even harder, I suppose.”

  He handed me the glass back. “Just because I was ready to wave the white flag doesn’t mean that I don’t think this is still dangerous. But if you are determined to go on with investigating, at least I can be with you to help.”

  “Are you going to be like Pierce and say that you want to help but don’t want me to be involved because it’s dangerous?” I placed a hand on my right hip.

  “No, absolutely not,” he said, holding up his hands.

  I wasn’t sure if I believed him.

  “Surely with two detectives helping, you can track down the murderer,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  I’d like to think that was the case, but Pierce and Caleb might be more of a hindrance than a help.

  Caleb shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “When do we start? Where is Stan Knowles? And who is he?”

  “I have his address, and he’s an art dealer. He’s opening a gallery. That’s why I think he took the painting from the mansion.”

  “Well, I would think the police will find evidence of that, with all the cameras they have around here.”

  “Unless he had some inside help,” I said.

  “That’s true,” Caleb said.

  Any investigating would have to be put on hold, because right now I had customers walking up to my booth. I needed to sell artwork first and investigate crime later. Making a mental note, I reminded myself to check out the disorderly employee who had just been fired. Perhaps she could give me more information or provide some clues. Or maybe she stole the painting. After all, she had been stealing money from the other employees. Or at least she had been accused.

  Was she responsible for the murder, as well?

  CHAPTER 16

  Travel Trailer Tip 16:

  Make a list and check it twice. You might forget

  something. Traveling can be stressful . . .

  especially if you cross paths with a murderer.

  As I packed up my paintings for the day, I sensed someone watching me. When Van growled, I knew something was amiss. Chills ran up my spine when I thought of the murderer being somewhere hidden and watching me. I picked Van up and tried to soothe him so that he wouldn’t be upset. He was out to catch the murderer just as much as I was, apparently.

  “You sense that too, huh, Van?” I whispered.

  He growled again. I only wished I knew where this person was hiding. I finished putting the paintings away and decided to check the back of the trailer.

  With V
an still in my arms, I eased around the side of the trailer. No one was watching me or seemed interested in what I was doing, at least not that I saw. Standing at the corner of the trailer, I checked to the left and to the right. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.

  “I guess there’s nothing out of the ordinary, Van. We should get some dinner. What do you say?”

  He barked, letting me know that was a great idea. I turned and headed back around the trailer. No one was waiting there for me. That allowed me to calm down.

  While Van and I had dinner, I would figure out a way to get the name of the fired employee. Without a name, I couldn’t find out more information about her, which I felt was critical in solving the case. As Van and I stepped back into the trailer, I bumped into Mr. Vanderbilt. No matter how much I talked to him or saw him around, when he popped up in front of me like that, it always startled me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, taking a bit of a bow.

  “You need to stop doing that.” I clutched my chest, trying to get my heart rate to settle down.

  “Right. I need to remember not to scare you.” Mr. Vanderbilt punctuated the sentence with a point of his finger.

  The sun would set soon. I needed to get my sleuthing done before that happened. I wanted to find Cheryl before she left for the day, if possible. Of course, there was no guarantee she would talk to me again, since our last conversation was awkward. I would give it a shot, though.

  After we ate, Van wanted a nap. I left him at the trailer. Mr. Vanderbilt was with me as I set off toward the small building that was the employees’ office.

  “I sure hope you find Cheryl,” Mr. Vanderbilt said as he walked beside me.

  “Me too,” I said. “More importantly, I hope I find out the fired employee’s name.”

  “Well, if she doesn’t speak with you, maybe you can find someone else who will.”

  “Fingers crossed,” I said.

  The sound of footsteps came from behind me. Checking over my shoulder, I saw no one back there.

  “Did you hear that?” I whispered.

  “I didn’t notice anything,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “I suppose it was nothing.”

  I continued toward the office. But the sound came again, and this time when I peeked over my shoulder, I thought I saw someone dart behind a nearby tree. My heart sped up.

  “I think someone may be following me,” I said.

  “Just keep walking,” he said.

  Was I just imagining this? I hurried my steps and continued toward the office. But panic was starting to set in. What if someone was really following me? What if it was the killer? Pierce and Caleb’s voices echoed through my mind—their words of telling me this was too dangerous. Nevertheless, I continued on my way, determined not to give up on my investigation.

  I made it to the office area without being attacked. I still saw no signs of anyone following me now. I wasn’t sure which door I should go into. The one on the side, or the one in the front? Both appeared the same, and neither was marked. I supposed the one in the front was the main door, so I would pick that one.

  Luckily, no one was behind me. Just as I reached the door, though, a noise caught my attention again. When I glanced over my shoulder this time, Cheryl was there. She was just the person I was searching for. Was she the one who had been following me?

  “Hello,” I said with a smile. “We meet again.”

  She grinned. “Yes, we do.”

  At least she was being pleasant this time. That was a good sign. A few strands of her espresso-colored locks had slipped from her ponytail. A smidge of something yellow stained the front of her uniform’s jacket. Was that mustard?

  “Did you need something?” she asked.

  I hated to tell her that I wanted to find her. That sounded kind of creepy. I wasn’t sure why I felt so nervous about asking this, but this woman was a bit intimidating. Not that she would body slam me or anything, but her icy stare sent a chill through my body like a blast from a blizzard. She had been nice at first, but her behavior had switched back and forth between nice and cold.

  “I’m looking for the employee who was fired. I mean, I know she’s not working here, but I wonder if you know her name.”

  She stared at me with her icy blue eyes and crossed her arms in front of her. “Are you an undercover detective or something?”

  Mr. Vanderbilt chuckled.

  “I’m not a detective. I’m just helping my friends who are detectives.”

  This sounded better than admitting that I was obsessed with finding the killer for the sake of the murder victim. Finding her body had given me a stake in the game. Plus, if the police didn’t find the killer at some point, they would turn their attention back to me again as the prime suspect.

  “Her name is Tasha Kenmore. That’s all I know about her. Sorry I can’t give more information,” she said.

  “Well, that’s better than nothing,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  He was right about that.

  “Is there anything else you need?” she asked.

  Cheryl had said she knew nothing else about Tasha, so I supposed there was nothing else I needed. I thought of the ripped uniform and wild look I’d seen in Tasha’s eyes when she was wrestling with the security guard near my trailer, and I wondered if those eyes were the last thing poor Ellen had seen before she breathed her last.

  “No. Thank you for the information, though,” I said.

  “Not a problem. Good luck. I hope you find out who did it, but Tasha is probably the guilty one. Maybe you’re on the right track with that.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  I had to ask before I let her go.

  “Just that they found her stealing, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she would murder, too. She probably took that painting.”

  “Yeah, thanks for the information again,” I said.

  She turned and headed in the opposite direction. That was odd. I thought she’d been coming to the employees’ office. Maybe she had been following me just to find out what I was up to. Nevertheless, I had my information now and was happy about that.

  “She seemed convinced that Tasha is the murderer,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “I suppose Tasha Kenmore would be a likely suspect. But I’m still suspicious of Stan Knowles. Nevertheless, I need to find Tasha and talk to her or find any information about her.”

  I headed back toward the trailer. Maybe I should have gone in the employees’ office and asked other people about Tasha. But that would have been awkward, so I decided I would have to find her address.

  “Overall, I’d say that was a successful visit,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “I’m happy with the info I found,” I said. “Now, on to find Tasha.”

  I pulled out my phone and typed in Tasha’s name. When her picture appeared, I recognized her right away. She was the waitress from the restaurant I’d gone to with my family. The one who had been talking to Stan Knowles. They knew each other? Now I was really on to something.

  CHAPTER 17

  Travel Trailer Tip 17:

  You don’t have to cut yourself off from the

  modern world while in your trailer. Embrace

  technology when needed. Wi-Fi works in a

  travel trailer, too.

  “I tell you, this social media stuff is great. I found her Instagram page, and she made a post today. She works at that restaurant, too,” I said, flashing the phone in front of Mr. Vanderbilt’s face. “The one I went to with my family. I remember seeing her there.”

  “Whatever Instagram is,” Mr. Vanderbilt said, tossing up his hands. “Sounds like a telegram. The estate wasn’t her only job?”

  “Apparently not. I wonder if her other employer knows what is going on here.”

  “Are you going to tell them?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked.

  “I don’t think I can do that. I just need to go to this restaurant and talk to her.”

  “Do you think she’s working now?”

>   “We’re about to find out,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m ready,” Mr. Vanderbilt said, clapping his hands.

  There was no sound with his movement. When he talked, I heard him, but I didn’t hear his clapping. How odd. Mr. Vanderbilt and I hurried over to my truck and climbed in. Just as I turned the ignition and put the truck into drive, I received a text message. I couldn’t stop to check it now. That would have to wait.

  “I can’t wait to see what happens,” Mr. Vanderbilt said. “This truly is a mystery.”

  The restaurant wasn’t far away. Within a short time, we pulled into the parking lot. Over Easy Diner was open twenty-four hours a day, according to the flashing sign in the window. When I turned in, I hadn’t expected to see Tasha standing outside talking to Stan Knowles. I suppose I shouldn’t have been too surprised.

  “This is getting creepy,” I said. “Apparently this Stan guy knows everybody.”

  “That can’t be a coincidence,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “No, it cannot.”

  I parked the truck. They had no idea I watched them. If only I knew what they were saying. However, I couldn’t get out of the car and walk over to them and eavesdrop. Or could I? They had no idea I was watching them, so they probably wouldn’t notice if I moved closer. The trouble was that if Stan Knowles saw me, he would recognize me right away. And probably Tasha, too. At this point, did I even care if they recognized me? Possibly not, although if one of them was the killer, that might give them more reason to come after me.

  I opened the truck door.

  “Where are you going?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked.

  “I want to get closer so that I can eavesdrop on them.”

  “Be careful,” Mr. Vanderbilt said as he popped out of the truck.

  I quickened my steps across the parking lot, darting behind cars as I went. So far, they hadn’t noticed that I was heading their way. I wasn’t sure what I would do when I got closer. I couldn’t just stand there and stare at them. That would be creepy. I could act as if I were searching for something. Yes, that was what I would do.