Murder Can Haunt Your Handiwork

by Rose Pressey

  After crawling under the covers, I attempted to fall asleep, but slumber eluded me. I felt a presence in the room with me. Mr. Vanderbilt stood by the window.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked.

  “I’m awake,” I said.

  Mr. Vanderbilt slumped his shoulders.

  “Is something on your mind?” I sat up in bed.

  “Nothing, I suppose,” he said.

  Based on his posture, I suspected he wasn’t being honest.

  “Mr. Vanderbilt, I’ve been meaning to ask, but things have been so hectic. Do you remember anything from your personal past yet? You told stories of the estate, but nothing about yourself. I thought some things might be coming back to you by now.”

  He released a sigh. “You’re right. I remember things about the estate, but not about myself. It’s not for a lack of trying.”

  “I hope it comes to you soon,” I said. “Maybe if you don’t think about it so much, it’ll pop into your head. If you think about it too hard, it’ll stop the flow in your mind.”

  Did that make sense? I was kind of winging it with this advice. Just because I painted ghosts to this spiritual plane didn’t mean I had a clue about the paranormal world.

  “I appreciate you thinking of me,” he said.

  “That’s what friends are for,” I said.

  “I like that saying. That’s a good one,” he said.

  “I’m not the one who thought of it first,” I said around a yawn.

  “I should let you get back to sleep,” he said.

  I scooted back down on the bed and pulled the cover up to my chin. Van snuggled up next to me again, relieved that the talking was over. Every few seconds, Mr. Vanderbilt sighed. That was my signal that he obviously wasn’t finished with the conversation.

  “Oh, I just thought of something,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  His voice boomed across the tiny trailer. He had probably talked much louder than he had anticipated. Van and I, of course, had been startled by his loud outburst.

  “What did you think of? You’d better tell me fast before I get woozy from nerves,” I said.

  “It’s a name,” he said.

  “What’s the name?” I asked.

  “Nathaniel Nally,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Do you know Nathaniel Nally?”

  He hesitated before continuing, “It keeps coming to my mind that I am Nathaniel Nally.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Neither do I,” he said.

  “You’re Mr. Vanderbilt.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am,” he said.

  I felt bad for him, because he didn’t remember any of his past. I wished there were something more I could do.

  “If you remember any more details, please let me know, so I can try to figure it out.”

  “I’ll be sure to let you know if I think of anything else,” he said.

  I picked up my phone and searched for the name Nathaniel Nally. Nothing came up. While I was looking, I pulled up Mr. Vanderbilt’s photo again. Now that I thought about it, there were differences in the features. I thought maybe I’d just been a bit off my game when I’d painted the portrait. The man standing in my trailer was definitely the man on the canvas, but now I wasn’t convinced he was William Vanderbilt.

  I’d closed my eyes, hoping to fall asleep, but still nothing. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes. Mr. Vanderbilt was no longer in the trailer. I suppose he’d left me to sleep. Something was bothering me, though, and I knew I wouldn’t sleep until I finished. Yes, the urge to paint had taken over. It hit at all times of the day. There was no sense in ignoring it.

  I needed to do one more painting before the craft fair was over. Climbing out of bed, I pulled out my paints, set up a canvas, and immediately got to work. Soon, a beautiful woman was on the canvas. She had long golden hair that tumbled past her shoulders. She wore a white dress embroidered with lace. The high collar and full, puffy sleeves led me to believe that the portrait was from the early 1900s. I had no idea who she was, but her crystal-blue eyes stared back at me as if she wanted me to find answers. Anxiety took over as I wondered if she would turn up as a ghost, as well. After finishing, I studied the portrait. When nothing more came to me, I turned the canvas around and climbed back into bed. I didn’t want the woman staring at me all night.

  I had a hard time going to sleep. When the sun popped up, streaming through the tiny openings in the blinds of my trailer, I groaned and pulled the covers over my head. A voice in my mind reminded me that I had customers arriving soon, and I needed to get to work. All I wanted to do was stay in bed, but there was so much to be done that I wouldn’t have the luxury of a lazy morning. Not only was there work to be done with the paintings, but with finding the killer. I groaned again and tossed the covers off my legs.

  Van popped up from under the covers, ready to start the day. He wagged his tail as usual. He was the happiest dog I’d ever seen. Even when stuck in a cage at the animal shelter, he had been like a ray of sunshine. We were there for each other. I helped him, and he helped me. Not to mention, he was a good sleuthing partner. He had a nose for finding the clues.

  I climbed out of bed. “Okay, Van, we have to get this day going.”

  As I headed over to the kitchen to grab his food, Van scampered along behind me. He sat in front of the dish, patiently waiting. Once he was fed, it was time for me to scavenge for nourishment. I supposed it would be cereal again. A reminder of Aunt Patsy’s diner flashed in my mind. What I wouldn’t do for a stack of her pancakes. The maple syrup dripped down the sides of the fluffy stack. The buttery taste rushed back to me.

  Not only were the pancakes great, but the French toast and Danishes, too. Perhaps it was a good thing that I wasn’t there. I’d stick with my sensible breakfast. A vision of an omelet popped into my head. I’d better eat my cold cereal before I got carried away with memories. I’d have to call Aunt Patsy later and check in. It had been a while, and I missed her.

  I’d just finished the last bite of corn flakes when inspiration hit. I hurried and got my supplies ready. Van watched as I scurried around the trailer. I set my canvas on the easel and got out the paints. I’d have to hurry, because I didn’t want to be late getting my paintings out on display. That would appear unprofessional.

  What would I discover in the painting this time? I was so excited that I could barely pick up the brush. Van stared up at the blank canvas. His presence reminded me that Mr. Vanderbilt was nowhere around. I hadn’t seen him this morning. He was always so excited for a new painting. I scanned the tiny space to see if he was standing in the corner. He was nowhere in sight. I supposed he would pop up soon enough, but right now, I had to get to work. I dipped the brush into the paint.

  A blue sky with fluffy clouds formed as my brush moved across the canvas. Next, I found myself dipping into the pink paint. It didn’t take long until I realized I was painting my pink trailer. Oh, how fun. This would be a great portrait to keep inside the trailer, a fun addition to my decor. I even added the string lights and the lawn chairs out front, with Van sitting beside the door. Why hadn’t I painted this before?

  I was excited to see if the scene held a hidden image. Since the painting was done, it was time to grab my jar. I might have set a time record with painting this one. I’d seen the trailer so many times that getting it just right was easy. I quickly picked up the glass so that I could check for an image. Only five minutes to get the paintings out before people arrived.

  I put the glass up to my eye, scanning the painting for anything out of the ordinary. I moved up and down and all around, but so far, I hadn’t spotted a hidden image. This was a bummer. What if I found nothing? I was ready to give up when I saw it. I almost dropped the glass. The air felt like it had been sucked from my lungs.

  Hidden from the naked eye were two skeletons. One was strangling the other. They were right in front of my trailer. I knew what this meant. One of the skeletons was a portrayal of me. The other was the ki
ller. This was a warning. I had no idea what to do. When would this happen? Was someone waiting to attack me as soon as I stepped out of the trailer? Could I avoid this? I couldn’t stay in here forever. I checked my watch. As a matter of fact, I had to go out now. I set the glass down. I didn’t want to see this any longer.

  Muffled voices came from outside my trailer. Midway to the door, I stopped in my tracks.

  CHAPTER 21

  Travel Trailer Tip 21:

  You might want to pack something to use as a

  weapon in your trailer. In case you have to

  go into survival mode.

  Van’s ears perked up, letting me know that he heard voices, too. Someone was right outside the trailer. They were having a conversation. Two men, perhaps? Was it Caleb and Pierce? I peeked out the tiny window on the door but saw no one. I supposed I had to go out and check, even though my anxiety was through the roof. After seeing that image, I would be in constant fear.

  I inhaled a gulp of air and released it before turning the doorknob and inching the door open. People around me were setting up their items for the day, but I saw no one around my trailer.

  “Van, you stay here. I’ll be right back,” I said.

  I inched out the trailer and closed the door behind me. Pushing back what felt like the onset of a panic attack, I reached the bottom step. I eased around the side of the trailer. When I bumped into a tall, muscular man, I screamed.

  “What is the matter with you?” Stevie asked.

  “What’s the matter with me? What’s the matter with you? What are you doing?”

  Stevie and Hank were at the back of the trailer.

  “We’re checking out our handiwork here.” Stevie pointed at the addition on the back of my trailer.

  “Surprisingly, it’s still there,” I said. “You all nearly scared me to death.”

  “Why are you so on edge?” Hank asked.

  It wasn’t like I could explain what I’d just seen in the hidden image. They would just laugh at me, as usual. They never took anything like that seriously.

  “Well, when I hear strange voices outside and there’s been a murder, I get a little antsy, excuse me.”

  “Typical sassy attitude,” Stevie said. “She’s just like Mom.”

  “I heard that,” my mother said as she walked around the corner of the trailer.

  My dad and grandmother were close behind.

  “Well, the gang’s all here,” I said.

  “Of course, we’re here. We came to help,” my mother said.

  Oh no, this was not the help I needed right now. But I supposed I could use some help putting up the paintings, considering I had one minute left until the show opened for the day.

  “Grab the paintings and set them out if you want to help me.”

  “You heard her, everybody, get to work,” my dad said.

  They all grabbed paintings and put them out. I was glad they were here, because I felt a little better about what I’d seen. But they wouldn’t be here forever. At least I hoped not. Once they were gone, I would be back to worrying about the killer lurking around, ready to attack.

  “How is it?” my mother asked.

  “Well, I’m not sure how Stevie and Hank got on top of the roof of the trailer to put paintings up there, but it’s probably better that we take them down.” I pointed. “If someone wants to buy one, I won’t be able to get it.”

  “What is going on here?” a woman asked from over my shoulder.

  I spun around and saw Sammie standing behind me.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I yelled, reaching out and hugging her. “When did you get here?”

  “I just rolled into town and came straight here,” she said. “I haven’t even had a chance to get my morning coffee.”

  “Well, we’ll have to solve that problem,” I said.

  “What is going on around here?” Sammie asked again.

  I knew she was surprised to see my entire family.

  “My family is helping set up the paintings. And as you can see, in typical fashion, my brothers went above and beyond.” I gestured with my arm toward the chaotic scene.

  Sammie laughed. “Well, I guess you can say at least they’re helping.”

  “I guess I could say that,” I said.

  “No worries. I’m here to help to you now. And we’re going to rock this craft fair.” Sammie lowered her voice. “Did they find out anything about the murder?”

  “The police haven’t found out much that I know of,” I said. “But never fear, I’m on the case.”

  “Oh no. You didn’t tell me you were snooping around playing detective,” she said.

  “I just figured you assumed.”

  “Well, I should have assumed, I guess. I worry about you, Celeste. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “That’s what Caleb said. And Pierce, until he relented and is now helping me.”

  “Pierce and you are working together?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, I suppose we are. Neither Caleb nor Pierce is officially a detective on the case. I suppose Pierce feels like he can help me because of that.”

  “Have you found anything?” she asked.

  “A few things.”

  I pulled out a painting of an autumn sunset with golden beams of sun spilling light over pops of jade, tangerine, and burgundy leaves. I set it up while I filled her in on all that I had recently discovered. I contemplated whether I should tell her about the hidden image I’d just seen. It was bothering me, and I felt like I should tell someone. But telling her would only upset her. And I didn’t want that, so for the time being, I would just keep it to myself. I also hated that I felt I was putting everyone around me in danger. Just by being near me, they could be at risk. Or maybe by being around people, I would keep the killer away from me.

  The first customer approached my booth—a lanky man with long gray hair and a cane. Right away, my brothers tried to talk the man into a painting. I had to get them out of here before they chased everyone away with their aggressive sales pitch. I liked to let the paintings speak for themselves. If the person was drawn to one, they would buy it; no need to convince them. I felt like I would have happier customers that way.

  I rushed over and stepped in front of my brothers. “Let us know if you need any more help.”

  “Thank you,” the man said, not taking his eyes off Hank and Stevie.

  I grabbed their arms and pulled them to the side. “Stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?” Stevie asked innocently.

  “Scaring away the customers,” I whispered.

  My mother directed my brothers away from the area. They listened only to her. They knew not to make Mama mad.

  “Your brothers are a handful,” Sammie said.

  “I try to forget. Listen, there’s a food truck nearby.” I pointed. “Why don’t you go get some coffee?”

  “How about I stay here? You take a break and get me some coffee? I think you might need to get away for a minute.”

  My brothers were play-fighting and throwing punches at each other. “You know, that might be a good idea. Okay, coffee coming up. Is there anything else you would like?”

  “Do they have doughnuts?” she asked. Sammie was an excellent baker herself, but she also enjoyed the down-to-earth sweetness of a store-bought doughnut.

  “I do believe so.”

  “Okay, one doughnut.” She held up her index finger. “But only one. I’m watching my figure.” She placed her hands on her slim hips.

  “Two doughnuts coming up,” I said.

  She glared at me.

  “One for me,” I said with a wink.

  “Oh, all right, that’s fine,” she said.

  After collecting orders for my mom, dad, grandma, and brothers, I headed out toward the food truck.

  Sammie’s Strawberry Rhubarb Pie

  Prep time: 50 minutes; Cook time: 65 minutes

  Ingredients:

  1 large egg

  4 to 5 tablespoons ice water, d
ivided

  ¾ teaspoon white vinegar

  2¼ cups all-purpose flour

  ¾ teaspoon salt

  ¾ cup cold lard

  For the filling:

  1¼ cups sugar

  6 tablespoons quick-cooking tapioca

  3 cups sliced fresh or frozen rhubarb, thawed

  3 cups halved fresh strawberries

  3 tablespoons butter

  1 tablespoon 2 percent milk

  Coarse sugar

  In a small bowl, whisk egg, 4 tablespoons ice water, and vinegar until blended.

  In a large bowl, mix flour and salt; cut in lard until crumbly.

  Gradually add egg mixture, tossing with a fork, until dough holds together when pressed. If mixture is too dry, slowly add additional ice water, a teaspoon at a time, just until mixture comes together.

  Divide dough in half. Shape each into a disk; wrap in plastic. Refrigerate 1 hour or overnight.

  Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

  In a large bowl, mix sugar and tapioca. Add rhubarb and strawberries; toss to coat evenly. Let stand fifteen minutes.

  On a lightly floured surface, roll one half of dough to a -inch-thick circle and then transfer to a 9-inch pie plate.

  Trim pastry even with rim. Add filling and dot with butter. Roll remaining dough to a 1/8-inch-thick circle. Place over filling. Trim, seal, and flute edge. Cut slits in top. Brush milk over pastry; sprinkle with coarse sugar.

  Bake for twenty minutes. Reduce oven setting to 350 degrees and bake 45–55 minutes or until crust is golden brown and filling is bubbly.

  Cool pie on a wire rack.

  CHAPTER 22

  Travel Trailer Tip 22:

  Use sage to keep mosquitoes away. This

  probably won’t work on a killer, though.

  Leaves tumbled toward the ground as I walked along the tranquil path. Halfway to the food truck, an idea hit me. Yes, I got a bit sidetracked easily. This was important, though, and I was sure everyone would understand if their coffees were a bit delayed. Okay, maybe my brothers wouldn’t be so understanding.