Murder Can Haunt Your Handiwork

by Rose Pressey

  I just hoped that Stan didn’t hurt my brother. Stevie must have driven my grandmother here. I wasn’t sure how they found me, but nevertheless, I was glad and scared at the same time. If something happened to them, I would never forgive myself. It would be my fault that I put them in this situation. We were almost at the hallway that led to the main door now.

  “I really don’t want to be scraped across the ground outside,” I said.

  “Well, I want a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to get them. One thing I know for sure, I’m getting that painting. So no more lip out of you.”

  “You think you’re such a tough guy,” I said.

  He was about to learn otherwise.

  “Yeah, well, you think you’re so tough,” he said. “I guess I showed you.”

  He pulled me down the hallway toward the door. I expected Stevie to burst through at any time. What if Stan had a gun? I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to my brother.

  “Who was that?” Stan asked with a bit of panic in his voice. “Did you call the police?”

  Had the police arrived? Would I be saved, or would Stan hold me hostage inside with the police surrounding the building? Situations like that rarely ended well for the hostage.

  “I didn’t call the police,” I said. “How would I do that when you practically have me in a choke hold?”

  “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Stan asked. “I saw someone gazing in that back window. The person resembled you, only about twenty-five years older.”

  My mother? Oh no. Was my whole family here? Actually, that wouldn’t surprise me in the least. I was shocked they hadn’t stormed the building already.

  “Maybe you’re imagining things,” I said.

  “I have a feeling you are up to something.” Stan pulled me across the floor again.

  We headed toward the back windows. Once by the window, Stan peered outside, searching for whomever had been lurking outside. I sure hoped my mother didn’t pop up again. It had to have been her. I mean, she fit that description perfectly. Movement came at the front door. I spotted my grandma, my mother, my father, Stevie, and Hank.

  Based on their hand gestures, they indicated that they planned to sneak in and hide. I sure hoped they knew what they were doing. Did they call the police? Perhaps this would be a better job for law enforcement. Did they call Caleb or Pierce? Someone had to get me out of here. Surely Stan would get tired of holding me soon and let go. Could I convince him to let go? Nope. Been there, done that.

  “You’re really hurting my arms,” I said.

  “Too bad,” he snapped.

  “Why are you so mean?” I asked. “Have you always been this nasty?”

  “Yes, I have been told I’ve always been despicable.” His voice was filled with laughter.

  “Why do you sound so happy about that?”

  “I wear it with pride,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Clearly there’s no one out here,” I said. “Why don’t we go ahead and get in my truck, and I’ll drive you to the painting.”

  “I saw someone messing around back there. She looked just like you. I suppose this is someone you know.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

  He wouldn’t get answers out of me. After another minute of standing by the window, Stan dragged me like a rag doll back across the floor, headed toward the front doors. Anxiety pulsed through my body as I contemplated what would happen when Stan took me outside. With my family reunion waiting out there, surely they could overcome him. Unless he had another trick up his paint-smock sleeve.

  Mr. Vanderbilt appeared in front of the doors, standing on the outside. He gave me a thumbs-up. What was he doing? Stan tried to open the doors, but they wouldn’t budge. A flagpole on the front steps had toppled over and landed in front of the door, acting as a barricade. The object had been a relic from the former school. How had this happened?

  Mr. Vanderbilt appeared in front of the door with a wide smile on his face. “I managed to knock that flagpole over. It took a lot of energy, but I did it.”

  I wanted out of the building, not to stay inside. Mr. Vanderbilt must be completely confused.

  “No, Mr. Vanderbilt, open the doors,” I yelled.

  Stan glared at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s a ghost. He blocked the doors with that flagpole.”

  “You’re crazy,” he said.

  “How else can you explain that the doors won’t open?” I smirked.

  “The wind knocked over the flagpole,” he said in a snarky tone.

  “You’ll see,” I said.

  “Mr. Vanderbilt, open the door.”

  I could’ve used Mr. Vanderbilt’s help earlier when was I inside that room. Maybe he could’ve thrown something at Stan. Now he was holding me inside.

  After a couple of seconds, Mr. Vanderbilt’s eyes widened, as if it had dawned on him that he had blocked the doors when he really should open them. He closed his eyes, focusing on the flagpole. The flagpole scooted away from the doors’ handle and fell to the ground with a clank. With a smug smile on his face, Mr. Vanderbilt stepped out of the way. Stan tumbled forward, spilling outside and falling onto the front steps. He had pushed his body against the door trying to get it open. I took this opportunity to run right out the door. At the same time, my family pounced on Stan, and punches commenced. They really were letting him have it.

  I dialed 911. It didn’t matter, because the police were rolling into the parking lot before I could hit the second 1. Sirens blared, and lights flashed. My family continued smacking Stan. Grammy even hit him over his head with her pocketbook. A can of green beans rolled across the pavement.

  “You had green beans in your purse, Grammy?” I asked.

  “You never know when you might get hungry,” she answered.

  Mr. Vanderbilt was standing to the side, laughing at the scene. It was kind of funny to see Grammy hitting Stan with that big brown pocketbook.

  The police jumped out of their cars and over to the melee. They managed to get Stan out from under my family. He appeared relieved to be going to jail. It was probably better than being attacked by my clan. My mother and grandmother ran over to me.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Grammy asked.

  “I’m fine. How are you all? What a relief that you don’t have black eyes.”

  “The only one going to have black eyes is that despicable man right there.” Grammy pointed at Stan as he was being guided in handcuffs toward a police car.

  I spotted Pierce and Caleb walking together toward us. This would certainly be one heck of a story to recount. How would I get out the whole thing and how it went down? My favorite part was Grammy and her pocketbook. But thank heavens I got away from Stan before he’d gotten the chance to kill me, too.

  Caleb and Pierce walked up to me.

  “Is everything all right here?” Caleb asked.

  “Oh, it’s just peachy now,” I said. “What are you guys doing together?”

  “Hey, we work together,” Pierce said.

  “I don’t know if you work together or against each other,” I said.

  “Well, this time we worked together,” Caleb said.

  “What’s that mean?” I asked.

  “We found the painting and got it back,” Pierce said.

  “All while you found the killer,” Caleb said.

  “I’m not so sure if I found the killer, or the killer found me,” I confessed.

  “I still think I was right. You shouldn’t have gotten into such a dangerous situation,” Caleb said.

  “I think I was right. We worked together, and we found a killer,” Pierce said.

  They were still arguing. I didn’t think they would ever agree on anything. Well, I supposed they had agreed on finding a painting. Maybe that was progress.

  Stevie and Hank walked up. Oh no. How were they going to embarrass me this time?

  “W
hich one of you is dating my sister?” Stevie asked.

  Yes, that was definitely an embarrassing question.

  “Hey, I think Mom needs you,” I said, shooing them away.

  “No, she’s good,” Stevie said.

  Stevie and Hank turned back to Pierce and Caleb, waiting for an answer. I didn’t know that I was dating Caleb or Pierce. I wouldn’t consider a few dates actually boyfriend/girlfriend status. However, I knew at some point I would have to make a decision, because based on the stares I got from Pierce and Caleb right now, I knew that they wanted an answer, as well.

  “Well, you can’t put Celeste on the spot like that,” Pierce said.

  He winked at me. I really appreciated that save.

  After a few more seconds, Hank said, “Just let us know so that we can have a talk with him.”

  I shook my head as the guys walked away.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  “Like I said, they shouldn’t put you on the spot. Although. . .” Pierce said.

  “We would like to know,” Caleb said.

  “I don’t think I can talk about this right now,” I said.

  “Sorry, that’s understandable. You have been through a lot,” Caleb said. “Pierce and I were talking while in the car together.”

  “I was the topic of discussion while I was being held hostage?”

  “You know we would’ve been here if we’d known,” Pierce said.

  “I know you would’ve been here. You guys helped me more than you probably should have, considering I got us all into dangerous situations. I guess I have a knack for it,” I said with a shrug.

  “You certainly have a knack for solving crime,” Pierce said.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Caleb said. “When we went by your trailer, we found a painting outside the door. Sammie said it was haunted, and she wanted us to take it with us.”

  “What?” I had a feeling I knew which painting he meant. I’d been so busy solving the murder that I hadn’t thought of the woman’s portrait since I’d painted it.

  Caleb walked over to Pierce’s car and pulled out the canvas. Before he even made it back over, Mr. Vanderbilt popped up beside me.

  Caleb showed us the painting. “This is the one.”

  “Why did she say it was haunted?” Pierce asked.

  “Because I suspect that it is,” I said.

  Mr. Vanderbilt was transfixed on the painting.

  “She’s breathtaking,” he said.

  So far, the woman hadn’t popped through from the spirit world. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen all of a sudden, or maybe when I least expected it.

  “Laura Nally is her name,” said the ghost. “She is my wife. My name is Nathaniel Nally, and I was a caretaker at the Biltmore Estate. I’m not Mr. Vanderbilt.”

  That all made sense now. A heaviness came over the area. Right before my eyes, the woman appeared next to Mr. Vanderbilt. Or should I say Nathaniel Nally? Laura took Nathaniel’s hand, and they walked away from us. Soon, a bright light came from around the side of the building. Mr. and Mrs. Nally followed that light as if it were pulling them in that direction.

  My heart danced with delight that they were together now. It all happened so quickly. Mrs. Nally had returned to guide her husband to the light. Mr. Nathaniel Nally had come through in the painting, and now was free to move on from this dimension. Pierce and Caleb had no clue what had just happened. Too bad I hadn’t gotten the chance to say goodbye.

  “We should get back to the craft fair,” I said.

  This fair would be over soon. While it had started with tragedy, at least something good had come from my trip to the Biltmore. Mr. Nally had moved on, and Ellen’s killer had been caught. The next craft fair was calling my name. Would there be more mysteries to solve? I hoped not, but if there were, I was ready for the task.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to my family and friends. They embrace my quirkiness. Love you all! Also, thank you to my editor, Michaela Hamilton, and my agent, Jill Marsal.

  Don’t miss the next irresistible Haunted Craft Fair mystery by Rose Pressey

  MURDER CAN FROST YOUR DOUGHNUT

  Coming soon from Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Keep reading to enjoy a taste!

  CHAPTER 1

  The last rays of sunset faded to a deep navy blue as evening approached the Sevier County Fair. A late summer breeze ruffled the leaves of nearby oak trees. Lights appeared on the Ferris wheel and carousel, waiting for the nighttime riders. Carnies yelled as I strolled by the ring toss. Memories of attending the fair with my parents floated back. That had been twenty-some years ago. My father always won me a stuffed animal. He was the best at shooting the little ducks with the water gun. I missed those simpler times.

  Not that my family wouldn’t be here tonight. Soon, my parents and brothers would arrive from nearby Gatlinburg. That meant my best friend Samantha Sutton and I would only have a short time until the chaos ensued. My father and brothers tended to be unknowingly mischievous. They were basically walking disasters. I’d thought about attaching caution signs to their backs. As long as I kept them from the hazardous things around the fair, I figured things would work out all right. Though I suppose for them, all things were hazardous.

  Keeping them out of trouble was a full-time job. My mother knew that all too well. She’d been shepherding my dad and brothers out of potentially perilous situations for years. It was a wonder her hair hadn’t fully turned gray by now. She still had dark hair like me. I described the shade as night sky with touches of walnut mixed in. Those were two of my favorite paint colors that I liked to use. Everyone commented on how much my mom and I looked alike. Just like me at a little over five feet tall, she packed a powerful punch.

  The smells of deep fryers and manure drifted through the air to the midway, where I was strolling with my best friend, Sammie. It was an odd aroma, for sure, and not appetizing at all. Yet that didn’t stop people from indulging in the deep-fried butter and deep-fried candy bars. The hum of the machinery from the nearby Tilt-A-Whirl made it difficult to hear my best friend.

  “Is it just me or does that man look just like Johnny Cash?” Sammie asked, louder this time, as the man walked by us.

  The loud tinkling of the Ferris wheel as it went round and round made it hard to hear. Sammie and I stood by the fence at the edge of the ride. We’d turned our attention away from the ride to the passersby. Couples strolled hand in hand. Parents tried to calm their excited children down from their cotton-candy high.

  Sammie was the opposite of me in the looks department. She was tall, with blond hair the shade of a glass of bubbling champagne. In the past six months, she’d grown out her locks a bit, but they were still styled in a bouncy bob.

  “Oh, it’s not just you. He looks like Johnny Cash, all right. He’s here for the celebrity impersonation contest.”

  I turned my attention to a red balloon that floated skyward. Someone would be upset that they’d lost it. With so much activity, taking in every detail of my surroundings proved difficult. Being an artist meant I liked to study things. The habit came in handy when I wanted to paint from memory. Plus, it was useful when being questioned by the police. Trouble seemed to follow me lately. I hoped that was all behind me now. The police part, not the painting.

  “Really? Who else is here? Maybe I can get some autographs.” Sammie wiggled her eyebrows.

  “All the iconic country stars. Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, and even Elvis Presley.” I ticked the list off on my fingers.

  “Oh, Elvis? You know I love Elvis.” Sammie fanned herself.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Young or old?” she asked.

  “Both,” I said with a smile.

  “Even better. I love both,” she said. “So, there’s like a big contest for the impersonators?”

  “Yes, it’s held at the end of the fair, but they have other shows leading up to that. One of them is tonight, I think.” />
  “Okay, now I’m on the lookout for Elvis.” Sammie scanned the crowd.

  Yes, the county fair was in full swing. Not only were there rides, games, and plenty of bad food to eat, but there was an arts and crafts fair, too. I had set up a booth, hoping to sell some of my paintings.

  Last year, I’d become a full-time artist, and although it had been rocky at times, things were going well now. I had no idea becoming an artist could have such an interesting start. Not to mention, I had no idea that I had more than just a talent for painting. Apparently, I had some kind of psychic ability that came out through my art. I knew that sounded weird, but it was true. Ghosts tended to appear when I unknowingly painted them.

  At first, I hadn’t believed my eyes. I thought maybe I had been losing my mind. Not until I’d spoken with the ghosts had I accepted what was happening. Sammie had seen the spirits, as had a few other people, too. At least I knew it wasn’t just me witnessing the crazy things.

  At first, Sammie had been reluctant to come with me to the fair. She said all the food was too tempting, and she hated dealing with the mosquitoes. But I’d convinced her to make the trip and look around the midway before the arts and crafts fair section opened tomorrow.

  Somehow, I’d also talked her into joining me and just watching as others took a spin on some of the rides. I’d told her maybe I’d ride the Ferris wheel, but I wasn’t much for thrill-taking. I liked to play it safe. People would say that wasn’t true based on some of the scrapes I got into. Like I said, trouble found me. I didn’t go out searching for it. I mean, these things truly found me. I had ghosts telling me that they could help me solve murders, so the way I saw things, it was my duty to look into the crimes.

  Sammie wasn’t the only one with me tonight. In my arms was Van. Or, to give his full name, Vincent Van Gogh. My tiny white Chihuahua had been my sidekick since I’d discovered him at the shelter. When our eyes met, it had been love at first sight. We’d been inseparable ever since. He’d gotten his name because of his one floppy ear. It seemed like an appropriate moniker.