Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel

by Rose Pressey

  The dresser I’d use as a sideboard in the dining room had dried to the touch. While I’d waited, I’d revived the little desk with the same color. It would be cute in the living room—a spot for me to keep business transactions. I meandered around the house for a while, giving the paint time to dry. When it didn’t come off on my hands when touched, I sanded the edges, allowing the wood color to show through. It gave it a great distressed look. The knobs and hinges for the dresser would hold the color better, so I didn’t need to prime first. I used a bronze-colored spray paint and changed the old brass knobs and hinges into a perfect updated addition to the newly revamped dresser.

  Visions of dining in the room danced through my head as I worked. Decorated and cozy—I could just picture Christmas dinner there. Maybe my parents would make the trip. My older sister Sarah lived two streets away from them, though, so more than likely, they’d want me to come to them. They’d want to see their grandkids. Until I gave them grandchildren I didn’t rank in making any holiday plans. Maybe I’d invite Claire Ann over for dinner. And perhaps Kent. Whom was I kidding? Unless they found the killer, I might be in prison for Christmas. I’d momentarily forgotten that little tidbit. Okay, my thoughts had now turned gloomy and I didn’t want or need that.

  “Hi.”

  I looked up. Claire Ann was walking up the path.

  “Hi, I didn’t hear you open the gate.”

  “I’m like a stealth spy or something.” She giggled.

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  I tilted my head toward Judy’s house.

  “Neighbor problems?”

  “She’s just not very neighborly, that’s all.”

  “Did I see our wonderfully handsome Sheriff leaving here?” Claire Ann asked.

  “Yeah, he came to arrest me, but I hid out.”

  “What! Oh my God.” Claire Ann glanced over her shoulder and back at me. “Okay, we need to get you a lawyer. You’ll have to turn yourself in.”

  “Claire Ann!” I laughed. “I’m kidding. To be honest, I don’t know why he came over.”

  Her brow rose and her mouth formed a perfect circle.

  “Don’t get any ideas.” I scowled.

  She held her hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say anything. So did he say anything about Nancy? Do they have any idea who murdered her?”

  “If they do, he’s certainly not telling me.” I touched the side of the dresser with my fingertip. “I think this is dry enough to move inside. Can you help me? Just don’t touch any part other than the edge.”

  “I heard talk about you in Belleville today.”

  “I’m not surprised. News travels faster than my grandpa’s moonshine burns your stomach.”

  She laughed.

  “Grab the end, will you?” I asked.

  Claire Ann’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure we can carry that.”

  “Sure we can. It’s not that heavy.”

  “How’d you get it here?” She tested one side to estimate the weight.

  “The previous owner delivered it.”

  “Well, why the hell didn’t he take it inside?”

  “I wanted to paint it out here, silly. I was just so excited to get a new piece of furniture. I’m really into the decorating thing now.”

  “I guess you know what you’re doing.” She shrugged, then reached for the dresser. “What did it look like before?”

  “Oak with brass handles.”

  “And you didn’t like it?” She chuckled.

  “I think my parents had a dresser just like it the year I was born.”

  We hoisted the dresser into the dining room, more like almost dragging it. It was above the ground just enough to keep from scratching the hardwood floors. My fingers ached.

  “Oh, by the way, is your Uncle Lloyd still tearing down that old barn?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Do you think he’d give me one of the old doors?”

  “I don’t see why not.” She scrunched her brow. “But why do you want it?”

  “I’m going to make a dining room table out of it.” I smiled.

  “What? Now this I’ve got to see.”

  “I told you I like the distressed look. Which is a good thing. Someone who moves as much as I do tends to have a lot of banged-up junk.”

  She stared, wide-eyed.

  “Trust me, it’ll look great.”

  “I’m sure it will.” She smirked.

  “I think I have the disease,” I said.

  “What disease?” She stepped back a couple feet.

  I eyed her. Maybe I should’ve coughed on her for dramatic effect. “The junkin’ disease.”

  She plopped down on the sofa. “I think I have to agree with you. You’ll have to stop at some point, you know?”

  “I still have a lot of rooms to fill. When they’re full, well, I’ll worry about that then.”

  “Whatever you say. I just came to check on you. I’ll see you at work.”

  “See you soon. Thanks for the help.”

  She waved good-bye with her hand in a claw-like position. “Think nothing of it. My hand will recover eventually.”

  I laughed. “Get out of here.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Work the previous night had been difficult with lots of whispering and staring. I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through another night. Somehow, I’d have to, though. During my walk home, I had the sensation of being watched. But I chalked it up to the horrific morning discovery and the fact everyone in town now suspected me of murder.

  I sat at the table and munched on my bowl of soggy cornflakes while reading a mystery novel. I’d become addicted to mysteries when I was about ten and discovered my mother’s stacks of books. The murderer was always caught—I liked that.

  After my bowl was empty, I had to force myself to put the book down and get to work on the house. The day ahead was promising. Decorating made me happy and I had plenty of it to keep me busy. After work last night, Claire Ann’s Uncle Lloyd and his son, Mike, had brought by a section of the old barn door. They even secured it to two sawhorses I’d found in the shed out back. There hadn’t been much out there in the way of useful items, but I knew right away I’d use them for the dining table. The dining room had taken shape sooner than I’d planned. It just spoke to me.

  My trip to Goodwill yielded ironstone look-alike dishes, so I hung six of the different style plates in a grouping above the newly remodeled sideboard I’d made out of the dresser. On top of the sideboard, I placed two different-sized cloches to the left—those were displays that looked like glass domes. Underneath them, I set a faux pear and a small nest with fake Robins’ eggs in the other. The other side needed a cake stand, but I didn’t have one. And surprisingly, Mrs. Mathers didn’t either. I’d make another trip to the thrift shops soon in search of one. The dining room was tough to decorate. It was long and narrow, not to mention the awkwardly placed windows—that was what made the barn door perfect for the room. On top of the distressed barn door table I added fresh roses and hydrangeas from outside into a clear vase and placed it in the center. Around those I set several votive candles.

  Above the fireplace mantel in the room, I placed the ten-cent tray I’d gotten from the yard sale. I’d painted it black, then glued on a piece of scrapbook paper. In Mrs. Mathers’ hall closet I found a fantastic picture with two rabbits—very French country. She also had two red and cream-colored toile plates hidden in there, so I added those to each side of the mantel. Each had such random items—just like a grab-bag, you never knew what you’d find. Next to a spare chair in the corner, I placed a small table with a tiny black-based lamp on top and a picture frame with a photo of my grandparents from the 1940s.

  After a day of decorating, my hands hurt and my back ached, but I was pleased with my progress. My wallet and bank account were even happier. I wanted to take a quick nap before work, but there was just enough time to shower and change. I grabbed a protein bar on the way
out the door. As I munched on the snack, strolling down the sidewalk on Main Street, visions of enjoying a lovely dinner in my new dining room ran through my mind. Dim lights, flowers and romantic music. The bad part: I wasn’t alone enjoying my dinner. Sheriff Kent Klein was with me. His gorgeous white smile flashed and sexy arms flexed as he took a drink of wine, gazing longingly into my eyes. What was wrong with me?

  Work was even busier than the day before, except no one was really buying anything. They just came in to stare. It seemed as if most of town had been in within the first two hours of my shift. With the raised eyebrows, whispers and glares I was the talk of town—big shocker. Business as usual in Honeysuckle.

  Claire Ann walked up and put her arm across my shoulders. She’d been stocking bags of potato chips.

  I frowned. “Lots of people in, but they’re not buying much.”

  “Ignore them.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, you’re not suspected in a horrific murder of a first-grade teacher.” I sighed.

  The bell on the front door jangled. I had to force myself to look up and acknowledge the customer. Mitchell ambled toward the counter, stumbling over his own shoes.

  He leaned against the counter. “What’s cookin’ good-lookin’?”

  I smiled and looked Mitchell in his one eye. I tried to avoid looking at the glass one. I didn’t want to stare at the wrong one. “Just watching all of the town parade through and look at me like I was a circus freak.”

  “With the fair in town you’d think they’d go harass the carnies,” Claire Ann said.

  “Apparently they have time to do both,” I said.

  The door jangled again. When my gaze met with the new customer’s, I wished I could disappear. Martha Murdoch, the mayor’s wife, moved with a huff toward the counter. Somehow the air around her was intimidating, as if a dust cloud of hatred hung over her.

  “Can I help you?” I asked when she approached. My voice wavered a little.

  “Can I help you?” she mocked in a singsong voice.

  I stared, not sure what to say. Mitchell and Claire Ann stood with eyes wide and mouths agape.

  “I just wanted to tell you we won’t put up with violence in Honeysuckle. I don’t know where you come from, but I intend to see you behind bars.”

  I almost choked. So much for innocent until proven guilty.

  “Mrs. Murdoch, I had nothing to do with what happened. I’m not a violent person, and I am surely not a killer. I don’t like being accused.”

  “I don’t care what you like. The sheriff will arrest you soon.” She pointed her bony finger. “You don’t need to be walking the streets of Honeysuckle.”

  I had a feeling she was going to make it very difficult to live in Honeysuckle until the killer was caught. Claire Ann and Mitchell stood next to me, still speechless. Martha glared, then turned on her heel in a huff and stormed out.

  “Don’t pay attention to her,” Claire Ann said.

  I snorted. “It’s easy for you to say, you’re not being chased out of town.”

  Claire Ann gave me a pitying look.

  “And what does she mean walking the streets? As if I’m some crazed lunatic.”

  “That woman!” Mitchell pointed. “She needs to remember where she came from. Acting all hoity-toity. Walking around town with her fancy clothes.”

  Okay, my curiosity was piqued. “Where does she come from, Mitchell?”

  “Let’s just say she came from the other side of the tracks. She’s not old money. Her daddy spent most of his life in prison.”

  “I’ll give her credit though, she got out of there.” Claire Ann popped a candy into her mouth.

  “It went to her head though.” Mitchell’s face was red.

  “Yeah, that’s not all that went to her head, either. Could she tease her hair any higher?” Claire Ann snorted.

  “Maybe the hairspray is getting to her,” I said. “But if the mayor’s wife wants me out of town, I have a feeling I should pack my bags. She probably gets what she wants.”

  “Try not to worry, honey. We’ll figure out something.” Claire Ann squeezed my shoulders.

  Like I said, easy for her to say. If the mayor’s wife hated me, then he must hate me too. My days were numbered in Honeysuckle. I needed to solve this murder before I was run out of town like a stray cat shooed away from the back stoop.

  “I’m sure Kent’s on top of things.” Claire Ann grinned, but I ignored the insinuating remark. “I don’t think he’s going to arrest you. Handcuff you maybe, but arrest you? No.”

  “Oh, stop it.” Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I don’t know what he’s doing. I just hope he’s doing something.”

  Mitchell paid for his beer and Claire Ann went back to work. For the rest of the shift, I couldn’t get Martha’s words out of my head. Claire Ann took off early, leaving me alone in the store. Thankfully only a few customers came in, I guessed the town had gawked enough. My apprehension didn’t ease though. Sure, I could wait for Kent and his band of merry men to figure things out, but I never left things to chance. I didn’t like not being in control of my life. Sheriff Kent and the Honeysuckle Police Department held my fate—not good.

  I stepped out the back door and locked it behind me. I glanced down at my watch. It was ten. The floors had been dirtier than I’d thought. I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to mop them. Darkness had settled over Honeysuckle. The sounds from the ferris wheel, tilt-a-whirl and other rides echoed across the night air. My arms ached from pushing the mop and my feet hurt from standing for so long. I thought I’d be used to it by now, but that mop got heavier every night.

  In spite of my aching body, I decided to check out the fair. It would be open for another hour, until eleven. Mitchell the drunk had begged me to ride the tilt-a-whirl with him. Not a good idea for him or me. Late-night activity in Honeysuckle brought out the real crazies and I knew I didn’t want to tackle it alone. Maybe I’d call Claire Ann and see if she would meet me. I walked over to the Dumpster and threw in the bag of trash, then punched in Claire Ann’s number on my cell phone. While I waited for her to pick up, I contemplated the walk to the fairgrounds. It was a short one, but my dogs were barking so loud the old folks’ home in Belleville could hear them.

  “Raelynn, get your butt over here,” she yelled. The roar of the crowd and the rides rushed through from her end of the line.

  “Thanks for calling me before you went to the fair,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

  “You were at work. Besides, I have a date.” Her voice sounded perkier than usual.

  “A date?” I stopped in my tracks.

  “Hey, don’t sound so surprised.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

  “We just met.”

  “Do I know him?”

  “I don’t think so.” She giggled.

  “Well, in that case, I think I’ll just head home.” I turned in the direction of the Victorian.

  “Nonsense. Come to the fair.”

  “No way. You have a date. I don’t want to be the only loser without a date.”

  “Come on, just for an hour. I promise I won’t let you look like a loser. Well, not too much at least.” She snickered. “I’ll buy you some cotton candy.”

  I could never refuse cotton candy. Hot to mention the corn dogs. I could taste them already.

  I hung up and stuffed the phone back in my pocket. The sticky night air made it feel as if I was walking through soup, but it would be worth it once I got there. I need to have more of a social life. It was something I’d have to force myself to do.

  Twinkling lights filled the night sky and not a cloud in sight. The fairgrounds were a mile away from the store in an open field, but to the left and right of the field were wooded areas, full of tall, thick pines. I set out down the sidewalk through town, then turned down the isolated road toward the sound of the screams from the rides that echoed through the night air. It reminded me of my childhood when my parents took
me to the fair every year. My dad always won me the biggest stuffed animal in the place. One of his hidden talents. The smell of corn dogs with an overload of mustard made my mouth water.

  As I neared the site, I moved along the road which led to the main entrance. The wooded area on my right was a little too close to the road for my comfort. The darkness gave me the heebie-jeebies. When I glanced ahead I noticed what appeared to be a walking path through there, but where it led to on the other side, I had no idea. The idea that people might be hiking through there crossed my mind, so I decided to pick up my pace. I didn’t want to be surprised by someone popping out of the night. I didn’t like not knowing what might lurk under the shade of those haunting trees.

  I stepped across the gravel road, walking down the opposite side of the road, putting distance between me and the unknown. I brushed past the pine trees and hiked about twenty feet to where the road curved around an old outbuilding. I stepped around the building, and had to cross near the tree line again. Another dirt path appeared through the trees. It looked as if it stretched on indefinitely, snaking through the dark trees. The branches reached out to me, calling me to enter.

  The moonlight trickled through the branches, breaking some of the eerie darkness, but not nearly enough for my taste. The moon cast a shadow across the road. The sounds from the carnival seemed muted and a whispering stir of the wind rustled the trees. The crunch of leaves and snapping branches caught my attention.

  The strap of my sandal slipped off my heel. I didn’t want to stop to fix it, but I had no choice. The rocks on the road hurt too badly to go without. I paused and listened. As I leaned down toward my shoe, more sound came from behind me. I knew that I hadn’t made the noise, because I was standing perfectly still. Probably a squirrel I told myself. As I knelt and readjusted the sandal, a large hand wrapped around my mouth and my attacker pulled me back, dragging me toward the line of trees.