Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel (14 page)

“The woman is meticulous.”

“She didn’t have to do that.”

“She knows that.” Claire Ann said, hopping
down from the truck and closing the door.

After struggling to get the sofa inside—or at
least Claire Ann and I struggled with our end—Claire Ann’s father
took off, leaving us to chat. I still couldn’t believe the ugly
sofa was out of the room. Claire Ann’s father hauled it off with
him. Good riddance. I’d make a couple of toss pillows for the black
chair until I found a replacement. The sofa looked great in its new
spot.

“I see you’ve been working around the
place.”

I smiled. “Yes, I have. I’m kind of having
fun making new things out of old junk.”

Claire Ann walked over to the side window,
staring out at my neighbor’s yard. “Have the police been back there
again?”

“Um, yeah, a little. I think they’re all done
now, though.” I fluffed the cushion on the new sofa.

“Do you think they found any good leads? Any
more clues as to what happened?”

“Are you asking just because you’re curious
or is this the reporter in you?”

She gave a sheepish grin. “Just because I’m
curious. Of course, I’ll be writing about it in the paper.”

“Why do I feel as if I have to watch what I
say around you?”

She laughed. “I don’t misquote.” She shook
her head while keeping her attention on Judy’s yard.

I sat on the sofa, bouncing to test out the
cushions. “You know I’ll tell you anything I learn.”

“I know you will.”

“I guess they have a list of suspects,” I
said.

“I’m sure they do.”

It really hit me then that they probably had
me on the list. As if I was a criminal. As if she read my mind,
Claire Ann walked over and sat beside me.

She patted my arm. “Don’t worry, they’ll find
the killer in no time at all. I don’t think they seriously suspect
you. Heck, like I said, Margaret has a temper from what I’ve heard.
There’s no telling who killed Nancy.”

“I hope you’re right, but should I call a
lawyer?” My hands trembled.

“What? No, they haven’t arrested you. You
know Kent doesn’t really suspect you.”

I nodded and wiped the tears from under my
eyes. I didn’t like the idea of being a suspect in any crime. Or
“person of interest” or whatever they called it.

“Who do you think killed Nancy?” I asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I’d say her
husband. It’s usually someone close to the person like that.”

“But why in the world was she in my back
yard? She doesn’t live close to here.”

“Is there any reason why she’d come to see
you?” Claire Ann asked.

I shook my head. “I can’t think of anything.
I saw her at the store the other day. She was friendly, but we
barely knew each other.”

“I’m sure Kent will get to the bottom of it.
Listen, I have to work. I’ll call and check on you in a bit.” She
squeezed me in a hug.

“Yeah, okay, and thanks again for everything.
I’ll call your mom and thank her.”

The thought of what Nancy was doing in my
back yard kept churning over and over in my mind. There was nothing
I could do solve the mystery. All I could was pray the killer was
found. I stood and looked around the room. The only thing to help
take my mind off things right now was working around the house—so
that was what I’d do.

I’d found an old wooden bench in one of the
rooms upstairs. The gray color made it drab—sprucing it up with new
color would bring it back to life. Since the bench was already
inside, I wouldn’t move it outside to paint—I was in a hurry. I’d
have to put paper underneath to protect the floor. Open windows
would air out the paint smell. I’d rather use spray paint, but
there was no way to do that in the house. Plus, it would take a ton
of cans.

I retrieved the paint, brush and other
supplies and got to work. After I repainted the bench black and
distressed it, I’d place it in front of the sofa as a coffee table.
The black looked great with the new sofa. Sometimes repurposing
items was an easy fix for missing furniture. With some decorations
here and there and wall art the room would be complete. Soon I’d
have two whole rooms almost in acceptable condition—acceptable for
my liking. I could hardly believe it. And I’d just moved in! I’d
never imagined I could work that fast if I had to.

After an hour, I had a coat of paint on the
bench. The color was streaking, though, so it would take two—I
hoped not three. When the second coat dried, I’d sand the edges and
give it a distressed, aged look. I’d add the bell jars on top of
the bench with the faux pears underneath, stacking them on top of a
few hardback books. I took the covers off a few gardening books I
found in Mrs. Mathers’ collection. I’d learned the art of arranging
decorative items by copying displays of people who knew what they
were doing. In the past when I had a chance to decorate, I usually
flipped through magazines for pictures of rooms I liked, then tried
to recreate the look—on a budget, of course.

Soon I’d convince Claire Ann to help me paint
the room. She could reach the ceiling easier than I could. I’d
taken all the knickknacks from the shelves. It looked better
already. Every time I looked at the sofa it made me smile. It was
nice to have a true friend.

I cleaned up my mess, took a quick shower and
changed into jeans and a tee and headed for the cookie jar. As I
bit into the chocolate chip goodness, my cell rang again.

I fished it from my pocket. “Hello?”

“Have I got something for you!”

“Again! I can’t accept any more
furniture.”

“No. This involves a trip.”

“I’m not sure if I should be happy or hang
up.”

“The mayor’s wife is having a charity benefit
for the local library.”

“Well that’s a cause near to my heart, but
you’re telling me this because?”

“I’m going and so are you.”

Chapter Twenty

“That’s it. You’ve completely lost your mind.
Have you forgotten she detests me? I think she’d rather live on a
pig farm again then allow me in her house. Why are you going
anyway?”

“To cover it for the paper, of course. And
you’ll be my assistant.”

“I don’t know.” I chewed on my bottom
lip.

“Since when do you let a little thing like
someone not liking you stop you?” she asked.

“Good point. When is it?”

“Now.”

“Wow, thanks for the advance notice.”

“I know, I know. I just remembered. Bill was
going, but after what happened, you know, what she said to you, I
figured we should go and see what happens. Maybe we’ll get some
details or insight into the life of Martha Murdoch.”

“That could be a very scary thing.”

“We’ll be fine. I’ll pick you up in a few.
And wear something kind of fancy.”

“Kind of fancy? I don’t own anything like
that.”

“You’ll find something.” She hung up.

I liked dresses, I did. It was just that I
never had occasion to wear one, so when I did I felt like a little
girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothing.

Claire Ann picked me up in her old pickup.
She honked just as I was putting the clasp on the little silver
stud in my right ear. Claire Ann said she refused to be seen
walking down Main Street in a ridiculous dress and heels. I’d
decided on a yellow sundress my mother had bought me for my
cousin’s wedding three years ago. My neutral-colored wedge heels
matched, which was a good thing because I didn’t have anything
else.

Claire Ann applied lip gloss as I slipped
into the truck. Not an easy task to climb up in heels, I might have
added. Claire Ann wore a white full skirt with black-and-white
floral blouse.

“You look nice,” I said.

“Thank you. So do you. See, we clean up
well.” She chuckled.

I laughed in agreement. “Yes, I suppose we
do.”

As we circled back for a parking spot, Claire
Ann said, “I didn’t really know how to approach you about
this…”

“Oh, no. More bad news. I can’t handle
anymore. Spit it out.”

She turned down the volume on the radio. “You
should sell the car,” she blurted out. “Now hear me out. It could
really help you pay the bills and get the hotel on its feet.” She
continued, barely catching her breath. “If you need a ride or a car
you can always borrow mine until you get another. Don’t feel like
you have to hold onto it just because Ross loved it. I don’t want
you to keep holding onto the idea of him. Getting every aspect of
him out of your life would do you good.”

“So you’ve been analyzing my situation? You
think I kept the car because of my ex?”

“Why else would you live paycheck to
paycheck?”

“I didn’t need the money until now. I was
working and getting by. Of course now I need it, but that’s neither
here nor there. It’s a good thing I waited, huh? Stop with the
therapist act.”

“I’m jus’ sayin’… You still have pictures of
him.”

“The pictures are a part of my past. I can’t
just throw them away.”

She shrugged. “If you say so. I think you’re
holding onto the past. Anyway, I know someone who’d like to buy the
car.” She slowed the truck down.

I paused, then let out a deep breath. “Okay.
I’ll sell it.”

She was right. I needed to let go of the
past. Holding onto the car only kept the bad memories around. Plus,
the money would help tremendously.

We arrived at the house, a colonial with
white columns and a nicely manicured lawn. A large porch spanned
across the front of the house, with French doors flanking the entry
door. It stood in the middle of a row of historic homes. We parked
across the street—I teased Claire Ann it was for a fast getaway. We
crossed the quiet road and marched up the steps of the
colonial.

“My stomach hurts,” I said. “I really
shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh pshaw. You’re here to help me. She
probably won’t notice you’re around.”

“I bet she can sense when I’m with two
hundred feet of her. Like she has a Raelynn Pendleton radar. I
should’ve had a cocktail first.”

Claire Ann laughed as she rang the doorbell.
My heart rate increased when the sound of footsteps echoed from the
other side of the doorway.

“Hello,” the woman said when she opened the
door. “May I help you?”

She wore black pants and a white blouse with
a white apron covering her front. Did the mayor have a maid? I’d
never thought about it. I didn’t think he’d make that much money in
a small town like Honeysuckle.

“Hi, I’m Claire Ann from The Honeysuckle
Herald, and this is my assistant, Raelynn.” She gestured my
way.

“Please come in.” The maid stepped to the
side and we entered into the foyer. Two alabaster statues of women
flanked the space. It felt like walking into a museum. To the left
was the large parlor. The walls were bathed in beige and the
windows covered with dark blue curtains with bold flowers. Shiny
hardwood flooring continued from the foyer into the parlor. Women
chatted with teacups in hand. Trays of finger sandwiches sat on
tables around the room. Claire Ann forged ahead into the room. I
attempted to walk behind her like a shadow. So far, no one had
noticed me and I wanted to keep it that way.

“You’re pulling my dress. Let go.” She
swatted at my hand.

“This is absolutely pretentious,” I said.
“I’ve never liked these kinds of events.”

Claire Ann nodded. “Uh-huh. Listen, I’m going
to mingle. For the scoop, you know?” She started to walk away.

I grabbed her arm. “What? Where are you
going?”

“Just around.” She gestured. “I have to
mingle, remember? I’m here to get a story.”

“Claire Ann Grande, don’t you dare leave me
here alone.” Panic set in. Dizziness took over.

“We’ll just stay a minute, don’t worry.” She
patted my hand. “Take a deep breath, you’ll feel better.”

“No, no, no,” I whispered while glancing over
my shoulder.

“I want to get a look around this place. I’ve
never been inside,” she whispered.

What the heck was I supposed to do in the
meantime? I doubted we’d find anything worthwhile. Sure, the
heroines in my mystery novels made sleuthing look easy, but that
was fiction. I’d probably get my hand caught in the snooping cookie
jar with the first attempt.

Before I could grab onto her dress again she
waltzed away. A couple old ladies eyed me from a few steps away. I
smiled, then grabbed a cucumber sandwich and pretended to nibble.
They frowned, then whispered to each other before moving my
way.

Trapped. They were probably coming to
confront me and I didn’t even know them.

“Are you friends with Martha?” the lady with
the over-bleached hair asked. Piles of curls set atop her head.

“Um, you could say that,” I said. My mouth
was full of cucumber sandwich.

“She’s such a lovely lady. So kind and
generous.” They looked at each other and nodded. “We’re from
Belleville. Are you from Honeysuckle?” the other one asked. She
adjusted her black dress. The white belt made her outfit match her
salt-and-pepper hair.

Were these women for real? They really didn’t
know me? How’d I luck into that? Although that was probably the
only reason they actually spoke to me. Plus, they thought Martha
Murdoch was nice? Clearly she’d put on an act for them.

I swallowed the last of my sandwich. “I’m
from Honeysuckle.”

“I’m Kitty George and this is Francine
Simmons,” the blonde said as she gestured to the other woman.

How would I get away from these women? They’d
ask too many questions, I just knew it. And where the heck was
Claire Ann? She owed me for this. I tried to ease backwards and
hide behind the large plant in the corner, but figured someone
would notice me—i.e. the nosy old bags next to me.

They stared at me for an acknowledgement.
Heck, I was sure they wanted my name too. “My name’s Claire
Ann—”