Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel (17 page)

“I can handle it. Don’t touch anything.” His
face turned red.

The paper on top was a plot plan of the
entire street. My house was included on the map. Why would he have
a map of the area? His behavior accompanied with the papers made me
extremely nervous. I watched as he stomped up the stairs. That
hadn’t gone well. Nothing made him happy.

***

I woke at five a.m. Not much sleep, but I had
a long day ahead of me and I didn’t want to waste a minute of it.
After I showered, as I slipped on my shorts and tank, I heard the
front door slam. I ran down the hall. From the front door, I spied
Mr. Littlefield hopping into his car. Well, hellfire. Why did my
one and only guest not want my free breakfast? The continental was
one of the best parts of the stay. Well, at least for me it was. I
sighed and slipped back to the kitchen and grabbed a muffin and
juice for myself.

As I sat at my new dining table, I admired my
handiwork. Not bad, if I did say so myself. Later in the day, if I
had the time, I’d decorate the living room. As much as I enjoyed
the room, the murder wouldn’t stay out of my mind. Was I nuts for
thinking I could investigate a homicide? Obviously I’d never done
anything like it before, so I’d be winging it. In the novel I was
currently reading, the heroine talked with as many people as she
could. My first plan of action was to talk with the victim’s
husband. Teeny problem though, I didn’t know where to find him. He
worked as a roofer, I knew that much, but did he have an office in
town? Or was he on top of a roof somewhere? Since his wife just
died, I doubted he’d be working anyway.

After I washed the few dishes in the sink and
placed them in the cabinet, I called Claire Ann.

“Hey, what have you got planned for the day?”
I stacked the last plate in the cabinet.

“Well, I have to be at work by noon.” Her dog
barked, echoing through the phone.

“Do you want to help me?” I asked.

She paused. “Sure? What am I doing?”

“Maybe you should ask what it is before you
agree to it.” I leaned against the counter.

She laughed. “For you, anything. Well, almost
anything. So what is it?”

“I want to talk with Nancy’s husband.”

“Oh Lord, you’re right, I should have asked
first.”

“I need to find him.”

“I guess we can ask around.”

“Come on over.” I moved across the room,
closer to the window.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

I poked around my stash of decorating items
while I waited. Mrs. Mathers had three of the cutest plastic pears
hidden away in an upstairs bedroom—again, random items. What had
motivated her decisions, I had no idea. They color of the fake
fruit had faded, so I painted them white—I just couldn’t resist
spray paint. Issues: I had them. Heck, I had seen a therapist once,
but when she said she had the same issues, I stopped going. How the
heck could she help me if she couldn’t help herself?

In my décor stash, I had plates and plate
hangers. I took an old plastic-framed print from the wall and
replaced it with seven plates, then stepped back to admire my
handiwork. I placed the six white ones on the wall in a circle,
then placed the light blue one in the middle. The hangers cost more
than the plates. A knock sounded on the door and I hurried
over.

Claire Ann stood with a big smile across her
face. “I’m ready for some sleuthing.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Let me grab my purse and keys and we’ll head
out.”

Within a couple of minutes, we were backing
out of the drive. My lovely neighbor was staring at us. She wore
tight black shorts and a bright yellow tank top, which made her
look like a giant bumble bee.

“My neighbor isn’t so friendly.” I tilted my
head in her direction.

“Oh, Judy? Yeah, she’s got a big chip on her
shoulder.”

“Any reason why?” I waited for a truck to
pass so I could pull out.

“She was born with it. I’ve heard rumors
about her.” Claire Ann lowered her voice, as if Judy might hear
her.

“Really?” I asked as I steered out of the
drive on onto Main Street. “And you’re just now telling me this
why? Why not tell me the first day?”

“It just didn’t cross my mind. Too many other
things to think about, I guess.”

Like her mystery date maybe? Now that I had
her in the car, I’d corner her into telling all the details.

“Are you going to tell me about Judy now? Or
do I have to torture you with my Bluegrass CD?”

“You know that music reminds me of Bob. The
day he walked out on me, I wanted to choke him with his mandolin
strings. He thought he was so special because Roger Milby asked him
to play at the jamboree.”

“He’s history, just like Ross, remember? So
spit it out, tell me what it is.” I accelerated to thirty miles per
hour. Ten over the speed limit. I’d better slow down unless I
wanted Kent to cuff me. Ahem.

“I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “Of course, all
this is just hearsay.”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

“I hear she’s involved with a not-so-good
group of people. Like some kind of hillbilly gangster thing.
Moonshine or drugs or something. Of course that’s hearsay. So I
don’t know.”

“You mean I’m living next door to a drug
dealer?” My eyes widened.

“No, no. I don’t think she’s selling drugs,
but just maybe she’s friends with people who do.”

“That’s great. Just great. I want to make
Honeysuckle a quaint little tourist town with cute little shops and
cafes. I can’t have things like that going on. Maybe I could have
those buildings declared historical. Then we could have a little
historic part to town.”

“Well, good luck with turning this place into
something. Where are you going to get the money to do all this?”
She quirked an eyebrow.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It’s just a long
term goal, that’s all.”

“Or a fantasy. Or wishful thinking.”

That was the one problem with Claire Ann. I
loved her, but she never set her sights for more. She believed most
things were impossible. Whereas I thought anything was possible.
I'd taken on that new attitude, by the way. Maybe I could teach her
to think differently, or give it a try at least.

“If you’re really serious, my uncle is on the
historical society, I can call him. I’ll give you his number,
too.”

I smiled. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

“Hey, pull in here.” She pointed.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I whipped the car into the church parking
lot. Only a few cars dotted the pavement. The Gothic-style
structure loomed tall with its ornate stained-glass windows,
intricate archways and bell tower. Mitchell leaned up against the
building. Only in Honeysuckle did the town drunk hang out at the
church.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“Mitchell may be a drunk, but he hears and
sees more in this town than anyone. I think we should ask him some
questions.”

“If you say so.” I pulled the car next to him
and put it in park.

“Hey, Mitchell,” Claire Ann said and
waved.

He approached my car, then hiccupped. “I
think he’s had a few sips.”

“Hey there, sweet ladies. You want to take me
for a spin?” He smiled, displaying the gap between his teeth.

“Mitchell, I think you’re spinning enough as
it is. Maybe you should go home and lie down,” I said.

“No rest for the wicked.” He chuckled.
“There’s time for that later. I got things to do today.” He held
out brown bag wrapped bottle. “Here, why don’t you have a
drink?”

“I’ve had my share for the day already.” I
smiled.

“I’m trying to quit,” Claire Ann said.

He shrugged. “You don’t know what you’re
missing.”

“Mitchell, you know where we can find Mark
Harper?” Claire Ann asked.

“Sure do.” He nodded. “I think he's over on
Routt Road, last I heard.”

Mitchell leaned into the car and I smelled
the whiskey on his breath. “Whatcha want with him? Ya lookin’ to
get a new roof?” He chuckled. “I’m pretty handy with a hammer.”

Oh dear heavens. I pictured him on a roof,
weaving and swaying. If he made it to the top, he’d fall off within
two seconds. But somehow, I knew his volunteering was more of a
double entendre.

“We want to talk with him about his wife,”
Claire Ann said.

He stepped back from the car. “That’s a real
shame what happened to her.” He leaned forward into the car window
again. “People are crazy. There’s a lot of mean folks in this
world. Of course, a lot of nice ones, too. Like you beautiful
ladies.”

I looked at Claire Ann and she shrugged. I
was in a church parking lot having a conversation with the town
drunk about a murder. What the heck happened to my life? At least
he had both eyes in today; I noticed when he opened them wider
again.

“I heard Martha saying some stuff. She’s got
plans for this town, she said.”

“What does she mean by that?” I asked.

Claire Ann was right. He did have the 411.
Mitchell didn’t answer. I thought he’d dozed off again.

“When he’s drunk like this, you can’t get
much info out of him,” Claire Ann said. “It just comes in bits in
pieces. We’ll have to catch him when he’s sober.”

“He acts completely different when he’s
drunk.”

She nodded. “It’s sad.”

“What do we do with him now?” I looked at
Mitchell, then focused on Claire Ann.

“Same thing we always do. He’ll sit here on
the lawn until he sobers up, then he’ll go home.”

“Will he sober up? Maybe we should call Kent
to come and get him?”

“Sounds as if you just want an excuse to call
the handsome sheriff.” She gave a lopsided smile.

“I do not.” I tried to hide my smile, but
concealing it grew harder the more she stared. “He is handsome,” I
said as Mitchell walked away.

“Who, Mitchell?”

“No, Kent!”

Claire Ann laughed.

“Come on, let’s get over to Routt Road and
ask some questions.” I put the car in reverse.

“You’re brave. I’ve heard he’s not the
friendliest guy in town and that’s saying a lot coming from some of
these characters.” She pulled her sunglasses down from the top of
her head.

I turned back onto the road and looked in my
rearview mirror. Mitchell was sitting on the lawn as the pastor
made his way toward him. Maybe he could help him. I hated leaving
Mitchell there like that.

Within a few minutes, we pulled onto Routt
Road. An old pickup honked and swerved around me. The old guy shook
his fist as he passed. He must have been from out of town, because
no one around here got in a hurry.

Up ahead stood three houses all in a row, two
white ones with a yellow one in the middle. My car crept down the
road until we spotted the house getting repairs. As the engine of
the old man’s truck faded, I spotted a man on the roof and assumed
it was Mark Harper. I steered the Mustang down the gravel drive,
the pebbles dancing in its wake, stirring up dust. The engine and
crunch of gravel must have caught Mark’s attention because he
glanced our way. I pulled up in front of the small white house.
Mark looked up again, held a hand above his eyes and watched us
until we came to a stop. He looked away and began pounding the roof
with his hammer again.

“Maybe he thinks we’re here to see the
homeowners,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Claire Ann said
sarcastically.

I climbed out and Claire Ann followed. A red
Toyota stood in the drive. As I walked past, I glanced in the
window. The interior was clean, only a bandana and papers set on
the passenger seat. One odd thing though, the paper on top was a
map of the old buildings on Main Street.

We trudged forward. The lawn needed mowing
and dandelions speckled the lawn. Pear trees stood in front of the
house.

“Mr. Harper?” I asked when I reached the side
of the house. I cupped my hand over my brow to shield my eyes from
the sun.

He looked down. A scowl stretched across his
face. “What do you want?”

“Hi.” I waved. “I’m Raelynn Pendleton. I just
wanted to find you and say how terribly sorry I am about your
wife.”

He stared, then finally said, “Screw
you.”

Claire Ann gasped. His gaze was fixed on me.
The situation was very awkward.

“Um. I’m not sure if you know, but I own the
house where she was found.”

“I’m aware.” He crouched down again and
hammered a nail. “And I really don’t care.”

When he finished pounding I said, “It must be
terrible to get such news.”

I looked at Claire Ann and she shook her
head. I shrugged. “I don’t know what to say,” I whispered.

“That’s obvious. You're terrible at this.”
She nudged me.

Mark was still focused on his work. I twisted
my hands together. I think my teeth even chattered a little. “Do
you have any idea who killed her?”

“What are you a cop?” He looked at me, his
face set in a frown.

“No, no, just curious.” I held my hands up in
surrender.

“I don’t know a thing. Now if you’re finished
playing Nancy Drew can I go back to work?”

“Yeah, sure.” I frowned.

I turned on my heel and trudged back to the
car. Claire Ann followed a few steps behind me. When I reached the
car, a loud thud rang out near me. I looked to my left and spotted
a piece of wood. Unless the sky was raining random pieces of
lumber, Mr. Harper had thrown it my way—on purpose. I spun around.
Mark stood, glaring at us.

“Get in the car,” Claire Ann yelled.

I fumbled with the car handle, then finally
opened the door. I jumped in and Claire Ann slipped in the
passenger side.

When I slammed the door she said, “Well, that
went well.”

I let out a breath and started the car. “I
can’t believe he threw that at me.”

“Well, I told you he was mean. You need to
call Kent.”

I shook my head. “No way. I don’t want him to
know I came out here. Plus, I don’t need any more trouble with Mark
Harper. I’ll just let sleeping dogs lie, thank you very much.”