Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel (6 page)

Stumbling through the dark, I slipped back to
the kitchen. With still-trembling hands, I poured water into a
glass, then leaned against the old Formica countertop. What had I
heard? As I gulped my water, I studied the back door. My gaze
traveled down to the knob, then the lock. The door was unlocked.
Had I forgotten to secure it? I thought I’d checked every window
and door, but I must have forgotten that one. An open door was just
asking for someone to come into the house. I walked over and
flipped the lock.

Pushing back the dread that overwhelmed me, I
peeped out through the corner of the shade. A strange feeling came
over me, as if eyes were watching me. The back yard was one big
black blob. Darkness blanketed the trees and bushes until nothing
stood out—only the golden flicker from fireflies. I couldn’t have
seen my hand in front of my face out there. I needed to get a
bright porch light as soon as possible. Staring into the darkness
wouldn’t solve anything, so I placed my glass into the sink and
wandered back to my room, closed the door behind me, jumped into
bed and pulled the covers back up under my chin again. I prayed
whatever I’d heard wouldn’t return.

For what seemed like forever, I tossed and
turned, thinking about everything—the noise, sleeping in Mrs.
Mathers’ bed, my ex. I wondered what Ross would have said if he’d
known I was the owner of this place now. He’d probably want to be
involved in some way. Over my dead body. Mrs. Mathers had come into
the store my first day on the job. She had asked who I was and
where I was from. Mrs. Mathers didn’t beat around the honeysuckle
bush, that was for sure. Even though I was an outsider in tiny
Honeysuckle, I was still a Kentucky girl and okay in her book. Most
people in town wouldn’t give me the time of day since I hadn’t
lived there all my life. But she had known what it was like to be
an outcast. She’d moved to Honeysuckle fifty years ago with her
husband—like me. I imagined she had gone through the same prejudice
as me, too. She’d never been completely accepted, even after all
those years.

We’d talked for a long time that first day
and almost every day after. Some days I had brought a little stool
around for her to sit on and we had talked about recipes, her life,
and mine, my ex. She had known Ross and had never liked him. He had
stolen veggies from her garden as a little boy. She said she knew
he was trouble then. Too bad I hadn’t known that before I had
married him.

After a while, I’d convinced myself I’d only
heard the old house settling. As I relaxed and forced myself to
stop flipping from one side to the other, I started thinking about
decorating the house. I needed a plan for that, too. How did I get
myself into such a huge undertaking? I’d start with one room,
finish it, and move on to the next. It was the only way. First
thing: I needed at least one bedroom to rent out. I didn’t want a
long-term renter, though. I wanted someone who wouldn’t stay more
than a month. I had never wanted to be a landlord. A bad taste
formed in my mouth just thinking about the word. Adele Wilkins had
scared me for life. Post-traumatic stress for renters.

Next, I’d move on to the living room, since
that was the first room people would see. The floors didn’t need
anything, but the walls could stand new paint. I’d need a new sofa
for sure but the end tables I could work with. I loved the
bookcases, floor, and ceiling; they added character to the room.
Only the minor details needed changing. Decorating possibilities
were endless, really—a little paint and distressing. I’d need a
couple of chairs, too, and I’d love a coffee table. One small
problem though: money—my lack of.

***

I woke the next morning when the sun peeked
through the window shade and across my face. I wasn’t sure what
time I’d drifted off, but I knew it was right after thinking about
the coffee table. My dream consisted of furniture and boots. The
sound of strange footsteps flooded back into my memory. It hadn’t
been a dream.

I jumped out of bed, grabbed my suitcase, and
pulled out shorts and a tee along with my shower items. After a
quick shower and dressing, I put on a pot of coffee. I poured the
liquid into my mug and added a little sugar—the milk in the fridge
had turned chunky at this point. I lifted the shade and stepped out
the back door. The porch extended all around the house. Thankfully,
the light of day made everything less scary.

The sun shone down from a blue cloudless sky,
covering the yard in yellow shafts. Birds chirped as they danced
along the edge of the birdbath. The temperature hadn’t become
unbearable yet. The honeysuckle bush beside the house wafted
through the air and tickled my nose. The white wooden gazebo called
my name, just waiting for me to sit down and relax. I couldn’t wait
another minute to enjoy my surroundings in the shade, so I stepped
down onto the stone path, enjoying the view of the perennials along
the way. It wouldn’t take long for me to get used to this morning
routine. I’d eat every meal out here if I could.

A small table and chairs inside the gazebo
would be great—another item to add to my growing list. Oh, and
lights hanging from the ceiling would look nice, too. Two small
iron chairs currently stood under the gazebo, plenty of room for
more. They didn’t look all that comfortable, either.

I eased down onto one of the rickety chairs
and listened to my quiet surroundings. The only sound came from the
small, bubbling waterfall pond next to me. How Mrs. Mathers had
kept up the yard, I had no idea. I closed my eyes for a couple of
minutes and willed the tension from my shoulders. The feeling hit
me again, as if someone was watching me. I snapped my lids open and
looked around. I didn’t see another soul, but something red caught
my attention to my right. It was next to the waterfall. I stood and
moved closer, then let out a gasp. My hand flew to my mouth. I made
two steps forward, then I saw her.

Chapter Nine

She was lying on the grass near the gazebo.
Flat on her stomach, she lay with her head twisted in an awkward
position, her face to the side and her eyes wide open. In spite of
her unfortunate condition, her blonde bob looked as if she’d just
stepped out of the salon.

As I rushed over, I tossed my mug to the
ground. I’d never had any emergency medicine training. What if she
needed resuscitation? Would I be able to handle the task? I
couldn’t make the situation any worse, right? Well, if anyone could
make it worse, I could.

I raced toward her, stopping when I was just
a few steps away. Her khaki pants and white blouse looked just as
perfect as her bob, but blood pooled under her head. There was an
object lying beside her body. It looked exactly like the
candlestick that I’d used last night. Blood covered the heavy
wooden base. Unless this was a very popular style of candlestick,
I’d say it was the same one. Why was it outside and covered with
blood? I knew why. It had been used as a murder weapon. Could
someone else have the same candlestick? Unlikely.

“Oh, my God. Nancy?” I called. “What
happened?”

She didn’t reply or move, not even a groan or
a whimper. I knelt down and placed my fingers against her neck, but
didn’t feel a pulse. The huge gash to the back of her head gave me
a good indication that she was beyond any help. I prayed that this
was all a dream. Sunlight streamed across her body. I blinked,
trying to adjust my eyes further. The body of Nancy Harper was in
my backyard.

I hadn’t known her well, but she had always
been nice when visiting the store. She was married with no children
and taught first grade. Who would want her dead? How could she
possibly have had any enemies?

My heart raced as the blood rushed out of my
face and my stomach turned. Nothing else seemed out of place in the
yard—just the dead body. I honestly couldn’t believe my eyes.

My hands shook as I struggled to catch my
breath. I needed to call for help. With wobbly legs, I hurried up
and spun around. The earth moved under my feet and I had to stop
myself from fainting. The vision of Nancy’s lifeless body was
burned into my brain. None of this seemed real. It couldn’t be.
People just didn’t discover dead bodies in their backyards… yet
that was exactly what had just happened to me.

My heart thumped as I hurried toward the
house. I was replaying the scene in my head. If I looked over my
shoulder, would the body still be there? I glanced behind me. Yeah,
she was still in the same lifeless position.

I’d have to check the kitchen for the
candlestick. Although I already knew I wouldn’t find it there. As
my mind raced with thoughts, the idea hit me that I’d never thought
to look for her killer. Maybe he was watching every move I made.
Explosions of color from the flowers led my way to the back porch.
Once I reached the steps, I scampered up, barely remembering to
breathe. The eerie silence the backyard now held made the morning
feel cold and bleak, in spite of the heat.

I stumbled through the door like a crazed
maniac. Where in the heck had I put my phone? I never could keep up
with that thing. I’d tried keeping it in my purse, but I was always
searching for my purse too, so that wasn’t much help. I ran around
the room like a chicken with its head cut off before finally
realization that it was on the counter right in front of me. I
grabbed the phone and punched in the number, then while it rang,
looked around the room for the candlestick. But just as I had
suspected, the candlestick was nowhere in sight. What had happened?
Had I imagined using that candlestick? I prayed that all of this
was just a dream. Heck, maybe I finally was going bonkers. People
in Honeysuckle already thought that I was crazy.

Then another whammy hit me—the footsteps.
Someone had been in the house and had taken the candlestick. But
why that as a murder weapon? The huge knife I’d used to carve the
watermelon had been in the kitchen sink where I’d washed it last
night, why not use that? Had the person come to kill me and
discovered Nancy instead? But why would Nancy be in my backyard? I
had barely known her.

“What’s your emergency?” A female voice
boomed across the line.

“Someone is dead…” My voice was barely a
whisper.

“I can’t hear you,” she said. “You’ll have to
speak up.”

“I think someone has been murdered,” I choked
out. “Can you send the police?”

“Get out. Seriously?” I thought I heard her
smack her bubblegum.

What did she just say? Did she think I was a
prank caller? I recognized Joan Murdoch’s voice. “No, I’m not
making this up. I assure you this is not a hoax. Can you just send
someone right now? I don’t know what happened to her.”

The calm that had been in my voice began to
slip away. Within seconds I’d be a blathering mess on the floor in
the corner of the room if they didn’t hurry.

“The police are on their way. You said this
is Raelynn Pendleton, right?”

“Yes, Raelynn.” I nodded, although she
couldn’t see me.

“Wow, she didn’t waste any time moving into
the place,” she whispered to someone on the other end.

Yeah, I heard that. She was so completely
unprofessional. But I guessed since her parents owned half the town
she could get away with anything.

“Thanks.” I hung up before I heard more than
I wanted to.

With the phone still clutched in my hand, I
walked back onto the porch and stood near the steps, then waited; I
didn’t know what else to do. Nancy was clearly beyond any help I
could give. The serene setting seemed out of place now. I expected
a dark cloud to roll over and hang above the scene. My phone was
the only safety line I had. Please let the police arrive soon.

The morning air had been pleasant until now.
Sweat beaded on my forehead and heat circled my body. An anxious
trembling coursed through me and I couldn’t shake it.

Sirens sounded quickly. That was one perk of
living in a small town. Thank heavens. It seemed like only seconds
passed before car doors slammed from what sounded like the front of
the house. The echoes of footfalls running hit my ears seconds
later. I stood on the back porch with my feet frozen, yet my whole
body trembled. I turned and stared into the side yard. The thought
of watching any longer made my stomach turn. Sheriff Kent Klein
appeared from the side of the house. He looked at me, but didn’t
stop as I pointed toward the gazebo. A couple more policemen ran
after him. I was pretty sure the entire force was now in my
backyard.

After a couple minutes, Kent approached me.
“Ms. Pendleton, we need to talk.”

“Do you want to talk here?” I gestured at my
spot on the steps.

He nodded and frowned.

So I was Ms. Pendleton again. No more Rae?
Not even Raelynn? He held up his professional façade, I guess. As
if we’d barely spoken before. I knew his favorite drink was orange
juice and his favorite sports team was the Atlanta Braves, for
heaven’s sake. I turned to face him. He stood at the bottom step
and took in my full appearance. I wanted to break free from his
gaze, but I wasn’t sure what to do. His face held a frown unlike
I’d ever see him wear. Talk about feeling uncomfortable. Before he
opened his mouth to speak, he pulled a notepad from his pocket—all
official-like. Claire Ann popped around the corner. Her mouth
gaped. She spotted me and ran over.

“Oh, God.” She held her chest. “I heard the
sirens and heard they were headed for your house and I panicked.
What happened?”

“Ms. Claire Ann Grande,” Kent said. She
stopped in her tracks. “I’m interviewing Ms. Pendleton. Do you mind
waiting over there?” He pointed to the other side of the yard.

She frowned, but didn’t argue with him, which
kind of surprised me. I guessed murder had changed everything.

“Now, tell me everything. I’m assuming you
have an explanation as to why Nancy Harper is dead in your back
yard.” His deep brown eyes made his question warm when I felt
terrified on the inside. But the subject matter wasn’t warm in the
least. It was cold and harsh and all too real.