Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel (7 page)

“I don’t know why she’s here. I barely knew
her.” I shrugged.

“Did you hear anything? See anything?” he
asked.

I didn’t answer, but he stared, so I knew I’d
have to eventually.

“No, I didn’t see anything.” I shook my head.
Should I tell him what I had heard? The candlestick as the murder
weapon was a significant detail that I probably shouldn’t leave out
of the conversation. My mama would never get over me being in
prison. It would kill her for sure. Heck, she was still mortified
that I’d gone to traffic school. I wasn’t looking forward to
explaining this turn of events to her. She’d likely have one of her
fake heart attacks.

“When I came out this morning I found her. It
had to have happened last night. She wasn’t there when Claire Ann
and I looked around yesterday,” I said.

“I’m not sure of the time of death yet.
Regardless, I can’t share that information with you.”

Suddenly my shoes became very interesting. I
didn’t know what to do or say.

“We’ll be here for a while collecting
evidence.” I looked up at him just in time to catch his worried
expression. There was pity in his eyes. “I’ll be back to talk with
you.”

I rubbed my forehead, then shoved my hands
into my pockets. Would he think I had anything to do with Nancy’s
death? I wasn’t sure if I should tell him about hearing footsteps.
Maybe it wasn’t related to this, but what if it was? It had to be,
right? I shuddered thinking the killer was in my house. Did I tell
him about the candlestick? Would my fingerprints be on the murder
weapon? Yes, my mother would definitely have one of her fake heart
attacks when she heard about this.

The second Sheriff Kent had walked away
Claire Ann ran over.

“What the hell is going on, Raelynn? What
happened to Nancy?” She turned her attention away from me and gazed
across the yard.

I shrugged. “She’s dead.” What else could I
say?

“This is incredible. What was she doing in
the backyard?”

I nodded, then sat on the step. Claire Ann
joined me, draping her arm around my shoulders and giving my leg a
pat.

“I can’t believe this has happened.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she
asked.

I filled Claire Ann in on the footsteps,
candlestick, and how I’d discovered Nancy. She’d probably write
every word I said in the town newspaper. Just because the editor
was my best friend didn’t mean she’d spare my feelings for a big
story like this one. I’d be front-page news probably for years to
come in a town the size of Honeysuckle. I couldn’t blame her for
running the story. She had to; it was her job.

“I know it’s scary, but you should tell them
about the candlestick. They need to know that someone broke in the
house so maybe they can catch the person.”

I sighed. “I guess you’re right. But I just
moved in. Do you think this has anything to do with this house? Was
that why someone broke in? Maybe they were looking for
something.”

“That does make sense. But what would they be
looking for?” She asked.

“It doesn’t make any sense. Do you think this
was a random crime? Did Nancy have any enemies?”

“Her husband was cheating on her.”

“Yeah. So there are two suspects already,
huh? The husband and the mistress. Margaret McKenna always did have
a temper. I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

Sheriff Kent approached again.

Claire Ann whispered, “Tell me, how did we
get so lucky as to have Kent Klein as Honeysuckle’s sheriff? He is
easy on the eyes, don’t you think? Wouldn’t you like to butter his
biscuit?”

I nudged her in the side. “You’ve got a
filthy mind. I would not like to butter his biscuit.” Okay, maybe
I’d like to butter his biscuit a little.

“I need you to share the story with me again,
Raelynn,” Kent said.

“You’ll probably get sick of hearing it, so
maybe I shouldn’t tell you again,” I said.

“I need to know every detail. You may have
forgotten to share something with me the first time.” Had he read
my mind? Did he know something already regarding the candlestick?
No, how could he? Sheriff Kent crossed his muscular arms in front
of his chest.

Claire Ann stood. “I have to get back to
work. See you later. Sheriff.” She nodded at Kent.

“Thanks for coming by and checking on me.
I’ll call you later.” Leaving me alone to face this situation was
not good. I wanted to hold onto Claire Ann’s leg like a dog. I’d
rather have her drag me across the lawn than stay and answer
questions again—no matter how good-looking the person asking was.
Claire Ann disappeared around the corner. Sheriff Kent Klein’s gaze
remained focused on my face. Heat gathered in my cheeks. I glanced
down, but couldn’t help but look back up at him.

I used every ounce of courage I had and said,
“I guess I’ll just come right out and say this, but the murder
weapon came from my house.”

Chapter Ten

“What? From where?”

“My kitchen.”

His face blanched.

“It was the candlestick. I’d used it last
night in the kitchen. I’m trying to save on electricity. Anyway, I
think I heard someone come in the house after I went to bed. When I
checked the rooms, I didn’t find anyone. I just assumed it was the
old house making noises. But now…”

“I’m sending in police to search for
fingerprints. You need to stay outside.” He pointed toward the
house.

“Can I get dressed? Am I allowed to
leave?”

“I’ll send someone with you so you can get a
change of clothing.”

“Maybe I should just wear what I have
on.”

He looked me up and down. My mother was
right. “Always look your best,” she’d said. “You never know whom
you’ll see.” I should have listened.

“That’s up to you. Now tell me again what
happened last night.”

After I recounted every single detail again,
I prayed he was satisfied. No such luck.

“Your fingerprints will probably be on the
candlestick, you know?”

“I realize that. What I don’t understand why
the killer used that as a murder weapon. Why not use a knife? I had
one in the sink that I used last night to cut the watermelon.”

“It’s difficult to understand a murderer’s
logic. Maybe you’ll get lucky and we’ll find the killer’s prints
instead. Anyway, we’ll be here a while. I don’t know quite what to
say, Raelynn. But I’m sorry this happened.”

“Thank you. That means a lot,” I said.

“I’ll need a statement from you and I’ll have
more questions for you. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Hell’s bells. I
couldn’t help my emotions. He smiled and I thought I noticed a
tinge of red on his cheeks, too.

I stumbled when I stood from the step and
Kent grabbed my arm. “Whoa. Easy does it.”

“Thanks.” My cheeks tingled again, but that
wasn’t all that tingled. His touch made my whole body quiver like
Grandma Nettie’s Jello mold.

“Just watch out.”

“The step?” I asked.

“No. Well, yes, the step, too. But I mean
until we know what happened to the victim.”

I loved how official he tried to be, as if I
didn’t know the victim’s name.

“Make sure you lock your doors. And call if
you see anything suspicious.”

I nodded.

He smiled again. “I have to get back.” He
pointed toward the gazebo.

“Of course.”

I watched as he walked away. Claire Ann had
been right. Having him in the backyard wasn’t such a bad thing. I
leaned back against the porch column and took in a deep breath. I
felt numb from the life-changing experience. Police swarmed the
scene like bees over honey. Back and forth from the gazebo to their
cars out front. A few stood in a group, talking. The scene wasn’t
as glamorous as they depicted on TV. One of the officers told
another that the coroner had just pulled up and my stomach turned
again. They’d take away the body soon. I wouldn’t look at it again.
I couldn’t.

I needed to get away. No way could I watch
them haul the body off. And from the looks of things, they’d be
there for a few hours. Yellow and black crime-scene tape decorated
the yard. Police hovered over the body, paced around the lawn, and
sifted through the bushes. Was it bad of me to shop when a dead
body was discovered in my back yard? The thought of sitting around
while they examined the crime scene was too much. If I distracted
myself, maybe I’d come back and it would all be behind me. Then I
could move on. Oh, who was I kidding? Things would never be the
same. I’d always see that body in the backyard.

A young officer approached. He looked as if
he’d just graduated high school. His fresh buzz-cut screamed
newbie.

“You need to retrieve items from the house,
ma’am?”

“I’ll just get my purse, thanks.”

After my escort showed me into the house, I
grabbed my purse and hurried out with him on my heels. Without
saying a word to Kent, I escaped around the corner of the house and
jumped in the Mustang before he noticed. A crowd had gathered in
front of the old Victorian. I recognized some of the faces from
town—young and old alike. A few huddled together, pointed, and
whispered as I made my way to the car. What if they thought I was
fleeing like a criminal? No, I couldn’t stop my life because of
this. Act natural… that was what I had to do. I held my head high
as I pulled away from the curb.

Maybe decorating would take my mind off the
murder. Besides, if I wanted to stay in town and keep the house, I
had to get guests in there. Not only did I need to eat to survive,
I needed money to keep the house up, pay taxes and utilities. Call
me nuts (townspeople probably already did), but I had a feeling
that everyone expected me to fail. I’d be darned if I’d let them be
right. A little thrift-store shopping and a trip out of town would
do me good. Maybe I’d do a little Dumpster-diving, too. It sounded
gross, but I had always tried to avoid actually climbing in the
containers. Bargains were to be had between the banana peels and
dirty coffee filters.

The next town over from Honeysuckle was
bigger with two thrift stores. Two. Only problem was: I wouldn’t
have room for much in the convertible. But at least with the top
down, I could let things poke up from the backseat. After a short
drive, I made it to Belleville without incident. I’d halfway
expected to see a cop car behind me.

I wedged my car into a parking spot between a
minivan and a beat-up truck. With my pocketbook in hand and a
discount-loving twinkle in my eye, I marched toward the first
store, ready to find a great good deal. The familiar musty smell
greeted me when I opened the door. I perused the aisles, taking my
time going up and down each one. The next aisle over, an older
woman seemed as if she might be trouble. I watched her and she eyed
me. If she picked up that cute little plate before I had a chance
to put it in my cart, there might be a struggle. Although she had
at least twenty pounds on me, I was betting I was faster.
Thrift-store shopping could be a risky venture. The old ladies
meant blood when a bargain was around. Heck, half the time I
thought they just wanted something because they thought someone
else did.

I lucked into a set of three decorative jars,
all varying sizes. At three dollars for all, I felt as if I’d died
and gone to thrift-store heaven. Jars were great for displaying
items—the possibilities were endless. Plates of varying sizes with
curved and scalloped edges, which I’d spray-paint a pretty cream
color, called out to me. Yes, I’d paint plates. Nothing was safe
from spray paint as far as I was concerned. Luckily, there were
several that didn’t have chips.

A couple of ugly wood shelves straight out of
1987 hid in the corner. I had to move the jelly shoes and shoulder
pads to get to them. If Bon Jovi had been on the radio, I would
have thought I’d stepped into a time warp. But a little paint would
bring them into the modern world. Behind an ugly ceramic cowboy
boot statue and lace-covered bookstand, I located a beat-up tray
that would look great painted with the flat surface covered with
chalkboard paint. I could display it in the kitchen and guests
would know what was on the menu for breakfast, not that the menu
would change often—doughnuts or muffins.

The thrill of repurposing gave me a
high—almost as good as chocolate. Almost. I glanced around the room
to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. A pretty glass jar wept in
the corner. She was stuck between a yellow crushed-velvet loveseat
and an old record player from the 60s. I placed her in my cart;
she’d thank me later.

On my way to the next shop, I found a huge
yard sale. Signs on the main street marked the way and I followed
the arrows. It was just a teensy bit out of the way, but yard sales
were worth going out of the way. Multiple families had set up their
unwanted items in one fortunate family member’s yard. As luck would
have it, I found an unopened container of chalkboard paint. You
never knew what you’d find. Not only could I make the menu board
for the kitchen, but I’d make chalkboards as Christmas gifts this
year, too. At two dollars, it was a real bargain.

Next, I found a pair of black and cream toile
curtains, along with scrap pieces of burlap and red-and-white
checked fabric. One of my favorite things was toile pattern. I
could make great toss pillows for the sofa with the red-and-white
checked fabric.

More fabulous finds: a bell jar, an old brass
birdcage, which I’d paint black, and odd jars of various sizes.
With my items tucked away in the trunk, I headed to the next thrift
store. For a brief moment, while on my shopping high, I’d forgotten
about the horrible discovery in the backyard. But no amount of
shopping would erase the image of Nancy from my mind
permanently.

The store stood in a big lot beyond a large
grocery store and I missed the turn, so I zipped down the back
alley to take the side entrance. As I made a left to head into the
parking lot, I spotted it… a roadside rescue. It called out to me.
“Help me. Save me, Raelynn.” I whipped the car onto the shoulder
and threw it in park.