Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

The dated oak dresser stood in its
scratched-up glory, nail-polished and heart-stickered, waiting for
its final fate. Next to it was a small, battered desk. The poor
thing looked so sad. I hopped out from behind the wheel and
examined the furniture. The dresser appeared to be solid—just
needed a bath, new paint, and a hardware revamp. Only problem was,
I’d never get it home in a Mustang convertible. I pulled out the
drawers to make sure they worked. If I didn’t take it now, it
wouldn’t be there later. A find like that wouldn’t last long.

A cough caught my attention and I whipped
around. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I didn’t like being caught
Dumpster-diving, but it was an occupational hazard. A man stood
near the house where the dresser had probably come from.

“You can have them,” the old man said.

“Thanks. I was just trying to figure out how
I’d get them home.” I swallowed my humiliation.

He looked at me, then the Mustang. “That’s a
fine car you got there, but it’s sure not good for hauling.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not good for
that.”

“Where do you live?” He stuffed a bandana in
the back pocket of his overalls.

“Honeysuckle.” I motioned over my
shoulder.

“I could deliver them for you.”

“You’d do that?” Wonder what the catch was?
Then again, did I really want a stranger at my house? But if I was
running a hotel, I’d better get used to the idea. “I don’t have
money to pay you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was headed in that
direction anyway. I’m just happy to see them put to use versus
going in the Dumpster.”

“I’ll put them to use, all right.” I
smiled.

I scribbled down my address for him and
headed back toward the thrift store. I felt guilty for having him
deliver free pieces of furniture, but maybe I could repay him
sometime. The next stop yielded a couple of grapevine wreaths, a
small urn, vases, and a bag full of Styrofoam balls and cones.

When I returned to Honeysuckle, the gawkers
had dispersed. Thank goodness. The police had vanished, but the
crime-scene tape still blocked off the yard. I hoped it wouldn’t
stay long; I didn’t need a reminder of the horrible event. By the
time I unloaded my goodies from the car and took them inside, the
sound of a loud vehicle rattled in the driveway. My free pieces of
furniture had arrived.

“Hey, thanks for bringing them. I didn’t
expect you so soon,” I said as I rounded the side of the house.

“I was headed this way anyway.”

“It’s a heavy piece, huh?” I climbed onto the
back of the truck.

“Yes, it’s sturdy. I’ll grab this end if you
grab that one,” he said from where he stood at the back of the
truck. “Where should we put it?”

“On the front porch is fine. I’m going to
work on it right away.”

Thank goodness there were only three steps up
onto the porch.

“Beautiful home. You live here?” He eyed the
crime scene tape as he headed around to his truck to retrieve the
small desk.

I didn’t want to explain what had happened.
Word would probably spread to Belleville soon enough. The faster he
left, the better off I would be.

The man frowned as he looked from the
direction of the backyard to me. “Well, good luck.” He set the desk
down, walked back to his truck, then waved as he climbed into the
cab.

“Thanks again, I really appreciate it.” I
waved.

As he drove off, he looked at the house
again. He probably wondered what the heck was going on, but he’d
find out soon enough. All he’d have to do was pick up the
newspaper. I was just glad he hadn’t asked.

On the way home from my little shopping
extravaganza, I’d picked up paint and supplies. I planned on
getting to work right away. If it would take my mind of the
horrific scene I’d found under the shade of the gazebo for even a
minute, it was worth it.

With supplies at hand, I got down to work.
The sooner I painted my discarded Dumpster find, the sooner I could
get it inside and decorate—one of my favorite things to do. I
lifted one end of the dresser and scooted newspaper underneath with
my foot, then did the same to the other side. It wasn’t easy
balancing on one foot while scooting paper with the other, plus
folding up the dresser—I was barely able to raise it off the
ground. Probably not how Martha Stewart would do it. I didn’t have
to make the process pretty, just the after-product. As long as I
got the job done, that was all that mattered. Lesson learned
though, because I should have put paper down first, then placed the
furniture on top.

Next, I grabbed a screwdriver and removed the
doors. Mr. Mathers had a toolbox full of tools and it looked as if
I’d have to learn how to use them. The two middle doors on the
dresser were permanent and couldn’t be removed. Painting was easier
with the doors off though, not as many little crevices to try to
reach. Anytime I tried anything involving screws or bolts I ended
up losing half of them, so I made sure to drop them in a little jar
for safekeeping until the doors were ready to go back. One time I
had moved my bed around and lost the screws before I got it back
together again. Ross had complained for two days about that. At
least now I didn’t have anyone to complain.

The sun had just popped out from the clouds,
so the temperature would become unbearable soon. The tall oak tree
beside the house was full of birds, chirping away with their sweet
song. The smell of roses wafted from the nearby bush. I wanted to
finish the project before Mother Nature turned on the sauna.

“Wowza,” someone said. “Sure was a lot of
activity around here this morning.”

Chapter Twelve

The sandpaper flew out of my hand when I
jumped. “You startled me.” I held my hand to my chest. Why did my
evil neighbor Judy have to creep around as if she were a spy on a
mission?

“I guess you heard what happened,” I
said.

“The police asked me questions. If I’d heard
anything or seen anything,” Judy said.

“Did you? Hear or see anything?” I walked to
the edge of the porch, close to where she stood in the yard.

“No.” She shook her head. “I didn’t hear a
thing until the sirens this morning. Woke me up.” She frowned. “I
thought the whole town was on fire or something.”

“Oh.” I frowned. I hoped she wasn’t blaming
me for waking her. It wasn’t as if I had any control over the
situation.

“I wanted to ask you about that sign.” She
pointed to the front porch. I’d stuck the Honeysuckle Hotel sign
out there on my way out the door this morning.

“Oh, yeah.” I smiled. “I’m opening a hotel.”
I pointed to my impromptu sign. “I need a way to help pay the bills
on this big old house.”

“Do you have a license for that? I’m not sure
it’s legal.” She scowled.

“Of course, I’m getting one before I open for
business.” I waved a dismissive hand. She didn’t need to know the
truth. It was none of her business.

“I’d better not see a lot of riff-raff
around,” she warned with her pudgy finger pointing. “You’ve been
here one day and there’s a dead body in your backyard. Word has it
the police suspect you. I’m making it my job to keep my eye on
you.” Her brow rose. “I’ll report anything and everything I see.”
She turned in a huff and stormed off.

Fantastic. Another great conversation with my
neighbor. I didn’t doubt her for a second when she said she’d watch
me. I suspected she kept an evil eye on everyone. Just a hunch.

Judy wouldn’t keep me from my decorating
work. It was all I had to keep my sanity at the moment. I grabbed
the sandpaper again and went to work.

Before I knew it, I’d sanded the entire
dresser. My hand looked as if arthritis had set in when I finished.
Note to self: give hand a rest after a couple minutes. I massaged
each finger until they took on their normal position again, then
stepped back to examine the progress. It had looked as if the
dresser’s previous owner had children or grandchildren. I had pried
off the sparkly stickers and sanded over the areas one more time
for good measure. Screams of gratitude from the dresser could
almost be heard.

With trusty black spray paint in hand, I gave
the dresser a coat, then stepped back to admire my handy work. Not
bad. Not bad at all. As a matter of fact, I really liked it. And
when it was finished, I had a feeling I’d love it. The black color
had completely transformed the dated look of the piece. Sweat
trickled on my brow and I wiped it with an old rag I’d found in the
closet. It was an old bandana, probably Mr. Mathers’. It had been
that or an old pair of his underwear. Needless to say, I’d picked
the bandana.

Wiping my forehead, I studied the dresser. I
needed to finish before it got hotter; the heat was getting to me
already. An icy glass of lemonade would help. I stepped inside to
pour myself a tall glass. Around these parts lemonade or iced tea
were the drinks of choice. Lemonade so sour it might give you chest
hair and tea so sweet it made your teeth ache.

When I returned to the porch, I found an
unexpected surprise. Sheriff Kent stood on the porch, gazing down
at my handiwork. His uniform hugged every muscle. It was a nice
look for him. Although I’d never seen him out of uniform—that
mental image brought a whole other set of thoughts to my mind. Did
he own street clothes? Kent in a tight pair of Levi’s. Oh my.
Perhaps a short-sleeved muscle-exposing shirt. Boxers or briefs?
No, I had to clear my mind.

He smiled, exposing his perfect white teeth.
Was it common to smile at a person you thought might be guilty of
murder? Maybe that meant he really did believe me.

“I heard you were opening a hotel out of this
old place?” He tilted his head toward the front door, then down at
the sign.

“Where did you get that idea?” I avoided his
gaze.

He leaned against the porch railing. “So
you’re not? Is the sign decoration?”

“I didn’t say that.” I set my lemonade on the
small wicker table. It wobbled from the measly weight of the glass.
“Can I get you some lemonade?” I asked.

“No, thanks.” He paused. “I went to the store
looking for you. I thought you’d gone to work when you took off in
a hurry. Claire Ann told me about your plans.” He studied me for a
reaction.

A big piece of duct tape had Claire Ann’s
name written all over it. That would shut her up.

“Not sure your new business will go over so
well right now.”

“With everyone thinking I’m a killer,
right?”

He looked down at his shoes.

“Well, I’m doing this for out-of-town guests,
anyway. Townspeople will have to think whatever they want.”

Kent stared. “I leave you carrying a
watermelon and the next thing I know I’m called to your house
because of a murder scene. In the course of twenty-four hours, you
inherited a house and discovered a dead woman. That’s a bit odd,
don’t you think?”

“I’m complex, what can I say?”

He chuckled. “I knew that the day I met you.
Remember that day?”

“How could I forget? You pulled Ross over for
speeding, then arrested him for driving on a suspended license.
We’d just come to town, I hadn’t even unpacked yet.”

Kent nodded, then leaned against the porch
column again.

“What happened between you two?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Ross and I don’t see
eye-to-eye.”

“But you were best friends. How do you just
turn that off?”

“You were married to him, how do you turn
that off?”

“Good point. Ross makes it kind of easy,
huh?” I took a sip of lemonade.

“Things change when you grow up, we aren’t in
eighth grade anymore. Ross changed and so did I.” He paused. What
could I say? He was absolutely right. “You know there will be
questions. Things may get a little crazy around here until I find
out who did this, and I will find out who did this. We may be a
small town, but I’m not incompetent.”

“I never thought you were incompetent.” I
picked at an invisible piece of lint on my shirt. “So you don’t
think I had anything to do with her murder?”

“You have to admit things are suspicious. You
can see why people would talk.”

“I can see that, but you didn’t answer my
question. Do you think I had anything to do with this?”

He paused and looked down again. “No, no, I
don’t.”

I let out a deep breath. By the look in his
eyes, I believed him. At least I had one person on my side in this
town, a very important person to have on your side in a situation
such as this. Actually, two people on my side counting Claire
Ann.

“By the way, how long will that tape be in my
backyard? It’s kind of a huge reminder of what happened.”

“Just a day or two. We’ll want to make sure
we didn’t miss anything and I’d rather people stay out of the
yard.”

I wondered if that applied to me. After all,
it was my yard now.

Kent stepped down from the porch. “I’ll be in
touch.”

After watching Kent drive away, I went back
to the dresser. I had never known what to say in front of Kent. The
conversation always seemed awkward. Was he judging me because I’d
married Ross? It was one of the most embarrassing situations ever.
Almost as bad as my entire four years of high school combined.
There wasn’t much I could do to change his opinion of me, though.
And adding murder suspect to the list didn’t help much, either.

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.