Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel (9 page)

Visions of dining in the room danced through
my head as I worked. Decorated and cozy—I could just picture
Christmas dinner there. Maybe my parents would make the trip. My
older sister Sarah lived two streets away from them, though, so
more than likely, they’d want me to come to them. They’d want to
see their grandkids. Until I gave them grandchildren I didn’t rank
in making any holiday plans. Maybe I’d invite Claire Ann over for
dinner. And perhaps Kent. Whom was I kidding? Unless they found the
killer, I might be in prison for Christmas. I’d momentarily
forgotten that little tidbit. Okay, my thoughts had now turned
gloomy and I didn’t want or need that.

“Hi.”

I looked up. Claire Ann was walking up the
path.

“Hi, I didn’t hear you open the gate.”

“I’m like a stealth spy or something.” She
giggled.

“You’re not the only one.”

“Oh yeah?”

I tilted my head toward Judy’s house.

“Neighbor problems?”

“She’s just not very neighborly, that’s
all.”

“Did I see our wonderfully handsome Sheriff
leaving here?” Claire Ann asked.

“Yeah, he came to arrest me, but I hid
out.”

“What! Oh my God.” Claire Ann glanced over
her shoulder and back at me. “Okay, we need to get you a lawyer.
You’ll have to turn yourself in.”

“Claire Ann!” I laughed. “I’m kidding. To be
honest, I don’t know why he came over.”

Her brow rose and her mouth formed a perfect
circle.

“Don’t get any ideas.” I scowled.

She held her hands up in surrender. “I didn’t
say anything. So did he say anything about Nancy? Do they have any
idea who murdered her?”

“If they do, he’s certainly not telling me.”
I touched the side of the dresser with my fingertip. “I think this
is dry enough to move inside. Can you help me? Just don’t touch any
part other than the edge.”

“I heard talk about you in Belleville
today.”

“I’m not surprised. News travels faster than
my grandpa’s moonshine burns your stomach.”

She laughed.

“Grab the end, will you?” I asked.

Claire Ann’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure we
can carry that.”

“Sure we can. It’s not that heavy.”

“How’d you get it here?” She tested one side
to estimate the weight.

“The previous owner delivered it.”

“Well, why the hell didn’t he take it
inside?”

“I wanted to paint it out here, silly. I was
just so excited to get a new piece of furniture. I’m really into
the decorating thing now.”

“I guess you know what you’re doing.” She
shrugged, then reached for the dresser. “What did it look like
before?”

“Oak with brass handles.”

“And you didn’t like it?” She chuckled.

“I think my parents had a dresser just like
it the year I was born.”

We hoisted the dresser into the dining room,
more like almost dragging it. It was above the ground just enough
to keep from scratching the hardwood floors. My fingers ached.

“Oh, by the way, is your Uncle Lloyd still
tearing down that old barn?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you think he’d give me one of the old
doors?”

“I don’t see why not.” She scrunched her
brow. “But why do you want it?”

“I’m going to make a dining room table out of
it.” I smiled.

“What? Now this I’ve got to see.”

“I told you I like the distressed look. Which
is a good thing. Someone who moves as much as I do tends to have a
lot of banged-up junk.”

She stared, wide-eyed.

“Trust me, it’ll look great.”

“I’m sure it will.” She smirked.

“I think I have the disease,” I said.

“What disease?” She stepped back a couple
feet.

I eyed her. Maybe I should’ve coughed on her
for dramatic effect. “The junkin’ disease.”

She plopped down on the sofa. “I think I have
to agree with you. You’ll have to stop at some point, you
know?”

“I still have a lot of rooms to fill. When
they’re full, well, I’ll worry about that then.”

“Whatever you say. I just came to check on
you. I’ll see you at work.”

“See you soon. Thanks for the help.”

She waved good-bye with her hand in a
claw-like position. “Think nothing of it. My hand will recover
eventually.”

I laughed. “Get out of here.”

Chapter Thirteen

Work the previous night had been difficult
with lots of whispering and staring. I wasn’t sure how I’d make it
through another night. Somehow, I’d have to, though. During my walk
home, I had the sensation of being watched. But I chalked it up to
the horrific morning discovery and the fact everyone in town now
suspected me of murder.

I sat at the table and munched on my bowl of
soggy cornflakes while reading a mystery novel. I’d become addicted
to mysteries when I was about ten and discovered my mother’s stacks
of books. The murderer was always caught—I liked that.

After my bowl was empty, I had to force
myself to put the book down and get to work on the house. The day
ahead was promising. Decorating made me happy and I had plenty of
it to keep me busy. After work last night, Claire Ann’s Uncle Lloyd
and his son, Mike, had brought by a section of the old barn door.
They even secured it to two sawhorses I’d found in the shed out
back. There hadn’t been much out there in the way of useful items,
but I knew right away I’d use them for the dining table. The dining
room had taken shape sooner than I’d planned. It just spoke to
me.

My trip to Goodwill yielded ironstone
look-alike dishes, so I hung six of the different style plates in a
grouping above the newly remodeled sideboard I’d made out of the
dresser. On top of the sideboard, I placed two different-sized
cloches to the left—those were displays that looked like glass
domes. Underneath them, I set a faux pear and a small nest with
fake Robins’ eggs in the other. The other side needed a cake stand,
but I didn’t have one. And surprisingly, Mrs. Mathers didn’t
either. I’d make another trip to the thrift shops soon in search of
one. The dining room was tough to decorate. It was long and narrow,
not to mention the awkwardly placed windows—that was what made the
barn door perfect for the room. On top of the distressed barn door
table I added fresh roses and hydrangeas from outside into a clear
vase and placed it in the center. Around those I set several votive
candles.

Above the fireplace mantel in the room, I
placed the ten-cent tray I’d gotten from the yard sale. I’d painted
it black, then glued on a piece of scrapbook paper. In Mrs.
Mathers’ hall closet I found a fantastic picture with two
rabbits—very French country. She also had two red and cream-colored
toile plates hidden in there, so I added those to each side of the
mantel. Each had such random items—just like a grab-bag, you never
knew what you’d find. Next to a spare chair in the corner, I placed
a small table with a tiny black-based lamp on top and a picture
frame with a photo of my grandparents from the 1940s.

After a day of decorating, my hands hurt and
my back ached, but I was pleased with my progress. My wallet and
bank account were even happier. I wanted to take a quick nap before
work, but there was just enough time to shower and change. I
grabbed a protein bar on the way out the door. As I munched on the
snack, strolling down the sidewalk on Main Street, visions of
enjoying a lovely dinner in my new dining room ran through my mind.
Dim lights, flowers and romantic music. The bad part: I wasn’t
alone enjoying my dinner. Sheriff Kent Klein was with me. His
gorgeous white smile flashed and sexy arms flexed as he took a
drink of wine, gazing longingly into my eyes. What was wrong with
me?

Work was even busier than the day before,
except no one was really buying anything. They just came in to
stare. It seemed as if most of town had been in within the first
two hours of my shift. With the raised eyebrows, whispers and
glares I was the talk of town—big shocker. Business as usual in
Honeysuckle.

Claire Ann walked up and put her arm across
my shoulders. She’d been stocking bags of potato chips.

I frowned. “Lots of people in, but they’re
not buying much.”

“Ignore them.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not
suspected in a horrific murder of a first-grade teacher.” I
sighed.

The bell on the front door jangled. I had to
force myself to look up and acknowledge the customer. Mitchell
ambled toward the counter, stumbling over his own shoes.

He leaned against the counter. “What’s
cookin’ good-lookin’?”

I smiled and looked Mitchell in his one eye.
I tried to avoid looking at the glass one. I didn’t want to stare
at the wrong one. “Just watching all of the town parade through and
look at me like I was a circus freak.”

“With the fair in town you’d think they’d go
harass the carnies,” Claire Ann said.

“Apparently they have time to do both,” I
said.

The door jangled again. When my gaze met with
the new customer’s, I wished I could disappear. Martha Murdoch, the
mayor’s wife, moved with a huff toward the counter. Somehow the air
around her was intimidating, as if a dust cloud of hatred hung over
her.

“Can I help you?” I asked when she
approached. My voice wavered a little.

“Can I help you?” she mocked in a singsong
voice.

I stared, not sure what to say. Mitchell and
Claire Ann stood with eyes wide and mouths agape.

“I just wanted to tell you we won’t put up
with violence in Honeysuckle. I don’t know where you come from, but
I intend to see you behind bars.”

I almost choked. So much for innocent until
proven guilty.

“Mrs. Murdoch, I had nothing to do with what
happened. I’m not a violent person, and I am surely not a killer. I
don’t like being accused.”

“I don’t care what you like. The sheriff will
arrest you soon.” She pointed her bony finger. “You don’t need to
be walking the streets of Honeysuckle.”

I had a feeling she was going to make it very
difficult to live in Honeysuckle until the killer was caught.
Claire Ann and Mitchell stood next to me, still speechless. Martha
glared, then turned on her heel in a huff and stormed out.

“Don’t pay attention to her,” Claire Ann
said.

I snorted. “It’s easy for you to say, you’re
not being chased out of town.”

Claire Ann gave me a pitying look.

“And what does she mean walking the streets?
As if I’m some crazed lunatic.”

“That woman!” Mitchell pointed. “She needs to
remember where she came from. Acting all hoity-toity. Walking
around town with her fancy clothes.”

Okay, my curiosity was piqued. “Where does
she come from, Mitchell?”

“Let’s just say she came from the other side
of the tracks. She’s not old money. Her daddy spent most of his
life in prison.”

“I’ll give her credit though, she got out of
there.” Claire Ann popped a candy into her mouth.

“It went to her head though.” Mitchell’s face
was red.

“Yeah, that’s not all that went to her head,
either. Could she tease her hair any higher?” Claire Ann
snorted.

“Maybe the hairspray is getting to her,” I
said. “But if the mayor’s wife wants me out of town, I have a
feeling I should pack my bags. She probably gets what she
wants.”

“Try not to worry, honey. We’ll figure out
something.” Claire Ann squeezed my shoulders.

Like I said, easy for her to say. If the
mayor’s wife hated me, then he must hate me too. My days were
numbered in Honeysuckle. I needed to solve this murder before I was
run out of town like a stray cat shooed away from the back
stoop.

“I’m sure Kent’s on top of things.” Claire
Ann grinned, but I ignored the insinuating remark. “I don’t think
he’s going to arrest you. Handcuff you maybe, but arrest you?
No.”

“Oh, stop it.” Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I
don’t know what he’s doing. I just hope he’s doing something.”

Mitchell paid for his beer and Claire Ann
went back to work. For the rest of the shift, I couldn’t get
Martha’s words out of my head. Claire Ann took off early, leaving
me alone in the store. Thankfully only a few customers came in, I
guessed the town had gawked enough. My apprehension didn’t ease
though. Sure, I could wait for Kent and his band of merry men to
figure things out, but I never left things to chance. I didn’t like
not being in control of my life. Sheriff Kent and the Honeysuckle
Police Department held my fate—not good.

I stepped out the back door and locked it
behind me. I glanced down at my watch. It was ten. The floors had
been dirtier than I’d thought. I couldn’t believe it had taken me
so long to mop them. Darkness had settled over Honeysuckle. The
sounds from the ferris wheel, tilt-a-whirl and other rides echoed
across the night air. My arms ached from pushing the mop and my
feet hurt from standing for so long. I thought I’d be used to it by
now, but that mop got heavier every night.

In spite of my aching body, I decided to
check out the fair. It would be open for another hour, until
eleven. Mitchell the drunk had begged me to ride the tilt-a-whirl
with him. Not a good idea for him or me. Late-night activity in
Honeysuckle brought out the real crazies and I knew I didn’t want
to tackle it alone. Maybe I’d call Claire Ann and see if she would
meet me. I walked over to the Dumpster and threw in the bag of
trash, then punched in Claire Ann’s number on my cell phone. While
I waited for her to pick up, I contemplated the walk to the
fairgrounds. It was a short one, but my dogs were barking so loud
the old folks’ home in Belleville could hear them.

“Raelynn, get your butt over here,” she
yelled. The roar of the crowd and the rides rushed through from her
end of the line.

“Thanks for calling me before you went to the
fair,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

“You were at work. Besides, I have a date.”
Her voice sounded perkier than usual.