Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel (13 page)

“I’m fine. Besides, it’s a little late for
that thought now, don’t you think? I guess you heard this from
Sheriff Kent?”

“He’s worried about you, you know. He’s
crushing on you, too.”

“What? What makes you say that? He’s crushing
on someone he thinks murdered someone?”

“He does not think that and you know it. Stop
being silly.”

“What makes you think he is interested in
me?” I folded my hands behind my head.

“I can see it in his eyes. They light up when
he mentions your name.”

“It’s probably frustration lighting them up,
not fondness.”

“If you say so, but I know these things.”

“Since when did you become so intuitive?
Look, he was friends with Ross, and I don’t think I trust anyone
who was friends with him. Even if they are the law.”

“Ex-friends. He’s not friends with him
anymore. And I say that’s because of the way Ross treated you. Kent
is probably glad that Ross left you. That gives Kent a chance to be
with you.”

“Let’s change the subject.”

“Fine. Back to the main reason that I called.
Who the hell attacked you?”

“Let's change the subject.” I sounded like a
parrot.

“No way! We just changed the subject.”

“If I knew who did it, I would have told the
police, silly. I don’t know.”

“Well, you’ve got the whole town freaked out.
But don’t tell anyone that I told you this.”

“Please. If I know an ounce of news, everyone
will know you told me. Who else would give me the scoop? I don’t
have any other friends in town.”

“Point taken. Anyway, talk is that you made
the story up to throw them off your tracks. That no one attacked
you at all.”

Chapter Eighteen

“Why am I not surprised? That sounds like a
direct quote. Who said that?”

She didn’t answer.

“I know someone said that,” I pushed.

She paused again, then finally she answered.
“Nick Franklin.”

“Well, I should have guessed that one. He is
the biggest gossip. He needs to stick to giving those awful
haircuts. So do you think Kent thinks that?”

“No, I don’t think he thinks that at
all.”

“It just makes me so mad. Kent couldn’t think
I’d murder anyone, could he? Plus, I wouldn’t have any reason to.
He knows that.”

“I wish everyone else knew that,” Claire Ann
said.

“They make me so angry. I could have a reason
to do something to the—.”

“Let’s change the subject,” Claire Ann
said.

Was she hiding something from me? Not telling
me something? She didn’t usually want to change the subject—I was
the one always asking for that.

“So tell me about your guest,” she said.

“He’s a bit strange.”

“Maybe I shouldn't have talked you into
this.”

“You didn’t talk me into it. I wanted to.
Plus, what else am I going to do?” I turned onto my side. “Speaking
of guest, I need to get the continental breakfast out there. I
thought I heard steps; he may be awake.”

“I didn’t think you were doing
breakfast.”

“Just muffins or doughnuts. It can’t hurt,
right? I need all the help I can get with this guest. He already
thinks I’m crazy. I don’t want to give him any other reason to
think that. I’ll see you at work, okay?”

She paused. Was there something she didn’t
want to tell me? She definitely had a secret. I could read her like
a book.

“Is there something else going on?” I
asked.

“No, no, nothing.” She paused again. “I’ll
see you at work, Rae. Be careful.”

In our neck of the woods when someone told
you to be careful, it was like saying ‘take care’ or ‘have a great
day.’ But for me, I think she really meant the words.

“Yeah, I’ll see you.” I hung up the phone
still feeling something was off. Claire Ann always told me
everything. She had a hard time keeping anything from me. I’d
forgotten to ask about her date. She wouldn’t get off that easy,
though. I’d ask later.

I rolled off the bed and put on my old
tattered pink bathrobe. I shuffled into my fuzzy bunny slippers and
staggered across the room to the closet. With sleep still in my
eyes, I stumbled into the bathroom.

A night of tossing and turning had left my
hair a tangled mess. If nothing else, I could scare the killer
away. Worry had kept me awake. It was downright insane of me to
think I could run a hotel. What had I been thinking? I sighed and
slumped my shoulders at the thought.

A few minutes later, I emerged feeling
somewhat awake. I’d slipped into my green Capri pants, white tank
top and slipped on my sandals. As I dabbed on a bit of lip gloss
and mascara, my mind wandered to Claire Ann. What was it she wasn’t
telling me? Claire Ann was a great friend. She’d always been
honest. I’d never known her to keep any secrets from me.

I slid out into the kitchen. As I pulled the
lid off the container I stored the blackberry muffins in, a noise
sounded from the front room. Voices wafted in from the front porch.
I set the container down and ventured into the hallway. When I
reached the end, I noticed the front door ajar. Oh, Lord. Had the
killer come back? Was Mr. Littlefield okay? I didn’t want to call
out to him. What if the killer was hiding? I needed to be quiet. I
eased over to the door, trying to keep my sandals from squeaking as
I inched across the hardwood.

Mr. Littlefield stood on the sidewalk in
front of the house talking to a man I’d never seen. What was with
all the strangers all of a sudden? I held my hand above my eyes to
shield them from the rising sun. The brightness made it difficult
to look at the men for long. The stranger wore a suit, which wasn’t
the typical attire for Honeysuckle, unless it was a wedding or
funeral. Funeral. My stomach twisted at the word. It would be
Nancy’s funeral soon.

Only a couple of cars passed as I watched the
men. No one moved along the sidewalk yet. The only sound was their
voices and birds chirping. As the cars drove by, they slowed down
to watch the men, but Mr. Littlefield and the stranger stopped
talking and glared in return. When the cars were out of sight, they
began talking again. Very strange. Mr. Littlefield gestured with
his hands. Both men stood rigid with their eyes narrowed and fists
tight at their sides. If they started punching, I wouldn’t know
what to do first. I didn’t want to have to dial 911, not this soon.
I’d met my emergency dialing quota for the year already. After a
minute, the stranger stormed off, climbed in his car and slammed
the door.

Great. All I needed was for my bossy neighbor
to hear. She’d be furious I brought strangers around—loud ones.
Although she already hated me, so how much worse could it get? She
probably hated everyone. Not a lovely disposition.

Mr. Littlefield spun around. I slipped to the
side, then hurried around the edge of the room back into the
hallway. I slid back into the kitchen and let out a deep breath
while pretending to fold a towel that didn’t need folding. I hoped
I hadn’t been caught red-handed.

When the screen door slammed shut, I called
out. “Mr. Littlefield, is that you? I have muffins, fruit and juice
for breakfast.”

“I don’t have time for breakfast,” he
huffed.

What! My first guest and I didn’t get to play
proper hostess? This sucked. I wanted a do-over.

“I need to stay another night,” he called
from the parlor.

I made my way down the hall and into the
living room. Did I have guilty written all over my face? Did he
know I’d spied on him? Probably not or he wouldn’t stay another
night. Although there wasn’t any place else for him to stay if he
wanted to be in Honeysuckle. And why was he in Honeysuckle, anyway?
He’d said he was just passing through. People passing through
didn’t normally stay more than one night. Honeysuckle wasn’t a
tourist destination. Not yet, anyway.

“Sure. I’m happy to have you.” I smiled so
hard my cheeks hurt. I plastered the biggest hotel hostess smile on
my face. I wanted so badly to ask him why he was staying. “Will it
be one more night?” Maybe that would get some kind of answer out of
him.

“I’m not sure,” he mumbled as he headed back
up the steps.

I stood there for a minute, not sure if he
was coming back down. Just as I turned to head back into the
kitchen, his footsteps descended the steps again. I looked up.

“Here’s the money for the night. It’s all
there, the exact amount.” He shoved it towards me. “Unless you
raised the cost overnight?”

I shook my head. “No, of course not.”

“Fine. I’ll return later this evening.”

Uh-oh. I hadn’t thought about the key
situation. Perhaps Claire Ann could come over until I got off work.
I’d have to figure out the specifics some other time. Handing out
keys to strangers wasn’t an option. Not in light of recent
circumstances. I wondered how other innkeepers did it? Maybe I’d
find a copy of Running a Hotel for Dummies.

Mr. Littlefield handed me the cash and I
stuffed it into my pocket without counting it. “Thank you.”

Not bad. I’d made a hundred and fifty-five
dollars in two days. Three months of torture at the store wouldn’t
yield that much. Okay, not that much, I exaggerated, but I’d have
to spend a lot of hours standing on my feet to make it. Of course,
Mr. Littlefield was probably the only guest I’d have for a long
time, so I didn’t want to get too excited.

Mr. Littlefield descended the front porch
steps, then made his way through the gate to his car. Yes, I
watched him leave. So I was nosy. I wanted to know where he was
headed. As I stood there, I caught movement out of the corner of my
eye. I glanced to my left and saw Judy snooping by the fence, her
face partially hidden by a large hedge. She watched Mr. Littlefield
drive off, too. Great. She’d tell everyone about the strange man
leaving my house so early in the morning. No matter I had the hotel
sign. She’d tell everyone I was running a house of ill repute. Yes,
Judy was a thorn in my side already.

She must have felt eyes on her because she
looked over at the window and noticed me watching her. I smiled and
waved. She frowned, glared at me, then turned on her heel and
trekked back across her yard. Oh yeah, she’d discuss me all right.
She was probably plotting her story already. Claire Ann would tell
me what she said around town about me later. I’d get an earful.

Since no one else would eat my muffins, I
scarfed one down, then tidied up the kitchen. Yes, I was still
bitter about the continental breakfast thing. So what if the
muffins were a little dry, he didn’t know that.

As I sat at the table, I tapped my fingertips
against the wood. Sun streamed in through the window, splashing
across the tiled floor. Dust motes floated through the air. I
didn’t have to work until tomorrow, so I wanted to take full
advantage of my day off. I wouldn’t let a little thing like being
chased and discovering a murder slow me down. I had to live my
life—the heroines in mystery novels did.

So many things, so little time. I decided the
living room would be next. It would be a great gather place for
guests. Well, if I ever had guests who were friendly enough to
gather. I walked into the room to plan my strategy. Brushing past
the ugly sofa, I knew the room needed a coffee table. Something to
make the space cozier.

As I studied the room, my cell phone
rang.

“Hello?”

“I have something for you,” Claire Ann
said.

“A warrant for my arrest?” I asked.

“What?” She chuckled. “No. I’ll let the hunky
sheriff handle that. If you’ll be home for a bit, I’ll bring it
over.”

“I’ll be home, but aren’t you going to tell
me what it is?”

“You’ll see when I get there.” She hung up
the phone.

The fact that Claire Ann didn’t want to tell
me over the phone what it was wasn’t a good sign. Maybe I shouldn’t
answer the door.

Chapter Ninteen

While I waited, I decided to make my
chalkboard menu sign for the kitchen. It would be an easy
trash-to-treasure project—and inexpensive, too. Mrs. Mathers had an
outdated picture on the wall in the hallway—one of many I’d found.
It was an outdoor scene of deer drinking from a tree-lined lake
with a few other critters lurking about. I took it off the wall,
taped the frame with painter’s tape, then painted the chalkboard
paint right on top of the glass. No need to remove the print. The
gold frame I spray-painted cream. When it dried, I’d hang it beside
the refrigerator.

Just as I put the chalkboard paint away, the
roar of a vehicle sounded from the driveway.

I walked to the front door with apprehension
in my stomach. What Claire Ann was up to, I had no idea—I prayed it
wasn’t going to knock me for another loop. I’d had enough surprises
in the past few days.

When I stepped onto the porch and looked
toward the driveway, I spotted Claire Ann. She sat next to her
father in his red monster-sized Ford truck. In the bed of the F-150
set a large sofa. My eyes widened. The cushions were large. The
entire thing was covered in a toffee and cream-colored checked
pattern. Very much my style. What was Claire Ann up to?

“My mother had this extra sofa she said you
can use until you buy the one you really want.” Claire Ann smiled.
Her cheeks were flush from perspiration. I could tell she was
excited.

“That’s incredibly generous,” I said as I
stepped off the porch. “Why would she get rid of it?” I rounded the
side of the house to the driveway. Claire Ann’s father had stepped
out from the truck.

“Hi, Raelynn.” He tipped his hat.

“Hi there. How are you?” I smiled.

“Doing great, doing great.” He wiped his brow
with a bandana he pulled from his shirt pocket.

“It’s in great shape.” I looked to Claire
Ann. “Not that I’m surprised. Everything your mother owns is nice.”
I touched the arm of my new gift.