Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel (4 page)

I frowned. One bad batch of brownies and I
had been forever labeled. “A hotel?”

“Well, this town doesn’t have one, and
there’s a need for one quite often.”

“There is?” I sat on the leather recliner and
it bounced backwards. “Whoa.” I righted myself. “You know, that’s
not half bad. You’ve had some cockamamie ideas before, but maybe
this one would actually work.” I paused and studied the room. “But
look around. This place doesn’t really scream cozy
bed-and-breakfast.”

“The outside does. Besides, I’ve seen what
you can do with décor.”

“Yeah, when I actually had a home, or thought
I had one.”

She stood, walked over, and knelt down beside
me. “Don’t waste any more energy worrying about Ross. It’s been a
year. Time to move on and this is your chance.” She waved her hands
through the air, gesturing at the room. “Carpe diem.”

“How can I afford to decorate? I don’t know
how to run a hotel. Don’t I need some sort of permit?”

“You’ll think of something. Google it.” She
patted me on the back and stood. “I have to get back to the store.
What are you going to do?”

I scrambled up from the chair. “I guess I’ll
move into my new home.”

She smiled and I wrapped my arms around her
and gave a big squeeze. “Good for you. Go get ’em,” Claire Ann
said.

I followed her out the front door, then
stopped to lock up my new house as she made her way through the
gate. “I’m going to get my belongings. I’ll call you later,” I
yelled.

Claire Ann waved and I watched her march down
the sidewalk away from my new front porch. I couldn’t believe I
owned all this. Could I really turn it into a hotel? Finding
something ugly for a few dollars and turning it into something
beautiful had always given me a thrill. Maybe I could do it.

All I wanted to do was sit and stare at the
house, afraid I’d wake up from a dream, but as I stood there
gawking, something caught my attention. A chill ran down my spine
and I had the distinct sensation that someone was watching me.

I looked around, but didn’t see anyone. A car
zipped down the road out front, but the driver hadn’t noticed me. A
dog barked in the distance, but I saw nothing unusual. I shrugged
it off and stepped down from the porch and onto the path leading to
the iron gate.

“Hi there,” the gravely southern accent
said.

My heart did a flip. I whipped around to find
the source of the voice, a woman with brown hair piled high on her
head standing at the edge of the fence to the right side of the
property.

I held my hand up to my chest. “Oh, hi. You
startled me.”

“Sorry about that.” She pointed toward the
house. “If you’re looking for Mrs. Mathers, you know she died.”

“Yes, I’m aware. I was at the funeral. I
didn’t see you there.” If people knew she had died then why the
heck hadn’t they attended the funeral? That was making me
angry.

“I’m her neighbor, Judy Maupin. Or was… until
the sweet dear passed. So tragic.” She shook her head.

Call me suspicious, but she didn’t sound
sincere.

“Um, yes, it was very tragic,” I offered.

“What can I do for you?” she asked while
crossing her arms in front her bloated waist.

Wow, this was awkward. How did I tell people
that I owned the place now?

“Well, I…”

She stared at me. “Yes…”

I couldn’t help but look down at her
bulging-at-the-seams white shorts, then at her round blotchy face
again. Had she been running? I glanced down at her shoes.
Bright-red wedge heels. Nope, she hadn’t been jogging.

“Who are you?” I asked, throwing the ball
into her court.

“I live next door.” She gestured toward the
small white house with her thumb so hard that I thought she might
have broken it. “Who the hell are you?” She scowled.

We were getting off to a great start. “You
don’t recognize me?” I thought everyone recognized the outsider in
town.

She studied my face. “You work in the store,
right?”

I moved closer to her and stretched out my
hand. “Yes, that’s right. I’m Raelynn Pendleton. I’m the new owner
of this house.”

Her mouth dropped. When she regained her
composure, she asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Mathers left me the house.” I gestured
with my thumb over my shoulder.

“She what? Did she even know you?” She
scanned the length of my body before focusing on my face again.

“Of course she knew me. She came in the store
all the time. We were friends. Since she didn’t have family, I
guess she wanted to leave it to me.” I shrugged and smiled. The
last thing I needed was a feud with my neighbor. Judging by the
scowl on her face, and the fact she didn’t shake my outstretched
hand, I was too late. Just call me Hatfield and her McCoy.

“I was friends with her, too. I baked the
woman those damn chocolate-chip cookies and she scarfed them down
as if she hadn’t eaten in a month.” She whirled around, stumbled on
her wedge heels, spat a colorful phrase, then stomped off.

“Nice meeting you, Judy,” I muttered in her
wake.

I shook my head as I headed toward the gate.
No time to worry about her now. I needed to get to my boarding
room, pack my belongings in the Mustang and get back before dark.
Nighttime was no time for moving. Not that I had much to move. What
I owned would fit in a couple of suitcases. Pathetic, really.

I made my way down the sidewalk, but stopped
and turned around to look back at the old Victorian one more time.
Somehow, it seemed not as sad. I knew I wasn’t; I was smitten.
After a few seconds, I turned and continued along the sidewalk,
down Main Street, past the supermarket, and other homes, until I
made it to Mrs. Wilkins’ house. I wouldn’t miss living there. It
would be a big adjustment though, going from one room to a big
house… so many rooms to do with whatever I wanted with.

I had never been particularly fond of Adele
Wilkins, the woman I rented from. She’d tried to enforce a curfew
on me and she didn’t like when I used her kitchen, although kitchen
access had been part of the original deal. Nonetheless, her place
had been all I could afford. I imagined the expression on her face
when I told her I was moving out tonight. She’d twist her mouth
into a snarl and glare at me with her beady little eyes. I’d pay
for the month I owed. Heck, I’d pay for another month if she needed
me to, until she found another sucker to rent the place, but I
needed out of there. Yes, the more I thought about it, the more I
realized inheriting the house was the best thing that had ever
happened to me.

The back door was ajar, so I eased the screen
open and slipped in. It might be a small town, but I still wouldn’t
be trusting enough to leave my doors unlocked. I hated when she
did. Trying to ease the screen door open and shut so as not to
alert my lovely landlady of my presence was no easy feat. It
creaked slightly and I held my breath waiting for her to pop out
from a corner somewhere like a crazed lunatic. Thankfully, she
didn’t.

The drawn shades made the house perpetually
dark. Light from the back door was the only way I kept from
tripping over the abundance of furniture. The floorboards squeaked
as I made my way across the tiny kitchen. A buffet cabinet stood
directly in the path of the hallway. I attempted to weave around
it, but being a klutz, I banged my knee on the way. My hand flew to
my mouth and I suppressed a scream. I rubbed my knee and continued
down the hallway with still no sign of the dragon lady.

When I eased past her bedroom, I glanced
over. Her door was open, so I stopped and peeked in. Her body was
spread across the bed, one arm dangling off the side. With her
mouth open wide, and a loud snort slipping out with every other
breath, I let out a sigh of relief. She might have been drooling
onto the eyelet lace pillow, but I didn’t care to get close enough
to find out.

Maybe it was wrong of me, but I was thankful
I didn’t have to talk to her. I’d leave a note to serve as my
written thirty-day notice. That was the way it worked, I thought,
although we’d never signed a lease, so she could “kick me out
anytime she wanted.” Her words, not mine.

I eased back away from the bedroom door, down
the hall, and upstairs to my room. The floorboards up there creaked
as well. Sometimes, I wondered if she did that on purpose so she’d
know every move I made. My bedroom was the second door on the left.
There were three rooms total up there, but I was the only one
staying at the moment, which made me happy.

Trying not to wake Mrs. Wilkins, I eased the
door open to keep from hitting the edge of the bed. I wouldn’t miss
the place—it was smaller than most closets. I’d never realized how
depressed and hopeless I had felt until now, standing in the tiny
room.

Mrs. Wilkins hadn’t wanted me to decorate or
change a thing. A twin-sized bed was shoved up next to the wall.
Some mornings I had awoken with my big toe sticking through a hole
in the threadbare quilt I had used as a cover. A small nightstand,
a writing desk, and a straight-back chair with a thin, yellow
cushion filled up the space. The sun had set and a soft amber glow
streaked across the room. The faster I got out of there, the
better. No time to reminisce about how much I hated it.

Working my way through the maze of furniture,
I opened the closet, then stuffed my clothing, photos, and other
personal items into a couple of suitcases. Before leaving, I
grabbed a pen and paper from the desk and jotted down a quick note.
The urge to write I’m out of here across the paper gnawed at me,
but I decided against it. I’d be professional and courteous, in
spite of her not offering the same in return. I’d gladly pay a
couple more months’ rent if she wanted, just to get out of there.
Sure, I couldn’t afford it, but I’d find a way, any way to escape.
A noise sounded from downstairs, reminding me I needed to hurry if
I didn’t want to be caught, so I stuffed the paper in my pocket and
grabbed my things. The evil one had probably woken up.

I set the luggage down outside the door, then
turned around for one last look at the tiny room. Outside there was
still a sliver of light, but the dark floor and walls made the room
perpetually shadowy and glum. The dark blue walls appeared darker.
No longer would I squeeze between the bed and the window to stare
outside, watching life pass me by. I closed the door on my
past.

Chapter Six

Back downstairs, I realized no noise came
from her bedroom, other than her soft snoring. False alarm. Thank
goodness, she hadn’t woken up. The grandfather clock chimed as I
moved past her room again, into the kitchen, and slipped the note
under the ugly floral arrangement on the table.

Once free from the depressing house, I
high-tailed it for the Mustang, stuffed my life’s possessions into
the trunk, and jumped in. Backing out of the driveway, I glanced in
the rearview mirror. No head peeked out from any windows, so I let
out a sigh of relief and hit the gas.

Driving through town was like being in a
ghost town. If tumbleweeds had bounced across the street, I
wouldn’t have been surprised. People rolled the sidewalks up when
the first star twinkled. It was sad really, because the quaint
little town had a lot to offer. More of a nightlife would do it
good. A café and an antique shop would be great. Downtown was full
of historic homes and old building sitting empty. At the edge of
Main Street four attached storefronts looked like abandoned
orphans. With a little updating, they would add a great rustic
appeal to Honeysuckle. A wooden covered sidewalk connected the
stores—kind of like an old western town. They screamed for activity
again. Why no one had taken notice was beyond me. Why build new
when you could redo the old?

Within a couple of minutes, I was parked in
front of the Victorian. A gravel drive lay at the side of the
house, but until my new neighbor calmed down, I figured I’d keep my
distance and park on the street. As I climbed out from behind the
wheel, a rustling noise sounded in the nearby bush. I prayed it was
a cat. My legs moved a little quicker when I contemplated all the
creatures it could have been. I hoisted the luggage from the trunk,
bumped open the gate with my hip, and marched up the path. The sun
had set, taking away my natural light. Full darkness was
approaching, so I stumbled my way up the front steps in a hurry.
The only light came from my new friendly neighbor’s cottage.

After setting my bags down, and fishing for
the key from my pocket, I entered my house. How long would it take
to get used to those words? Once I’d put my belongings in the main
bedroom, I shuffled through the house, strolling from room to room,
taking in every detail. The bedrooms upstairs each had iron-framed
beds with simple quilts stretched across them. None of the
furniture matched, but they were quality pieces. Lace curtains hung
from the windows. They looked as if they used to be white, but now
they appeared more beige. I checked each closet and every last
drawer. The attic ladder was broken, or I would’ve gone up there,
too.

After a couple hours of looking through all
the nooks and crannies, my stomach growled. I’d forgotten to eat.
In the back of the cupboard, I found a can of tomato soup. I
flipped it over to examine the expiration date. It was still good,
so I dumped the contents into a saucepan and placed it on the
stove. I stared around my new kitchen space. Not bad, but I hated
the ugly gray Formica countertops. I’d always drooled over granite
countertops—almost had to take one of grandpa’s nitroglycerin pills
every time I saw the prices though. The kitchen walls were a soft
sage color and the cabinets white. As soon as time permitted, I’d
repaint them a lovely cream color. I couldn’t decide if I should
use crystal knobs or black knobs for the kitchen cabinets. Oh well,
plenty of time to decide later. Simple white dishes would work
nicely for accessorizing. Splashes of red from kitchen towels would
add just the right amount of color.