Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel (19 page)

“Maybe he’s just worried about you.”

“Uh? I doubt it. Have you been talking to
him? ‘Cause he mentioned being worried with a stranger in the house
the other night.”

“Well, you were attacked. Are you being
careful?”

“I know, I know. I’m being careful. Are you
being careful? I think everyone should be careful. Although most
people obviously think I made the story up.”

“Look, honey, I’m sorry you’re having such a
tough time.”

“Thank you, but you don’t want to hear me
rant. Let’s change the subject. Any plans for tonight?” I
asked.

“The connection was bad, what did you
say?”

Notice how Claire Ann had a way of avoiding
answering questions without directly saying she wanted to change
the subject?

“Never mind. You got any customers right
now?” I asked.

“No, it’s slowed down now.”

“Good, ’cause I wanted to run something past
you. Like I said before, I think this town could increase tourist
traffic. We have touristy things all around this county. Those old
storefronts should be fixed up and businesses could be added. Maybe
a café, antique shops, book store.”

“That sounds great… in your head. But you
know the mayor plans on building a road through here? They’re going
to tear those old buildings down any week now. His wife has been
pushing for it, and now he’s on board. He was against it at first,
but you know she gets everything she wants.”

“What? No. That would be horrible. We can’t
let that happen. People will drive through Honeysuckle even faster
and not even slow down for as much as a look. They barely stop now
as it is.”

“I know, but you can’t go against the mayor.
All of town agrees with the project.”

“Why?” I paused.

“I don’t know why, they just do.”

“Maybe I can convince them otherwise. There’s
got to be something I can do.” I let out a deep breath.

“I don’t know, Sweetie, listen, I got a
customer. I have to go.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll talk to you later. Let me
know what you think of the article.”

“Okay, will do. Talk to you later.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Day had turned into evening. My to-do list
was growing by the minute. It was a bit odd to say the least to
have ‘Solve murder’ at the top of said list. But my future depended
on it. My life depended on it. I felt the walls closing in on me.
One thing for sure, I wanted to know more about my guest. So what
was a girl to do? Google him. I typed in his name and came up with
a website for an oil company. Mr. Littlefield wasn’t around, but I
looked over my shoulder just in case. I clicked on the link.
According to the website, he worked developing new gas stations for
this oil company. Hmm. That didn’t tell me much. Should I mention
to Kent about the plot plans? No, this was my way of investigating,
and he probably wouldn’t think much of my little clues and
interferences. If anything, he’d tell me to butt out. I was in the
middle of searching for more when a loud knock rattled the front
door. I jumped and quickly closed the browser.

I peeped around the corner of the shade. Mr.
Littlefield stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest and
foot tapping against the porch floor. Again he’d had to knock on
the door. When I opened it for him, I was greeted by the scowl I’d
grown accustomed to from him. The Innkeeper of the Year award
wasn’t headed my way anytime soon if he had any say in it.

He marched through in a huff, not uttering a
word. There was nothing I could do to make him happy. I went back
to the computer with my shoulders more slumped than ever. No more
searching for information on him now, though. Just in case he
slipped back downstairs without me knowing. As I sat again, Mr.
Littlefield’s footsteps echoed from upstairs. Was he rearranging my
furniture? Would I ever get used to having guests?

As I contemplated my to-do list, I decided to
research registering a building as a national historic place. If I
could do that for the buildings, then maybe I could save them. I
also wondered who owned them—if I only had more contacts around
town. A visit to the courthouse to research the deed was in order,
but it’d have to wait a little while longer. Another thing to add
to my to-do list—soon it would look like Santa’s toy list. Maybe
Claire Ann’s uncle could be of some help. He’d probably know who
owned the buildings.

My cell rang and snapped me out of my
musings. “Hello,” I said.

“Hi, Raelynn. It’s Sheriff Kent Klein.”

Yeah, by now I knew the name. My stomach
dropped. I’d wondered when he'd be in contact. Would he pretend
nothing had happened? As if I hadn’t seen him spying on me.

“Hi,” I said hesitantly.

I waited for him to start the conversation.
After all, he’d called me.

“You still have the guest?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

He paused. “It’s nothing.”

I sensed it was something, but I wouldn’t
press the issue. Did he know more about my guest than he pretended?
“Have you found out anything about my attacker?”

“No, I haven’t, but we’re still trying.”

I wasn’t convinced that they were. Maybe he
was, but I doubted anyone else gave a rat’s patootie.

“Any news on the Nancy case?” I asked.

“You do realize I shouldn’t be sharing any of
that info with you?”

“Well, I realize that, but you don’t think
it’ll stop me from asking, do you?”

“I can’t tell you anything.” His husky voice
made me tingle again.

“I’ll just find out some other way.” I smiled
to myself.

“I’m sure you’ll try.” I thought he tried to
restrain a chuckle.

I didn’t acknowledge his retort. “What do you
know about the old storefronts on Main?”

“You’ve already been snooping around, haven’t
you?”

“What makes you say that?” I twirled my hair
with my index finger. Why was I acting as if I had a schoolgirl
crush?

“Come on, don’t act innocent with me.”

“Well, it’s not an act. I haven’t been
snooping. Not that I don’t intend to, though.”

He let out a breath and then said, “Nancy
owned them. Her grandfather died recently and left them to her. She
was his sole heir. Of course, now Nancy’s husband owns them.”

Something was fishy. So that was why Mark
Harper had the maps of the buildings in his car. What would this
mean for my historical status mission? I thought about the note I’d
found at Martha’s house. If Martha wanted Nancy to sell those
buildings and she wouldn’t, there was no telling what she was
capable of—maybe even murder. If I could talk to her, maybe I could
discover her motives. Heck, maybe she’d slip and confess—just like
in one of the mystery books. Okay, I really had been reading too
many novels. One huge problem, though, there was no way Martha
would ever speak to me. She’d rather invite Mitchell to move in
with her than talk to me again.

“Interesting,” I said.

“What makes you say that?” Kent asked.

“It’s just that the mayor and his wife want
to bring the highway through here. They’ll need those buildings in
order to do it. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“I can’t discuss this with you.”

“I knew I would get details out of you.” I
smiled.

“I didn’t share with you anything you
wouldn’t have heard around town anyway.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. So they want Nancy’s
husband to sell the buildings so they can tear them down.”

“Or something like that.”

“Let me ask you something else.”

“You’re just full of questions today. Aren’t
I the one who should be asking questions?”

“Should and would are two different things.
What do you know about my neighbor?” I asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“You keep answering my questions with
questions.” I stood.

He chuckled. “Does that bother you?”

“Stop it! Anyway, my neighbor seems a bit
unfriendly to say the least. I get the feeling she doesn’t like
me.”

“Well, I don’t think she likes anyone but
herself.”

“Is she involved in drugs or something?”

He paused. I didn’t need any further answer.
He was so easy. Was he that way only around me? Because otherwise,
I wasn’t sure he was cut out for the law enforcement gig. The
stairs creaked and I spun around. Had Mr. Littlefield been there?
Did he hear my conversation? He was creeping me out slinking around
like a cat.

“Listen, I need to run. You weren’t calling
to come arrest me, were you?”

“No, no, I wasn’t.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon then.”

“Be careful.”

I didn’t even want to know what that
meant.

Later that evening, after a dinner of yummy
Lean Cuisine, I took fresh towels up to Mr. Littlefield. As I
reached the top of the stairs, his voice echoed through the door.
He must have been on his cell phone. I was surprised he hadn’t
heard my footsteps on the squeaky stairs.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“I know it would be a perfect location. And
the owner wants to sell. His wife just died, so there’s a little
wait, if you know what I mean. The mayor of this hick place wants a
road through there, but if the owner isn’t willing to sell…”

I held my breath. So that was why he was in
town.

“He doesn’t care, he got what he wanted.”

I almost fell backward trying to get out of
there before he heard me. The floor creaked and it was too late. He
opened the door with a swoosh and I turned to look at him, as if
I’d been caught with my hand in the snooping innkeeper cookie
jar.

“Let me call you back,” he said into the
phone, then flipped it shut. “How long have you been standing
there?”

“Huh?” I pointed to my chest.

He gave me a look of disgust. “How long were
you standing there?” He spoke slower and louder as if I had a
hearing impairment.

“I just came up to give you some fresh
towels.” I held them out.

He snatched them up, turned around, and
stormed back into his room, slamming the door this time. If he’d
wanted a private conversation he should have closed it in the first
place.

Kent didn’t answer his phone. I figured he
needed to know what I’d overheard. It probably meant nothing to the
case though. I’d try him again later.

The next morning, I worked in the kitchen.
The wall near the backdoor had old wallpaper and I stripped it off.
Why only one wall was papered, I had no idea. Maybe they ran out of
wallpaper. Soon, I’d attempt painting the countertops. It was the
cheapest way to get rid of the ugly Formica.

Mr. Littlefield finally took one of my
muffins and some juice before leaving. He paid for yet another
night. I’d miss the money when he left, but I wouldn’t miss his
frosty and odd demeanor. He didn’t mention the conversation and
neither did I. But I was none too happy about whatever scheme he
had planned for Honeysuckle.

Right after breakfast, I called the salon to
schedule my appointment—just like a real sleuth. Margaret answered
and had an opening in an hour, so I showered, dressed and headed
out to question her. I hoped Claire Ann wasn’t right and Margaret
didn’t shave my head. After all, Claire Ann had said she was known
to have a temper. An angry hairdresser with scissors in her hand
was not a good thing.

When I reached the salon, I had second
thoughts about my mission. It was too late to turn back, though,
Margaret saw me watching from the sidewalk. She recognized me, I
knew. Margaret loved to smoke Virginia Slims and drink Diet Pepsi.
She came into the store twice a week for her fix. When I pushed
through the old door, the bell chimed, alerting every old lady in
the place to my arrival. They stared. They scowled. They whispered.
Files, scissors and hairdressers stopped midair.

“Come on back,” Margaret said. She motioned
over her shoulder for me to follow her. I had to keep myself from
swinging my hips and emulating her sashay. Her streaked blonde hair
swayed in time with her walk. “Sit down.” She patted the chair. Her
bright blue striped Capri pants didn’t hide her skinny legs, but
the white v-necked T-shirt showed off her enhanced chest.

“I have to say, this is a bit of a surprise.
You never came to me before. This wouldn’t have anything to do with
the murder, would it?”

I almost choked. So much for my sleuthing
ability. They made it seem so easy in the books. And what about
Murder She Wrote? What a scam.

She fastened the velour cape around my neck—a
little too tight. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” she
asked with her gravelly voice.

Couldn’t she be a little quieter? Everyone
stared as it was. “No,” I croaked as I slipped my finger between
the plastic and my neck.

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Huh?”

“Your hair?” With her hand she fluffed at the
back of my head.

“Oh. Just a trim, please.” Please don’t let
her idea of a trim be six inches.

We were silent for a while. She began cutting
my hair, and so far, she hadn’t cut all of it off. I knew I had to
ask something. Otherwise, the situation would be even more
awkward.

“I just wanted to come by and ask if the
rumors were true. Were you seeing Mark Harper?” I felt like it was
my duty to ask this for Nancy. This was my opportunity to confront
a mistress. She wasn’t the woman who’d cheated with my husband, but
maybe I could get some satisfaction out of this confrontation. I
could say my peace, so to speak.

“What’s it to you?” Her voice rose.

“Like I said, I was just curious.”

She stopped cutting. “Look, we were friends.”
I caught a whiff of cigarettes and diet soda. “There’s nothing
wrong with having a friend. And I didn’t have anything to do with
the murder.” She pointed those scissors a little too close to my
head. “You were the one who found the body. She was in your
backyard.”

“It had only been my backyard for less than
twenty-four hours.” Why was I defending myself? I didn’t have to
answer to her. “Look, I didn’t come here to accuse you. I came for
a haircut.” I needed to smooth out the situation. Pronto. “Sorry if
you thought that. I’m having a tough time of things, you know.
People are looking at me like some kind of villain just because she
was in my backyard.”