Murder Can Haunt Your Handiwork

by Rose Pressey

  “Should I count to three, or are you counting to three?”

  “I’ll handle the counting,” I said.

  In my mind, I counted down. When I reached three, I eased over and peered into the window. I had to press my face right up against the glass, which made me nervous. What if they were in there, and Pierce saw me? He wouldn’t be able to explain that, and Stan would obviously recognize me right away. It took a while for my eyes to adjust. No one was in the room.

  I moved away from the window and stood on the porch like the confused amateur sleuth that I was.

  “Well, what are you going to do?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’ll have to knock on the door.”

  “This probably isn’t going to end well,” he said.

  “Thank you, but I don’t need that reminder.”

  I knew that this wasn’t a good thing, but my mind was playing tricks on me. I was thinking of all the worst-case scenarios. This man had been awfully mean to Deidre and me, so I assumed he was probably being that way to Pierce, as well. Of course, I knew that Pierce could take care of himself. Nevertheless, sometimes people got into situations that they just couldn’t get out of, no matter how strong, tough, or smart they were. I stood in front of the door, preparing myself to pound on it. I’d just raised my hand to knock when a crash sounded from outside.

  CHAPTER 14

  Travel Trailer Tip 14:

  Use all the space, inside and out.

  “What was that?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but it sounded as if it came from around the side of the house. I suppose I have to check it out.”

  My anxiety spiked as I moved away from the front door and over to the side of the house. I had no idea what to expect. This was making me even more afraid for Pierce. When Mr. Vanderbilt and I reached the edge of the home, I paused.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Detective Pierce could be in danger.”

  “What if he is in danger? How will I help him?”

  “You’ll think of something,” Mr. Vanderbilt said. “Go. Do you want me to check it out?”

  “What good would that do?” I asked.

  I peeked around the side of the house. I saw no one out there. With adrenaline rushing through me, I eased around the side of the house and headed for the back. If I didn’t see anything back there, I would have to return to the front door and knock. I’d break the door down if I had to. How I would achieve that, I had no clue.

  Once again, Mr. Vanderbilt and I reached the end of the house. As I paused, I raised my hand, instructing Mr. Vanderbilt to do the same. As if it really mattered if he walked past the edge of the house. No one would see him.

  “Oh no. Not this again. You’re wasting time,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “Yes, I know. You told me that repeatedly.”

  When I peeked around the side of the house into the backyard, I saw a man. It wasn’t Pierce, and it wasn’t Stan. Who was this, and what was he doing? Should I say something?

  “Who is that?” Mr. Vanderbilt whispered in my ear.

  “I wish I knew,” I said.

  “Are you going to ask him?”

  “I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet. Give me a second to think.”

  Before I had a chance to contemplate further, the man turned his attention my way. Our eyes locked.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  At least he didn’t come after me. I stared at the man in stunned silence.

  “Ask him where’s Detective Pierce,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “Do you live here?” I managed to ask.

  “I’m just here to trim the hedges,” he said. “Would you like me to get the owner for you?”

  “Oh no, that’s not necessary,” I said.

  That was the last thing I wanted. I still had to find Pierce. The man stared for a few more seconds before turning and walking over to his landscaping equipment.

  “You should have told him to get the owner,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “Maybe I should have, but that’s neither here nor there,” I said.

  I stepped back from the edge of the house. I suppose I would have to return to the front door. When someone tapped me on the shoulder, I screamed, which caused Mr. Vanderbilt to scream, too. I spun around to see who was behind me. Please don’t let it be a murderer.

  “What are you doing, Celeste?” Pierce asked.

  I relaxed my tense shoulders, glad that I had found him. “I was searching for you.”

  “In the backyard?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Well, I heard a noise, so I came to check it out. I was really worried about you. What took so long?”

  “Oh, I had a long chat with Mr. Knowles.”

  “What did you find out?” I asked. “Is he the killer?”

  “Well, I didn’t get a confession out of him, if that’s what you want to know. We should get back in the car, and I’ll explain.” Pierce motioned.

  We headed down the side of the house toward the car.

  “I thought you were going to wait in the car for me,” he said.

  “You knew that was never going to happen,” I said.

  Pierce and I got back into the car, with Mr. Vanderbilt easily slipping right through the car into the back seat.

  I buckled my seat belt. “Okay, tell me what happened. I have to know.”

  “I had a conversation with Mr. Knowles and asked him about the art gallery. I told him that I was an investor and wanted to donate.”

  “Oh, that is so deceitful,” I said. “But I like it.”

  He laughed. “I couldn’t tell him I wanted to display my artwork in there. He would tell me to get lost. So I had to come up with another reason.”

  “Did you ask him if he murdered the woman?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked from the back seat.

  “Did you ask about the murder?” I asked.

  I knew I should have gone inside with him. I would have all the details. I hated getting them after the fact.

  “Well, I casually mentioned the Biltmore,” he said. “That gave me a reason to discuss the murder.”

  “Good thinking,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “He denied knowing Deidre or the murder victim. Obviously, he has something to hide,” Pierce said as he made a left turn.

  “You need to get to the bottom of this,” Mr. Vanderbilt said. “Of course, don’t get yourself killed in the process.”

  “How will we find out what he’s keeping from us? I think we should speak with Deidre,” I said.

  “I’ll do that as soon as possible,” Pierce said.

  I held up my hand. “What do you mean, you’ll speak with her? I thought we were doing this together?”

  “We are doing this together. It’s just that if things get dangerous . . .”

  “I see how this is going. You say we’re in this together, but we’re really not,” I said.

  “Oh, boy.” Mr. Vanderbilt leaned back in the seat, trying to distance himself from the conversation.

  “That’s not it,” Pierce said.

  “Suddenly I’m not that hungry,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Celeste, you’re right. We are investigating together,” Pierce said.

  Mr. Vanderbilt and I remained silent. I sensed he felt the same as me. I’d give Pierce another chance, but I wasn’t sure I believed him.

  CHAPTER 15

  Travel Trailer Tip 15:

  Bring only the necessities for the trip. If

  you have to leave in a hurry, you’ll want

  to travel light.

  After we ate, Pierce dropped me off at the estate. We hadn’t discussed the investigation further over our meal. I’d shifted the conversation, because I was still upset with him. I just needed some time to get over it. Arriving back at my trailer, I spotted a police presence. Had there been another murder? If so, I would have to reconsider staying for the craft fair. That would be entirely too dange
rous.

  Around the corner from my trailer, I noticed the manager, Daisy Harmon, who had coordinated the craft fair. Daisy tucked strands of her almond-brown hair behind her ear. She must have done that ten times on the day I’d spoken with her about a booth at the fair. Perhaps it was a nervous tic. She was speaking with the employee I had met earlier. I recognized Cheryl, because she wore the same navy-blue uniform and thick eyeglasses. I’d love to talk with Cheryl again. Maybe she could tell me what was going on with the police being here.

  I busied myself with organizing some of my display items while I waited for Daisy and Cheryl to finish talking. An overwhelming urge to paint overcame me. I hoped that meant I would paint another hidden image that would provide a clue to finding the murderer. However, I had to catch Cheryl before she got away, so the painting would have to wait just a little longer.

  After a few more minutes, the women ended their conversation and headed in opposite directions, so I hurried for the employee, hoping to catch her before she got away.

  Once I was close enough, I called out to her, “Excuse me.”

  Cheryl turned around right away and focused her dark-eyed gaze on me.

  I think it took her a second to realize who I was, but she said, “Oh, hello. How are you?”

  “I’m all right,” I said. “I was just wondering why there’s such a police presence. Did something else happen? Please tell me it wasn’t a murder.”

  She shook her head. “No, but a priceless painting was stolen from the mansion.”

  “Are you serious? Which painting? A Renoir? A Monet?”

  “A Sargent painting that George Vanderbilt commissioned of Frederick Law Olmsted.”

  “How did that happen?”

  Artwork played a role in Biltmore history. I’d learned about the top-secret Biltmore Estate room that had been used to store valuable art during World War II. George and Edith Vanderbilt had always held an appreciation for the arts.

  “They’re not sure, exactly. The burglar was very stealthy and managed to escape being captured on video, which is very difficult.”

  “I imagine it is. However, someone also managed to murder Ellen McDonald off camera, as well. And get away with it. It’s almost as if the person has intimate knowledge of where the cameras are and the angles.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said. “They could just be lucky.”

  It didn’t seem like luck to me, but I wouldn’t debate the fact with her.

  “I wonder if the person who took the painting is the same person who murdered Ellen. Why wouldn’t they have taken the painting when they murdered her?” I asked.

  “That doesn’t seem likely.” She scowled. “It’s probably a coincidence.”

  “Perhaps they didn’t have time, and they had to get out of there. It could’ve been a heated argument between them, and the person murdered Ellen without intending. It wasn’t premeditated, in other words. They came back for the painting.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. I took it that she was skeptical of my theory. But it was just that—a theory—and I had absolutely no clues to lead me in that direction. I could be completely off base. I’d been known to get things wrong a time or two. Okay, I’d been wrong a bunch of times. She seemed more reluctant to talk to me now. I wasn’t sure what had changed. But something had happened.

  She gestured over her shoulder. “Well, I should get back to work now.”

  “Right. Sorry for holding you up,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s all right,” she said with a forced smile. “I’ll see you later.”

  She turned around and headed across the way. I stood there, thinking about what she had said. I just felt confident that the murder and the robbery were connected.

  “That seems suspicious,” Mr. Vanderbilt said from over my shoulder.

  I clutched my chest. “Oh, I forgot you were there.”

  “How could you forget about me?” he asked.

  “What do you mean, ‘that seems suspicious’?”

  “She acted as if what you said wasn’t valid. I think you may be on to something.”

  “Well, maybe she’s just not that suspicious like I am, but I think the missing portrait and the murder are connected.”

  “I don’t see how you couldn’t come to that conclusion,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “I wonder what the others will think of this,” I said.

  “You have to let them know right away and find out.”

  “I think someone with inside knowledge of the mansion took the painting.”

  “What if it was that employee you were just talking to?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked.

  “Cheryl? The thought had crossed my mind,” I said.

  “What thought crossed your mind? I heard that you are investigating with a partner,” a different voice said.

  I whipped around to find Caleb standing behind me. I knew this time would come eventually.

  “I wouldn’t say that we’re partners, per se,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” Caleb asked.

  “It’s just that Pierce said we would investigate this together. But now he wants to keep me from being a part of it, because he thinks it’s dangerous.”

  “I told you I thought it was dangerous from the beginning, but you didn’t listen to me,” Caleb said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I think I won’t listen to you or Pierce.”

  “You tell him, Celeste,” Mr. Vanderbilt said with a bump of his fist.

  I turned and headed back toward my trailer, leaving Caleb standing in the same spot. Mr. Vanderbilt walked beside me. He mumbled something about Caleb, but I was too frustrated with Caleb to pay attention.

  “Celeste,” Caleb called out.

  I ignored him and continued toward the trailer. Pierce and Caleb both needed to take some time and reflect on their actions. When they came to their senses, I would speak with them. I would investigate this crime if I wanted . . . and right now, I very much wanted to investigate. Not only did I have to figure out the murder, but also who took the painting. That would be no easy task.

  I stepped into my trailer and peeked out the window to see if Caleb was still standing back there. He watched the trailer for a few seconds before heading in the opposite direction. I hated having tension between us, but it was unavoidable, as long as Pierce and Caleb continued to act this way.

  Van raced over to me.

  I picked him up and hugged him. “I missed you, too.” “So nice to have the unconditional love of a dog,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  After several licks, Van squirmed in my arms.

  “I know what you want. It’s time for your treat,” I said, placing Van back onto the floor.

  My interest was still on Stan Knowles and Deidre Ashley. What were they up to, and how did they know each other? He was an art dealer and knew Ellen’s best friend. Coincidentally, a painting was stolen from the mansion.

  I handed Van a bacon-flavored doggie treat. He finished it in under three seconds and stared at me to see if I wanted to give him more.

  “That’s all for right now, Van,” I said. “We have crimes to investigate. I smell a rat, and his name is likely Stan. Do you want to help me catch a rat, Van?”

  He barked and wagged his tail. Mr. Vanderbilt laughed.

  Stan likely knew of someone who would pay him a lot of money for that painting. If Ellen tried to stop him from taking the painting, that would certainly be a motive for Stan to murder her. I needed to get Stan to confess or find solid evidence that he was the murderer. How I would do this was still a big unknown.

  While I needed to find out who had perpetrated this horrendous crime, I also had to get to work with the craft fair. I had a short time to set up my art and get ready for the customers. Plus, I wanted to paint. I’d try to squeeze that in during the downtime between customers. Well, I hoped to have so many customers that I was searching for downtime. What if I had not a single customer at all? I would have plenty of time for my painting.

&
nbsp; Painting was at the top of my to-do list, because I wanted to see if another hidden image came through. I needed any help I could get with finding clues. As far as I was concerned, I was on my own with this investigation. I set out my paintings neatly around the outside of the trailer. Even though it was daylight, the string of twinkling lights on my trailer cast a lovely glow across the art.

  As I was moving Mr. Vanderbilt’s picture, he said, “Wait a minute. What are you doing with that? You’re not selling me, are you? I thought you would want to keep my picture around for always.”

  “Of course, I’m not selling your portrait, Mr. Vanderbilt. I’m just setting it aside so that no one buys it.”

  “Well, all right,” he said. “But you might want to hide it, because somebody will come along and want to buy it. They may offer you such a great price that you won’t be able to refuse.”

  I chuckled. “You’re right. Maybe I should put it inside so no one will see it.”

  I hated to break it to him, but I wasn’t sure that my art was at that level quite yet. People wouldn’t pay huge prices for my work, even a portrait of him. I placed a new canvas on the easel with my paints all set out and ready. People were starting to trickle into the fairgrounds, and I hoped that I would sell some of my art early. Painting while they walked by would, with any luck, attract attention. However, when a ruckus came from nearby, I knew they wouldn’t pay attention to me. I saw a security guard wrestling with a petite, dark-haired woman. She pushed the muscular man and darted to her right, but he quickly grabbed her before she got away. Shockingly, the sleeve of her Biltmore Estate uniform had ripped from the shoulder’s seams.

  “Wow, what’s going on there?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I said.

  “Oh, that woman was fired.”

  I didn’t know that someone was standing close enough to hear me talking. Once again, I needed to watch my talking to Mr. Vanderbilt. People would think I was crazy.

  “She worked here at the estate?” I asked.

  The slightly built woman with caramel-colored hair hadn’t noticed that I hadn’t been talking to her. I recognized her as another vendor. She sold bracelets with tiger-eye and obsidian beads.