Murder Can Haunt Your Handiwork

by Rose Pressey

  Immediately, my phone rang again. I let Caleb’s call go to my voice mail. I had to tell someone about this. I didn’t want to worry my parents. Heaven knew I couldn’t tell my brothers, because all they would do was laugh and start making prison jokes. Grammy would have a heart attack if I told her. Of course, that left the best person to call . . . Sammie. I dialed her number.

  “Wow, am I glad you picked up right away,” I said when she answered.

  “Oh my goodness, what’s wrong?” Sammie asked over the sound of talking in the background.

  “They think I stole the painting.”

  “What?” She screeched into the phone.

  I held it away from my ear for a second.

  “Yeah, that’s what I said. Caleb told me.” I nervously tapped my fingers against the steering wheel.

  “How would that happen?” she asked.

  “Well, someone bought it from me, but I don’t remember selling it. I remember all the paintings I sell. Of course I would remember, since I painted them. I’m the only one who sold my paintings.”

  “That’s not exactly true.” The tone of Sammie’s voice changed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I sold one of your paintings a short time ago.” She rushed the words.

  “You did? Which painting was it?”

  “It was something unlike anything you have painted before. A portrait of an old man,” she said.

  “Did it have trees and greenery around him?” I asked.

  “Yes, that was it,” she said. “The painting wasn’t that great. Oops. I just said your painting wasn’t that great. I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  “No, really, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say anything like that. I usually think all your work is great. I don’t know why that one just didn’t appeal to me, I guess.”

  “That’s because I didn’t paint it.”

  Sammie asked the people in the background to be quiet and then asked, “What do you mean?”

  “That was the stolen painting,” I said.

  “I knew you would never paint something like that.” Sammie’s words held more excitement. “But how was it at your booth?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know. I think someone might be setting me up.”

  I jumped a bit when movement came from the tree line. A gray cat strolled from behind a cedar tree and across the parking lot. Whew. That had sent my heart rate into a spike.

  “Why would they do that? Nobody even knows you’re here.”

  “Maybe it was because I was snooping around about the murder.” I checked the time on my gold Mickey Mouse watch that my father had given me for Christmas last year.

  “Yeah, but let’s be real, you aren’t even close to solving it,” Sammie said.

  “Hey,” I said. “Is this pick on Celeste day? I think I was making great progress.”

  “Oops, there I go again,” she said. “Opening my big mouth.”

  “Well, at least now I know how you really feel.”

  “Don’t be mad at me,” she said. “I say stupid things, you know that.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Hey,” she said defensively.

  “All right, we’re getting off track here. I need to call Caleb and tell him about this. Although by the way he talked to me when he called before, it sounded as if he was already ready to visit me in prison.”

  “He doesn’t believe you?” she asked.

  “Apparently not,” I said. “Maybe I should call Pierce first.”

  “It seems like you two have been spending a lot of time together.”

  “That’s because he gave in and decided to work with me. Caleb has been stubborn, and so I haven’t talked to him as much.”

  “And all this time I thought you guys were a great couple.”

  “I don’t think we’ve ever been a couple,” I said.

  “Well, I like Pierce, too,” she said.

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with dating,” I said.

  “Oh, come on, you know the chemistry is there between you and both guys. Don’t try to fight it anymore.”

  “I’ll admit that both men are smart, kind, handsome, and make me laugh, but nevertheless, I have other problems right now. I have to let you go,” I said.

  “Please be careful out there, Celeste, I worry about you.”

  “Everything will be just fine,” I said.

  CHAPTER 25

  Travel Trailer Tip 25:

  There’s nothing better than sharing your

  travel trailer with a dog.

  After shutting off my truck, I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel and wondered what I should do next. This old school building certainly seemed eerie. Probably because it still looked abandoned, with the overgrown weeds sprouting up around the brick walls and cracks in the pavement. I couldn’t just come out and ask Stan if he was the killer. He would recognize me right away if he saw me out here sitting in the truck. He would probably be suspicious if I showed up again. I could just tell him that I was an artist and interested in having my work in the gallery. Would that be such a stretch?

  Yes, I’d been sneaking around with my dog and snooping in the window, but I could just tell him that I was worried about telling the truth after he caught me. Maybe he would be able to sense my nervousness, too. Probably, but it was the only option I had right now, so I had to take a chance. I pulled the keys from the ignition and got out of the truck.

  I scanned the parking lot as I walked toward the main doors. Every few seconds, I thought about turning and running back to the truck. Now that I was at the steps that led to the entrance doors, I might as well go through with this.

  With shaky legs, I walked up to the doors. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. My heart pounded as I opened the door and eased into the space.

  A small hallway opened up into the large open space. Tables with paint cans, drop cloths, and other remodeling equipment filled the space. No one was in sight. Where was Stan? His car was in the parking lot, so I had expected to see him inside. Maybe he was with someone else . . . Tasha, perhaps? Now what would I do? I had to decide if I wanted to call out for him or just snoop around, since it appeared he wasn’t here.

  I’d take my chances and snoop around. Glancing to the left, I spotted a door. I supposed I could try there. What would I do if I opened the door and Stan was in that room? I would have a lot of explaining to do.

  I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and twisted. It was locked. I remembered the key I had found. It was a long shot, sure, but I had to give it a try. This was the first locked door that I’d come across.

  I pulled the key from my pocket and shoved it into the lock. It turned smoothly. I couldn’t believe it. I’d discovered the key to the door! What was inside this room? I opened the door, hoping that no one was inside. Art supplies filled the small space. Canvases and paint. An easel with a blank canvas sat in the corner of the room. Was this Stan’s art studio? A small table had papers on top. I stepped inside and walked over to it.

  A notebook of sketches was open on the desk. Stan’s name was signed under one of the drawings. This had to be his art studio. I knew the keychain had been Stan’s. He had lost it at the crime scene. That meant that Stan really was the killer. Deidre had been arrested, but she was innocent. I had to tell someone, but I still wasn’t sure if this would be enough proof. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the notebook. I wasn’t sure if that would do any good, but nevertheless, I’d give it a shot. As soon as I got out of here, I would call Pierce.

  When I turned around to leave, Stan stood in the doorway. Terror raced through my body and shook me to my core. By the expression on his face, I knew that he wasn’t happy with me. My assumption had been true that Stan was the killer. And it appeared as if I might be the next on his list. He blocked the doorway, so there was no way I would be able to get away from him. I think I let out an audible gasp. He stared at me. With
a wide-legged stance and flaring nostrils, he reminded me of a bull ready to charge. We stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

  His jaw tightened as he snapped, “What do you want?”

  Did he recognize me? I hoped not.

  “I saw the sign for the art gallery, and I’m an artist. I wanted to find information about maybe having my art here.”

  His deep, boisterous rumble echoed through the room. “I don’t think that is possible. It’s invitation only.”

  “How do I get an invitation?” I asked.

  Now my fear had turned to anger. Why was he so snotty? He just assumed my art wasn’t good enough or maybe amateurish. Maybe it was, but he hadn’t seen any of my work. How could he judge it without even seeing a painting first?

  He studied my face, and I wondered if he recognized me now.

  “I suppose I can see what you have to offer. Do you have any work with you?”

  Why was he being nice all of a sudden?

  “Why don’t you come on out here, and we’ll discuss it more.” He motioned.

  Should I fall for this? Maybe he was just being nice to lure me somewhere. But the whole purpose for me coming was to talk to him. Part of me was saying don’t do it, and the other part was saying I should go.

  “There’s still work to be done to the building,” he said.

  The inside wasn’t as bad as when I’d seen it last. Apparently, progress had been made. There was no art yet. I suppose he was waiting on the remodeling to be finished before adding that.

  “We’re still working on things, but we’ll have many sections for different artists,” he said, pointing across the area. “Now, let me see your work. Did you say you have some in your truck?”

  I didn’t have any work in my truck, but I had photos on my phone of some of my pieces. I pulled it out and scrolled through until I came to a painting of a mountain scene from back home.

  “Here’s one piece,” I said.

  He stared at the phone screen. “Oh yes, that’s very lovely. Actually, I think we could use your work here.”

  Was he being serious? I was here investigating a killer, and now he wanted to put my work in the gallery? This was kind of exciting. Okay, I needed to get hold of myself and remember my reason for being here. Without saying another word, he snatched the phone from my hands.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” I yelled.

  “Don’t you think I know who you are?”

  Oh, I was in big trouble now. I backed away, but I only made it a couple of steps before bumping into a shelf.

  “You’re actually just the person I wanted to see,” Stan said with an evil smile.

  “Why do you want to see me?” I asked.

  I was afraid of the answer.

  “Oh, you have something of mine, and I want it back.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Travel Trailer Tip 26:

  Home is where you make it.

  “What could I possibly have that you would want?” I asked.

  I knew the answer, but I wanted him to say it out loud. I wasn’t sure why, since no one would hear but me.

  “I left a painting with you. I had to stash it somewhere when I took it from the mansion. And lucky you, your booth was the first one I came to. When the ditzy woman at your booth wasn’t paying attention, I just put it in with your other awful paintings and no one would be the wiser. Well, maybe they would when they discovered that fantastic work of art right next to your junk.”

  Now he was getting me angry. What made him think he was an art critic? Just because he was trying to open an art gallery didn’t mean he knew art.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said with an unintentional sneer.

  “I will just go back to your scruffy little trailer and you can get that painting for me.”

  “I don’t have a painting at my trailer. So if you excuse me, I have to leave now.” I headed toward the door, but of course he wasn’t moving.

  It had been worth a shot. I had to try to get out of here, but with him at the door, I didn’t have a good shot.

  Since I knew he wouldn’t just let me walk right past him and out the door, I had to come up with an alternate plan. Maybe I needed a weapon. Unfortunately, I had nothing like that on me. I surveyed the room, trying to locate something that I might use to defend myself. The paintbrush wouldn’t work. Paint? No. A canvas? Perhaps I could hit him over the head with that? But it would just break, and he would have a canvas necklace. The easel was awkward and hard to move, so that wouldn’t be ideal. The longer I stood there searching for something, the more I panicked. He probably knew what I was up to, as well.

  “Are you coming with me, or do I have to drag you out of here?” he asked.

  This guy was despicable. I bit back a smart-aleck comment. Snark would only make matters worse, so I kept my mouth shut. I might be able to keep my mouth shut about his last question, but it didn’t work for my next insult. I just couldn’t help myself.

  “If you’re such an art critic, why are your paintings so bad?” I scrutinized the current project propped up against the easel. A weird painting of a clown smelling a daisy? File that under creepy.

  “I’ll have you know that someone is waiting to buy that project.” He tilted his chin upward as if extremely proud of his work.

  “I hope you’re not charging too much money for it. If so, they’re being taken advantage of.”

  “Enough of your yammering. Let’s go.” He motioned.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I crossed my arms in front of me.

  Perhaps this wasn’t the time for stubbornness.

  “You don’t have a choice in the matter,” he said. “It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.”

  “I don’t care what you call it, I’m not going with you. End of discussion,” I said.

  To my left, I spotted a can of paint thinner on the table. Maybe if I grabbed that and splashed it on him, he would be distracted. After that, I could run out of the room. But even so, it wouldn’t keep him busy for long.

  What would I do when I got into the other area? I had to make a run for the door. If I got outside, I might stand a better chance of making it all the way to my truck. Unless, of course, he had locked the front doors. There was no way for me to know until I got there. If they were locked, it would be too late to do anything else. As it was right now, I had little chance in this room. Distraction was my only option. I’d have to give it a shot. My movements would have to be fast.

  “You hid the stolen painting. They want to arrest me for that,” I said with anger in my voice.

  “That’s none of my concern,” he said.

  “How did you steal that art from the mansion?” I asked.

  “I had a little help,” he said with an evil smile. “Ellen was in on the plot with me.”

  Ellen was helping him steal the expensive painting? I should have suspected something like that was happening, since the clues were right in front of my face.

  “Why did you kill her?” I asked.

  The reality of my situation sent a shiver down my spine. The killer was right in front of me. I knew he wanted to make me his next victim.

  Stan shrugged. “I suppose I got greedy and wanted everything for myself. When Ellen said she would confess to what we’d planned, I lost control.”

  In a fit of rage, he killed Ellen? As if I wasn’t terrified enough before hearing him confess, now I was petrified.

  I needed to cause a distraction right now. However, he wasn’t taking his eyes off me. I would just have to make a move for it. As if fate had stepped in, a noise sounded from somewhere behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. As I reached for the paint thinner, a movement caught my attention, and I became distracted. I saw the top of a tiny gray-haired head outside the window. Grammy? I really hoped my eyes were deceiving me. Unfortunately, running over and checking out the window wasn’t an option. I turned my attention back to the doorway, just as he did. I hoped he didn’t s
ee Grammy. What was she doing here?

  I had lost my chance at grabbing the paint thinner. The frown on Stan’s face let me know that his patience had worn thin. He flared his nostrils and moved toward me. I backed up a couple of steps.

  He reached out and wrapped his hands around my arms. “You’re coming with me. We’re going to get the painting.”

  “All right, all right,” I said as I struggled to get away from him. “You don’t have to grab me so hard. If I take you to the painting, will you let me go?”

  He didn’t answer. I knew that meant that he had no intention of letting me go, even after I gave him the painting. Giving him the painting wasn’t even an option, since Sammie had sold it. When he found out, I would be a goner. I would have to stall long enough to get away. Just being out of this tiny room would help my claustrophobia.

  He dragged me across the hard floor.

  “Let go,” I yelled.

  Movement caught my attention. My grandmother’s little face was sticking up to the glass. Stan hadn’t noticed her. At that second, Grammy turned, and our gazes met. Her mouth moved. She was saying something. Her voice was muted by the glass. I was glad there was no sound, because I didn’t want Stan to discover her. He would do something to her if he caught her.

  Maybe now she’d call the police. Grammy darted away from the window. I just hoped that she stayed away. I had to keep Stan stalled long enough for the police to arrive. I didn’t want to get in a vehicle with him, because there was no telling where he would take me and leave me. They’d never find me.

  I managed to get my arm free. It did no good, though, because he just grabbed it again.

  “Don’t think you’re getting away,” he yelled.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To get that painting.”

  “I told you I would. You don’t have to drag me across this floor. You’re hurting me.”

  “You already put up a fight. I’m not playing any games with you. I’m not taking chances.”

  Movement caught my attention again. This time, my brother Stevie was peeking in the window. Oh, this was bad. I knew something was about to happen, because there was no way Stevie would wait for the police to arrive. He had a temper when it came to people messing with his family. Stan was about to encounter Stevie’s wrath.