by Rose Pressey
The thought of what Nancy was doing in my back yard kept churning over and over in my mind. There was nothing I could do solve the mystery. All I could was pray the killer was found. I stood and looked around the room. The only thing to help take my mind off things right now was working around the house—so that was what I’d do.
I’d found an old wooden bench in one of the rooms upstairs. The gray color made it drab—sprucing it up with new color would bring it back to life. Since the bench was already inside, I wouldn’t move it outside to paint—I was in a hurry. I’d have to put paper underneath to protect the floor. Open windows would air out the paint smell. I’d rather use spray paint, but there was no way to do that in the house. Plus, it would take a ton of cans.
I retrieved the paint, brush and other supplies and got to work. After I repainted the bench black and distressed it, I’d place it in front of the sofa as a coffee table. The black looked great with the new sofa. Sometimes repurposing items was an easy fix for missing furniture. With some decorations here and there and wall art the room would be complete. Soon I’d have two whole rooms almost in acceptable condition—acceptable for my liking. I could hardly believe it. And I’d just moved in! I’d never imagined I could work that fast if I had to.
After an hour, I had a coat of paint on the bench. The color was streaking, though, so it would take two—I hoped not three. When the second coat dried, I’d sand the edges and give it a distressed, aged look. I’d add the bell jars on top of the bench with the faux pears underneath, stacking them on top of a few hardback books. I took the covers off a few gardening books I found in Mrs. Mathers’ collection. I’d learned the art of arranging decorative items by copying displays of people who knew what they were doing. In the past when I had a chance to decorate, I usually flipped through magazines for pictures of rooms I liked, then tried to recreate the look—on a budget, of course.
Soon I’d convince Claire Ann to help me paint the room. She could reach the ceiling easier than I could. I’d taken all the knickknacks from the shelves. It looked better already. Every time I looked at the sofa it made me smile. It was nice to have a true friend.
I cleaned up my mess, took a quick shower and changed into jeans and a tee and headed for the cookie jar. As I bit into the chocolate chip goodness, my cell rang again.
I fished it from my pocket. “Hello?”
“Have I got something for you!”
“Again! I can’t accept any more furniture.”
“No. This involves a trip.”
“I’m not sure if I should be happy or hang up.”
“The mayor’s wife is having a charity benefit for the local library.”
“Well that’s a cause near to my heart, but you’re telling me this because?”
“I’m going and so are you.”
Chapter Twenty
“That’s it. You’ve completely lost your mind. Have you forgotten she detests me? I think she’d rather live on a pig farm again then allow me in her house. Why are you going anyway?”
“To cover it for the paper, of course. And you’ll be my assistant.”
“I don’t know.” I chewed on my bottom lip.
“Since when do you let a little thing like someone not liking you stop you?” she asked.
“Good point. When is it?”
“Now.”
“Wow, thanks for the advance notice.”
“I know, I know. I just remembered. Bill was going, but after what happened, you know, what she said to you, I figured we should go and see what happens. Maybe we’ll get some details or insight into the life of Martha Murdoch.”
“That could be a very scary thing.”
“We’ll be fine. I’ll pick you up in a few. And wear something kind of fancy.”
“Kind of fancy? I don’t own anything like that.”
“You’ll find something.” She hung up.
I liked dresses, I did. It was just that I never had occasion to wear one, so when I did I felt like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothing.
Claire Ann picked me up in her old pickup. She honked just as I was putting the clasp on the little silver stud in my right ear. Claire Ann said she refused to be seen walking down Main Street in a ridiculous dress and heels. I’d decided on a yellow sundress my mother had bought me for my cousin’s wedding three years ago. My neutral-colored wedge heels matched, which was a good thing because I didn’t have anything else.
Claire Ann applied lip gloss as I slipped into the truck. Not an easy task to climb up in heels, I might have added. Claire Ann wore a white full skirt with black-and-white floral blouse.
“You look nice,” I said.
“Thank you. So do you. See, we clean up well.” She chuckled.
I laughed in agreement. “Yes, I suppose we do.”
As we circled back for a parking spot, Claire Ann said, “I didn’t really know how to approach you about this…”
“Oh, no. More bad news. I can’t handle anymore. Spit it out.”
She turned down the volume on the radio. “You should sell the car,” she blurted out. “Now hear me out. It could really help you pay the bills and get the hotel on its feet.” She continued, barely catching her breath. “If you need a ride or a car you can always borrow mine until you get another. Don’t feel like you have to hold onto it just because Ross loved it. I don’t want you to keep holding onto the idea of him. Getting every aspect of him out of your life would do you good.”
“So you’ve been analyzing my situation? You think I kept the car because of my ex?”
“Why else would you live paycheck to paycheck?”
“I didn’t need the money until now. I was working and getting by. Of course now I need it, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s a good thing I waited, huh? Stop with the therapist act.”
“I’m jus’ sayin’… You still have pictures of him.”
“The pictures are a part of my past. I can’t just throw them away.”
She shrugged. “If you say so. I think you’re holding onto the past. Anyway, I know someone who’d like to buy the car.” She slowed the truck down.
I paused, then let out a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll sell it.”
She was right. I needed to let go of the past. Holding onto the car only kept the bad memories around. Plus, the money would help tremendously.
We arrived at the house, a colonial with white columns and a nicely manicured lawn. A large porch spanned across the front of the house, with French doors flanking the entry door. It stood in the middle of a row of historic homes. We parked across the street—I teased Claire Ann it was for a fast getaway. We crossed the quiet road and marched up the steps of the colonial.
“My stomach hurts,” I said. “I really shouldn’t be here.”
“Oh pshaw. You’re here to help me. She probably won’t notice you’re around.”
“I bet she can sense when I’m with two hundred feet of her. Like she has a Raelynn Pendleton radar. I should’ve had a cocktail first.”
Claire Ann laughed as she rang the doorbell. My heart rate increased when the sound of footsteps echoed from the other side of the doorway.
“Hello,” the woman said when she opened the door. “May I help you?”
She wore black pants and a white blouse with a white apron covering her front. Did the mayor have a maid? I’d never thought about it. I didn’t think he’d make that much money in a small town like Honeysuckle.
“Hi, I’m Claire Ann from The Honeysuckle Herald, and this is my assistant, Raelynn.” She gestured my way.
“Please come in.” The maid stepped to the side and we entered into the foyer. Two alabaster statues of women flanked the space. It felt like walking into a museum. To the left was the large parlor. The walls were bathed in beige and the windows covered with dark blue curtains with bold flowers. Shiny hardwood flooring continued from the foyer into the parlor. Women chatted with teacups in hand. Trays of finger sandwiches sat on tables around the room. Cl
aire Ann forged ahead into the room. I attempted to walk behind her like a shadow. So far, no one had noticed me and I wanted to keep it that way.
“You’re pulling my dress. Let go.” She swatted at my hand.
“This is absolutely pretentious,” I said. “I’ve never liked these kinds of events.”
Claire Ann nodded. “Uh-huh. Listen, I’m going to mingle. For the scoop, you know?” She started to walk away.
I grabbed her arm. “What? Where are you going?”
“Just around.” She gestured. “I have to mingle, remember? I’m here to get a story.”
“Claire Ann Grande, don’t you dare leave me here alone.” Panic set in. Dizziness took over.
“We’ll just stay a minute, don’t worry.” She patted my hand. “Take a deep breath, you’ll feel better.”
“No, no, no,” I whispered while glancing over my shoulder.
“I want to get a look around this place. I’ve never been inside,” she whispered.
What the heck was I supposed to do in the meantime? I doubted we’d find anything worthwhile. Sure, the heroines in my mystery novels made sleuthing look easy, but that was fiction. I’d probably get my hand caught in the snooping cookie jar with the first attempt.
Before I could grab onto her dress again she waltzed away. A couple old ladies eyed me from a few steps away. I smiled, then grabbed a cucumber sandwich and pretended to nibble. They frowned, then whispered to each other before moving my way.
Trapped. They were probably coming to confront me and I didn’t even know them.
“Are you friends with Martha?” the lady with the over-bleached hair asked. Piles of curls set atop her head.
“Um, you could say that,” I said. My mouth was full of cucumber sandwich.
“She’s such a lovely lady. So kind and generous.” They looked at each other and nodded. “We’re from Belleville. Are you from Honeysuckle?” the other one asked. She adjusted her black dress. The white belt made her outfit match her salt-and-pepper hair.
Were these women for real? They really didn’t know me? How’d I luck into that? Although that was probably the only reason they actually spoke to me. Plus, they thought Martha Murdoch was nice? Clearly she’d put on an act for them.
I swallowed the last of my sandwich. “I’m from Honeysuckle.”
“I’m Kitty George and this is Francine Simmons,” the blonde said as she gestured to the other woman.
How would I get away from these women? They’d ask too many questions, I just knew it. And where the heck was Claire Ann? She owed me for this. I tried to ease backwards and hide behind the large plant in the corner, but figured someone would notice me—i.e. the nosy old bags next to me.
They stared at me for an acknowledgement. Heck, I was sure they wanted my name too. “My name’s Claire Ann—”
“Attention, ladies.” A woman across the room clinked a fork against her water glass. She wore a clingy pink dress with a sash adding a smidgen of color across her tiny waist. Her blonde hair was twisted up in the back, not a strand out of place. “We’ll move out onto the veranda now. The auction will start soon.” She sashayed away as fast as she appeared.
Saved. Thank goodness for small miracles. The women next to me immediately stepped away and moved toward the other side of the room, not even giving me as much as a glance over the shoulder. But the veranda? Outside with all of them? No way.
All the women followed her like cattle, as if she’d said there was a half-off sale on girdles out there. No way was I going out there. Nope. I’d stay put. When they all cleared out, I’d slip out the front door and wait until Claire Ann came to her senses and joined me.
Within a few seconds, I was alone in the large room. The silence which surrounded me now felt strange since seconds earlier the room had been full of the chatter from women. I guessed Claire Ann had gotten stuck in the middle of the herd and wandered out back with the rest of the women. Usually I was the one with the Lucy Ricardo schemes. This time, Claire Ann had dragged me into one heck of a mess. And for what? Some kind of dirt on the mayor’s wife? I didn’t know Claire Ann didn’t like Martha Murdoch so much. She was annoying, but I didn’t think she was clever or complex enough to cause too much trouble.
I tiptoed over to the entrance to the kitchen and peeped around. No one was there—my chance to get the heck out of there. But would a real sleuth not use this opportunity to at least take a peek at a few things in the room?
The large modern kitchen seemed out of place with the rest of the house. Commercial-sized appliances, stainless steel countertops and black sleek cabinets with brushed nickel knobs. Trays with sandwiches sat along the counters. Nothing odd popped out at me as I looked around. But did I really expect it to? Did I think I’d find Martha Murdoch’s diary lying on the kitchen island with a note attaching saying “Read me, Raelynn?” Where was the cook? I assumed the woman who answered the door was in charge of the food. I walked over to the back door and peeked outside. The women gathered under tents, chatting and laughing. No one noticed me. Not even that rat I called a best friend, Claire Ann. I slipped over to the cabinets near the refrigerator and eased a door open. Big surprise, dishes. Cookbooks lined a shelf above the little desk in the corner. I ran my finger along the spines. There was a small drawer to the right, so I pulled it open. I glanced over my shoulder, then turned back, focusing on its contents. Recipes and coupons was all I saw. I was wasting my time in the kitchen.
I closed the drawer, then eased back into the parlor. A couple of small tables set around the room so I glided the drawers open and peeked inside. They were empty. She wasn’t making good use of storage, in my opinion. Amateur sleuths in novels would check every room in the house. I didn’t have the stomach for that. My palms were clammy and my heart pounded. A quick look around this room and I was out of here.
Wall-to-ceiling bookcases filled with figurines, knickknacks and other collectibles were set to my right. Underneath were large drawers. I opened one. It was full of paperbacks. Hmm. I would have guessed she’d only read hardback books. There was everything from mysteries to romance. Romance? I didn’t think Martha Murdoch had a romantic bone in her snooty body. I closed that drawer, then opened the next one. More paperbacks. I spotted a newly released mystery I’d been wanting. The shiny book called to me, so I slipped it from the drawer. I glanced around. Still no one in sight.
When I opened the book to read the first page, a small piece of paper fell to the floor. I reached down, picked it up and unfolded it. Nancy Harper’s name was written on the paper, along with a time and date. Why would Nancy meet with the mayor or mayor’s wife? And the date happened to be the day she’d died. The hairs on my neck prickled.
“What are you doing here?” Martha shouted.
Claire Ann bounded through the door behind her. She slipped past and grabbed me by the arm. “She’s my assistant for the day.”
“I’ll never invite the paper to my home again. And you can forget the mayor giving you any interviews,” she shouted.
“Considering we’re the only paper in town, I highly doubt that. Good day, Mrs. Murdoch.”
We hurried out the front door. I felt like a teenager all over again, running from Mr. Baldwin’s front lawn, with toilet paper still clutched in my hand. Mrs. Murdoch stomped after us. I felt her presence behind us, the heat from her glare radiating all the way from the porch.
We jumped in Claire Ann’s old truck, slamming the doors at the same time.
“I feel like the Dukes of Hazzard.” I laughed.
“Oh, Lord. Which one, Bo or Luke?”
“Bo, of course.” I snickered.
She snorted.
“Look what I found.” I unfolded the paper still clutched in my hand.
She glanced as best as she could while steering. “Wow.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned.
Chapter Twenty-One
After the madness of our tea party, I was look
ing forward to a quiet day at work. Crazy, I knew. I never thought I’d look forward to work. But at least Claire Ann couldn’t drag me anywhere I’d get into trouble if I was at the supermarket.
As I hurried towards the store, I realized today wasn’t any different than any other. I got the usual glares from people as I made my way down the sidewalk. Actually, it was a little different. The stares were even worse today. No doubt my lovely neighbor had already spread the rumor of the stranger seen leaving my home at an ungodly hour. So now I was a lying, skanky murderess. Did it get any better? If I didn’t own a great house now, I’d be out of Honeysuckle faster than you could say two shakes of a sheep’s tail. But I couldn’t leave my new home, it needed me.
It was another warm, beautiful day, at least. Although a tad too hot. Sweat erupted on my forehead as soon as I reached the sidewalk. A few clouds rolled overhead; they’d probably bring an afternoon rain shower. I managed to get to work without anyone accosting me. When I stepped inside, Claire Ann stood behind the counter. She didn’t look up at first, but when she did she had a look of dread on her face. She frowned and glanced down every few seconds, avoiding my gaze. I looked over at the tables. A few old men sat in the corner. They shook their heads and frowned. I turned my attention back to Claire Ann, then walked toward her.
“Why so glum?” I asked.
She frowned and shook her head. Without uttering a word, she tilted her head in the direction toward the back of the store, then said, “Charlie wants to speak with you in his office.”
I stared at her, not sure what to say. Somehow, I knew this wasn’t good. She had known when I spoke with her on the phone earlier that this would happen. She’d been quiet again, not like herself at all. Now I knew for sure she had been keeping something from me.
“I knew you were hiding something from me,” I said.
She’d never been able to keep a secret from me for long. She found Ross with the floozy and initially wasn’t going to tell me. She lasted all of twenty minutes before breaking down.
“I’m not hiding anything from you, Raelynn.” She looked down.
