Murder Can Mess Up Your Masterpiece

by Rose Pressey

  “Good morning,” I said as I stepped over.

  Van trembled and tried not to look at them directly. He figured if he ignored them, they’d go away. I wished it worked that way. There were plenty of people I had ignored, who had never gone away.

  “Celeste, I’d like for you to meet Max Stone. He’ll be in charge of the fair from here on out.” Ruth gestured toward the man. “It’s tough, but he’s working with the town council on the details from here on out.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I stuck out my hand.

  He didn’t offer his hand in return. Instead, he glared at Van.

  “Same to you,” Max said.

  Movement caught my attention. Down the path, several police officers walked around. The police were back.

  “I thought they finished up last night.” I motioned.

  Max and Ruth looked over their shoulders. Oddly, they seemed similar in a strange way. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. Perhaps they had the same small, beady-shaped eyes, or the same downward slope to the corners of their mouths that made them appear to always be frowning. From the crinkles along her eyes and mouth, I figured Ruth was about twenty years older than Max.

  “They just need to search again now that it’s daylight,” Max said.

  Did Max worry that the killer would come after him? Could the murderer hold a grudge against whoever was in charge of the craft fair?

  “It’s terrible what happened. I didn’t find out about it until this morning,” Ruth said, looking down at her once-white, muddy tennis shoes.

  “That must have been startling,” I said.

  “It was better than discovering the body.” Ruth shivered at the thought.

  I had been trying to forget, but that was next to impossible.

  “Well, ladies, don’t worry about anything because I have everything under control.” Max puffed out his chest, apparently trying to look important, but only succeeding in looking like a bantam rooster.

  “Will you be adding security now? I don’t think I feel safe staying here without it.” I studied his face.

  “Yes, there will be a security guard.” He checked the time on his gold wristwatch. “Any other questions?”

  I shook my head. Why did he have such a snippy tone?

  “I’ll see you all around.” Max turned to walk away.

  “I didn’t think it was possible, but he’s just as annoying as Evan,” I said.

  “He seems nice enough. From what I understand, he’s been helping Evan, so I guess they got along well,” Ruth said. “I suppose I should get my stuff set out before people arrive.”

  She thought he seemed nice, but she hadn’t liked Evan? They had the same personality, in my opinion.

  “I’ll see you later,” I said.

  Ruth waved as she headed back to her trailer. I put Van back in my trailer so that he could chew his bone while I set out the paintings. Should I place the haunted one in the trailer out there? Of course I should, right? Maybe someone would buy it. But could I knowingly sell a haunted painting? What was I thinking? Was I going bonkers? The painting couldn’t truly be haunted. Though I knew what I’d seen.

  Concentrating on painting was hard with the movement around the fair. It wasn’t customers causing a distraction. I liked when they came by to look at my paintings. The police had my attention, though. Perhaps they were trying to blend into the background, but as far as I was concerned, they weren’t succeeding.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Detective Pierce Meyer walking toward me. I hoped he was coming to share good news.

  “Good morning,” he said when he approached.

  I wiped the paint off my hands on a nearby rag. “Hello. You’re back. I hope that’s because you found the killer.”

  Spotting my appearance in the mirrored aviator sunglasses he wore gave me pause. Strands of hair fell from my ponytail and I could seriously use a swipe of lipstick. Pierce looked handsome, though, in his khaki pants and white polo shirt.

  An amused expression came over his face. “Not exactly.”

  Why was he smirking at me like that?

  “You have a little something on your cheek.” He pointed.

  I wiped my cheek and looked at my finger. “Number eight-six-two. Clear Day is the name. I use it to paint the sky.” I pointed at the painting on the easel by the trailer.

  He studied the canvas. “You’re great with the stippling.”

  “You paint?” Hiding the excitement in my voice was impossible.

  “I took a class in college.” A hint of a smile touched his lips.

  I couldn’t hold back a smile. It wasn’t often someone mentioned brush techniques. Though the conversation was pleasant, I couldn’t help but wonder why he was here. Did he have more questions for me?

  “So what can I do for you this morning, Detective Meyer?” I asked.

  He moved closer to the painting of the old, weather-beaten farmhouse and peered down. After studying it a few moments, he focused his attention on me again. “How did you get that cut on your hand?”

  I looked at my right hand. Did he think that was a cut from the murder weapon?

  “I broke the glass jar I use to clean my paintbrushes.” I stammered the words. I knew I sounded suspicious when I did that.

  “Did you know Evan well? A few people said you were unhappy with the lack of security here. Did you have words with him about that?”

  My heart rate spiked and my stomach twisted into a knot. “I hadn’t asked him about security yet. That was why I went to speak with him,” I said. Who had told him I was upset with Evan?

  “So you didn’t speak with him last night?” Detective Meyer asked.

  “Only earlier, when he stopped by Shar’s booth. Look, everyone probably had words with Evan. He was kind of a . . . how should I put this?” I asked.

  “He was a bit of a pain?” the detective asked.

  “Yes, that’s a polite way of saying it,” I said.

  The detective peered around our surroundings. He seemed lost in thought. When he turned his attention back to me, he asked, “Is there anything else you’re forgetting to tell me?”

  “If anything, you should speak with Shar Pricket. Evan was nitpicking and wanted her to move her table back two inches. That made her angry and she said she wanted to knock him into next week.” I pumped my fist for emphasis.

  The slightest of smiles spread across the detective’s face. I hated to notice how handsome he was at a time like this, but to be honest, the thought had crossed my mind several times.

  “By the way, I had this cut two days ago.” I pointed.

  Maybe a bit too much self-confidence laced my words. I’d found my courage. In my opinion, the detective shouldn’t consider me a suspect. Yes, I’d found the body, but I wasn’t the only one in the area. After all, Caleb had been there, although he seemed far too nice to be a killer.

  “I’ll make sure to speak with Ms. Picket again,” Detective Meyer said. “Please call if you think of anything else.”

  “I will,” I said.

  As the detective walked away, I felt the sensation that someone was watching me. When I glanced over, I spotted Ruth peeking out at me through the little window of her trailer. She’d seen me talking with the detective, so she probably thought I was the prime suspect. Was everyone at the craft fair suspicious of me because I found Evan’s body?

  I was a bit surprised the craft fair would continue, even with the help of Evan’s assistant, Max. He had certainly taken charge. In my mind, it wasn’t business as usual, though. Especially since the police were back. Being asked so many questions made me uncomfortable. I wanted to find the killer so that I wouldn’t be under suspicion. Perhaps I should look into Evan’s background. With any luck, I could make a list of suspects. Plus, find the killer’s motive for murder.

  Right now, I had to push thoughts of murder and robbery from my head and get to work. A couple of more days and the craft fair would be over. I’d lose my chance to sell painti
ngs. After putting my work out for display, I picked up Van from the trailer and put him in his carrier. Okay, maybe it was actually a pink purse. In my defense, he liked sitting in it while I worked. He either took naps, watched people, or oversaw my painting to make sure I did it right.

  What would I do with the portrait of the woman? There was only one thing to do. I would put it out and see what happened. I’d almost convinced myself that last night had been nothing more than a dream. The painting was most certainly not haunted.

  With Van in my arms, I went back into the trailer. The portrait was where I’d left it. What did I think? That it would move on its own? Nevertheless, it was probably best if I sold it. I would always think about seeing the woman again if I kept the thing.

  I eased over to the painting as if the woman would jump out at me.

  “Van, I’m being silly.” I set him down so I could carry the painting outside. “I’ll be right back.”

  As I picked up the painting, the blanket I’d tossed over it slipped and fell to the floor. I wanted to avoid looking at her, but I couldn’t stop myself. Yes, it still seemed as if she was watching me.

  “Stop staring at me,” I said.

  She didn’t stop, though, so I hurried outside with her. I placed her next to a painting of a man on a horse. Whew. At least I’d gotten the painting outside. Just looking at her sent shivers down my spine. I turned around to go back to the trailer.

  “I don’t like being next to him,” a female voice said.

  I whipped around to see who had spoken, but no one was nearby. Now I was not only seeing things but hearing them too. I looked at the painting again. Nothing had changed. She still had that same haunted expression.

  Brushing off the incident, I went back into the trailer for Van. When I stepped out again, the woman’s voice came from somewhere close. “Are you listening to me? I don’t like being beside this man. The horse stinks too.”

  I didn’t know what to think. Someone must be playing a joke on me. Van was back in his little carrier beside me as I settled in front of my easel and picked up a paintbrush. His ears perked up and he barked. I was pretty sure he had no idea who he was barking at either.

  A horse? As far as I knew, there were no horses at the craft fair. Maybe I’d overheard a conversation and got the words wrong. There was no need to freak out, I reminded myself. I’d concentrate on painting. Today I wanted to capture a scene of the fair, with people enjoying themselves on a lovely summer day. A fresh canvas always relaxed me and that was what I needed right now. I never dreamed this craft fair would be so stressful.

  It hit me: The only horse around that I knew of was in the painting next to the woman’s portrait. It couldn’t be possible, right? Was the portrait talking to me now? I’d officially lost it.

  Thank goodness a few customers stopped by my booth. I even sold the painting with the garden full of pastel-colored flowers to a couple expecting their first child in a couple of months. They planned to add the art to the baby’s nursery. That kept my mind off the strange portrait and the murder.

  A few times throughout the day, I looked over at Ruth’s booth. I wanted to speak with her, but we’d both been busy. I had a hasty lunch of peanut butter crackers, washed down with an RC Cola, and the afternoon flew by as people browsed and shopped. As the day was coming to an end, I hoped to talk with her about what had happened.

  I’d finished up a painting by adding fluffy cotton clouds to the blue sky and was curious about any hidden images. Had a mysterious image been painted into this one too? There was only one way to find out. I picked up one of the jars I used to clean my brushes and held it up to my eye. I squinted with one eye shut and peered through the glass with the other. The glass almost fell from my hand when I spotted it. There was something hidden within the painting. And I hadn’t put it there on purpose. How was this happening?

  A dancing skeleton was in the picture with the pretty pink, yellow, and purple flowers surrounding it. I hadn’t added it, so I couldn’t understand how a spooky image had ended up in such a serene work of art.

  I’d of course heard of artists adding hidden images, but never without knowing about it. Was my subconscious doing this? If so, why? I picked up the jar and placed it with the rest of my supplies. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Ruth.

  “Ruth.” I waved for her attention.

  She acted as if she hadn’t heard me, but I was almost sure she had. I stepped closer to her booth and called out again. Ruth looked over at me as if I was a mosquito buzzing around her head.

  “Oh, hello, Celeste. How are you?” From Ruth’s tone, I knew she was completely annoyed.

  Maybe it was my imagination, but she’d seemed a bit standoffish ever since she’d seen me speaking with the detective.

  “Things have been busy today. How are you handling this?” I asked.

  She knew I meant the murder.

  “Business was good today. I always handle that fine,” she said with a smirk.

  I had to press for more information from her. A tiny part of me wanted to know why she’d been sneaking into her trailer last night right after the murder. She’d looked as if she hoped no one noticed her.

  “Did the police speak with you?” I pressed.

  I knew they had because I’d seen them stop her this morning. Though they hadn’t spoken long. Perhaps I should come right out and ask what they’d said.

  “They asked if I saw anything,” she said as she moved around a plastic box full of assorted multicolored beads.

  “Did you see anything?” I asked.

  Apparently, that question captured her attention enough for her to actually focus on me.

  “I saw nothing. I’d been in my trailer,” she snapped.

  “But I saw you going back into your trailer.”

  “Well, sure, after I heard the ruckus. I just came out to see what was causing such a commotion.”

  Was she being truthful? I didn’t know her well, so I had no idea.

  “It’s tragic what happened,” I said.

  “Yes, well, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone with the way Evan treated people. I suppose someone finally got sick of his behavior.” She showed no emotion.

  “Yes, but I can’t imagine someone killing him,” I said.

  She shrugged. “It happens.”

  “I certainly didn’t expect anyone to kill him.”

  “Oh look, you have a customer.” She pointed.

  Lucky for Ruth, a woman wearing a white T-shirt with a cartoon drawing of a fawn-colored Chihuahua printed across the front had stopped by my booth and was smiling at a painting of Van. I had more questions, but I had to talk with the fellow Chihuahua lover. For now, I would have to postpone asking.

  CHAPTER 6

  Travel trailer tip 6: When living in a travel trailer with your furry companions, remember to make a space they can call home. Adding a comfy bed and toys will make them less anxious about traveling.

  I moved back to my booth to help the customer. When I peeked back at Ruth, our eyes made contact, but she quickly looked away, as if nervousness and anxiety had set in. However, that could be her way of dealing with the stress of the murder.

  I tried to push the supposedly haunted portrait of the woman on the man looking at my paintings, but he wasn’t interested. I realized it was bad of me to try to give someone else my problem. I would have to keep the painting.

  I hated to destroy a piece of art. What else could I do with it? Once again, I was acting as if I knew for sure the thing was haunted. Luckily, I sold a small painting to the man. He was quite taken with a painting of a fisherman wading in a stream near a covered bridge. I wondered if it had a hidden image. I’d forgotten to check that one. I sat down on the folding lawn chair in front of my trailer. I also had an umbrella to keep the sun away. I took skin care seriously and tried to limit my time in the sun. Something I hadn’t thought about in my younger days.

  As I sat there looking out over the crowd, I spotted Shar an
d Carly walking together. They must have felt someone watching them because they looked my way. They said something to each other and crossed the path heading toward me. I wasn’t sure why, but an uneasy feeling came over me. I tried to act casual as they approached. Maybe they weren’t coming to talk to me at all. After all, I barely knew them. As they neared my booth, I stood from the chair with Van in my arms.

  “Good afternoon,” I said when they stepped close to my display table.

  “Has the detective talked with you?” Shar asked.

  Wow. She got right to the point.

  “Yes, I spoke with him last night and again a short time ago,” I said. “You do realize I was the one who found Evan.”

  “Yes, that’s what we heard,” Shar said.

  “We just wanted to make sure you knew that Shar didn’t mean what she said about Evan,” Carly said.

  “I was just angry.” Shar pinched her brows together in a scowl.

  Well, murderers were angry—that was why they murdered.

  “I understand.” I certainly wasn’t going to argue with them.

  “Did you tell the detective what I said?” Shar asked.

  There was no way I would admit to that. “I just told him that I found the body and that was all I knew,” I said.

  See, I hadn’t technically lied to Shar, I’d just avoided answering her question.

  They watched me for a bit longer.

  “Well, with any luck the police will stop poking around soon and leave us alone,” Carly said.

  That was a strange statement. She could have said, “With any luck they will find the killer soon.” I hoped that was what she meant. The longer they stood in front of me, the more uneasiness settled between us.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t trust them if I were you,” a female voice said.

  I spun around. No one was behind me. Ruth was at her booth helping a customer. Van was looking in the direction of the paintings. Had he heard it too?

  Carly cleared her throat. I turned around, focusing my attention on Shar and her again. They didn’t mention that they’d heard anyone. Was I the only who’d heard the woman? The stress of finding a dead body was really getting to me now.