Murder Can Confuse Your Chihuahua

by Rose Pressey

  “This is the perfect spot. I sat in this spot many times when I was a little girl.”

  I sat on the ground and got out my paints. I tried to focus on the painting only, but it was tough, knowing that the killer could be out there. No matter how hard I tried not to, I kept glancing over my shoulder to make sure that no one was approaching.

  “Don’t worry, Celeste. If someone comes here, I will tell you,” Ama said.

  I wasn’t sure if that mattered. Would it give me enough time to get away?

  The image came to me quickly. In my mind, a man appeared. Feathers adorned his head, along with a fringed cloth tunic and a woven belt around his waist. Tall moccasins covered his feet.

  I had no idea about the man’s identity, but I painted him anyway. Ama waited back by the path so that she could alert me if someone was approaching. I dipped my paintbrush into the different colors, filling in the background around the man. The scowl on his face became apparent the more I painted. His dark eyes were so vivid it seemed as if he might pop out of the painting at any second. I painted lush green trees and used dark blue for the murky water of the river. This was another image of the river. Who was this man? Would Ama know him?

  Ama saw me and approached. “What did you paint?”

  Before I had a chance to respond, she peered down at the canvas. I could tell by her expression that she knew this man.

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  A line creased between her brows. “In English. . . he’s called Grandfather.”

  “Wow. He’s your grandfather?”

  “That’s him,” she said.

  Why had I painted her grandfather? Based on her expression, I assumed she wasn’t happy about this.

  “Is everything okay, Ama? I thought you’d be happy to see a painting of your grandfather.”

  “I knew he would come for me.” She paced along the edge of the river.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “My grandfather didn’t want me to come back here. He tried to stop me. When he wasn’t paying attention, I slipped out.” She made a gesture with her hand indicating how fast she had moved on her way out.

  “You mean he didn’t want you to come back to this dimension?”

  I was confused by all this ghostly stuff and had no idea how it worked. Was there some lengthy process to coming back from the spirit world?

  “Yes, he thought I should have stayed in the spirit world. He’ll probably try to come back and get me,” she said.

  I peeked around again to see if he’d made an appearance from the painting. So far, there was no sign of him. Was he hiding from us?

  “Stop, not another brushstroke. You shouldn’t paint him anymore.” Ama stepped in front of my painting.

  She held her arms out to her sides. The brush went right through her stomach.

  “Oh, I am sorry, Ama,” I said with widened eyes. “I didn’t mean to stick the brush through you.”

  I hoped it hadn’t hurt. Wait. She was a ghost. Of course, it didn’t hurt. Sometimes momentarily I forgot such things.

  “That’s all right.” She peered down at her stomach as if to check for damage.

  “Why don’t you want me to finish the painting? Don’t you want to see your grandfather?” I asked.

  Was it because if the painting was finished, he would come through? There had to be a reason she didn’t want to see him.

  “He’s stubborn, and I don’t want to speak with him.” She crossed her arms in front of her waist. “I don’t have to talk to him if I don’t want to.”

  “Why do you say he’s stubborn?”

  I sensed that Ama and her grandfather were a lot alike.

  “We argue about my use of the spirit world. Like I said, he doesn’t want me to come through.”

  This wasn’t the first time she’d made a visit back to the world of the living.

  I placed my brush down. “Okay, if you don’t want me to paint him anymore, I won’t do it. However, you said coming here would be good. Maybe I’m meant to paint him for a reason.”

  The snap of a tree branch captured our attention. My breath caught in my throat.

  “What was that?” I whispered.

  “It was probably just the wind snapping a tree branch,” Ama said, although she didn’t sound convinced.

  I hoped she was right, but how could I be sure?

  I grabbed up my supplies. “I don’t think I want to hang around any longer to find out if it was just the wind.”

  What if the killer was out there watching me? He could attack at any moment. What was I thinking by coming out here alone? I was putting myself at risk, and that was stupid. Just so that I could use the energy from the river for a stronger connection to the spirit world? There had to be a better way, though I had no idea what it was at the moment.

  Ama followed me as I headed up the path toward the festival area. Another sound came from behind, and I whipped around for a better view. My breathing was heavy now, and my heart rate went up. All the trees around me made it hard to make out if a person was there. Another movement came from the left, and I gasped. A squirrel hopped across the path and jumped onto a nearby tree branch.

  I clutched my chest. “Whew, it was just a little furry creature.”

  Ama’s eyes widened, and I knew someone was behind me. Fear raced through my body as I spun around to see who had appeared. My neighbor Karla was now standing in front of me.

  She scowled. “What are you doing?”

  “I was painting by the river.” I gestured over my shoulder.

  Why was she making me nervous? I didn’t have to answer her questions.

  “Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here?” She narrowed her eyes.

  If it was so dangerous out here, what was she doing walking along the path?

  “I am well aware of the dangers,” I said. “What about you? Why are you here?”

  She eyed me up and down. “I saw you come back here and wanted to see what you were doing.”

  It had been some time since I’d come back to the river. Why had it taken her so long to come find me? I wasn’t buying her excuse.

  “What took you so long? I’ve been back here for at least twenty minutes.”

  She kept quiet, not uttering a word. Placing my hands on my hips, I waited for her answer. Without saying a word, she spun around and headed toward the festival area.

  “That was strange,” Ama said.

  “Yes, it was odd. I don’t know what she’s up to, but I should keep my eye on her. Something about her gives me the creeps,” I said.

  A few seconds later, Ama and I stepped out into the sunshine. People had already arrived for the fair. I needed to get my paintings set up in a hurry.

  “Celeste,” the male voice called out.

  “Celeste, over here,” another man said.

  Caleb and Pierce were headed my way. I’d almost forgotten about texting them. Of course, they seemed panicked.

  When I approached the trailer, they said in unison, “What are you doing coming out of that area?”

  Had they practiced talking in sync?

  I gestured toward the canvas and brushes in my hand. “Painting?”

  “Are you kidding?” they said.

  I grimaced.

  “After receiving a threatening note, you decide to go back to the scene of a murder?” Caleb asked.

  “With a killer on the loose?” Pierce asked.

  What they wanted to add was “How dumb can you be?” Apparently pretty dumb.

  “I’m fine. Plus, I wasn’t technically at the scene of the murder. That area is much less secluded,” I said. “I think the note was probably from Danny. I think he saw me at his trailer and wanted to warn me to stay away.”

  “This is nothing to mess around with, Celeste,” Caleb said.

  “And nothing to take lightly,” Pierce added.

  “What he said.” Caleb gestured toward Pierce with a tilt of his head.

  “Do you have the note?” P
ierce asked.

  I pulled it from my pocket and handed it to him. “I found it on the trailer floor. I guess he slipped it under the door.”

  He studied the note and, surprisingly, handed it to Caleb.

  “We’ll take that as evidence,” Pierce said. “In the meantime, will you please stay away from dangerous areas?”

  “It’s my opinion that all areas are dangerous.”

  Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Well, some more than others. But why don’t you just stick to areas that have people around?”

  “You’ll let me know right away if you get another note?” Pierce asked.

  “Of course,” I said. “I let you know right away when I received this one, didn’t I?”

  “And stop poking around for evidence or clues, Celeste. You’re not Jessica Fletcher. This is your last warning,” Pierce said with a stern voice.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take care of myself.”

  “Uh oh, I think he said the wrong thing,” Ama said.

  “If you all will excuse me, I have to get to work.” I moved around them with my head held high.

  I didn’t give the men a chance to say anything else. My blood boiled. Yes, it was dangerous, but I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. Not when I had Ama and my secret images to guide the way. I stepped inside my trailer for a bit so that the men would take a hint and leave. I wanted them to know that I was upset and that I meant business.

  After a couple of minutes, I stepped over to the tiny window and peered out. Caleb and Pierce were nowhere in sight. Thank goodness, they had gone. I didn’t want to discuss this anymore. I guess they’d taken my not-so-subtle hint. Now it really was time for me to get to work.

  “I’ll be back for you in just a bit, Van,” I said.

  He licked his paws.

  “I guess you told them,” Ama said.

  “I hate that I had to get mad, but it was the only option.”

  “You’re right. Don’t let them tell you what to do.” Ama pumped her fist.

  “Though I suppose they are worried about my safety,” I said.

  “And rightfully so,” Ama said.

  “And what about the fact that you’re the one who wanted me to go to the river?”

  “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Network with other vendors. Maybe you can share customers. Or clues.

  As the day unfolded, I kept busy talking with customers and even sold a couple of paintings. However, that didn’t mean that the murder wasn’t on my mind. It was at the edge of my thoughts—always there, as a reminder that things weren’t safe.

  My mother had insisted that I come to dinner tonight, even though I’d told her I was terribly busy. She reminded me that I was never too busy for family. I supposed I needed to visit and see what kinds of disasters my father had gotten into lately. My mother said she’d found a stash of doughnuts hidden in his truck. Considering he was diabetic, this was a big no-no. I’d have to have another talk with him. It was always in one ear and out the other, though.

  After the incident this morning, I’d kept my eye on Karla. I’d never noticed that scar on her hand before. I wondered how she’d gotten it. Perhaps from an incident down by the river where she’d killed Erica. Okay, I was probably overreacting, but the police always searched for wounds on the perpetrator that might be signs that they had committed the crime. Should I ask her how she’d gotten the scar on her hand? That would be an awkward conversation. Especially since she hadn’t acted all that friendly toward me this morning.

  Now that the fair was wrapping up for the day, maybe I could go over and talk with Karla again. I’d thank her for coming to check on me. After all, it was nice of her to think of me, even though she’d acted strangely and I was suspicious of her. What if she had been sincere and I had treated her rudely? Yes, an apology was definitely in order.

  I put all the paintings away, took Van to the trailer for a nap, and headed over toward Karla’s trailer. She hadn’t noticed that I was approaching her. My anxiety ramped up since I didn’t know how she would react to my visit. Just as I was a few steps away, she spotted me. Immediately she scowled. Apparently, she wasn’t happy to see me.

  I stepped over to her. “Karla, I just wanted to stop by and thank you for coming to check on me this morning. Clearly you were just worried about me, and I should have thanked you instead questioning you over your motives.”

  She studied my face as if she was trying to figure out if I was being sincere.

  “You’re welcome,” she said with hostility in her voice.

  She wasn’t much of a talker. I’d have to work hard to get this conversation moving.

  “We really do have to watch out for each other,” I said.

  She eyed me up and down. “Yes, I suppose we do.”

  Her words were filled with anger. She was clearly still upset with me. I wasn’t sure how much information I’d be able to get out of her. Noticing her hand, I pretended that this was the first time I’d seen the injury. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about it. I had scars of my own from knee surgeries. I never tried to hide them since I figured they were a part of me and showed that I was living life. I felt a bit nosy asking, though. Perhaps I should just mind my own business.

  Karla had apparently noticed me checking out her scar.

  “I had a car accident a while back. Then the other day I fell and scratched up the old wound.” She moved her arm as if now she didn’t want me to look at it.

  I diverted my attention. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’re feeling better.”

  Was she telling the truth? Had she simply fallen, or was this an injury sustained from a struggle with Erica? Why would Karla kill Erica, though? As far as I knew, they didn’t know each other before meeting here at the arts and craft fair.

  “Thank you,” she said as she went back to her art.

  She wasn’t paying attention to me now, and I assumed that was her way of saying she was finished with this conversation.

  “Well, thanks again,” I said.

  “Sure thing,” she said, busying herself with mixing paint.

  I headed back toward my trailer. Checking the time on my phone, I realized that most places in town were closing. I’d wanted to go by the library and do some research. Plus, I thought I would see if I could find a few people who knew Karla. Oh well. Maybe it was for the best. I was supposed to be at my parents’ house soon. Although I needed to find out more about Erica. What did she do in her spare time? What was her life like? Knowing more about her would probably lead me to the killer.

  Once back in my trailer, I snuggled with Van before it was time to leave for my parents’ house. I had to build up my energy to deal with all the hijinks that were likely to occur. I pulled out my phone, wondering what I’d find if I searched Karla’s name. Probably nothing, but I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek.

  I typed Karla Dean into my phone. Nothing came up right away, but when I scrolled down just a bit, I saw a news article about a car accident. I assumed it was the one Karla had referenced. I clicked on the link so that I could read the full article. I hadn’t expected what I found.

  Karla hadn’t been alone in the car. Her sister had been in the car with her and had died in the crash. How horrible. Now I felt even worse for asking about her scar. I should just keep my nose out of things and my mouth shut. The biggest shock came when I saw the name of the person who had hit the car that Karla had been driving. Erica was listed as the driver of the other vehicle. My mouth dropped open in shock.

  Did Karla feel that Erica was responsible for her sister’s death? The article stated that the police hadn’t charged Erica after the accident. It had been just that, an accident. It seemed as if there was nothing that Erica could have done to avoid it. Was Karla trying to get revenge? I wasn’t sure what to think.

  My time had run out. I had to get to my parents’ house. I’d research this more later. Picking up Van, I headed out the door. When I took
out the key to lock the door, I spotted a piece of paper taped to my trailer. I pulled it off and read it.

  I won’t warn you again.

  I spun around to see if the person who’d left the note was still anywhere around. People were at their booths, but no one was paying attention to me. That didn’t mean the person responsible wasn’t somewhere close, though. Karla was at her booth.

  She must have sensed me watching her. After a couple of seconds of staring, she moved away. Checking to my right, I spotted Danny at his trailer. He watched me for a brief bit too. It had to be him who’d left the note. I should confront him. I’d let him know that I wasn’t scared of him, though in all actuality, I was. Why would he leave a second note? I hadn’t been around his trailer again.

  Collecting all my courage, I marched toward his trailer. When he saw me walking his way, he diverted his attention, as though somehow now he didn’t want to make eye contact.

  With my shoulders pressed back and my head held high, I stepped up to him. “Why are you leaving me these notes?”

  I waved the paper.

  He casually wiped off his paintbrush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you crazy or something? All that pink has gotten to your brain.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know you left this note. And now I want to know why.”

  “I know your boyfriends probably put you up to this, but I had nothing to do with that girl’s murder. You all need to leave me alone,” he said.

  “They’re not my boyfriends,” I said. “We’re friends. They know about the first note you left. And now I’m going to show them this one.”

  He jumped up from his chair and closed the distance between us within seconds. Now he stood inches away from me with his face right in front of mine.

  “Listen to me. You leave me alone, or you will regret it,” he said through gritted teeth.