Murder Can Confuse Your Chihuahua

by Rose Pressey

“I think the pressure of it all made her snap,” Caleb said.

  One of the creepy clowns had walked up to us now. He was dancing, trying to make us laugh. Obviously, the clown had no idea what we’d just been through. I supposed he was trying to make us feel better.

  “Now are you ready to go?” my father asked.

  The craziness wasn’t over, though. Across the busy festival area, I spotted the person who had been hiding behind the tree earlier. At the time, I thought maybe it had been Karla, but now I recognized something about the woman, and I knew who this was instantly. Gold bangle bracelets were visible, dangling from underneath the sleeve of her black blouse.

  “What is Madame Gerard doing here?” I asked.

  Everyone followed the direction of my pointing finger.

  Caleb squinted to see from the bright sunshine. “That is her.”

  “I’m going to go find out why she’s here.” I left everyone and headed her way.

  When she realized that I was walking toward her, she tried to get away.

  “Madame Gerard,” I yelled out.

  She didn’t pay attention, or if she had heard me, she wasn’t responding. She moved swiftly, so I had to pick up my pace. Soon I was short of breath from my sprint, but ultimately, I reached her. When I touched her arm, a chill raced across my body. I hadn’t expected that reaction. Madame Gerard stopped and faced me. She removed her big black sunglasses.

  The hat and sunglasses had been the reason why I’d thought that Karla had been the one behind the tree.

  “Madame Gerard, I’m surprised to see you here,” I said.

  “I imagine you are,” she said.

  “Why are you here?” I asked, hoping she would answer.

  “Well, to be honest, I’ve done some snooping on my own. I wanted to find the person who broke into my home.” She held her head up high. “Ultimately, I chased him back to this festival. I watched as the police officers arrested him. I’m kind of proud of myself.”

  “Mark was the one who broke into your place?”

  “Yes, it was him. I’m sure of it,” she said.

  “Why would he do that?” I asked.

  “I suppose he saw you coming to my place and thought that I could offer some information on whether or not you were close to finding the killer.”

  “How did you track him down? How did you know he’s the one who was in your house?”

  “I’m psychic, dear.” She put on her sunglasses again. “Plus, when I was working in the garden today, I found his wallet. I went to his address and followed him here. I still say I’m a good sleuth, though.”

  A bubble of laughter exploded within me as I said, “Yes, Madame Gerard, you make a great detective.”

  Her lips twitched before a low melodic chortle escaped her. Madame Gerard had actually shown emotion. That was what I called a happy ending.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to my family and friends. They embrace my quirkiness. Love you all! Also, thank you to my editor, Michaela Hamilton, and my agent, Jill Marsal.

  Don’t miss the next delightful Haunted Craft Fair mystery by Rose Pressey

  MURDER CAN HAUNT YOUR HANDIWORK

  Coming soon from

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  CHAPTER 1

  A loud crash echoed across the expanse of the massive room. Screams soon followed. Somehow, I knew the sounds were related to my brothers and/or my father. They were always in the middle of some chaos or other. If something destructive happened near them, they were typically somehow involved.

  I dashed around the corner and saw my brother Stevie standing behind the red velvet barrier rope. The space had been blocked off so that tourists would know to stay out. Either my brother chose to ignore the rope and the “KEEP OUT” warning signs or he truly was clueless. Honestly, I thought he was just kind of oblivious. My brothers never meant harm. They just lived in their own little world.

  My other brother, Hank, stood behind the rope barrier too. Which one had knocked over the vase? Unfortunately, I knew the large ceramic urn had to be an expensive piece of artwork. Why else would it be featured on top of a pedestal column at the Biltmore Estate unless it was pricey and had significant importance. Yes, my brothers were a walking disaster. It was no wonder, though. Their clumsiness combined with their muscular physiques was the right mix for disaster.

  My family and I were currently touring the magnificent mansion. That included my mother, father, grandmother, and two brothers. Now I questioned why I had agreed to come along with them for the tour. Obviously, I’d been wrong when I’d thought they could behave themselves for just a few minutes.

  My petite, gray-haired grandmother stood a good distance away from us, clinging to her brown pocketbook as if she might have to make a quick escape. That was probably good thinking on her part. This wasn’t her first rodeo with this bunch.

  My mother clutched her pearl necklace as if the jewelry would save her from fainting. I’d picked out the necklace, which my father had given her for their thirtieth anniversary. She’d pretended she believed he’d chosen the pearls, but she’d winked at me, indicating that she thought I’d made a perfect selection. Sometimes when I saw my mother, it was like seeing my own reflection. The resemblance was uncanny; her dark hair and big brown eyes, like mine, were the shade of one of my favorite things—decadent chocolate.

  “I don’t know how I managed to get through thirty years of this much chaos,” my mother said.

  My father was at a different attraction. With the same strong stature as my brothers—although with a bit of added cushion—my father would inevitably get into trouble around breakables. He lifted the rope and scurried under to the other side. The extra weight around his middle made the movement not as easy for him as it would have been years ago, but he still managed to slide underneath.

  “Mom!” I pointed.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Eddie,” she said as she ran over him. “Get out from behind there before they arrest you.”

  “Why would they arrest me? They put the stuff here for us to enjoy, right?” My father reached out and grabbed another vase.

  Since I’d known him all my life, I understood what he’d said, but others had a hard time deciphering his low, mumbled words. Of course, as I suspected would happen, within seconds the priceless piece slipped from my father’s fingers. My mother dove for the item as if she was the star player in a baseball game trying to catch the ball. This all played out in slow motion. At least, that was the way it seemed in my mind. My mother caught the vase as she plunged to the floor. A groan escaped her lips as she rolled onto her side with the expensive item still firmly in her arms. Gasps filled the once-silent room.

  After a few seconds, my mother lifted the vase. “Got it!”

  “Score,” Hank yelled.

  As my father helped my mother to her feet, I ran over and grabbed the vase before he had a chance to get his hands on it again.

  Employees raced over with stunned expressions on their faces. I kind of wanted to just run the other way because I didn’t want them to know I was involved. Since I now held the valuable piece of art, I supposed it would be hard to act as if I wasn’t related to these people. My brothers laughed from somewhere behind me. The male employee narrowed his eye and marched over to me.

  He yanked the vase from my arms. “Please step out from behind the rope.”

  The woman motioned for my mother and father to move as well. Yes, a trip to the Biltmore Estate had definitely been a bad idea. What once had promised to be a lovely afternoon was now a complete disaster. I grabbed one of my brothers and yanked him to the side.

  “What?” he said with a chuckle. “It was an honest mistake. Dad probably thought this was a flea market and was searching for a price tag.”

  “Why were you on the other side of that rope too?” I asked. “I can’t take you all anywhere.”

  “You never take me anywhere,” he said.

  “Now you know why,” I said.


  Yes, technically my family had invited themselves on this trip. They’d followed me all the way from Gatlinburg.

  Stevie sauntered over to my side. “We just wanted to get a better view of the fancy-schmancy stuff. You can’t blame us for that.”

  “Yes, I can blame you for that,” I said in a louder voice than I’d intended.

  “We’re going to have to ask you all to please exit.” The tall, muscular, bald-headed man gestured toward the door.

  The word SECURITY was written in big white letters across the front of his black shirt.

  “Oh no, I didn’t get to see everything,” my mother said in a pouty tone.

  “Is it really necessary that we leave?” my father asked.

  The man stared blankly at my father.

  “He wants to know if it’s necessary that we leave,” I said. “We’ll be good.”

  The man gestured toward the door again, giving my father the answer without saying a word.

  “Okay, I think it’s best if we just leave.” I looped my arm through my mother’s and guided her toward the door.

  Glancing back, I realized my father was standing there, staring at the mural on the ceiling. I rushed over and yanked him to come along with me. Everyone in the room stared at us. It was more attention than I wanted. My father and brothers reluctantly obeyed and marched behind us.

  “Sorry,” I said over my shoulder at the employees.

  Frustration covered their faces, as if they wanted no part of my apology. I totally understood their point of view. Plus, my bank account couldn’t afford to reimburse the estate if one of my wacky relatives broke something else. Being asked to leave was a blessing in disguise.

  My family and I walked past the groups of tourists entering the estate. They looked as if they were having a delightful time. With my family, I realized serenity wasn’t in the cards for me. Bright sunshine surrounded us as we stepped out of the estate. I blinked, trying to adjust to the light. A vast array of colors surrounded us; the lawns were lush and the trees full of green leaves. The assortment of trees included magnolia, cherry, and crabapple, to name just a few. Pink hyacinths, yellow daffodils, and red tulips bloomed around the space. It was so much to take in that I felt I’d never see it all.

  “Well, thanks to you all, we almost got arrested for damaging property or trespassing or who knows what else,” I said. “Thank goodness, I saved you from going to jail. Once again. It’s like that time you all decided to work on Mr. Renfrow’s car without telling him.”

  “We had to test-drive the Cadillac to see if it was fixed. If we’d told him, it would have ruined the surprise,” Stevie said with a crocked smile.

  “I saved you from being arrested that time too. Just like now,” I said, with a point of my finger.

  “Why would you say that you saved us? What did we do?” Stevie asked with a frown.

  “She got you out of there without causing any more damage,” my mother said. “You all nearly broke two things.”

  I motioned for my family to quicken their steps as we marched toward the parking area. With any luck, I’d convince them to go home. Not that I didn’t love my family, but with their natural knack of creating chaos, I felt I owed it to everyone to keep them away. I was staying behind because I’d signed up to be a part of the Fifth Annual Fall Biltmore Estate Craft Fair being held on the grounds. I couldn’t have been happier about the upcoming event. If my family stayed, I knew something disastrous would happen. It would be like throwing a wet canvas tarp over my beautiful art.

  I hoped to sell quite a few of my paintings while here. Each time I signed Celeste Cabot to the bottom of a painting, my heart danced. I took pride in signing my name to each one, since now I was a full-time painter. Recently, I’d quit my job at my Aunt Patsy’s diner back in Gatlinburg and decided to chase my dreams. Never had I thought I’d have this opportunity. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I was giving it my best shot.

  As soon as my family left, I’d head over to the perimeter of the estate, where the craft fair was to be held. Tomorrow was the first day, and I had a lot to do before the first customers arrived. Not only did my paintings have to be ready, but I had to finish last-minute tasks too. There was a lot more to a craft fair than just providing the items to sell.

  “Well, good-bye, everyone, it’s been a lot of fun,” I said with a wave.

  “She’s being sarcastic now,” Stevie said.

  “You’re right about that,” I said.

  “Don’t be too mad at them, Celeste. They didn’t mean to do anything,” my mother said as she patted Stevie and Hank on the back.

  She was always defending them. That was partly why they acted this way. They were always getting into some kind of trouble, and my mother ignored their behavior. And my father was generally either setting fire to something accidentally or injuring himself, sometimes both. Stevie and Hank always broke things, including their bones. The anarchy would never end. One by one, I hugged them all and said good-bye.

  “Thanks for coming, you all. I’ll see you back at home,” I said.

  “Oh, we’ll be back to help you later,” my mother said with a smile. “Your father needs to eat and take a nap.”

  It was as if she was taking care of a toddler.

  “What do you mean? Aren’t you going back to Gatlinburg now?” I asked with panic in my voice.

  Suddenly my chest felt tighter. My surroundings spun ever so slightly. I felt it was hard to breathe. They hopped in my mom’s blue Buick. My mother lowered the window.

  “We’ll be around tomorrow, dear. We haven’t seen all of the estate either. This is our vacation. See you,” she said with a wave.

  “Yeah, there’s a lot more to do,” Stevie said around a chuckle.

  “Yes, we have to see more, I suppose,” my father mumbled.

  My family usually relayed my father’s messages to others. Stevie and Hank smiled, and my father said something that I didn’t understand this time. I supposed I wasn’t one hundred percent fluent in his mumbling. I sighed and waved good-bye as the Buick pulled away with a slight squeal of the tires. Of course, people walking around the area all noticed when my family made their grand departure.

  I wanted to hide behind the nearest pine tree. Nevertheless, there was no time for that. They’d already scrutinized me, possibly wondering if I had an answer as to why my family was so boisterous. I had no answer for that. Instead, I waved and smiled, trying to indicate that everything was just peachy. At least, I’d get a bit of calm before the family storm returned. For now, I was on my way to my latest adventure. Nothing would wipe the smile from my face right now.

  Even if I managed to convince my family to head home, I wouldn’t be alone at the craft fair this week. I had my wonderful friend Vincent van Gogh. My four-pound chihuahua was my constant companion. I called him Van for short. People would say I rescued him from the shelter, but in reality, he had rescued me. I’d named him Van because he had one ear that flopped over, making it appear as if it was missing. Plus, my obvious love of art had spurred the moniker too.

  My 1947 pink Ford -F100 truck and my adorable, pink-and-white Shasta trailer were parked just down the way. That was where I’d set up my art to sell tomorrow. Van was asleep in the trailer, waiting for me to return.

  When I reached into my pocket, I realized my keys weren’t there. Panic set in right away. Where had I lost them? This had better not be another one of my brothers’ practical jokes, like the time they stole my sneakers from gym class and I’d had to walk home barefoot. I had to find them soon, or I’d have to call a locksmith to open the trailer.

  I bet I’d lost them inside the mansion. Would they allow me back in to search for them? Probably not. Maybe they already had posters of my family plastered around with a no-entry warning. Nevertheless, I had to try. I ran back over to the area where we’d been kicked out only a short time ago.

  A middle-aged, brown-haired woman stood at the door when I approached. She eyed me up and down. She narrowe
d her eyes. No doubt she recognized me.

  I pulled out the ticket stub. “I think I lost my keys inside. Do you mind if I go inside and check?”

  She shrugged and motioned for me to go inside. I hadn’t expected that. She didn’t even so much as touch my ticket stub. I didn’t mention this, though. If I pointed that out, she might change her mind. I hurried inside the mansion. People spoke in hushed tones in the distance. What would I do if the other employees recognized me? I supposed I’d deal with that when it happened.

  With anxiety churning in my stomach, I walked down the hallway. I tried to hold my head high as if I was totally supposed to be here. I’d almost made it to the area where the vase incident happened. I figured this was the location where I’d lost the keys. As I made my way farther down the hall, a piercing scream rang out. What had happened? Had my family returned? That wasn’t possible, right? The next thing I knew, a stampede of people raced toward me. Since I knew I was slow and wouldn’t be able to keep up with the group, I dove to my left so that I wouldn’t be trampled.

  I landed face first on the floor, but not before knocking down one of those velvet rope barriers that I had just chastised my brothers about being behind. For a brief time, I remained motionless, dazed and wondering what had just happened. The crowd thundered by like a herd of cattle without saying a word to me. Apparently, they just wanted out.

  I managed to get up from the floor. After straightening my clothing and smoothing down my frazzled hair, I picked up the gold posts holding the barrier rope. Curiosity got the better of me, and I really wanted to take a peek around the corner and see what the crowd could’ve possibly been running from. I didn’t smell smoke, nor did I hear a fire alarm. What other emergency could there have been? With one quick glance around the corner, I saw the motionless woman on the floor.

  photo by Bill Pressey

  About the Author

  Rose Pressey is a USA Today best-selling author. She enjoys writing quirky and fun novels with a paranormal twist. When she’s not writing about ghosts and other supernatural creatures, she loves eating cupcakes with sprinkles, reading, spending time with family, and listening to oldies from the fifties. Rose lives near Louisville, Kentucky, with her husband, son, and three sassy Chihuahuas. Visit her on Facebook, at www.rosepressey.com, or at www.itsvintageyall.blogspot.com.