Read Online Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel by Rose Pressey - Free Book Online

the step and
Kent grabbed my arm. “Whoa. Easy does it.”
    “Thanks.” My cheeks tingled again, but that
wasn’t all that tingled. His touch made my whole body quiver like
Grandma Nettie’s Jello mold.
    “Just watch out.”
    “The step?” I asked.
    “No. Well, yes, the step, too. But I mean
until we know what happened to the victim.”
    I loved how official he tried to be, as if I
didn’t know the victim’s name.
    “Make sure you lock your doors. And call if
you see anything suspicious.”
    I nodded.
    He smiled again. “I have to get back.” He
pointed toward the gazebo.
    “Of course.”
    I watched as he walked away. Claire Ann had
been right. Having him in the backyard wasn’t such a bad thing. I
leaned back against the porch column and took in a deep breath. I
felt numb from the life-changing experience. Police swarmed the
scene like bees over honey. Back and forth from the gazebo to their
cars out front. A few stood in a group, talking. The scene wasn’t
as glamorous as they depicted on TV. One of the officers told
another that the coroner had just pulled up and my stomach turned
again. They’d take away the body soon. I wouldn’t look at it again.
I couldn’t.
    I needed to get away. No way could I watch
them haul the body off. And from the looks of things, they’d be
there for a few hours. Yellow and black crime-scene tape decorated
the yard. Police hovered over the body, paced around the lawn, and
sifted through the bushes. Was it bad of me to shop when a dead
body was discovered in my back yard? The thought of sitting around
while they examined the crime scene was too much. If I distracted
myself, maybe I’d come back and it would all be behind me. Then I
could move on. Oh, who was I kidding? Things would never be the
same. I’d always see that body in the backyard.
    A young officer approached. He looked as if
he’d just graduated high school. His fresh buzz-cut screamed
newbie.
    “You need to retrieve items from the house,
ma’am?”
    “I’ll just get my purse, thanks.”
    After my escort showed me into the house, I
grabbed my purse and hurried out with him on my heels. Without
saying a word to Kent, I escaped around the corner of the house and
jumped in the Mustang before he noticed. A crowd had gathered in
front of the old Victorian. I recognized some of the faces from
town—young and old alike. A few huddled together, pointed, and
whispered as I made my way to the car. What if they thought I was
fleeing like a criminal? No, I couldn’t stop my life because of
this. Act natural… that was what I had to do. I held my head high
as I pulled away from the curb.
    Maybe decorating would take my mind off the
murder. Besides, if I wanted to stay in town and keep the house, I
had to get guests in there. Not only did I need to eat to survive,
I needed money to keep the house up, pay taxes and utilities. Call
me nuts (townspeople probably already did), but I had a feeling
that everyone expected me to fail. I’d be darned if I’d let them be
right. A little thrift-store shopping and a trip out of town would
do me good. Maybe I’d do a little Dumpster-diving, too. It sounded
gross, but I had always tried to avoid actually climbing in the
containers. Bargains were to be had between the banana peels and
dirty coffee filters.
    The next town over from Honeysuckle was
bigger with two thrift stores. Two. Only problem was: I wouldn’t
have room for much in the convertible. But at least with the top
down, I could let things poke up from the backseat. After a short
drive, I made it to Belleville without incident. I’d halfway
expected to see a cop car behind me.
    I wedged my car into a parking spot between a
minivan and a beat-up truck. With my pocketbook in hand and a
discount-loving twinkle in my eye, I marched toward the first
store, ready to find a great good deal. The familiar musty smell
greeted me when I opened the door. I perused the aisles, taking my
time going up and down each one. The next