Trash To Treasure Crafting 1 - Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel by Rose Pressey Page A

black, then glued on a piece of scrapbook paper. In Mrs.
Mathers’ hall closet I found a fantastic picture with two
rabbits—very French country. She also had two red and cream-colored
toile plates hidden in there, so I added those to each side of the
mantel. Each had such random items—just like a grab-bag, you never
knew what you’d find. Next to a spare chair in the corner, I placed
a small table with a tiny black-based lamp on top and a picture
frame with a photo of my grandparents from the 1940s.
    After a day of decorating, my hands hurt and
my back ached, but I was pleased with my progress. My wallet and
bank account were even happier. I wanted to take a quick nap before
work, but there was just enough time to shower and change. I
grabbed a protein bar on the way out the door. As I munched on the
snack, strolling down the sidewalk on Main Street, visions of
enjoying a lovely dinner in my new dining room ran through my mind.
Dim lights, flowers and romantic music. The bad part: I wasn’t
alone enjoying my dinner. Sheriff Kent Klein was with me. His
gorgeous white smile flashed and sexy arms flexed as he took a
drink of wine, gazing longingly into my eyes. What was wrong with
me?
    Work was even busier than the day before,
except no one was really buying anything. They just came in to
stare. It seemed as if most of town had been in within the first
two hours of my shift. With the raised eyebrows, whispers and
glares I was the talk of town—big shocker. Business as usual in
Honeysuckle.
    Claire Ann walked up and put her arm across
my shoulders. She’d been stocking bags of potato chips.
    I frowned. “Lots of people in, but they’re
not buying much.”
    “Ignore them.”
    “That’s easy for you to say, you’re not
suspected in a horrific murder of a first-grade teacher.” I
sighed.
    The bell on the front door jangled. I had to
force myself to look up and acknowledge the customer. Mitchell
ambled toward the counter, stumbling over his own shoes.
    He leaned against the counter. “What’s
cookin’ good-lookin’?”
    I smiled and looked Mitchell in his one eye.
I tried to avoid looking at the glass one. I didn’t want to stare
at the wrong one. “Just watching all of the town parade through and
look at me like I was a circus freak.”
    “With the fair in town you’d think they’d go
harass the carnies,” Claire Ann said.
    “Apparently they have time to do both,” I
said.
    The door jangled again. When my gaze met with
the new customer’s, I wished I could disappear. Martha Murdoch, the
mayor’s wife, moved with a huff toward the counter. Somehow the air
around her was intimidating, as if a dust cloud of hatred hung over
her.
    “Can I help you?” I asked when she
approached. My voice wavered a little.
    “Can I help you?” she mocked in a singsong
voice.
    I stared, not sure what to say. Mitchell and
Claire Ann stood with eyes wide and mouths agape.
    “I just wanted to tell you we won’t put up
with violence in Honeysuckle. I don’t know where you come from, but
I intend to see you behind bars.”
    I almost choked. So much for innocent until
proven guilty.
    “Mrs. Murdoch, I had nothing to do with what
happened. I’m not a violent person, and I am surely not a killer. I
don’t like being accused.”
    “I don’t care what you like. The sheriff will
arrest you soon.” She pointed her bony finger. “You don’t need to
be walking the streets of Honeysuckle.”
    I had a feeling she was going to make it very
difficult to live in Honeysuckle until the killer was caught.
Claire Ann and Mitchell stood next to me, still speechless. Martha
glared, then turned on her heel in a huff and stormed out.
    “Don’t pay attention to her,” Claire Ann
said.
    I snorted. “It’s easy for you to say, you’re
not being chased out of town.”
    Claire Ann gave me a pitying look.
    “And what does she mean walking the streets?
As if I’m some crazed lunatic.”
    “That woman!” Mitchell pointed. “She needs