Murder Can Mess Up Your Masterpiece Read online

  This was more than a little embarrassing. Other vendors had taken notice that I was stuck in the mud. They stared instead of offering to help.

  “I guess I should give up, huh, Van?” I released a heavy sigh.

  He barked.

  Checking the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. This was not my best moment. My dark bangs stuck to my forehead with perspiration. Actually, my grandma Judy said we didn’t sweat, we glistened. That sounded much more ladylike. It didn’t help matters that the temperature was hot enough to fry an egg on the hood of my truck.

  Late summer had settled around us, but the heat outside held on as if not ready for a “see you next summer.” An early morning thunderstorm had dissipated, and the sun was forcing its way out from behind the fading clouds. Steamy mist had settled over the area. Unfortunately, the mud hadn’t dried up yet. Soon, the weather would change, and the green leaves would burst with color. For now, we had to deal with the scorching heat.

  I was in Cherokee, North Carolina, for the craft fair. My hometown of Gatlinburg was just on the other side of the mountain. Which meant I was still close enough to go home so that my overprotective and wacky family could keep tabs on me. I expected to see them pop up at any time. Grandma Judy in her large Cadillac, my loud brothers, Stevie and Hank, my bumbling father, and my mother, who tried to keep the chaos to a tolerable level. Bless her heart.

  I’d attended this fair in the past, but only as a fan. It had been almost like a county fair, with rides, games, food trailers selling deep-fried everything, and, of course, the arts and crafts. On the final day of the fair, they held a farewell picnic with hot dogs, hamburgers, and fireworks—sending the summer away with a big bang.

  Pounding on the window next to me made me jump. A loud shriek escaped my lips. Caleb Ward stood beside my truck door with a perplexed grimace on his face. His sapphire-blue eyes widened. The color reminded me of the hue I used often for the sky in my paintings. I lowered the window.

  “Need some help?” he asked with a slight hint of a Southern drawl.

  Now I really was mortified. I hated making mistakes like this. I liked it better when I felt in control. This was definitely not being in control.

  “I guess I got stuck in the mud,” I said.

  “Just a little.” He pinched his index finger and thumb together to showcase the amount.

  Heat rushed to my cheeks. “This is embarrassing.”

  “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Good morning, Van.” Caleb waved.

  Van wagged his tail. Caleb had an adorable German shepherd named Gum Shoe. For that reason, Van had become partial to Caleb. Caleb and I had met recently, at another craft fair. Not only was Caleb a talented wood sculptor, he was also a detective with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigations. Gum Shoe sat near Caleb, patiently waiting for me to get out of this predicament.

  I’d rolled up to the craft fair with the best intentions. Selling my paintings was the goal. Plus, having fun with Van and enjoying nature’s beautiful surroundings. Scenes like these always inspired my muse. The fact that Caleb was here too made it even better. Now, if I could only get out of this mess—literally—the day could continue as planned.

  “You just need a little traction, that’s all,” Caleb said.

  “How do we do that?” I asked.

  “First put the truck in Park. Then hand me the floor mat.”

  I shifted the truck into Park and opened the truck door. “Stay put, Van.”

  After I handed Caleb the floor mat, he said, “Okay, I’m going to put this in front of the tire. When I say go, you drive forward.”

  “Got it,” I said as I slipped back into the truck. Van was occupied with barking at a cricket that had jumped onto the windshield. I watched in the mirror as Caleb placed the floor mat on the ground. There was no way this would help, right?

  Caleb stood up and motioned. “Okay, drive forward now, slowly.”

  As I pushed on the gas, the truck and trailer broke free from the mud. I watched through the side mirror in horror as globs of mud splattered all over Caleb’s white T-shirt and face like an erupting volcano. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me amused after he’d helped me out of my muddy entanglement. Once I stopped the truck, Caleb walked back to the driver’s side window.

  I opened the truck’s door and got out. “I am so sorry.”

  Caleb wiped the mud from his face with his hand. “They say mud is good for the complexion, right?”

  The muck had made its way into his short hair. I held back laughter until he let loose. The other vendors watched us as if we were bonkers. Caleb and I continued laughing.

  I pulled a paint rag from my truck and handed it to Caleb. “Thanks again for getting us out.”

  Caleb swiped the towel across his face. “No problem. Do you need any help setting up?”

  I took the dirty towel from his outstretched hand. “Thanks, but I think I’m good.”

  “I’ll see you soon?” Caleb asked.

  My stomach danced. “Yes, we’re a couple of booths from each other.”

  “Guess I got lucky with that.” He winked.

  I blushed every time I thought of him. He wouldn’t be right next to me, but he would be just a few spaces down. That meant I would see him more often. I hadn’t met the vendors who would be on either side of me yet, but I hoped they were nice.

  I gestured over my shoulder toward the truck. “Okay, I should get to work. See you soon.”

  Caleb waved as I hopped into the truck and shifted into gear. Van released his high-pitched bark, which sounded more like a cricket chirp.

  “Yes, you’ll get to play with Gum Shoe later.”

  Needless to say, the pink paint of my Shasta was now covered with mud. Yes, my trailer was pink and white, and I’d had my old truck painted pink too. Pink was my favorite color, although I loved all colors. Mostly, I just wanted everyone to remember me, and standing out with the pink was one way for that to happen. People would never forget my mobile pink art studio. My poor, dirty truck and trailer. I’d have to wash them soon or everyone would think the color was beige.

  I wondered if I hadn’t unknowingly selected pink as my signature color because I needed something cheerful. Sometimes the subject matter of my art wasn’t so cheery. I’d recently discovered hidden images within my work. Actually, someone else had discovered this by accident, when they’d held a glass jar up to a painted canvas. That sounds crazy, but it had actually happened.

  Within the paintings were images of skeletons. I had no idea I’d painted them. I hadn’t discovered the figures were there until after the paintings were complete and I held a glass up to my eye for a view. Even though this was a bit spooky, one of the images had helped me solve a recent murder. It could have been a coincidence, but I had a tough time believing that.

  I maneuvered my truck and trailer closer to the spot where I’d spend the next week. Most of the area was surrounded by tall trees like a forest. The sun created flickering shadows on the ground as it trickled around the leaves. An area in the middle had lush green grass and would be the spot for the vendors to sell their crafts.

  Pulling my trailer up to the location, I shoved the gearshift into Park. I had wasted almost an hour stuck in the mud, so now my setup time was limited. The craft fair would officially open for the day soon. My fingers were crossed that nothing else would go wrong at the weeklong event. There had been enough chaos at the last craft fair. I didn’t want that to spill over to this one.

  As I got out of the truck with Van in my arms, he whined and squirmed. “Okay, you want to go for a quick walk? We can’t be long, though.”

  The craft fair was being held at a church that had a large area of surrounding acres, with the Oconaluftee River running along the edge of the property. They called it a river, but in this area, and at this time of year, it appeared more like a creek. My excitement mounted when I thought about spending a week here, surrounded by the lush
green landscape. Oak, maple, and pine trees stood out against the bright blue, late summer sky. I thought it would be great to take my easel down to the water and paint in the early mornings before the fair started.

  Van trotted along beside me as we headed down the meandering dirt path toward the river. Overgrown patches on either side of the trail gave me a creepy feeling that someone could be hiding and watching us. Van and I weaved around tall pines as the rays of sunshine trickled through the gaps in the trees. Water droplets on the leaves from the earlier thunderstorm had almost dried up completely now. The fallen needles crunched under my feet as I stepped over them. The pine scent encircled us.

  Up ahead, I spotted the river. The sun sparkled off the water’s surface. Gravel in shades of gray and white made up the rocky shoreline. Small waves lapped at the water’s edge with knobby driftwood nearby. Trees hemmed the flow of the water. The only sound came from the rustle of the tall trees swaying with the wind, the drone of insects, and the gentle lap of the water against the shore.

  “How beautiful, Van,” I said.

  He barked, and his four legs lifted off the ground with the motion.

  “What is it, Van?” I asked as he tugged on the leash.

  Obviously, he wanted me to see something. He dragged me closer to the water. I caught a glimpse of something on the ground up ahead. It was partially hidden behind one of the trees. As I drew near, I soon realized the legs on the ground were sticking out from behind the tree’s trunk. Someone wearing white tennis shoes was lying there.

  “Oh my gosh, Van. Someone’s hurt.” I scooped him up and rushed toward the person.

  As soon as I came upon the woman, I knew she was more than just hurt. She was dead.

  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.