Murder Can Haunt Your Handiwork Page 4

  Had this officer been at the estate when I’d found the victim? Would he remember me from being involved in the earlier incident at the estate? I suppose he was just assigned to traffic patrol and not a death investigation.

  One positive thing about being stopped was maybe now the woman would stop following me. I hope she didn’t find me again when I took off—if the officer allowed me to leave. Maybe I should tell the police officer I was being followed, and that was why I had been speeding.

  However, considering she was nowhere in sight now, I had nothing to prove that it had actually happened. My story might cause more harm than good, so I’d just let it go. The officer, who had honey-blond cropped hair, was beside the truck now. My gaze traveled to the utility belt around the waist of his perfectly pressed blue uniform, which included a gun, baton, radio, and handcuffs. Was that a stun gun? From the scowl on his face, I gathered he was not happy with me. At least he hadn’t told me to get out and put my hands behind my back. But I wouldn’t release a sigh of relief just yet.

  “Hello, officer,” I said with a shaky voice.

  I would say nothing else. I would admit no guilt.

  “Going somewhere in a hurry?” He peered at me over the top of his mirrored sunglasses.

  “As a matter of fact, I was trying to get away from that car that was chasing me.”

  I groaned. I wished I hadn’t said that.

  He removed the sunglasses. “A car was chasing you?”

  I chuckled. “Well, I guess I thought the person was. They were probably just tailgating. Maybe I’ve been watching too many crime shows.”

  For heaven’s sake, couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut? Now I had mentioned crime. The more I talked, the more suspicious I sounded. Since I couldn’t read his expression, I didn’t know if the handcuffs were getting ready to come out.

  He studied my face. “Have I seen you before?”

  Why would he say that? Had I been on the news? Oh my gosh. I bet my face had been plastered on the morning news already. I needed to check. No doubt my hair and makeup had been a mess. Why worry about that, though? If I went to jail, I doubted my beauty routine would be a top priority.

  “Well, I’m not from around here, officer,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Maybe it’s someone with similar features. Perhaps a sweet next-door neighbor or polite woman you met at the post office. You know, totally innocent things?”

  What was I rambling about? Did I want him to take me to jail? If so, I was certainly on the right track. Shut up now, Celeste.

  He looked at my driver’s license, studying it for way too long. In my defense, it had been a bad hair day, and the woman snapped the photo way too soon. Yes, one eye was open and one eye closed, as if I’d been winking. I had no idea how it was even possible to get a photo that bad, but somehow, I’d managed. My brothers had gotten hold of my driver’s license and had a poster made of it. They’d used it to decorate my surprise twenty-fifth birthday party two years ago. The renewal time for my license couldn’t come fast enough.

  After studying the picture, he focused on me again. “I know where I saw you.”

  Now came the time when I would be arrested. I might as well get it over with and place my hands behind my back. How embarrassing that I’d be shoved into the back of the police cruiser.

  “You were the one who found the murdered woman at the Biltmore Estate,” he said.

  I sucked in air and exhaled. “Yes, that was me. I didn’t kill her. Obviously, they didn’t arrest me, so that means I’m not a murderer.”

  “I didn’t say you were a murderer.” He handed me the driver’s license back. “But you might want to slow down, considering.”

  Considering that I had someone chasing me? He should arrest the woman who was following me. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see if the car was still back there. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw it. Maybe I could convince him to go back there and question her. Yeah, that was unlikely to happen.

  Now I was just rambling again and telling him exactly what happened at the estate. He was patiently listening to me, but it was almost as if he were thinking, “You’re guilty.” He probably didn’t even want to hear my side of the story. Clearly, the reporters wanted to hear, though. His skeptical expression made me wonder why he hadn’t slapped the handcuffs on me.

  “So that’s what happened,” I said.

  The officer thrust my registration back. My hand shook as I took it from him.

  He eyed me and then said, “I’ll be right back.”

  I watched as he walked away from my truck. Oh, great. Now what was happening? I thought he was on his radio back there. I couldn’t handle much more of the stress. I needed to get out of here. I was starting to become claustrophobic in my own truck. After a couple minutes, he got out of the car and slowly walked toward my truck.

  The officer was a little scary and intimidating. He walked up to the driver’s side window again. After my rambling story, he probably thought I was certifiable.

  “I’m sorry, but I had to write you a ticket for speeding.” He scribbled something on the pad in his hand.

  After I’d had a rough day already, this certainly didn’t help. Discovering a dead woman apparently was only the start to my bad luck. The dead woman had a much worse day than me, though, so who was I to complain? Now it seemed like a good thing to get a ticket. I would gladly take that over being murdered. Plus, it was much better than going to jail.

  Just as the police officer handed me the ticket, my phone rang. And it just kept ringing. As soon as the chiming stopped, it would start back up again. The calls were either from my mother or my grandmother. Soon, the police officer would get a call for a missing-persons case, and he’d be standing right next to the so-called missing person. A pink truck was kind of hard to miss, too.

  “Do you need to get that call?” he asked.

  “Oh no, it’s just my mother or grandmother.” I chuckled. “They probably think I’ve been murdered.”

  He rapidly blinked a few times. I’d said ‘murdered’ again. Could I stop talking about that now? Every time I opened my mouth, the wrong words spewed out.

  I chuckled nervously again. “After finding a body, they think the killer is still out there and might come after me.”

  “Well, obviously the killer is still out there . . .” he said matter-of-factly.

  Great. He’d focused on me like a laser when he said that. Did that mean he thought I did it? We’d been through this before. I was not the killer.

  “I found the body, and now they think the killer possibly wants to find me, thinking that I saw what happened.”

  “That’s a distinct possibility. You never know if the perpetrator might come after you. One minute you’re here, and the next you’re a goner,” he said with a click of his tongue.

  I should have thanked him for making me feel better, and I meant that in the most sarcastic way possible. As if I weren’t worried enough. I was glad my grandmother and mother weren’t here to hear him say all that.

  “Now make sure to slow down,” he said.

  “Yes, officer,” I said.

  I didn’t even bother to check the ticket to find out how much that would cost. There went my profit from sales this weekend. And all because someone had been chasing me. That didn’t seem quite fair, either. Unfortunately, life wasn’t always fair.

  My phone continued to ring. I couldn’t answer right now, either, because I would get a ticket for that, too. I’d have to pull over the first chance I got. With the woman following me, though, I wasn’t sure when I’d have the opportunity. I just wanted the officer to stop trailing me, too. He remained parked behind me, and I felt like he wanted me to drive first, so I merged my truck back onto the road, paying special attention to do exactly the speed limit. Not too fast and not too slow.

  I spotted a restaurant up ahead and decided to pull over into the parking lot so that I could make the constant ringing stop. Putting on the turn signal, I slowly steered into
the lot. When I parked the truck, the cop drove on by.

  “Mother,” I yelled when I answered the phone.

  “Oh, thank God you answered. Why didn’t you answer your phone? We were ready to call the police.”

  “I know you were ready to call the cops. No need, though, because I was talking to one while you were constantly calling,” I said in frustration.

  “Oh, you were talking to Caleb or Pierce? I’m sure they would have wanted you to answer a call from your dear, sweet mother.”

  “No, I wasn’t talking to Caleb or Pierce.”

  “Were you being arrested for murder? I knew it! I can’t breathe. It’s okay, honey, we’ll get you the best lawyer we can afford. Never mind your father and I were saving for a cruise. I’m sure we’ll get another chance to see Greece.”

  My mother had a natural knack for making people feel guilty. It wasn’t always subtle, though.

  “No, I was not arrested for murder,” I said.

  “Oh, good. Greece is still on, Eddie,” she yelled.

  “I was getting a speeding ticket, and I couldn’t answer your calls. It’s really not necessary to call a million times.”

  “Well, excuse me, but I was just wondering if I was having to plan your funeral.”

  That wasn’t dramatic at all.

  “I’m on my way right now. I’m like two minutes away,” I said.

  “All right, dear,” she said in a calm voice, as if everything were perfectly fine.

  Pulling out onto the street, I kept an eye out for the mystery car. I also watched for a police officer. I hoped speeding wouldn’t be necessary this time. I made it to the hotel. When I wheeled into the parking lot, my whole family was outside waiting. My brothers paced across the hotel’s entrance. With droopy eyes and tousled hair, my father leaned against the building, giving the impression that he’d just woken up from a nap.

  Grammy stood by the hotel’s door with her big brown pocketbook on her arm. My mother held the phone up to her ear, no doubt calling me. My phone rang. I ignored it, because at that moment, she saw my truck. She moved the phone away from her head, and my phone stopped ringing.

  I steered across the lot to a parking spot near them and parked the truck. Of course, they all stared.

  “Hey, there’s the racecar driver,” Stevie said when I opened the door.

  “That ticket’s likely to cost you a good penny,” my dad said.

  “You really should slow down, dear,” my grandmother said. “There’s no need to rush through life.”

  She said that after they had made me feel as if I had to arrive at the hotel within seconds.

  I climbed out from behind the steering wheel. “Well, I was speeding for a reason.”

  My mother held her hand up. “I know what you’re going to say. You were speeding because you wanted to get here in a hurry so that I wouldn’t be worried. It’s all my fault.”

  “Actually, that’s not the reason at all,” I said.

  My mother’s perfectly plucked eyebrows knitted together. “Well, you should’ve wanted to get here in a hurry, because I was worried.”

  “Someone was chasing me.” I rushed the words so that she’d stop talking.

  My mother clutched her chest. “What? Was it the killer?”

  “Did you make a customer mad?” Hank asked.

  Stevie laughed.

  “Who was chasing you, dear?” my grandmother asked in a calm voice.

  My brothers had stepped closer, because they didn’t want to miss a word. Even my dad had managed to amble over.

  “So tell us who was following you,” Stevie urged with a gesture of his hands. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

  “I’m not sure who it was. A woman in a dark car, I think. It may have been a reporter.”

  “This is awfully strange,” my mother said. “See, this is why I worry about you.”

  “Nothing surprises me with Celeste,” Hank said.

  “Who’s talking?” I said. “Besides, this was just a one-time thing.”

  My mother scoffed. “I beg to differ.”

  “Okay, a one-time thing this month. Everything will settle down soon. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Why are reporters following you?” my dad mumbled.

  “I think they want the scoop on what happened at the estate. Pierce and Caleb said that I shouldn’t talk to them,” I said.

  “I agree with Caleb and Pierce on this one,” Stevie said. “Knowing Celeste, she would inadvertently confess to the crime when faced with any questioning.”

  “I would not confess. I had nothing to do with it.” I placed my hands on my hips.

  “We know that you didn’t do it, but the way you stumble around your words,” Stevie said.

  I laughed. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

  “All right, no arguing, you two,” my mother warned with a point of her index finger.

  Movement caught our attention. We turned and gave each other a curious glance. Someone was hiding behind the bushes.

  “Did you see that?” I whispered.

  “We should go check it out,” Hank said.

  “No, boys, you should stay put,” my mother said, holding up her hand, as if that would stop them.

  Of course, they didn’t listen.

  “Be careful.” Worry cracked my mother’s voice. “You don’t know what kind of weirdos are around. And anyone hiding in bushes is certainly a weirdo.”

  I didn’t bother to tell her I’d been known to hide in a bush or two before. My brothers rushed over to the bushes, with the rest of us following closely behind. We eased closer as if something might jump out at us.

  My brothers provided no warning as they ran toward the landscaping. With legs straight, backs arched, and arms wide, they jumped into the bush as if swan diving into a pool. Now they lay on top of the bush with no words, only a couple of groans. At that second, a dark-haired woman raced from a nearby shrub. She screamed as she headed toward a silver SUV.

  “Get her,” Grammy yelled.

  My grandma took off in a sprint. I’d never seen her run like that before. She left us in her dust.

  “Don’t run that fast, Grammy,” I yelled as I ran after her. “You might break a hip.”

  The woman jumped into the silver vehicle. A man was behind the wheel. He shoved it into reverse, squealing the tires as he raced out of the parking lot.

  Now that my grandmother had stopped running, I caught up with her. “Are you all right, Grammy?” I asked.

  “Well, I am fine, but that woman wouldn’t have been okay if I’d gotten a hold of her. I would have given her a piece of my mind. What was she thinking? Was that the woman who followed you?”

  “That was a different one. I think they must be reporters,” I said.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, why are they following you? You’re not J.Lo.”

  “No, Grammy, I am not J.Lo.” I had no idea that my grandmother knew Jennifer Lopez.

  “You don’t need the paparazzi following you,” she said.

  “I guess they just want to get the scoop on the murder.”

  “They could ask you without sneaking around.”

  “But I’m not going to tell them anything. Caleb and Pierce said it was better to just say ‘no comment’.”

  My mother and brothers had walked up. Dad was over in the landscaping, trying to straighten up the bush that my brothers had tackled.

  “What was that all about?” my mother asked.

  I explained to her that we thought it was a reporter.

  “Well, she nearly scared me to death.” My mother clutched her chest. “Now that the commotion is over, I suppose we can get some lunch.”

  I checked my watch. “We have to hurry, because I really need to finish a painting.”

  My mother motioned to my father, who was still trying to straighten up that bush.

  “It’s all right, Eddie, leave it alone. It’ll grow back,” my mother said.

  He groaned at my mot
her’s comment, but ultimately gave in and joined us. We squeezed into the Buick and headed out onto the road. Of course, I had my eye out for more reporters. But as my grandmother had said, I wasn’t J.Lo, so surely this wouldn’t be much of a scoop for them for long. I couldn’t believe that they were that relentless. When they wanted something, obviously, they went after it. They wouldn’t stop until they got the whole story.

  “Where are we eating?” my mother asked.

  “I want pizza,” Hank said.

  “I want Chinese,” Stevie said.

  “Well, I want a burger,” Grammy said.

  “Burgers it is,” my mother said.

  “Tell me where to go,” my father mumbled.

  CHAPTER 5

  Travel Trailer Tip 5:

  Be patient. Traveling with a trailer can be

  stressful. You can’t find a killer in a day.

  I located the nearest diner by doing a quick search on my phone. The closest location would be the best option. The faster we finished this meal, the faster I could get back to work.

  “Do you have any details about what happened?” my mother asked.

  “Nothing yet,” I said. “I suppose it’s still way too early.”

  “I hope they arrest someone soon,” Grammy said.

  Her little gray head barely peeked up over the top of the front seat, where she sat between my father and mother.

  “What were you doing back there, anyway?” Stevie asked. “We left you at the trailer.”

  “I lost my keys,” I said.

  “That sounds about right,” he said. “You’re always losing something.”

  “Well, I lost my mind years ago around you guys.”

  “Ha ha,” he said.

  “I just can’t believe it happened. I feel so terrible about it. That poor woman,” my mother said.

  “I’m glad that Celeste didn’t go in there at the wrong time and get caught up with the killer, too,” Grammy said.

  “You should’ve seen the way those people were running out of there,” I said. “I thought I would be trampled. It was like the running of the bulls. Not one person stayed to help her.”

  “No one saw the murder occur?” my mother asked.

  “I heard the tour group came into the room and saw her lying there.”