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

until I
could buy a new mattress. One good thing: the sheets smelled like
lavender.
    I pulled the covers up tight under my chin
again and listened for more mysterious sounds. Nothing like being
in a strange house to bring out the odd rackets and visions of the
boogieman. Rain pounded against the window as thunder crashed in
the distance. I’d been right about those storm clouds and wondered
if Kent was out in the mess. I wasn’t sure how long I listened, but
I drifted off without another unexplained noise disturbing the
peaceful night.
    Footsteps woke me. With my eyes wide and body
frozen, I glanced at the clock. The time read three a.m. My breath
caught in my throat as the steps echoed along the hallway. The
clomp-clomp sounded like boots. Was someone inside with me or was
it just the clattering of an old house? It sure sounded like a
person. I climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door. Of course, I
didn’t have a weapon. The knives were in the kitchen. If I was
going to live alone, I needed to think about security. Maybe I
should get a dog. Before I contemplated life with Fido, the steps
stopped.
    Did I have a ghost? Was Mrs. Mathers’ spirit
hanging around? First the bang outside, and now this. Maybe it was
a burglar. Yes, probably a burglar. They’d find me bludgeoned to
death in the morning. Everyone would talk about such a sad end to a
young, lonely life. My parents would be devastated.
    After a couple of seconds with no noise, I
knew I had to find out where the noise had come from—I couldn’t
stay in the bedroom forever. I’d have to take my chances with the
killer or ghost. I hoped it was a ghost; I could handle a spooky
mist floating around. A crazed killer? Not so much. I eased the
door open an inch and poked my head out enough to see down the
hall. No one was in sight. When no one lunged out at me, I mouthed
a silent prayer.
    I opened the door the rest of the way and
tiptoed out from my safe haven. In the hallway a right turn led to
the kitchen; if I turned to the left, it went into the dining room
and living room. I decided to check the kitchen first. The only
light shone from the cracked powder-room door. Ross had always
complained about the electric bill and me “leaving the damn lights
on.” Now I was thankful for my bad habit. I had never liked the
dark.
    I peered around the open space. Nothing
seemed out of place, so I turned and walked down the hallway toward
the dining room—each step calculated so as not to alert my
intruder. The only sound in the room was my heavy breathing. There
were no ghosts or predators and the same went for the living room.
The grandfather clock ticked in time to my heartbeat. Easing up the
stairs in the dark, I checked the upstairs rooms, looking under
beds and in closets, but I didn’t find a soul. My hands trembled
every time I lifted a bed skirt or opened a closed door. Maybe an
animal was in the house? The crazed raccoon or cat had returned?
Okay, it would have been a very fat cat. The noise sounded very
much like human footsteps.
    Stumbling through the dark, I slipped back to
the kitchen. With still-trembling hands, I poured water into a
glass, then leaned against the old Formica countertop. What had I
heard? As I gulped my water, I studied the back door. My gaze
traveled down to the knob, then the lock. The door was unlocked.
Had I forgotten to secure it? I thought I’d checked every window
and door, but I must have forgotten that one. An open door was just
asking for someone to come into the house. I walked over and
flipped the lock.
    Pushing back the dread that overwhelmed me, I
peeped out through the corner of the shade. A strange feeling came
over me, as if eyes were watching me. The back yard was one big
black blob. Darkness blanketed the trees and bushes until nothing
stood out—only the golden flicker from fireflies. I couldn’t have
seen my hand in front of my face out there. I needed to get a
bright porch light as soon as possible. Staring into the