Murder Can Frost Your Doughnut

Book 4: Haunted Craft Fair Mystery

by Rose Pressey

Genres: Ghost; Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

The ghost of an Elvis impersonator has got psychic painter Celeste Cabot all shook up . . .
 
Celeste has pulled up in her pink Shasta trailer, aka mobile art studio, to the Sevier County Fair in the mountains of eastern Tennessee to sell her paintings. A highlight of the fair promises to be the celebrity impersonation contest. But the low point is when Celeste and her floppy-eared white Chihuahua Van (short for Van Gogh) find an Elvis impersonator in his trailer doing a great impression of a corpse, clutching a doughnut in his hand.
 
Seeking a vision to solve the crime, Celeste paints her own Elvis portrait—and suddenly the ghost of the Elvis impersonator appears. They say fools rush in, but with the help of this spirit, Celeste sets out to find the real killer among all the fake celebrities. It’s now or never, because there won’t be time to tell the killer: “Don’t be cruel.”
 
Includes tips and recipes!
 
Praise for the Haunted Craft Fair Mysteries
 
“[A] plucky self-employed heroine, cute pet, scary ghost, and two eligible suitors: everything a cozy needs.”
—Kirkus Reviews
 
“The paranormal twist adds a bit of flair to this quirky new series.” 
—The Parkersburg News & Sentinel

 

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Release date: September 28, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Cozies

Print pages: 242

Sample

The last rays of sunset faded and the sky turned a deep navy blue as evening arrived at the Sevier County Fair. A late summer breeze ruffled the leaves of nearby oak trees. Lights dazzled on the Ferris wheel and carousel, waiting for the nighttime riders. Carnies yelled as my best friend Samantha Sutton and I strolled by the ring toss game.

“Five tries for a dollar. Come on, pretty lady, give it a whirl,” the sweaty man with a blond mohawk called out.

I ignored his request.

Soon he turned his attention to the person walking behind me. “Come on, big guy, I know you want to win a prize for your girl.”

Memories of attending the fair with my parents flooded back. That had been twenty-some years ago. My father always won me a stuffed animal. He was the best at shooting the little ducks with the water gun. I missed those simpler times.

Not that they wouldn’t be here tonight. Soon my parents and brothers would arrive. That meant Samantha and I would only have a short time until the chaos ensued. My father and brothers tended to be unknowingly mischievous. They were basically walking disasters. I had thought about attaching cautions signs to their backs in the past. As long as I kept them from the hazards around the fair, I figured things would work out all right. Though I suppose for them, all things were hazardous. They could injure themselves with a pillow.

Keeping them out of trouble was a full-time job. My mother knew that all too well. She’d been shepherding my dad and brothers out of potentially perilous situations for years. It was a wonder her hair hadn’t fully turned gray. She still had dark hair like me. I described the shade as a night sky with touches of walnut mixed in. Those were two of my favorite paint colors I liked to use. Everyone commented on how we could be twins. Just like me at a little over five foot tall, she packed a powerful punch.

The smell of deep fryers and manure drifted through the air. An odd mix for sure, and not appetizing at all, yet that hadn’t stopped people from indulging in the deep-fried butter and deep-fried candy bars. The hum of the machinery from the nearby Tilt-A-Whirl made it difficult to hear my best friend as she posed a question to me.

“What?” I asked.

“Is it just me or could that man be Johnny Cash’s twin?” Sammie asked louder this time as the man walked by us.

Samantha, or Sammie as everyone called her, was the opposite of me in the appearance department. She was tall with blond hair the shade of a glass of bubbling champagne. In the past six months she’d grown out her locks a bit, but it was still styled in a bouncy bob.

“Oh, it’s not just you. He is almost the spitting image of Johnny Cash, all right. He’s here for the celebrity impersonation contest.” I turned my attention to a red balloon that floated skyward.

Someone would be upset that they’d lost it. With so much activity, taking in every detail of this current setting proved difficult. Being an artist meant I liked to study my surroundings. It came in handy when I wanted to paint from memory. Plus, it was useful when being questioned by the police. Trouble seemed to follow me lately. I hoped that was all behind me. The police part, of course, not the painting.

“Really? Who else is here? Maybe I can get some autographs.” Sammie wiggled her eyebrows.

“All the iconic country stars. Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, and even Elvis Presley.” I ticked off the list on my fingers.

“Oh, Elvis? You know I love Elvis.” Sammie fanned herself.

“Who doesn’t love him?”

“You mean young Elvis or older Elvis?” she asked.

“Both,” I said with a smile.

“Even better. I love both,” she said. “So, there’s like a big contest for the impersonators?”

“Yes, it’s held at the end of the fair, but they have other shows leading up to that. One of them is tonight, I think.”

“Okay, I’m on the hunt for an Elvis.” Sammie scanned the crowd.

The county fair was in full swing. Not only were there rides and games and plenty of bad food to eat, there was an arts and crafts section too. I had set up a booth, hoping to sell some of my paintings.

Last year I’d become a full-time artist, and although it had been rocky at times, I felt as if things were going well. I had no idea becoming an artist could have such an . . . interesting start. I learned that, apparently, I had some kind of psychic ability that channeled through my art. Ghosts tended to appear when I unknowingly painted them.

I painted truly mystifying images and then the spirits came through the paintings. At first, I hadn’t believed my eyes. I thought maybe I had lost my mind. But once I spoke with the ghosts, there was no denying it. Even my best friend Sammie had seen the spirits. Not to mention a few other people too. At least I knew it wasn’t just me witnessing the insanity.

Sammie had been reluctant to come with me to the fair at first. She said all the food was too tempting and she hated dealing with the mosquitoes. But I’d convinced her to make the trip and poke around the midway before the arts and crafts fair section opened tomorrow.

Somehow, I’d also talked her into getting a candy apple and just watching as others took a spin on some of the rides. I’d told her maybe I’d ride the Ferris wheel, but I wasn’t much for thrill seeking. I liked to play it safe. People would say that wasn’t true based on some of the things I got into sometimes. But like I said, trouble seems to find me. I don’t go out searching for it. I had ghosts telling me that they could help me solve murders, so the way I saw things, it was my duty to investigate the crimes.

Sammie wasn’t the only one with me tonight. In my arms was Van. Or, if we were to call him by his full name, Vincent Van Gogh. My tiny white Chihuahua had been my sidekick since I’d discovered him at the shelter. When our eyes met, it had been love at first sight. We’d been inseparable ever since. He’d gotten his name because of his one floppy ear. It seemed like an appropriate moniker.

Sometimes Van liked to walk on his leash, but currently I held him in my arms because he’d gotten tired from all the excitement. Plus, he loved being snuggled up next to me. I enjoyed the cuddling just as much. We were like two peas in a pod. I suspected he’d perk up when we neared the corn dog vendor.

“Oh, check it out. There are the candy apples.” Sammie pointed. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“I want caramel with nuts.” I sounded like a kid again.

Sammie and I approached the stand that sold the apples, cotton candy, and pretzels. It would be hard to walk away with just one. The junk food aroma wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble to attention.

I’d just paid for my apple when Sammie said, “Don’t look, but your family’s here.”

“What?” I said. “They weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“I guess they changed their mind,” she said with a grimace.

I loved my family dearly, but if trouble followed me, then double trouble followed them. Chaos trailed along with them like a tornado swirling across the sky, destroying everything in its path.

“Have they seen us yet?” I asked, trying to hide behind a tall, bald-headed man next to me in line.

The man pinched his eyebrows together and moved up a couple of steps.

“Oh, you know you’re not going to be able to hide from them,” Sammie said. “Plus, yes, they’ve seen us. They’re practically running over here. Bless their hearts.”

I turned around and made eye contact with my mother. She gave a half-hearted wave, as if to apologize. My brother Stevie accidentally knocked over the trash can as he lumbered toward me. Hank waved frantically. They were carbon copies of my dad. Average height, but solidly built. Their dark hair hadn’t grayed like my father’s yet, but if they kept up their frantic pace, it probably wouldn’t be long. Either that or they’d turn my hair gray from the pure stress of it all.

My brothers saw nothing in front of them because they only ever focused on one thing at a time. At the moment, that one thing was me. They resembled babies learning to walk for the first time as they bounded toward me. Sammie and I gaped at my family, unable to take our eyes off them. I was waiting for something else disastrous to happen.

“Only one trash can down. Not too bad,” Sammie said, taking a bite of her apple.

“Let’s step away from the food stand in case they crash into it,” I said.

“Good thinking,” Sammie said around a laugh.

Sammie and I walked toward them. Van trotted along beside me on his leash. When they neared us, my dad smiled, but then headed toward the food stand like a bloodhound sniffing out a clue. My mother didn’t get a chance to speak a word because she hurried after him.

“Eddie, where do you think you’re going?” she yelled. “No, you don’t need a corn dog. You just had food.”

No doubt he’d end up getting the corn dog anyway, and probably a couple of other things in the process. I suppose just this once tonight would be okay as long as he was good on his healthy eating plan the rest of the week. My mom had her hands full between watching after my dad and my brothers.

“How’s it going, Sis?” my brother Stevie asked.

“Just checking out the fair, guys. What are y’all doing here? I thought you were coming tomorrow. And you’ve been staying out of trouble, I hope. Not destroying anything?”

That was more of a plea than a question.

“Hey, what does that mean?” Hank raised an eyebrow. “You’re always thinking the worst, aren’t you? Don’t be so negative.”

“What’s up, Sammie?” Stevie wiggled his eyebrows.

When she smiled, Hank winked at her and Stevie shoved him. They’d always had a thing for Sammie. I’d cautioned her not to get involved with dating either one of those two. Not that they weren’t sweet, but I wasn’t sure Sammie was the best match for either one.

“We’re here for the celebrity impersonation show. Mom and Dad want to see it,” Stevie said.

“When does it start?” I asked, licking the caramel from my lips.

Nuts that had once been stuck to the caramel dropped onto my white tank top. Some fell toward the ground, landing on my brown cowboy boots. I’d worn my denim shorts too. Sammie said my outfit was perfect for a night at the fair. I was used to having paint stains on my clothes, but not sticky sweet candy toppings.

“In about five minutes. Are you going?” Stevie asked, though his attention was focused on Sammie.

After brushing the crumbs from my shirt, I turned to Sammie. “What do you say? Should we watch the show with this bunch?”

She finished her apple and then said, “Sure, why not.”

“Who performs first?” I asked.

Stevie shrugged his muscular shoulders. “I don’t know for sure, maybe Patsy Cline. There’s a big Elvis grand finale.”

“Oh, I’m eager to see Elvis,” I said excitedly.

“Who isn’t?” Sammie said, practically swooning.

“You like Elvis, Sammie? I do a good Elvis impersonation.” Stevie swayed his hips.

I groaned. “Please don’t ever do that again.”

Stevie and Hank gestured at a couple of people they knew.

“I have to hand it to them. Your brothers like to have a good time.” Sammie tossed the core and stick into a nearby trash can.

“Don’t remind me,” I said around a sigh.

After my mother and father joined us, we headed toward the stage to watch the show. My dad, of course, had a giant corn dog with mustard slathered over it. Not only had he gotten the corn dog, but he’d managed to finagle the jumbo-sized one they had been advertising on the poster in front of the concession stand.

“I see Dad won the battle,” I said as my mother walked beside me.

Van wiggled in my arms as my mom scratched behind his ears.

“I told him that’s the only one for today,” she said.

“Only one corn dog or only one treat?”

“That one corn dog is the only treat he’s getting, of course,” she said without confidence.

I knew he wouldn’t pay attention to her. My father had diabetes and other health issues, so my mother was always after him to watch what he ate. Tonight, she would have a battle on her hands. There was just too much temptation.

I was torn between wanting him to be happy, getting what he wanted, and wanting him to be healthy and stick around with us longer. I didn’t want to lose him. My heart melted when I saw how happy my father was as he walked along with his family, enjoying his corn dog. I suppose I was a lot like him. Everyone said I was just like my mother. Of course, we had the same dark hair and eyes, but I had a lot of my father’s traits too. Without a doubt, I also had my quirky moments.

My family and I gathered in front of the stage. A large banner announced the Fifth Annual Music Legends Tribute Contest. My brothers fought over who stood next to Sammie. Ultimately, they figured out one could stand on either side of her. Speakers flanked the front area of the stage with multicolored spotlights shining toward where the performers would stand. Other lights shone out into the crowd. The sky had turned completely dark, with a million stars twinkling in the black expanse. The temperature was perfect for the event at a pleasant seventy degrees. A microphone was in the middle of the stage, waiting for a performer to take the stage.

People were crammed together waiting for the action to start as a warm, gentle breeze carried across the wind. Even with these perfect conditions, a sense of uneasiness fell over me. What was wrong? Why did I feel so antsy? The evening had been flawless so far. I had to shake off the feeling. Nothing would bother me as soon as the show started. At least that was what I tried to tell myself. So why wasn’t it working? Why did the feeling remain?

At the corner of the stage, I saw a shadowy figure moving away from the area. The thing that caught my attention first was the person’s outline against the nearby canvas tent flap. I couldn’t quite make out what the person was doing, but something about their actions seemed suspicious to me. Call it intuition, I suppose. It seemed as if the person was sneaking around, specifically trying not to be caught. And perhaps hiding something close to his body, so that no one would notice. Why would he do that? Was that a white jumpsuit the person wore? With bell-bottoms and an oversize collar?

I contemplated walking over there to see what he was doing, but I reminded myself to stay out of trouble. Sometimes my inquisitiveness got me mixed up in a few snafus. My brothers called it nosiness. What did they know anyway? Whatever this person was doing was none of my business, I reminded myself. He was probably just setting up equipment for tonight’s performance.

Nevertheless, I watched the area for several more seconds for any sign that the man had returned, but he had most definitely disappeared. No need to worry, I told myself. The strange feeling I sensed was probably just jitters from worrying about the craft show tomorrow. I turned my attention back to the stage. After all, no one else had noticed or acted as if the person’s behavior was anything out of the ordinary.

Band members filed onto the stage and picked up their instruments. Bright lights illuminated the stage. As I swatted at the mosquitoes buzzing my head, I wished I’d brought insect repellent.

Finally—Patsy Cline stepped onto the stage. Well, not the real Patsy, of course, but an impressive look-alike. Her long, gold, sequined gown sparkled under the stage lights. She opened her mouth and her melodic voice flowed out. My mom and dad held hands as they swayed to the music. The Patsy impersonator sang one of my favorite songs, “Why Can’t He Be You.”

Sammie poked me in the side and then pointed toward the backstage area. “It’s Elvis.”

I only. . .