A Ghostly Undertaking (3 page)

Contagious.

“In my arrangements, I specifically said that I wanted my spider diamond brooch on my left side.” She pointed to her chest. “Right here! Where is it?”

I shrugged. There wasn't anything I could do about it now. It was my job to make sure the funeral arrangements were taken care of. Charlotte Rae had taken a vested interest in Ruthie and insisted that she dress Ruthie for the viewing.

A high voice came from behind me. “My-oh-my.”

Oh boy
.

Standing right in the doorway of the viewing room was all five feet four of Granny.

Zula Fae Raines Payne was the epitome of a true Southern belle. Any insult that came out of Granny's mouth was often followed up by “bless her heart.” Which any Southern woman knew was a phrase used to soften the blow of the previous statement.

Someone could stab Granny in the back and she'd send them a thank-­you note.

And I'd put money on it that Granny had already prepared some sort of dish for Ruthie's ser­vice tomorrow. That was about the only good thing that happened in a Southern funeral. Whether you were liked or not, all the ladies in the county made sure you went out with a large meal.

“I do love this song.” She pranced past me with her head held high. Her short flaming red hair, tousled and mussed up with the perfect amount of gel, complemented her emerald-­green dress perfectly.

For a seventy-­seven-­year-­old widow of two, Granny looked great and behaved fifty years younger. The Southern saying “When the husband dies, the widow blossoms like a morning glory” was true with Granny. She looked better than ever and I'd heard she did the same after my grandfather had died. Unfortunately, he passed when I was a baby and I didn't remember anything about him. That was when my parents stepped up and helped Granny run the funeral home.

As she made her way up to the casket, Granny's eyes were on old dead Ruthie. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn Granny had a little bit of a happy twinkle in her eye.

I stepped up beside her. “Granny, what are you doing here?”

Granny didn't say a word, but I remembered exactly what she'd told me after Ruthie had O'Dell Burns wheel Earl out of Eternal Slumber Funeral Home.
Never underestimate a Southern belle.

The next day she moved her belongings into the Sleepy Hollow Inn and Antiques, right next to Ruthie's room. “We Southern gals don't get mad”—­she patted my hand when I tried to stop her from moving out of the funeral home owner's quarters—­“we get even.”

Ruthie leaned across me, swinging fists in Granny's direction. “You thief! She is a thief! I want her arrested!”

There was no denying what Ruthie's panties were in a wad about. As sure as I was alive, Granny stood over poor old dead Ruthie with a diamond spider brooch neatly pinned on the right side of her dress.

 

Chapter 3

H
ave a good night.” I waved off the last attendee at Ruthie's visitation and locked the door behind me.

There were a million and one things I needed to do but
that
list was going to have to wait. As much as I didn't want to, I needed to talk to Ruthie and ask her why she believed she was murdered. Ruthie might not have been the most popular citizen in Sleepy Hollow, but she didn't deserve to die . . . or worse, be murdered.

If there was a murderer on the loose—­I shuddered thinking about it—­he or she needed to be caught. Not that I was a capable of catching anyone, but I certainly could take my concerns to Sheriff Ross.

I slipped back into the viewing room, going from flower arrangement to flower arrangement, pretending to straighten the sympathy cards. ­People loved to look at the cards to see who they were from.

Believe it or not, someone's status in a small town was often based on the size of the arrangement they sent to the funeral home. Right or wrong, the higher price tag equated to how beloved you were. The larger the floral design, the higher the price tag.

Truth be told, I was procrastinating, working up my nerves to talk to Ruthie.

The funeral home was quiet. Being around dead bodies in caskets really never bothered me. It was a normal daily routine. However, being around a dead body in a casket with its ghost standing next to it was an entirely different story.

“Emma Lee, I'm leaving!” Charlotte hollered through the door from the office, causing me to jump. “I'll see you bright and early.”

“Good night!” I yelled loud enough for her to hear me, my voice as shaky as my knees.

I heard Charlotte's high heels click out the door, and the door clicked closed.

Here goes nothing.
Where was the Ouija board game when you needed it?

“Ruthie?” The sound of her name as it crossed my lips—­and the thought that I was actually trying to talk to her—­ sent chills up
and
down my spine.

“I'm here.” Ruthie stood in the back of the room, nowhere near her casket. “Seeing myself gives me the willies.” She shivered. Her jewelry jangled. “Come back here.” She waved me over.

“Aren't you supposed to be foggy or see-­through?” Wasn't that how ghosts were portrayed in the movies? Sort of free floating?

I straightened some of the chairs on my way to the back of the room, making sure the cream cotton slipcovers were perfectly matched up at the seams. The old wooden folding chairs looked much better covered up, even though they still squeaked when someone sat down.

“That's only in the movies.” Ruthie smiled as she squeezed a hair clip back in place. She always wore her hair pinned up on one side.

I smiled back, taking in her hot-­pink pajamas and kitty-­cat slippers. I just couldn't get used to seeing Ruthie in such an outfit.

“What?” Ruthie looked down at her clothes. She did a little jig. The kitty eyes on her slippers jiggled around.

“I never figured I'd ever see you in kitty slippers.” My eyes squinted from the smile that crept up on my face. Ruthie was wealthy. She would never be caught dead in anything other than her fancy jewelry and a cardigan sweater.

“It was late when I got pushed down the stairs. It was bedtime.” She brushed her hands down the front of the silk pj's and held her head high. Even in death, Ruthie still had dignity.

“What is this business about you being murdered?” There were no more reasons to beat around the bush.

Her brows snapped downward. “I don't know who did it.”

“How do you know someone pushed you?” I remembered the men talking at the funeral. I paused for a moment. “Those steps are steep, and you do have that bad hip.”

“Emma Lee Raines, I am not feeble and I did not fall down those steps.” She shook her finger at me, and then comically wrapped her hands around her body. She pointed to a spot on the center of her back. “Right here. Right here is where I felt two hands push me.”

“And why do you think I can help you?” I dug my finger into my chest. “I'm not a cop. I'm not a private investigator. I'm just a funeral girl.”

“Because I know you have access to all the rec­ords on the autopsy.”

“There wasn't an autopsy.”

“What?”

“You fell down the steps. There was no reason for anyone to think anything else.”

“I'm telling you, I was murdered.” Ruthie's voice escalated. She pointed her bony finger at me. “You are going to help me get to the other side by figuring out who killed me.”

“Other side?”

“Great beyond. The light. The big guy in the sky.” Ruthie looked up to the ceiling and then back to me. “I can't cross over until I can rest eternal. And that means catching my killer.”

“Killer?” The sound of it made me more worried than scared. Was there really a killer on the loose in Sleepy Hollow? Or was there just one person out to get Ruthie Sue Payne, and why?

“Fine.” I bit my lip. I couldn't believe what I was about to say. I paused and thought one more second before I spoke. “If trying to find out
who killed you
will get you out of here and not let everyone think I have a case of the ‘Funeral Trauma,' I'll do it.”

I reached over and picked up one of Ruthie's memorial cards and the pen from the visitor log. “Tell me what you remember.”

“What are you doing?”

“I'm taking notes.” I tapped the pen to the card. “This is how I've seen it done on
NCIS
.”

Ruthie rolled her eyes. She didn't argue. “I felt something pinch me, like a ring.”

“Ring,” I stated out loud as I wrote it down. There was no significance to the word, it just seemed like I needed to write it down. “Big hands or small hands?”

I had no idea where I was pulling these questions from, but I needed to gather any information I could. What I really needed to do was go back and watch past episodes of
Ghost Hunter
or
Paranormal Mysteries
to see how they handled ghosts.

“What does that matter? It was two hands.” Ruthie shoved her arms out in front of her like she was pushing something. “Wait.”

She paced back and forth making the forward pushing motion several times as if she was replaying the incident in her head.

“Hello?” A male voice called out from the vestibule.

I bit my lip. Ruthie was about to tell me something.

Dang.
It seemed important too.

“Emma Lee?”

“I'm sorry. The viewing is over for the night,” I called out on my way to see who it was. Normally I would let a latecomer visit, but Ruthie was about to tell me something important and this was far from normal.

I stepped out in the foyer to find Sheriff Ross. He was looking official in his Sleepy Hollow brown uniform.

I couldn't help but inwardly swoon when he took off his hat, exposing his high and tight haircut and deep brown eyes. He could rock a five-­o'clock shadow like no one's business.

“Hey, Jack.” I put my hand on my chest. “You scared me to death. Don't you know how to knock?”

His mouth tilted to the side, giving me an irresistible smirk. In a low Southern drawl he said, “Emma Lee, I saw you through the window talking to someone.”

“Me?” I pointed to myself. I shrugged, trying to keep a straight face, “Nope, not talking to anyone.”

He put his hat back on and walked past me into the viewing room. He craned his neck as if he was looking for something. He turned around, narrowing his gaze.

Ruthie fluffed her hair. “Whooo-­eeeee he sure does come from good stock.”

I chuckled and threw my hand to my mouth.

“I . . .” I couldn't tell him about Ruthie's ghost. He would have me committed. It wasn't like we were good friends. He had been popular in school—­you know, the hunky athletic type. His crowd didn't hang around the creepy funeral-­home girl. “I was singing and cleaning up for the night.”

“Were you?” He weaved in and out of the chairs, making his way to the casket. “I didn't know you were a singer.”

“I'm not.” I ran my hands through my hair. My nerves were shot and standing here with Jack made them even more electric.

“Why did you laugh out loud?”

“Umm . . .”
Great.
He was going to think I was crazy anyway. “I can only imagine how I looked from the outside as I was in here singing my heart out.”

He studied me for a moment. I tried to stand still and not give any sort of crazy-­girl vibe. Yes, I was going to have to go back and watch some reruns of
NCIS
. They always watched body language, and my insides were like a ball of electricity.

“I went by and saw your granny tonight.” He took off his hat again when he stopped at the casket and held it close to his chest. Like a good Southern gentleman, he was paying his respects to Ruthie. His lips moved like he was saying a silent prayer.

“You did?” I questioned after he turned back around.

Ruthie fanned her hands toward Jack like she wanted me to tell him that she had been murdered. There was no way I was going to do that. Not yet at least, not until I had more information.

“I did. I even had some of that fine sweet iced tea she makes.” He grinned. His eyes bored into me. “And some cookies.”

Granny could make some dang good tea. She boiled her tea in the same pot, every single time. She claimed it was “seasoned.”

“I'm a little curious about her relationship with Ruthie Sue Payne.” He rubbed his chin, making a little scratchy noise. “Something isn't right with Ruthie's death. I thought I'd pop over before Zula went to bed to ask a few more questions I had.”

“I thought she already told you everything she knew.” I ran my hands through my hair. It had been an exhausting day and it only seemed to be getting worse. “Granny came home from the doctor and found Ruthie facedown, nose planted in the worn green carpet at the bottom of the steps.”

“It's no secret they weren't close. Enemies in fact.” He pulled out a little notebook. He showed me a page with all sorts of chicken-­scratch writing I couldn't make hide nor hair of. “I have a few witnesses that came to me after Ruthie's fall, giving me details of just how much Zula and Ruthie fought.”

“Oh, Jack.” I brushed past him and pretended to straighten the slipcovers on the back row of chairs. “You can't possibly think that Zula Fae Raines Payne could murder anyone.”

“Murder? I didn't say Zula murdered Ruthie.” He paused. I could feel him staring at me, and couldn't help but be a little paranoid that he was watching my every move. “I said something wasn't right. Maybe Zula missed something or overheard something. Did Ruthie have a bad hip? Arthritis?”

Ruthie rushed up to him, creating a
whiff
of air.

I shrugged, a little angry at Jack. He might be a cutie patootie, but I suspected he thought my granny was a suspect.

“Do you feel that draft?” Jack put his hands out to see where the puff of air had come from.

“I know he can't see me, but can he feel me?” She tried to blow on him several times. He didn't flinch. “Tell him that I was murdered.”

“Draft?” I said through chattering teeth, pretending like I had no clue what he was talking about. I shook my head at Ruthie as she took a seat in the last row. Jack didn't take his eyes off the curtains as he walked over there. He used his hands to feel for a breeze. “What are you, a weathervane?”

“Funny, Emma Lee.” He pushed the velvet curtains back and ran his hands along the window. “Strange. It's tight, but you should get that checked out. I bet this old place has some big heating bills.”

“Luckily it's spring.” My heart fell to my feet when Jack came back and nearly sat right down in Ruthie's lap. I rushed over and grabbed him by the biceps, veering him toward the chairs on the other side of the aisle. “Is this too far back from the viewing? I've been trying to decide if we have too many rows of chairs.”

“I really wouldn't have minded that hunk to sit in my lap.” Ruthie grinned.

I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. Jack jerked away.

“Emma Lee, is everything okay?” His dark eyes clouded with suspicion. “You're acting funny.”

“I'm fine.” I waved off the notion. What I really wanted to say was that I
was not okay
. I could see ghosts.

He didn't look like he believed me. He'd always been pretty smart.

“What were you saying about Granny and this silly notion she had anything to do with Ruthie's death?” I had to change the subject before I cracked and he had me committed.

Ruthie leaned in her chair, taking in our conversation.

“I'm not going to leave any stone unturned.” He pulled a piece of paper out of the back pocket of his brown polyester pants and jabbed it toward me. “I'm here to serve you a warrant. I am stopping the funeral.”

“For what?” Speechless, I stood there trying to wrap my head around the folded papers he handed me. Warrants were for those types of ­people who were troublemakers. As far as I knew, I wasn't one.

“Ruthie Sue Payne is not to be buried until I get to examine all the evidence, police reports, autopsy reports and any other reports I deem necessary in order to rule out any foul play.” By the look on his face, he was not joking.

“I have to put Ruthie's funeral on hold?” I asked, watching him jot something down on that little pad of paper.

“Yes. That's exactly what I'm telling you.” He nodded but continued to write. “Until further notice.”

“Further notice?”

“Yep.” He tapped the folded paper in my hands with the edge of his pen. “It's all in the warrant.”

“That could take days.”

“Maybe weeks. Months,” he casually said like it was no big deal.