A Ghostly Undertaking (4 page)

It
was
a big deal. Keeping a body in the refrigerator was not on a funeral-­home director's high-­priority list.

Ruthie stood up and wrung her hands. Her jewelry jingled. I watched to see if Jack could hear her noisy baubles, but he didn't turn Ruthie's way.

Thinking about keeping Ruthie in the refrigerator made my stomach curl. Especially with no next of kin to claim her.

“I guess you are going to have to figure that one out.” He pointed toward the casket. “That is not going anywhere near the ground.”

He placed his hat back on his head.

“How do you know it wasn't some random accident or killer on the loose?” I asked. “Think about it. ­People come in and out of the inn all the time. ­People we don't know.” Granny was always telling me how strange some of the earthy hikers that came to Sleepy Hollow to explore the caves and gorges were.

“I'm checking all of that.” He started to walk to the entrance. “Like I said, no stone unturned. No Ruthie in the ground.”

I snarled. He didn't have to talk to me like I was a child and didn't understand what he was telling me. I got it. Ruthie or her ghost was going nowhere until I solved the crime.

“Wait.” I jumped in front of him. “What about Granny?”

“I told her to get a lawyer just in case.” He reached out and touched my arm. “I adore Zula. But sometimes ­people do things out of character when they get mad. I'm not saying she did it. But I am saying that something isn't adding up with the whole falling accident.” He pointed to his gut. “Call it intuition.”

“I told you!” Ruthie stood behind Jack, nodding in agreement over his shoulder. “I was murdered. Ouch.” She reached around and pressed on her back. The same place she had told me the hands that shoved her were placed.

“Trust me.” He reached out and put his warm, strong hand on my shoulder. Giving it a little squeeze, he said, “I want to prove Zula didn't do it. So make sure she cooperates, and you too.”

“We will.” I pictured Granny on one side of me and Ruthie on the other. Ruthie's spider brooch began to haunt my memory of Granny wearing it exactly where Ruthie had specifically written in her arrangements. And they really didn't get along.

But murder? No way. Now I had to find out exactly who had done this to Ruthie. Granny's future was at stake. The Sleepy Hollow Inn was the first stop.

 

Chapter 4

A
fter Jack left, I rushed to my office. Charlotte loved to buy office supplies. She was the only kid I knew who couldn't wait for school to start because she loved getting new paper, pencils and a Trapper Keeper. If I was going to do this detective thing, I could take a lesson or two from Jack. Starting with getting a little notebook out of the supply closet.

I made sure that Jack's cop car was nowhere to be seen when I jumped into the hearse, my ride. It was highly unusual for ­people to drive a “death coach” around, but I couldn't afford to buy a car, and the hearse got me where I needed to go. And right now I needed to get over to the inn to see Granny.

I looked up and down the street to make sure Jack wasn't parked somewhere, staking out my every move.

It was about as good of a time as any to make a visit to one Zula Fae Raines Payne.

Wincing from stomach pains, I realized I had forgotten to eat, being so busy with the layout and my run-­in with Ruthie. I pulled into the local burger joint, getting all sorts of stares from the tourists who had stopped to grab a bite before they headed to the caves.

“What? Haven't you seen a hearse go through a drive-­through?” I mumbled and manually rolled down the window as I pulled up to the speaker.

“Can I help you?”

“I'd like a number-­two meal with a Coke.”

“Pull around.”

“That stuff will put you in a pine box like me if you keep it up.” Ruthie appeared in the passenger seat.

I jumped. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm going with you to see exactly what kinds of lies Zula Fae is going to tell you.”

“She doesn't lie.” I pulled up to the window and waited for the fast-­food cashier to tell me what I owed. Maybe Granny stretched the truth, but she never lied.

“I want to hear for my own ears what she has to say about me.” Ruthie pointed toward the cashier hanging out of the drive-­through window with her hand open.

I dropped some money in her palm, waited for my food and finally drove off before I said anything to Ruthie.

“Aren't you supposed to stay at the funeral home?” Wow. The movies really did have this ghost thing all wrong.

“I can go anywhere.” She shrugged. “Why would I stay there, when all I care about is figuring out who killed me? The quicker we figure it out, the faster I get to join the love of my life—Earl.”

I didn't mention that Earl's love had been my Granny.

“Why do you insist that Granny had anything to do with this?” I reached into the bag and took a handful of fries before turning the hearse on Main Street. With my mouth full, I said, “You are making it very difficult for me to help you if you continue to accuse the ­people I love.”

“I'm not accusing her. All I know is that someone pushed me.” She winced, wrapping her hand behind her back. “Zula lives there. She hates me. It's easy to jump to the conclusion that she killed me.”

“What's wrong?” I took a sip of Coke and drove around the town square to get to the inn.

“I swear there is some sort of bruise right here.” She continued to knead her back. “Can you look and see?”

The thought of looking at what was under Ruthie's pajamas sent chills up my legs. Though it would be interesting to know if she really did have something under there causing her pain. Did ghosts really feel pain? Apparently Ruthie did. Her eyes squinted as she continued to rub.

“It's going to have to wait until later.” I gulped down my food before I pulled into the gravel parking lot of the Sleepy Hollow Inn. A flashbulb going off caught my eye and Ruthie's.

The man from Ruthie's visitation, the one who had been sitting with the mayor, was across the street from the inn with a camera in his hand. He jumped back into his Mercedes when our eyes met. He sped off, spitting loose gravel under his tires.

“Do you know that guy?” I asked Ruthie. He definitely wasn't from here. The only person who drove a fancy car like that was Mayor May. She had a fancy PhD from an Ivy League college.

“Never seen him a day in my life.” Intensely she stared after the speeding car.

“He was at your visitation.” I took one last sip of my Coke and watched the car turn the corner, heading out of town. “He was talking with the mayor about something that is going to be brought up at the council meeting.”

“He was probably there because she never has time for anyone and he finally pinned her down at my layout.” She tapped her fingernail on the window.

Across the street, I spotted Jack sitting on a bench in the square staring at us . . . me.

I had a feeling he'd show up here.

“I thought he would be watching to see if I came by here.” I waved at him. He smiled, melting my heart.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Ruthie asked.

“No.” I turned the car off, grabbed my notepad and opened the door. “Guys think it's a little creepy to date the funeral girl. At least in this small town.”

“I'm going to have to take you to a karaoke bar,” Jack hollered across the road.

“What?”

“You must love to sing, because you are doing an awful lot of it lately.” His smile faded, his eyes hardened. “Are you sure there isn't anything you need to tell me about Ruthie?”

My mouth slammed shut. I was going to have to watch when and where I talked to Ruthie, because Jack was keeping a close eye on me.

Ruthie must've agreed with my dating issues because she didn't say anything. She shuffled her kitty slippers to keep up with me as I headed up the front steps of the inn.

There was nothing like the Sleepy Hollow Inn in the state of Kentucky. The pale yellow brick made the white four-­pillar-­long veranda stand out. As soon as I stepped on the porch, the tension in my shoulders seemed to fade away, but not Ruthie. She didn't fade anywhere.

Four white rocking chairs on the front porch screamed relaxation and the potted ferns between them were the biggest this side of the state.

Granny said she gave them a sip of tea to help keep them looking so fresh.
Maybe I should be sipping more of Granny's tea and less Coke,
I thought, looking back at Jack.

He gave a slight wave. I turned back around. I didn't mind the attention from him, even if it was under false pretenses.

“Maybe you should do something with your hair.” Ruthie reached out. “Don't worry.”

“What's wrong with my hair?” I asked under my breath so Jack's supersonic ears couldn't hear me.

“You need an update.”

“Update?”

“I think the funeral thing isn't your problem. It's your appearance.”

“I thought I heard a car door shut.” Granny had pulled open the white double doors and waved me inside the large tan-­walled entryway, which smelled of fresh paint. “Come in, come in!”

“You've redecorated!” I said, looking around.

“She didn't waste any time painting over my red walls.” Ruthie scowled. She walked around with her mouth open, almost in shock at the changes Granny had already done. “I bet I wasn't even cold when she moved my stuff out.”

I wasn't going to tell Ruthie, but the changes did make the place a little more modern.

“What do you think, honey?” Pride shown on Granny's face. “I took out all the old-­fogey junk and I'm going to sell it!” She clasped her hands in delight.

“Sell it?” Ruthie screamed, and rushed to Granny's side. “She can't do that! Tell her that she can't sell my things.”

Dang!
I had completely forgotten to ask Ruthie who her next of kin was. I opened my notebook and jotted down
Ask Ruthie who her next of kin is.

“Granny?” I shut the front door behind me and followed her into the front room that was used for a common space for the ­people staying at the inn. This happened to be my favorite room since it was where Granny kept fresh snacks out throughout the day.

“Yes, honey?” Granny tucked in the edges of the black handkerchief she had tied neatly on her head, which was a sure sign she was in the cooking mood.

I paused when I didn't see the tray of cookies and crackers, and watched Granny sink into a huge stack of cream pillows on a new large brown couch. Her apron flew up in front and she smoothed it down.

“Where is the old furniture?” The new sofa had replaced the old Victorian seating set that had been there for as long as I could remember. “Where're the snacks?”

“Where are my antiques?” Ruthie wrung her hands and walked the floor. Her jewelry clinked.

“Sit still,” I whispered, tilting my head to the side so Granny wouldn't hear me.

“I am sitting, honey.” Granny's face tightened. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“No! You tell her that you are talking to me, Ruthie Sue Payne.” Ruthie pounded her fist in the air. “Ooh, I'd love to get my hands on her!”

“I bet you would.” I rolled my eyes.

“What?” Granny stood up, walked over to me and put her hand on my head as if she was checking for a fever. “I think I need to call Doc Clyde.”

“No!” I stepped back. “That is the last thing you need to do.”

“What is going on with you?” Granny moseyed back over to the couch and flopped down.

Do I tell her or not?
I bit the corner of my lip. I walked around the room, taking in all the new items. The red velvet curtains had been replaced by baby-­blue floor-­to-­ceiling drapes, making the windows appear larger. The room definitely looked more inviting.

“Ask her where my things are.” Ruthie stood over Granny on the verge of tears. I could only imagine how she felt, coming into a home that she'd owned—­well, co-­owned—­for years and it had all been changed.

“I'm not asking her,” I said through gritted teeth.

“That's it.” Granny jumped to her feet and rushed out the door into the hallway. “I'm going to get you a cup of tea before I call Doc Clyde.”

“Wait!” I called after her. She turned around. “What did you do with all the antiques? I might be able to use them at the funeral home.”

“You don't want that junk.” She shooed me off with her hand. “Besides, I buried them deep in that old attic. Don't try to change the subject. I'm still thinking about calling the doc.”

Granny didn't wait a minute longer. She headed down the hall quicker than a jackrabbit.

“See what you did?” I pointed to the empty hall. “Now she thinks I've got a case of the ‘Funeral Trauma.' ”

“Let's go get my antiques.”

“If you think I'm going in that creepy old attic, you are crazy.” I shook my head. The attic was the scariest place on the earth. There were no lights and no windows. The only way to get to it was through Ruthie's room. In the closet was a door with a skeleton-­key lock. No way was I going up there.

I darted down the hallway to the kitchen to try to redeem myself. Granny was fishing around the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of tea as I walked in.

“You are either going to have to fix this ‘Funeral Trauma' by going to see Doc Clyde and getting a new medicine or learn how to hide your crazy.” Granny had a way with words. “I won't be having all of Sleepy Hollow talk about my crazy granddaughter. We are true Southern women, so start acting like one.”

“I'm not crazy,” I growled and sat down at the farm table in the middle of the kitchen and sniffed. I was right. Granny was cooking and something good too, making me regret stopping for a burger. “I'm not the Raines the town is going to be talking about.”

“What do you mean?” Granny opened the glass door on the corner cabinet where she kept her special tea glasses and grabbed one. She flicked the crushed ice button on the refrigerator door and filled the glass to the rim.

“Sheriff Ross stopped by the funeral home.” I watched the ice melt as she poured the tea in the glass. “And it wasn't to visit Ruthie.”

Granny placed the glass in front of me and eased down on the bench across from me.

“Did he come for a social call?” She raised her eyebrows up and down in a va-va-voom sort of way.

“No.” There was no way Jack was ever going to pay me a social call with the case of crazy that I had. “He was asking all sorts of questions about Ruthie and how she died.”

“She fell!” Granny smacked the table.

“Can you remember anything out of the ordinary from that day?” I eased into my line of questioning. “Did she limp? Was she feeling ill?”

“How would I know? I stayed as far away from that woman as I could.”

“When you got home from . . .”

“The doctor.”

I pulled out the small notepad I had put in my pocket to take notes.

“The doctor, you found her at the bottom of the steps?”
Check to see if Granny was at the doctor's,
I wrote on the notepad.

“Facedown.” Granny nodded. “I told Jack . . . er . . . Sheriff Ross, everything I knew.”

“She's lying!” Ruthie rushed to my side. “She doing that eye-­twitch thing she does when she lies.”

“Eye twitch?” I said out loud, and looked at Granny. Sure enough, her left eye was twitching like it had its own heartbeat.

Granny lifted her hand to her eye.

“I do have an eye twitch every once in a while.” She spread her eye lid apart like the motion was going to get rid of the twitch.

“Go on.” Ruthie coaxed me. “Ask her something you know is a lie.”

I took a drink of tea. “Granny, do you remember my frog you babysat when my parents took me on vacation when I was seven?”

“Yes. Why?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What does this have to do with crazy old Ruthie?”

Ruthie held her fists up like she was Muhammad Ali. “Let me at her!”

Ignoring Ruthie, I proceeded with my questioning to see if Granny was going to tell me the truth.