A Ghostly Undertaking (5 page)

“How did it die again?” Not that a frog was the greatest pet in the world. But that was the only pet I was allowed to have. My parents thought owning a cat or dog in the funeral home was not appropriate for the clients. My dad worried the dog would be barking during the ser­vices, while Mom worried that cat hair would be all over the caskets. A frog it was.

I clearly remember we got home from vacation, my frog was not in his glass aquarium. Granny told me the frog had died. Years later, out of meanness, Charlotte told me Granny had let the frog go because she couldn't stand it being kept captive.

“I have no idea.” Granny folded her hands and put them on the table. Her left eye twitched. “I got up to feed it and it was a goner.”

“See! I told you!” Ruthie pointed.

“Why are you asking about that silly frog?” Granny asked. Her eyes widened as she looked over my shoulder toward the oven. “My casserole!” She got up and brushed her hands down her apron before she walked over to the oven.

Smoke poured out when she opened the door. I could never recall a time Granny had burned anything.
Burned casserole for first time
, I wrote in the notepad to remind myself to mentally go back through our conversation and see exactly where Granny had gone mushy-­brained and forgotten about the casserole.

“Child, you caused me to forget all about my chicken-­and-­green-­bean casserole.” She waved the oven mitt in front of her face to clear the smoke. Not only was the food as black as night, so was the dish.

Granny didn't bother with trying to save any of it. She dumped the entire thing in the sink.

“Who was that for?” I asked. Granny only made that particular dish for certain occasions.

“I had planned on taking it to Ruthie's funeral tomorrow.”

Yep, all good Southern women, whether they liked you or not, brought food to a funeral.

“She knows I can't stand chicken-­and-­green-­bean casserole.” Ruthie pinched her nose as if with a clothespin. “She always wanted to make it for the ­people staying at the inn, but I never let her.
Harrumph
.”

“Which reminds me.” Granny's burnt food brought me back to the real reason I was here. “Jack seems to believe you know more about Ruthie's death than you are letting on.”

“He didn't say that to me.” She hurried around her kitchen. There was definitely something going on in her head, because she was doing a good job of ignoring me.

“He told me that he told you to get a lawyer.”

“He did? Hmm. I don't recall.” Granny looked up to the ceiling as if she were really thinking about it. But I knew better. Granny really should have been an actress.

“Granny?” I needed her to look at me.

“What?” She stopped and turned. Her eye was twitching again.

“Lie!” Ruthie screamed and pointed.

“He served me a warrant.” I rubbed my head. It was beginning to hurt. Trying to keep up with two conversations at the same time was exhausting.

“He arrested you?” She gasped.

“No.” I shook my head. “The warrant was to stop Ruthie's funeral until he investigates her suspicious death a little further.”

“She fell!” Granny untied the apron and threw it on the table. No eye twitch this time.

Changing the subject at this point was a good idea. Granny was getting irritated not only by my line of questioning, but by the fact that her casserole was burnt. She didn't seem to be worried about Ruthie's funeral being stopped. She didn't question me any further. Nor did she seem to care that Jack thought she might be a suspect.

Regardless, another ten minutes of idle chitchat and I said good-­bye. There was a little sneaky suspicion in my gut that Granny would be making me a visit with some more information that she wasn't quite willing to give up . . . yet, anyway.

“I'm telling you she is hiding something.” Ruthie tapped her kitty slipper on the passenger-­side floorboard. “I could always tell when Zula Fae was lying by that darned ol' eye twitch of hers.”

I glanced in my rearview mirror to make sure no one, including Jack, was watching me before I spoke.

“I can't get over it.” I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the road. “I have never noticed that little quirk about Granny before.”

There was no denying it. Granny was hiding something, but what?

“I have no doubt that she found you facedown at the bottom of the steps and believes that you fell.” I recalled Granny's eyes when I asked her about Ruthie and there was no eye twitch. I pulled the hearse in the garage behind the funeral home.

Both of us walked in silence going into the funeral home. Ruthie looked like she was still contemplating what I had said about Granny believing Ruthie fell. If Ruthie's theory about Granny's eye twitch was true, Granny was telling the truth. Whether Ruthie liked it or not, Zula Fae Raines Payne did not push her down the steps.

 

Chapter 5

L
ast night my mind wouldn't slow down long enough for me to get any sort of sleep. With Ruthie's little bombshell of being murdered, Jack stopping the funeral, and Granny as a potential suspect, my mind was reeling with how I was going to solve all of these problems.

During the midnight hours, I went over my notes several times. I had nothing written down that was going to give me any clues about who murdered her. All I had was a bunch of questions with no answers.

There was one person who did have the answers. Ruthie.

Who was her next of kin? Did she have any fights with anyone recently? Did she know of anyone who wanted to get rid of her . . . permanently?

Dom, dom, dom.
Chopin's “Funeral March” chimed on my cell. I didn't recognize the number and quietly prayed it wasn't about another dead body. The thought of a real serial killer didn't make me feel better. Besides, I didn't have time to do another funeral. My time needed to be spent getting Granny off the hook and Ruthie to the other side.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Is it true that Ruthie Sue Payne's funeral has been put on hold?” Mayor May frantically questioned me. I was positive she wasn't winking and waving on the other end of the phone.

Funeral!
I smacked my head and looked up at the clock on my office wall. It was ten minutes till show time and last night I had completely forgotten to put in a late-­night call to the
Sleepy Hollow Journal
so they would publish the cancellation of Ruthie's funeral in the paper for all the citizens to see. I set my notebook on my desk and got up.

“Yes, Mayor May,” I confirmed and peeked around the door into Charlotte's office, where she was talking to a grieving family about some arrangements. Charlotte glanced up, and I motioned for her to come here and mouthed
now
.

I grabbed the warrant off my desk and clutched the papers.

“Was anyone going to say something?” Mayor May was not happy. “I am a busy woman. And I would have wasted not only my time, but the taxpayers' money, if I had not run into Sheriff Ross.”

If she already knew, then why did she call me? To let me know that I screwed up again? Regardless, I'm glad she did. It prevented an even bigger mess.

“I'm sorry, Mayor.” All I could do was apologize. The wrath of Charlotte might put me right next to Ruthie if I didn't come up with a solution . . . and fast!

The mayor ranted and raved a few more seconds about how this would have never happened if my parents and Granny were still running the funeral home. She threatened to call my parents, as if they were going to ground me or something, before she slammed down her phone.

Now I was beginning to realize why my parents took early retirement and moved to Florida, leaving Charlotte and me to run the place.

I rushed into Charlotte's office without knocking, without thinking.

“Oh.” I stopped and looked at the two gentlemen in there. They were dressed in black suits and each of them had a black briefcase on his lap. Each looking more official than the other. And both serious.

“Yes, Emma Lee?” Charlotte acted like I had ruined her life by just breathing.

“Can I please see you out here?” I pointed behind me into the hallway.

“Excuse me.” Charlotte apologized to the gentlemen like I probably should have. She stood up and planted a smile on her face. She rubbed her hands together. “I'll be right back.”

“This better be good, for you to call me out of a potential client,” Charlotte whispered in my ear. She wasn't happy either.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“Emma Lee, I'm in the middle of my job. Is there something that you need?”

“You are going to
kill me
.” I glanced over Charlotte's shoulder. Ruthie was standing behind her. I handed Charlotte the wadded-­up paper with the Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's logo.

We were familiar with the sheriff's logo because some families wanted records of a loved one's autopsy and it required a warrant.

“Oh my God, Emma.” Her brow creased with worry. “The next thing out of your mouth, I pray, is that you called the
Journal
last night after this happened.”

Slowly I shook my head.

“Ahh, oh,” Ruthie said, and backed away from Charlotte. Nervously, she picked at the edges of her gray hair, which hung loosely, perfectly framing her petite face. Her bracelets jingled around her small wrists.

For a split second, I thought Charlotte's head was going to spin around and fly right off her shoulders.

But it didn't.

“You have no idea how important it is for us to
not
make any mistakes.” She closed her eyes. She spoke in an odd, yet gentle tone, “I'm going to go to the bathroom to compose myself. When I come out, you better have a typed note on the door and be ready to answer any questions from the good citizens of this fine community.”

She turned on her heels, her long, red, luscious curls flung in the air, landing perfectly on her back as she made her way to the restroom.

“You better watch out for her,” Ruthie warned and gazed at Charlotte with a bland half smile. “She's the spitting image of your grandfather, with the wit and charm of Zula.”

Ruthie was right. Zula and Charlotte had Southern charm with a venomous tongue. Everything was great, if everything went their way. You better watch out if things didn't. Business dealings were no different.

Charlotte didn't care about poor Ruthie's body in a freezer for God knew how long. All she cared about was the fact the town was going to see this as a big mistake on the funeral home's part, which the mayor had already confirmed. Now it was my job to figure out how to fix it.

I headed back to my office. There were only a few more minutes until the Eternal Slumber Funeral Home was supposed to be hosting the good-­bye ceremony for Ruthie Sue Payne, which meant that there was no time to print a letter like Charlotte wanted me to. I grabbed the tape dispenser off my desk and rushed out to the front door.

“There.” I smoothed out the wrinkles and put tape on each corner of the warrant, taping it to the door. I brushed my hands together and made sure the door was locked.

I stood in the vestibule long enough to see a few ­people show up and try to open the door along with a few curse words. I was sure I heard my name and “Funeral Trauma” thrown in under their breath after they read the posted paper.

“It won't be long now,” I whispered and pulled the front room's curtain back just enough to watch an angry five-­foot-­six Beulah Paige Bellefry shake a fist at the funeral home before she stomped back to her red Cadillac.

At the ripe old age of forty-­two years, Beulah was the youngest woman in the Auxiliary group. She was also the fashionista of Sleepy Hollow, with her fake lashes and tan.

Beulah Paige was second only to Ruthie in the gossip department. Since Ruthie was dead, it was Beulah Paige's time to shine.

She would have the news of the warrant spread all over town, like wildfire, before I would even make it back to my desk.

I'd put a bet on it that she was planning on being the first Auxiliary member at the funeral so she could get a front-­row seat and watch everyone come in, and then go back and share everything she saw with the ladies in the Auxiliary. She'd supply them with plenty of gossip for the next month or until something better came along.

“Nice move.” Ruthie appeared next to me and pointed toward Beulah, zooming off in her red Caddy. “With Beulah in charge, now everyone in Sleepy Hollow is going to know I was murdered. You know, she's been dying to take my spot in the Auxiliary.”

“I never thought of that. I simply wanted everyone to know that your funeral has been put on hold.”

“My funeral on hold?” She pointed at the viewing room. “You mean on ice?”

John Howard Lloyd and Vernon Baxter had moved Ruthie's casket back onto a church truck and was wheeling her down the center aisle to take her back down to the refrigerator in the basement.

“Mornin', Ms. Emma.” John Howard grinned a big, gummy openmouthed smile and patted down the top of his hair. No matter how much he patted that wiry mess, it wasn't going to cooperate. “Ms. Charlotte told me to move poor ol' Ruthie's body to the refrigerator.”

I'll never forget the first time I met John Howard. He looked like he had one foot in the grave. He came to the funeral home without a tooth in his head and that crazy hair sticking up all over, but he needed a job. Granny immediately put him to work digging graves and doing odd jobs around the funeral home.

“Yes, thank you.” I smiled, giving him the go-­ahead to take the body. “Can you please put a blanket on top before you close the refrigerator door?”

He looked like he was weighing what I had said before he pushed the cart down the hall.

Ruthie stood next to me in silence, never once taking her eyes off the casket being rolled away. The only sound was the creak of the steel wheels trying to make it over the thick-­threaded carpet with each turn.

John Howard stopped and only turned his neck to look at me.

“Do you think there is a killer out there?”

“I'm not sure, John Howard.” I shook my head and tried to ease his fears. “I guess I really shouldn't have posted the warrant.”

He continued to push the casket and finish the task Charlotte had bestowed on him.

I walked back over to the door and peeled the warrant off of it. The chattering crowd down the street caught my eye.

Several ­people were gathered in front of Artie's Meats and Deli next to Beulah's big red Cadillac. Beulah stood in the middle, mouth flapping, waving her hands in the air, telling the grandest tale.

“Hmm . . .” Ruthie's eyes narrowed, taking in the scene.

I could see it now. Everyone running to Artie's to stock up on ammunition or get a new gun because I had put fear in them by taping the warrant to the door. “Posting this was probably not the best idea.”

“Probably not.” Sheriff Jack Henry Ross leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He peered at me, intently.

My heart jolted as my pulse pounded.

“Jack Henry!” I jumped around, running my hands through my hair. What if Ruthie was right and my stuck-­in-­the–nineties hairdo was the problem of all of my dating issues? “What are you doing here?”

I walked past him and down the hall toward my office. He wasn't far behind.

“The phone at the station has been ringing off the hook. So I decided to come down here and see what all the commotion was about.” His jaw clenched. He leaned up against the office door. He was not amused. “Now my officers have to spend time reassuring everyone that there is not a serial killer running the streets of Sleepy Hollow.”

As much as I wanted to hear what he was saying, I hated myself for focusing on his lips and remembered the most embarrassing moment I had ever had.

Look away.
My mind told me to stop staring, but my eyes wouldn't listen.
Remember the past.
I repeated in my head and walked behind the desk and sat in my chair.

No matter how much I tried to forget the time Jack Henry and I almost kissed in high school during an intense game of spin the bottle and how awful the situation was, I could barely resist the urge to kiss him now.

“Mayor May gave me an earful at Higher Grounds Café.” He held up a paper cup. “When I told her the funeral was not going to happen today.”

“After I got home from visiting Granny, I completely forgot to call the
Journal
.” I forced my eyes to look at my empty coffee mug sitting on my desk. I had to get out of there and get myself together. Why did Jack Henry have to be one of those guys who got better-­looking with age? Grabbing my mug, I got up. “Do you want a refill?”

“Sure.” He handed me his cup. His fingers brushed up against mine. Electricity spread across all my nerve endings.

“I will be right back.” I could feel my cheeks ball up and I tried not to smile, but lost all control. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

“You've got it bad.” Ruthie rushed to my side and walked behind me all the way to the kitchen.

The funeral-­home kitchen was basic, with a refrigerator, stove and microwave, and we had to clean our own dishes in the single sink that sat under the only window in the room. We used an old cupboard we bought at the Goodwill for storage after we cleaned it up.

The kitchen really wasn't bad. Charlotte found a cute wooden café table with four bar chairs and sat it in the middle of the room for us to eat on.

If we were working on a body, we were all here, so we would try to eat family style. My little funeral-­home family.

“I don't have anything bad.” I denied my attraction to Jack Henry. I was never good at covering up my feelings. I clamped my mouth shut when Mary Anna Hardy, the funeral-­home hair stylist and makeup artist, walked into the kitchen.

“You don't have what bad?” Mary Anna put a wonky eye on me when she saw me talking to myself. She looked around. Her empty mug dangled from a finger. “Who are you talking to?”

Mary Anna Hardy owned Girl's Best Friend Spa, the only hair salon in Sleepy Hollow. Even though she had a staff of eight hairdressers, she was the only one weird enough to do hair on dead ­people.

“I heard you coming, and I do have something bad.” I grabbed a handful of my limp brown hair and flipped it in the air. “I have bad hair and wanted to see if you could do something with it.”

“Really?” Mary Anna's blue eyes opened with shock. She rushed over in her hot-­pink high heels and stuck her hands in my hair. I couldn't help but look down at her big boobs toppling out of her white V-­neck. Her short bleached blond hair was styled exactly like Mary Anna's icon, Marilyn Monroe. Mary Anna was never seen without a pair of high heels. It didn't matter if she was going to Artie's to grab toilet paper and had on sweat pants. She lived by the dead icon's words
Give a girl the right pair of shoes and she will conquer the world.