A Ghostly Undertaking (16 page)

“I asked Mary Anna about the mayor and she described her hair.” He let go of me and pulled out the snapshot. “Once I heard Mary Anna's description, I knew this picture was the mayor. I just knew it. That was when I got your message. I rushed over because I had stopped by the meeting and neither the mayor nor Hettie was there. I smelled trouble and called for backup.”

A ­couple of the officers came over to get some signatures from Jack Henry, not giving me any time to properly thank him.

“Can you come down to the station and give a detailed account of what happened?” Jack Henry asked.

“Of course.” I put a finger up when I saw Ruthie standing next to the hearse. “I need a minute though.”

Jack Henry didn't question me. It was like he knew what I was going to do.

 

Chapter 27

Y
ou did good, kiddo.” Ruthie sat in the passenger side of the hearse and looked over all of the hubbub going on around the inn.

“Thanks,” I whispered, glancing down at my hands in my lap. All of the windows were rolled up and I had the radio playing so if anyone saw me talking to myself, they would think I was singing . . . maybe. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

“I can't wait to get my hands on one Earl Way Payne when I get up there.” She was as mad as a hornet. She looked up to the sky and shook an angry fist. “Never once did he take me to Slicklizzard or tell me about his sister.” She crossed her arms.

“Don't be too hard on him.” My eyes felt a stinging sensation creeping up. I tried not to blink, but couldn't help it. A tear ran down my cheek.

Ruthie reached over and tried to catch it, but it went right through her hand and into my lap.

“Don't cry.” Ruthie reached over and touched me, only it was much lighter than it had been in the past few days. I was losing her to the great beyond little by little. “I'll be sure to keep an eye on you from above.”

“Ha ha! You better.” I smiled and looked at my sidekick. Panic bubbled in my gut, and my throat tightened. “Ruthie? Where are you?”

A bright light bolted out of the sky and suddenly vanished.

Just like that. She was gone.

Ruthie Sue Payne might have been a pain, but she was my pain.

Without a good-­bye, she slipped out of my life.

 

Chapter 28

B
ang, bang, bang.

“Hold on!” I screamed. I wiggled out from my comfy cocoon, where I had been for the twenty-­four hours since Ruthie left.

It was as if she had died all over again, only this time I felt she'd been a real friend and not some grumpy, gossipy old bag from the Auxiliary.

The sun was shining through the glass on my private entrance door. I knew I was going to have to face life sooner or later. The phone had been ringing off the hook in the office of Eternal Slumber, which meant we were back in business.

“John Howard, what are you doing here?” I propped the door open and held my hand over my eyes to block the sun.

“Miss Emma Lee, I've made an awful mistake.” He took his cap off and held it in front of him while he looked down at his shuffling feet.

Instantly, I knew exactly what he wanted. His job back.

“No you didn't.” I reached out and grabbed his hands. “You are family and you can come and go as you wish. You will always have a place at Eternal Slumber.”

“Thank you. You won't regret it.” He placed his cap back on his head and did a little giddy-­up before he started down the private entrance stairs.

“Whoa!” Jack Henry called as John Howard almost ran into him when they passed on the steps. “How you doing, John Howard?”

John Howard mumbled a few words that I couldn't hear and they shook hands, parting ways.

“What are you doing here?” I leaned up against the door. I didn't bother trying to fix my hair or rub the makeup off from under my eyes.

The investigation was over and so was the little romance that Jack Henry created between us to keep me feeding him information.

“I came to get you.” He had on regular clothes which meant he probably wasn't taking me down for questioning. “We are going to head into Lexington and go see that medium lady I was telling you about.”

“Jack.” It was time to let him off the hook. “Really, you don't have to pretend to be my date any longer. Ruthie has officially passed over. She's gone.”

“I figured as much.” He reached over. Taking my hands in his, he gently squeezed them. “I called several times and finally got Charlotte. She said that you were taking a mental health day because of all the trauma.”

“She did?” I never told Charlotte anything about a mental health day.

“She must think you need to recover from the crazy mayor and all.” His gazed shifted to my eyes. He studied me with curious intensity. “You are okay, right?”

“Yeah. I'm fine.” There was still a deep sadness that lingered in my heart. “But you don't have to pretend anymore.” I pulled my hands away. “I get it. Really.”

“You get that I do want to date you?” A smile ruffled his mouth. “I do remember spin the bottle.”

“You do?”

“Yea. I had such a crush on you that when it landed on you, I freaked out.” He turned a vivid scarlet. “I was so embarrassed that I played it off and ended up hurting us both.”

I felt my pulse suddenly leap with excitement. Was my dream of dating Jack Henry, after all of these years, finally coming true?

“No you didn't.” I tried to play coy, but I knew the smile on my face gave me away.

“You are enjoying this little game of groveling, aren't you Emma Lee?” His eyes teased me.

“We were kids.” I brushed it off.

“We aren't now and I still have those same feelings.” He reached his strong arms around my waist and pulled me closer. “What if we give this a go?”

Jack Henry didn't wait for me to answer. He lowered his head, laying his lips on mine, sending the pit of my stomach into a swirl. After a moment he pulled away.

“Sealed with a kiss.” I could still feel the warmth of his lips, but knew more would have to wait until later. After all, we were standing smack-­dab in the middle of Sleepy Hollow, where this news was going to be front page. “So what about this medium?”

I had no choice but to go with him. After all, he
was
my boyfriend and had my best interest at heart.

Next thing I knew, I was dressed and we were in the car on our way to Lexington.

We talked so much that I didn't realize the forty minutes and windy roads were long behind us when we pulled up to a small brick house with a tiny porch on the front. No sign, no beads, no strange anything that I would think a medium would have.

“This is it?” I glanced out the window, almost afraid to go in since it looked so normal.

“This is it,” he repeated with confidence. “Let's go.”

Jack Henry jumped out of the car and rushed around to the passenger side. Like a good gentleman, he opened the door and helped me out.

“I forgot to tell you.” There was some excitement fluttering in his eyes. “Beulah Bellefry came to and she identified the ugly mayor as the assailant. You were right, she was attacked from the front.”

I wasn't right, Ruthie was,
I wanted to tell him, but what was the point? Ruthie was long gone and I bet Earl Way Payne was still taking a beating from her.

We knocked on the door.

“May I help you?” A little boy knee high to a june bug answered the door and had the sweetest Southern accent.

“We are here to see Debbie Dually,” Jack Henry told the boy.

“Mama, someone's here to see you!” he hollered.

“Tell them to come in!” a woman yelled back.

“Come on in. I'm David Dually.” He grinned, exposing a lost front tooth. “I'm in second grade. Take a seat.” He pointed to a glass-­top kitchen table in the dining room to the left of the front door.

We did what David Dually told us to do. The table was lit up with all sorts of candles.

Debbie Dually walked around the room without greeting us, but fanning us with some sort of incense by waving a feather in the smoke. She stood all of five feet, with a short brown bob that was neatly curled under her chin. Her bangs were blunt and hit right at her eyebrows.

She was very fashionable in a pair of white capri pants, black short-­sleeved shirt and black cork-­wedged heels.

“You must be Emma Lee Raines.” Her brown eyes twinkled when she said my name. She held her hands out over the table right in front of me. I took them in mine. “I've been waiting all day to meet you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, not knowing what to say.

“You must be Jack Henry Ross.” She didn't let go of my hands, she only squeezed them, and looked at Jack Henry. “You are a good man to do this for her.”

“Thank you.” Jack Henry was getting good at blushing.

“Now.” She sat down and looked around. She bit the outer corner of her lip. “Who is it that has hot-­pink pajamas, kitty slippers, bunch of dangling jewelry and a hair cap?”

“Ruthie,” Jack Henry and I said in unison.

“Ruthie is here and she told me to tell you that she took care of Earl.” Debbie Dually shrugged and smiled. “She's a sassy one.”

“You have no idea.” I laughed. That made me feel good that she saw Ruthie and that Ruthie was okay.

“I also have to tell you that you are a Betweener medium.” Her words rang in my ear.

“A . . . be . . . what?” I leaned in with my mouth dropped open.

“A Betweener.” She waved her hand to and fro. “They are the dead that are sort of stuck in the here and there.” She pointed to the sky. “Most of the time they have some unfinished business to take care of. In your case,” she paused as if she were looking for the right words, “most of them will have been . . . offed.”

“Offed?”

“You know.” She wiggled her nose. “Murdered.”

“Murdered?” I jumped up. “No! No way!” I wiggled back at her. No way on this green earth was I going to help solve anyone else's murder. One was enough.

“Ruthie said you weren't going to like it.” She wrote a few things down on a little notepad.

What was it with ­people and notepads?

“You will do great things, Emma Lee Raines.” Debbie Dually drummed her long fingernails on the glass-­top table, sending beads of sweat to gather on my forehead.

I didn't want any part of this.

“Is that it?” She eyed me. “I know it is a lot to take in, but I also know we will meet again.”

“Thank you,” I whispered and stood up, signaling to Jack Henry that it was time to go.

Jack Henry and I left in dead silence. I didn't know if it was because he was trying to process what she had told me or if I was trying to process what she had told me. All I know is that Chicken Teater stood by the car when we walked out.

“Emma Lee?” Chicken Teater stood six-­foot-­two in his bare feet, red plaid shirt and carpenter jeans. His hair had always stayed combed to the right side as far as I could remember. He was one of my daddy's friends, who pretty much kept to himself and was one of the first bodies I had ever laid to rest . . . or so I had thought. “Emma Lee, I know you can hear and see me.”

“This is not happening. This is not happening,” I murmured.

“I'm sure no one is ever going to contact you again,” Jack Henry assured me and opened the passenger door. “Don't worry about it.”

I gulped and smiled before I got in. He shut the door and went to get in the driver's seat.

“Ruthie Sue Payne sent me.” Chicken Teater confirmed it. Ruthie Sue Payne really was going to be a pain.

 

Don't miss the next fun

Ghostly Southern Mystery

A

GHOSTLY

GRAVE

Available March 31

from

 

J
ust think, this all started because of Santa Claus.
I took a drink of my large Diet Coke Big Gulp that I had picked up from the Buy and Fly gas station on the way over to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery to watch Chicken Teater's body being exhumed from his eternal resting place—­only he was far from restful.

Damn Santa
. I sucked up a mouthful of Diet Coke and swallowed.
Damn Santa.

No, I didn't mean the real jolly guy with the belly shaking like a bowlful of jelly who leaves baby dolls and toy trucks; I meant the plastic light-­up ornamental kind that ­people stick in their front yards during Christmas. The particular plastic Santa I was talking about was the one that had fallen off the roof of Artie's Deli and Meat just as I happened to walk under it, knocking me out cold.

Santa didn't give me anything but a bump on the head and the gift of seeing ghosts—­let me be more specific—­ghosts of ­people who have been murdered. They called me the Betweener, at least that was what the psychic from Lexington told us . . .
us
. . .
sigh
. . . I looked over at Jack Henry.

The Ray Ban sunglasses covered up his big brown eyes, which were the exact same color as a Hershey's chocolate bar. I was a goner. Lost, in fact.

Today I was positive his eyes would be watering from the stench of a casket that had been buried for four years—­almost four years to the day, now that I thought about it.

Jack Henry, my boyfriend and Sleepy Hollow sheriff, motioned for John Howard Lloyd to drop the claw that was attached to the tractor and begin digging. John Howard, my employee at Eternal Slumber Funeral Home, didn't mind digging up the grave. He dug it four years ago, so why not? He hummed a tune, happily chewing—­gumming, since he had no teeth—­a piece of straw he had grabbed up off the ground before he took his post behind the tractor controls. If someone who didn't know him came upon John Howard, they'd think he was a serial killer, with his dirty overalls, wiry hair and gummy smile.

The buzz of a moped scooter caused me to look back at the street. There was a crowd that had gathered behind the yellow police line to see what was happening because it wasn't every day someone's body was plucked from its resting place.

“Zula Fae Raines Payne, get back here!” an officer scolded my Granny, who didn't pay him any attention. She waved her handkerchief in the air with one hand while she steered her moped right on through the police tape. “This is a crime scene and you aren't allowed over there.”

Granny didn't even wobble but held the moped steady when she snapped right through the yellow tape.

“Woo hoooo, Emma!” Granny hollered, ignoring the officer, who was getting a little too close to her. A black helmet snapped on the side covered the top of her head, giving her plenty of room to sport her large black-­rimmed sunglasses. She twisted the handle to full throttle. The officer took off at a full sprint to catch up to her. He put his arm out to grab her. “I declare!” Granny jerked her head back. “I'm Zula Raines Payne, the owner of Eternal Slumber, and this is one of my clients!”

“Ma'am, I know who you are. With all due respect, because my momma and pa taught me to respect my elders—­and I do respect you, Ms. Payne—­I can't let you cross that tape. You are going to have to go back behind the line!” He ran behind her and pointed to the yellow tape that she had already zipped through. “This is a crime scene. Need I remind you that you turned over operations of your business to your granddaughter? And only
she
has the right to be on the other side of the line.”

I curled my head back around to see what Jack Henry and John were doing and pretended the roar of the excavator was drowning out the sounds around me, including those of Granny screaming my name. Plus, I didn't want to get into any sort of argument with Granny, since half the town came out to watch the 7
A.M
. exhumation, and the Auxiliary women were the first in line—­and would be the first at the Higher Grounds Café, eating their scones, drinking their coffee and coming up with all sorts of reasons why we had exhumed the body.

I could hear them now. “
Ever since Zula Fae left Emma Lee and Charlotte Rae in charge of Eternal Slumber, it's gone downhill
” or my personal favorite, “
I'm not going to lay my corpse at Eternal Slumber just to have that crazy Emma Lee dig me back up. Especially since she's got a case of the Funeral Trauma.”

The “Funeral Trauma.” After the whole Santa incident, I told Doc Clyde I was having some sort of hallucinations and seeing dead ­people. He said I had been in the funeral business a little too long and seeing corpses all of my life had been traumatic.

Regardless, the officer was half right—­me and my sister were in charge of Eternal Slumber. At twenty-­eight, I had been an undertaker for only three years. But I had been around the funeral home my whole life. It is the family business, one I didn't want to do until I turned twenty-­five years old and decided I better keep the business going.
Some business
. Currently, Granny still owned Eternal Slumber, but my sister, Charlotte Rae, and I ran the joint.

My parents completely retired and moved to Florida. Thank God for Skype or I'd never see them. I guess Granny was semi-­retired. I say semi-­retired because she put her two cents in when she wanted to. Today she wanted to.

Some family business.

Granny brought the moped to an abrupt stop. She hopped right off and flicked the snap of the strap and pulled the helmet off along with her sunglasses. She hung the helmet on the handlebars and the glasses dangled from the
V
in her sweater exactly where she wanted it to hang—­between her boobs. Doc Clyde was there and Granny had him on the hook exactly where she wanted to keep him.

Her short red hair looked like it was on fire, with the morning sun beaming down, as she used her fingers to spike it up a little more than usual. After all, she knew she had to look good because she was center of attention—­next to Chicken Teater's exhumed body.

The officer ran up and grabbed the scooter's handle. He knew better than to touch Granny.

“I am sure your momma and paw did bring you up right, but if you don't let me go . . .” Granny jerked the scooter toward her. She was a true Southern belle and put things in a way that no other woman could. I looked back at them and waved her over. The police officer stepped aside. Granny took her hanky out of her bra and wiped off the officer's shoulder like she was cleaning lint or something. “It was
lovely
to meet you,” Granny's voice dripped like sweet honey. She put the hanky back where she had gotten it.

I snickered. Lovely wasn't always a compliment from a Southern gal. Like the gentleman he claimed to be, he took his hat off to Granny and smiled.

She didn't pay him any attention as she bee-­lined it toward me.

“Hi,” she said in her sweet Southern drawl, waving at everyone around us. She gave a little extra wink toward Doc Clyde. His cheeks rose to a scarlet red. Nervously, he ran his fingers through his thinning hair and pushed it to the side, defining the side part.

Everyone in town knew he had been keeping late hours just for Granny, even though she wasn't a bit sick. God knew what they were doing and I didn't want to know.

Granny pointed her hanky toward Pastor Brown, who was there to say a little prayer when the casket was exhumed. Waking the dead wasn't high on anyone's priority list. Granny put the cloth over her mouth, and leaning in, she whispered, “Emma Lee, you better have a good reason to be digging up Chicken Teater.”

We both looked at the concrete chicken gravestone, which stood seven feet high. The small gold plate at the base of the stone statue displayed all of Colonel Chicken Teater's stats, with his parting words:
Chicken has left the coop.

“Why don't you go worry about the inn,” I suggested for her to leave and glanced over at John Howard. He had to be getting close to reaching the casket vault.

Granny gave me the stink eye.

“It was only a suggestion.” I put my hands up in the air as a truce sign.

Granny owned, operated and lived at the only bed-­and-­breakfast in town, the Sleepy Hollow Inn, known as “the Inn” around here. Everyone loved staying at the large mansion, which sat at the foothills of the caverns and caves that made Sleepy Hollow a main attraction in Kentucky . . . besides horses and University of Kentucky basketball.

Sleepy Hollow was a small tourist town that was low on crime, and that was the way we liked it.

Sniff, sniff.
Whimpers were coming from underneath a large black floppy hat.

Granny and I looked over at Marla Maria Teater, Chicken's wife. She had come dressed to the nines, with her black V-­neck dress hitting her curves in all the right places. The hat covered up the eyes she was dabbing.

Of course, when the police notified her that they had good reason to believe that Chicken didn't die of a serious bout of pneumonia but was murdered, Marla took to her bed as any mourning widower would. She insisted on being here for the exhumation. Jack Henry had warned Marla Maria to keep quiet about why the police were opening up the files on Chicken's death. If there was a murderer on the loose and it got around, it could possibly hurt the economy, and this was Sleepy Hollow's busiest time of the year.

Granny put her arm around Marla and winked at me over Marla's shoulder.

“Now, now. I know it's hard, honey, I've buried a few myself. Granted, I've never had any dug up though.” Granny wasn't lying. She has been twice widowed and I was hoping she'd stay away from marriage a third time. Poor Doc Clyde, you'd have thought he would stay away from her since her track record was . . . well . . . deadly. “That's a first in this town.” Granny gave Marla Maria the elbow along with a wink and a click of her tongue.

Maybe the third time was the charm.

“Who is buried here?” Granny let go of Marla and stepped over to the smaller tombstone right next to Chicken's.

“Stop!” Jack Henry screamed, waving his hands in the air. “Zula, move!”

Granny looked up and ducked just as John Howard came back for another bite of ground with the claw.

I would hate to have to bury Granny anytime soon.

“Lady Cluckington,” Marla whispered, tilting her head to the side. Using her finger, she dabbed the driest eyes I had ever seen. “Our prize chicken. Well, she isn't dead
yet
.”

I glanced over at her. Her tone caused a little suspicion to stir in my gut.

“She's not a chicken. She's a Spangled Russian Orloff Hen!” Chicken Teater appeared next to his grave. His stone looked small next to his six-­foot-­two frame. He ran his hand over the tombstone Granny had asked about. There was a date of birth, but no date of death. “You couldn't stand having another beauty queen in my life!”

“Oh no,” I groaned and took another gulp of my Diet Coke. He—­his ghost—­was the last thing that I needed to see this morning.

“Is that sweet tea?” Chicken licked his lips. “I'd give anything to have a big ol' sip of sweet tea.” He towered over me. His hair was neatly combed to the right; his red plaid shirt was tucked into his carpenter jeans.

This was the third time I had seen Chicken Teater since his death almost four years ago to the day. It was a shock to the community to hear of a man passing from pneumonia in his early sixties. But that was what the doctors in Lexington said he died of, no questions asked, and his funeral was held at Eternal Slumber.

The first time I had seen Chicken Teater's ghost was after my perilous run-­in with Santa. I too thought I was a goner, gone to the great beyond . . . but no . . . Chicken Teater and Ruthie Sue Payne—­their ghosts anyway—­stood right next to my hospital bed, eyeballing me. Chicken gave me the once-­over as if he was trying to figure out if I was dead or alive. Lucky for him I was alive and seeing him.

Ruthie Sue Payne was a client at Eternal Slumber who refused to cross over until someone helped her solve her murder. That someone was me. The In-­Betweener.

Since I could see her, talk to her, feel her and hear her, I was the one. Thanks to me, Ruthie's murder was solved and she was now resting peacefully on the other side. Chicken was a different story.

Apparently, Ruthie was as big of a gossip in the afterlife as she was in her earthly life. That was how Chicken Teater knew about me being an In-­Betweener. Evidently, Ruthie was telling everyone about my special gift.

Chicken Teater wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to investigate his death because he knew he didn't die from pneumonia. He claimed he was murdered. But who would want to kill a chicken farmer?

Regardless, it took several months of me trying to convince Jack Henry there might be a possibility Chicken Teater was murdered. After some questionable evidence provided by Chicken Teater, the case was reopened. I didn't understand all the red tape and legal yip-­yap, but here we stood today.

Now it was time for me to get Chicken Teater to the other side.

“It's not dead yet?” Granny's eyebrows rose in amazement after Marla Maria confirmed there was an empty grave. Granny couldn't get past the fact there was a gravestone for something that wasn't dead.

I was still stuck on “prize chicken.” What was a prize chicken?

A loud thud echoed when John Howard sent the claw down. There was an audible gasp from the crowd. The air was thick with anticipation. What did they think they were going to see?

Suddenly my nerves took a downward dive. What if the coffin opened? Coffin makers guaranteed they lock for eternity after they are sealed, but still, it wouldn't be a good thing for John Howard to pull the coffin up and have Chicken take a tumble next to Lady Cluckington's stone.