A Ghostly Grave (4 page)

 

Chapter 5

M
y feet pounded as I trudged up the courthouse steps. Beulah Paige always knew how to punch the right buttons with me. I was going to get my frustration out in one form or the other. Once I had publicly threatened her and it came back to bite me in the butt when she ended up in a coma, making me look like I had tried to “off” her when it wasn't true. Luckily, Jack Henry came to my rescue and did all the undercover work proving my innocence. Now I'm careful about the things I say to people, especially in public, because you never know who is around and who will use it against you.

“Good morning.” I greeted some people standing in the hallway of the courthouse waiting for the nine-­o'clock opening time with a smile and a nod. The chimes on the courthouse clock dinged, letting us all know it was time. “Just in time.” I shrugged and made my way to the records room.

Chicken said there was an agreement between him and Marla Maria. His will would be filed at the courthouse and open for public viewing. I was sure he had a will if Marla Maria was taking care of Lady Cluckington. Which reminded me that I needed to make a visit to Marla Maria's and get a good look at the prize hen. I chuckled at the thought of the two
queens
going after each other.

“Oh.” The deputy clerk eyed me from behind the records counter. “You're back.”

“I am.” The last time I was here had to do with Ruthie's death and I had the poor clerk going through dozens of files to find what I needed. Hey, that was her job. “I'm looking for the will of Colonel C. Teater.”

The deputy slid the old steel ladder that rolled along the walls of the records room to the
T
's and she climbed up in record time and retrieved Chicken's file.

She slapped the thick file on the counter. “Let me know if you need something copied.”

“Will do.” I smiled and turned my attention to the file. There were public documents in there, like his record of taxes, marriage, and other things that held no merit. One thing did catch my eye. A tax document for a piece of real estate he had mentioned earlier. My jaw dropped when my eyes found the taxable value. The property was valued at a half million dollars. Not a bad little payday if he did sell it. I wondered if Marla Maria knew about it. Unfortunately, there wasn't a will or a reference to an attorney to tell me anything about an agreement.

I took out my notebook and jotted down some information about the property. I flipped through more of the pages to see if there happened to be another bill of sale, but there wasn't anything there.

“Excuse me.” I pushed the paper to the edge of the counter. The deputy walked back over, not without sighing. “Can you see if this has been sold or if Mr. Colonel C. Teater still owns the property?”

She took the paper without acknowledgement. There was no reason to be so testy; after all, it was her job. She'd thank me later when the killer was brought to justice, making her safe and sound in our little town. While she was gone, I rummaged through the papers again and snapped pictures of them with my cell. I wasn't going to waste any more time having the deputy make me some copies.
Gotta love cell phones.

“Nope.” She sauntered back into the room like she was on a Sunday drive. “He still owns it.” She walked away.

Technically, he didn't own it because he was dead. Whoever was in the will owned it. But who was that? I stood there for a moment staring blankly at Chicken's public records trying to decide if this was enough information for Jack Henry.
Nah
. I had to find out for myself. I had to find that agreement.

“Thank you!” I hollered to the deputy, who was helping someone else, and shoved the file to the edge of the counter to let her know I was done.

The same people were in the hall when I walked out of the records room. Granny was also there.

“What's going on?” I moseyed up to her. “I thought you were busy at the Inn.”

“I am. Hettie Bell came over after she finished decorating the square and is lookin' after the place for me.” Granny rolled up on her toes to see over the people in front of her. “I have to get my name on the ballot and get back in time for yoga since your little exhumation of Chicken took our yoga time.”

“Ballot?” Many things Granny said hit a nerve, making me pause. The first was
ballot
. What ballot did she want her name on? And yoga?

“I've decided to run for mayor.” A glint in Granny's eyes told me she was serious.

“What?” Shock and awe took over. My mouth dropped. Granny wasn't old, but was she already going senile?

“I was thinking . . .” She bit her lip. Oh, I didn't want her to think too hard, that always got us in trouble. “Since we are in-­between mayors and I have lived here all my life and have owned two businesses, I think I know what this town needs.”

“What would that be?” I put my hands on my hips and prepared myself for the response she was about to give.

“A little dose of Zula Fae Raines Payne. That is what this town needs! Vote Zula!” She pumped her fist in the air. A few people cheered her on. “See?” She gestured toward the line of people.

“I think this town has gone mad,” I leaned over and whispered into Granny's ear. “Have you had your head checked? You need your boyfriend to give you a full physical.”

“I will do no such thing. I'm a Southern lady.” Granny stretched her arms out to the side, and swinging them in an upward motion, she placed them palm to palm and brought them back down in front of her chest. “Ohmmm . . .” she hummed.

“What are you doing?” Embarrassment crept up my neck and settled on my cheeks. She was old but she wasn't old enough to lose her ever-­loving mind. “Maybe you have the Funeral Trauma.”

“Shh.” Granny closed her eyes. “You are knocking my balance off. Hettie Bell said this was a good exercise for my mojo.”

“Mojo?” I rolled my eyes. “You don't need mojo, you need some common sense.”

“Zula Fae Raines Payne?” The clerk hollered out into the crowd. “You're up!”

“Oh,” Granny pushed me aside, “I've got to run. Toodle-­oo!” Granny put her hand in the air and gave me the spirit-­finger good-­bye gesture.

Hettie Bell was making all the old women in the community nuts with all this relaxation deep-­breathing bull crap. Granny was in no mood to hear any sort of reasoning of why she shouldn't run for mayor and I certainly wasn't going to waste my breath or time. Right now, my time was more valuably spent trying to figure out who killed Chicken Teater and trying to get him to the other side.

 

Chapter 6

N
ot long after I had left the courthouse I made it back to Eternal Slumber and noticed Charlotte Rae's car in the parking lot. I marched myself right into the funeral home and straight into her office.

“Charlotte Rae.” I pushed open the door. She sat in her chair, her long red hair falling around her face and cascading down each shoulder. Her natural beauty was plagued with worry wrinkles and the look in her eyes suddenly made me feel queasy.

“Emma Lee, Granny has done it again.” She shook her head. “It's not the fact I'm getting a gazillion calls from clients who are worried we are going to dig their loved ones up—­which was your fault—­but now she's running for mayor.” Charlotte threw her hands in the air. “If she doesn't win over O'Dell Burns, we are going to be losing every single family on our client list.”

“O'Dell Burns?” I asked.

“That is who she is running against.” Her sparkly green eyes had lost a tad tiny bit of their natural sparkle.

“That is why she's running.”
Sneaky Granny.
My eyelids lowered and I scowled. “Sneaky Granny. Very sneaky.”

How did I not figure out that Granny had an ulterior motive? She always had an ulterior motive. The only reason she gave control of Eternal Slumber to Charlotte Rae and me was because she married Earl Way Payne, who was divorced from Granny's archnemesis, Ruthie Sue—­my first ghost, who had been sure Granny was the one who killed her. Ruthie and Earl had owned the Sleepy Hollow Inn together.

Five years ago, Earl Way Payne died while still married to Granny. On the day of his funeral, Earl Way's will was read, leaving Granny his half of the Inn.

So while he had updated his will, Earl Way hadn't changed his “pre-­need” funeral arrangements when he married my granny and hadn't let her know what his plans were. So, Granny had Earl Way laid out as if he were the king of England with a room full of Sleepy Hollow residents paying their respects when O'Dell Burns marched in rolling a casket cot with Ruthie right behind him. Little did we know that before Earl and Granny wed, he had made arrangements at Burns Funeral Home.

“Pick him up,” Ruthie had demanded, pointing back and forth from Earl Way's body to the basic wooden box O'Dell had wheeled in. “Go on, put him in.”

I had never seen Granny rendered speechless, but she was that day. O'Dell picked up Earl Way's body and plopped him right in that cheap pine box.

Granny stood at the front door of Eternal Slumber with her arms crossed as O'Dell barreled out of the viewing room with Earl bouncing and Ruthie scurrying alongside.

As a result of Earl's estate plan, Ruthie Sue and Granny became co-­owners of the Inn, and Granny moved in right away, making sure Ruthie Sue had to look at her on a daily basis. And she will never forgive O'Dell Burns for the low-­down dirty stunt he pulled.

“Emma Lee, are you listening to me?” Charlotte's fiery redheaded temper was flaring up. “You are the one who is close to her. You have
got
to knock some sense into her.”

“What do you expect me to do? She's a grown woman.” Granny would knock me into next Sunday if I told her not to do something. “
It's Granny!
” I reminded her of how persnickety Granny was and could be.

“And she's lost her mind.” Charlotte burst out in tears. “She's going to run Eternal Slumber into the ground.”

Charlotte Rae punched away on a calculator.

Numbers. Numbers. Numbers. Who cared about all the numbers?

“The death business isn't about numbers. It's about being personal and empathizing with the family. Granny is good at that.” I reminded her of why everyone in Sleepy Hollow wanted to bring their loved ones to us. “Maybe she'd be a good mayor.”

Who was I kidding? I didn't want Granny being mayor any more than Charlotte Rae did.

“I've got it!” Charlotte Rae jumped up and rushed around the desk. “I'm going to do a press release about the exhumation and work with a public relations firm out of Lexington, because this alone is what O'Dell is going to try to use in his campaign against Granny. Plus, we don't need the bad press. Especially after we have recovered from charges against Granny for killing Ruthie Sue.”

When I didn't say anything, Charlotte looked up at me.

“Well? Don't you have something to do? Like go see Granny and stop her from this nonsense?” Charlotte shooed me out the door before I could put in my two cents' worth. She obviously hadn't heard a word I said. And they were good words too.

“I'll add it to the list,” I grumbled under my breath. The list was getting fairly long. I needed to go see Marla Maria and Lady Cluckington before I could even bring myself to think about Granny. She had obviously lost her marbles, or else that yoga stuff was opening up brain cells that were meant to stay closed.

“It better be at the top!” Charlotte slammed the door behind me.

My office was a ­couple of doors down from Charlotte's, but I could still hear her smacking things on her desk and yelling out profanities about Granny's behavior. I was in no mood to hear her rant and rave. I grabbed the hearse keys and my purse. It was time for me to drive to the hood—­the trailer hood.

“Keep two hands on the wheel.” Chicken Teater appeared in the back of the hearse, lying down where a casket would be with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you a vampire ghost now?” I glanced in the rearview mirror.

“Ruthie Sue didn't tell me you were a jokester. Though she did mention you were a little scatterbrained and blamed it on the Santa incident.” The next thing I knew, Chicken was in the front passenger seat next to me. I mean really close to me. His left arm draped around my neck and rested on my shoulder.

“Do you mind?” I shrugged.

“Two hands.” He didn't scoot over. He pointed straight ahead. “Eyes on the road.”

“How can I drive safely with you right next to me? Do you think you can die . . . twice?” I asked with a smart-­alecky tone.

“Ruthie also forgot to mention how cute you are.” He didn't budge. “Charlotte Rae has always taken the beauty limelight; but you, Emma Lee, you are a beauty in your own right.”

“What does that mean? Do you think I would take your compliment seriously?” I didn't put much weight on his observation. “You think a chicken is the most beautiful thing.”

“Wait until you see Lady Cluckington.” Pride dripped on his face. “You are going to be jealous of her just like Marla Maria is.”

“Speaking of Marla Maria.” It was time to ask Chicken about the agreement he spoke about before he disappeared on me. I might be a Betweener, but I had no way of telling him I might need to talk to him when he wasn't around. I had to get all my questions answered while he was right here. “I went to the courthouse to see if you had a will.”

“Why would you do that?” Chicken acted as if I had two heads.

“Because most people have to leave their things to someone, and you wouldn't leave Lady Cluckington to just
anyone
.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Chicken was studying every word I was saying. I had his attention. “What was in the agreement between you and Marla Maria?”

“She signed it. It's in the house.” Chicken nodded enthusiastically. “Lady Cluckington is worth a lot of money if she continues to win in shows.”

“What was the agreement?” I needed details of the terms.

“Marla Maria, though she never told me, was envious of my and Lady's relationship.” He took his arm from around my shoulder and crossed them in front of him. “I have a little bit of money and only a very good friend of mine knows where it is. Marla Maria has to take care of Lady until she comes with me to the great beyond.”

“Take care, as in how?” I asked.

Chicken pointed for me to turn into the trailer park. He was an Eternal Slumber client, but I didn't go to clients' houses.

“She has to clean her cage, keep her bathed, feed her the right foods, and enter her into contests. You know—­continue everything I wanted to do with Lady.” He pointed again. I turned the car down another street. “What the hell? What is she doing in my and Lady Cluckington's Cadillac? She knows she can't ride in the caddy unless it's official business.”

Marla Maria was getting in the driver's side of the Cadillac. She had on a too-­tight black sweater that clung perfectly to her curves and stopped just shy of the top of her skintight black leggings, showing off a little skin in between. The five-­inch black stiletto heels made her already slender legs even longer and thinner. Her hair was pinned up with a red bandana neatly tied around her neck, making her red lipstick stand out even more. Way more.

If she had a nickel in her back pocket, I could tell if it was heads or tails.

“That outfit is a far cry from what she had on this morning.” I pulled up in front of a double-­wide trailer a ­couple of trailers down from his double-­wide. There was a tree with all sorts of empty wine bottles hanging from the branches that were, hopefully, keeping the hearse out of sight. It was hard not to notice a hearse, and Marla Maria would know it was mine. After all, E
TERNAL
S
LUMBER
was printed on each side.

Chicken's small grassy yard was filled with chicken and hen lawn ornaments. The wind chime was dangling hens. Marla Maria stood with her back to us.

No wonder she killed you. Who would want to ride in a beat up truck when you owned a Cadillac
? The words almost escaped my mouth, but I knew I'd be better off keeping my lips shut.

“Marla Maria, baby!” A man yelled from across the gravel road. He looked both ways before he crossed. I squinted trying to get a good look at his face. Unfortunately, his John Deere hat shadowed his face down to his chin.

“Baby?” Chicken fussed. “Well. That no good sonofabitch! I'm gonna jerk a knot in your ass!”

Before I could say anything, Chicken was out of the hearse and right next to Marla Maria baby, winding up his arm to get a good swing at the guy in the John Deere hat. Not paying a bit of attention to Chicken and his tomfoolery, I rolled down my window to see if I could hear what Marla Maria baby was saying to the guy.

“I'll show you
baby
!” Chicken swung. His fist went right through the guy's jaw. For a brief second Marla and the guy's conversation came to a halt. The man took his hat off and rubbed his jaw. He was much younger than Chicken, I'd guess by ten or fifteen years. He wasn't a native to the area or I would have known him. He had deep blue eyes, a five-­o'clock shadow, and appeared to be muscular under his green Henley shirt. Not half bad looking. Especially standing next to Chicken, whose hair was now falling down in his face.

“I think I just got a toothache.” John Deere hat guy thrust his jaw side-­to-­side and front to back. He opened his mouth and Marla Maria looked in.

“I think he felt my fist!” Chicken hollered over to me. The ­couple said a few words, but I couldn't hear them because Chicken continued dancing around telling the guy he was going to give it to him some more and continued to wind up his arm, laying a few more air punches on the guy's jaw.

“Come on, Duckie.” Marla Maria rolled her eyes before she walked over to the passenger side of the Cadillac. He did what he was told.

“Duckie?” Chicken fisted his hand and punched the palm of the other like he was going to sock Duckie again. “What is it with Marla Maria and fowl names?”

I couldn't help but laugh. He did have a point.

Marla and the Duckie jumped into the Caddy. I slithered down in the seat so they didn't see me—­even though the hearse was a good indication that I was there. The car sped by so fast they probably didn't pay any attention to me.

“What are you waiting for?” Chicken appeared right next to me in the passenger seat, sucking up the air around me. He jutted his finger in the air. “Follow my Cadillac!”

“I'm not following anyone.” I reversed the hearse and eased up to Chicken's double-­wide.

“What kind of detective are you?” Chicken silently fumed with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I never said I was a detective. I'm a funeral-­home director,” I reminded him. “You have to remember you are the second ghost I have ever helped. I still don't know what I'm doing.”

“How come Ruthie Sue Payne raved on about how good you are?”

“If you don't like what I'm doing, I will be more than happy to bury your ungrateful murdered butt six feet under and forget all about our little visits.” My blood pressure rose and I swallowed hard to get my wits about me. I could threaten him all I wanted to, but I knew he wasn't going to leave me alone until I figured out who killed him. I put the car back in reverse like I was going to leave the trailer park.

“Wait . . . wait.” Chicken put his hands out in front of him. “It's hard seeing my Marla Maria dating another man.”

“How do you know she's dating another man?”

“He called her baby. And no man calls a woman baby without more intentions.” Chicken had a point. The guy did have a tone about his voice. “And he's wanted my Marla since we moved to the trailer park.”

“Did Marla ever give him the time of day?” This was probably a hard question for Chicken to answer. It would be an important piece of the pie.

“She never had the chance to. I ran him off every single time.” Chicken snorted. “One time I had Lady Cluckington chase him clear across the trailer park. He looked like a fool running as fast as his scrawny legs could carry him.”

“Looks like we have company.” I watched a dark Ford sedan pull up behind us.

“Aw shucks.” A big smile crossed Chicken's lips. “That's my buddy, Sugar.”

“Sugar?” What the hell had I gotten myself into? Who has the name Chicken? Who has the name Sugar?