A Ghostly Murder (11 page)

 

Chapter 19

I
t was a happy sight to see Jack Henry's cruiser still in the driveway of the funeral home when I got home.

I was hoping to get a little time with Mamie to ask her about Dixie Dunn's capital adventure in the beauty product department, but she didn't show herself, and neither did Junior. I wondered where they were and what they did when they weren't with me.

“You are home early.” Jack Henry was laid out on the couch, remote in hand. He glanced at his watch. “I'm guessing it wasn't the beer-­drinking kind of party, because you weren't gone long.”

“No.” I plopped down in the chair beside the couch. “But I did score some moisturizer.”

“Moisturizer?” He shook his head.

“Yes. And I think I got my motive for Dixie Dunn to kill Mamie Sue Preston.” I was pretty pleased with myself.

“There is no way on this earth Dixie killed me. No way.” Mamie sat on the couch next to Jack Henry.

I glared at her. She was looking at him.

“What?” Jack Henry sat up. “Is one of them here?”

“Yes.” I let out a heavy sigh. “Mamie, and she claims Dixie didn't kill her. But evidence is stacking up.”

“Like what?” they both asked at the same time.

“Dixie Dunn was your maid and she needed the cash to make the beauty line; you left her the cash as the beneficiary of your estate.” My brows lifted.

“She's been with me for years. I made her beneficiary a long time ago. She would've killed me then,” Mamie said.

“Oh.” I wasn't sure how to respond. She was right. What was Dixie's reason for waiting? “Maybe she waited until you were older and no one would suspect you got killed. Died of natural causes.”

“Are you talking to her?” Jack Henry asked. “Because if you are, I'm going to finish watching the game.” He used the remote to turn up the volume.

“Don't you care about this?” I asked him.

“Yes. I do. But she was buried with Burns. It's going to take an act of Congress to get Emmitt Moss to sign a release so I can get her body up and take a look at bones and dust.” He shook his head.

“So you are just going to let my killer go unknown and leave me in the Between world?” Mamie cried out.

“No,” I grumbled. “I'll find out who killed her.”

“No, you won't.” Jack Henry didn't bother looking at me. He kept his eyes on the TV. “It's not like there is some sort of serial killer out there.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah. Are you sure, you little whippersnapper?” Mamie Sue wasn't happy with Jack Henry's performance as sheriff.

“Yes, Emma Lee. There are no serial killers in Sleepy Hollow,” Jack Henry laughed.

Just then, a dispatch came across his police radio, which was attached to his uniform still balled up on my bedroom floor.

He rushed in the bedroom and came out fully dressed.

“Where are you going?” I asked. “I thought you were spending the night?”

“I'll be back.” He kissed me on the forehead. “I'm heading over to Triple Thorn subdivision. It looks like Beulah Paige passed out during the Auxiliary meeting and is on life support.”

My throat tightened. My chest hurt. Suddenly I became dizzy. I leaned up against the wall and only heard Jack Henry slam the door behind him.

I slid down the wall. My knees bent in the air, my hands flung out on either side, I couldn't move.

“Maybe now he will believe there is a serial killer around Sleepy Hollow.” Mamie knelt down beside me. Her eyes were more hollow than I remembered them.

After I gathered my wits about me, I fixed myself a cup of coffee and waited for Jack Henry to come back. It seemed like forever, but in actuality it was only a ­couple of hours and rounding midnight before I heard his car pull up.

I greeted him at the door.

“I don't know what happened to her.” He took his hat and rubbed his hand on the top of his head.

“Is she . . .” I hesitated to use the word
dead.

“No, she's not dead.” He paused. “Yet.”

My stomach fell to my feet. “What happened?”

“After you left, I guess she was so worked up about you going into her room and taking a poop, she might've had a slight heart attack or something.” He shrugged past me. “She complained of chest pains, a headache, and the next thing they knew. Wham!” He smacked his hands together. “She was on the ground.”

“Oh my God.” I took Jack Henry by the hand. “That is awful. I didn't do anything to put her one foot in the grave.”

“When I took some statements, the maid—­your killer . . .” He fumbled for her name, finally taking the notebook out of his pocket. He flipped it open and read, “Dunn, Dixie Dunn. According to Dixie, she was mad about you using the bathroom upstairs and how you were spreading your virus all over the place. Not to mention some face cream.”

He put his hand on my head.

“I'm lovesick, nothing real sick. I told her that.” I jerked my head away from his hand.

“So you were snooping around and she caught you.” He had it all figured out. I nodded. “Then you started to mess around in her bathroom at all the pretties.” I nodded, he continued. “Then you wanted to try the cream and did.”

“Yes, but I didn't take any. I told you Dixie Dunn made the moisturizer and gave me a jar. She said she needed money to make a go of it. Millions.”

Millions.

“Are you sure this Dixie Dunn gave you the cream, because I don't want Beulah Paige Bellefry coming back from this coma and accusing you of putting her there by stealing.” He looked at me.

“Yes. Dixie Dunn gave me the jar.” I pointed to the jar sitting on the table next to the couch. “There it is.”

“But you did play pretty in her bathroom while pretending to be sick?” he asked.

“How do you figure all this stuff out?” I found it eerie.

“Because you smell delicious and I know that's not your original scent of Eau de Toilette of Death.” He pulled me tight and gave me a big, long kiss to start off the rest of our night.

 

Chapter 20

I
staggered out of bed to answer the phone Jack Henry had stuck on the dresser before he made his way to bed last night.

“Granny?” I answered frantically. My heartbeat rang out loud and clear in my ears. “What's wrong?”

Granny was an early riser, not an early caller.

“You have got to get over here right away,” she cried out, a sudden fury in her voice. “Someone is trying to frame me.”

“Frame you?” I eased back on the bed, trying to steady my pounding heart from her scaring me half to death.

Images of Beulah Paige danced in my head. Was someone figuring out I was snooping around and going after all my ­people? Not that Beulah Paige was one of my closest friends, but we did run in the same Sleepy Hollow circle.

Jack Henry propped himself up on his elbows. Even his short, high-­and-­tight haircut was mussed up. He rubbed his eyes.

“Yes. Get over here.” Granny hung up.

“I guess I need to run over to the Inn.” I looked over at Jack Henry, who had fallen right back to sleep.

I didn't bother waking him up. If I needed him, I knew where to find him. I slipped on my Kentucky sweatshirt and khaki shorts before I darted out the door.

There wasn't time to drive over, so I hightailed it as fast as a jackrabbit across the square.

“Whoa! What's the hurry?” Junior Mullins glided along next to me, smoke trailing behind.

“I'm not sure. Something's wrong with Granny,” I said, not caring a bit in the world who saw me talking to him.

“Like what?” he asked.

“She said someone's framing her.” I jutted up the steps of the Inn, letting the screen door smack behind me.

“I didn't say murdering me or breaking in.” Granny was in full regalia. Her hair was nicely styled, and she wore a pair of cropped jeans and a blue cardigan with a simple necklace that had a
Z
charm dangling from it.

She stood in the powder room off the hallway of the Inn, slathering white stuff all over her face.

“What is that?” I asked.

“New moisturizer from Beulah's maid.” Granny must've thought the more the better. It was thick like plaster and if she smiled, her face might crack. “I guess you heard about Beulah. Damn shame I had to cook dinner last night for the Inn guests and not be there on time to see them cart off Beulah in the ambulance. But I did get there in time for the maid to sell everyone a jar of her fabulous cream.”

I watched Granny rub the cement down her neck.

“I heard you put her into a frenzy when you had your bout of diarrhea.” Granny's brows cocked. Too bad the paste didn't cover them. “Diarrhea? You were looking for something. I know you, Emma Lee.”

“Granny, don't let your imagination run wild.” I shook my head and stepped out of the door of the bathroom to make room for her. “What is this nonsense about being framed?”

I followed her into the kitchen. There was flour all over the floor, sugar spread all over the counter, and honey dripping down the lower cabinets.

“What happened?” I stayed at the door and looked in.

“That is what happened.” Granny pointed to an overturned round bronze plate on the kitchen floor.

I bent down to take a look.

“Is there some sort of animal under it, because this place is a mess.” I started to flip it over.

“Don't touch it!” Granny stopped me. “We need fingerprints.”

“Fingerprints?” I bent down a little more. There were some words stamped in gold on the bottom. “Sleepy Hollow Baptist Church?”

I glanced back at Granny. Her eyes held a fear in them.

“Now.” She took a gulp. “I've done a lot of underhanded, sneaky things in my life. But being a thief and stealing from God has never crossed my mind.”

“The money?” I gasped. “Is that the collection from yesterday's ser­vice that went missing?”

“I swear, Emma Lee.” Granny walked over and showed me what she had done. “I was happily making my biscuits and sausage gravy.” Her brows lifted, cracking the plaster on her forehead. “My secret ingredient is honey. So I went to the cabinet and opened it to grab the honey.”

She went through the motions. I eyed her Bible sitting on the kitchen table. The more she talked, the more I wanted to get my hands on the picture of her, Mamie Sue and Pastor Brown.

“When I opened the cabinet, the honey was open and sitting in
that
plate.” She jabbed her finger down toward the collection plate. “I just couldn't believe my eyes. I took the plate down, and when I looked down into it and saw all the money, I dropped it and called you.”

“You didn't seem too upset when I came in with you spackling the white stuff all over your face,” I said, trying to contemplate what I should do.

Call Jack Henry and tell him Granny had the money? Call Pastor Brown and explain we found it in the cabinet?

“I knew you were on your way and I couldn't dare stay in here with the money someone planted on me. Just like the pie.” Her eyes narrowed, her lips thinned. “I bet Bea Allen is trying to get rid of me.”

“No,” I shook my head, “she's trying to get rid of me.”

“What?” Granny's head almost twisted off her neck.

“Nothing.” I didn't have the time or energy to go into detail about my disastrous date with Jack Henry at his family's home and Bea Allen flapping her lips about me impersonating her. “Let's just go over this one more time.”

Granny did her entire routine, and nothing changed. When she made the motions of opening the cabinet and all the stuff falling to the ground, I pulled the picture out of Granny's Bible and stuck it in my pocket.

“When was the last time you opened the cabinet before this morning?” I asked.

There had to be some sort of reasonable explanation for Sleepy Hollow Baptist Church's entire collection being in Granny's cabinet with her honey sitting on top.

Okay . . . maybe not reasonable, but some sort of answer.

“Did you tell anyone about your secret ingredient of honey when making your biscuits?” I asked, trying to narrow down someone, anyone.

“No.” She ran over to the ball of yeast she had covered over. She cried out, “Now these aren't going to be any good because I've waited too long to put honey on them.”

“Granny,” I said. “Focus.”

“Focus? Are you kidding me?” Granny tossed the rising dough ball into the trashcan. “I have Inn guests who will be up in less than thirty minutes. I have all of Sleepy Hollow's residents' ten percent tithe drenched in honey on my floor. And someone placed Bea Allen's pie in my cabinet a ­couple days ago. Twice!” She held up two boney fingers. “Now this!”

“I have an idea.” I picked up the plate, to Granny's displeasure.

There was a lot of money. Most of it was dripping in honey. I put the money in the sink and turned the faucet on.

“We are going to launder the money, literally?” Granny asked.

“No.” I did my best cleaning off the honey. “You are going to take a chisel hammer to get that crap off your face. I'm going to sneak the money back into the church.”

“How are you going to do that?” She put a hand on her hip.

“You are going to get rid of the plate, and I'm going to hide the money under my sweatshirt. Remember,” I smiled, “I told Pastor Brown I would fill in for Mable Claire.”

Mable Claire. Exactly why couldn't she volunteer today? I tucked the little question in the back of my mind with the rest of them.

Granny and I hatched our plan. She was going to put her finest Southern pearls on and do the best she could with the biscuits she was working on. I was going to grab a cup of coffee at Higher Grounds Café on my way to Sleepy Hollow Baptist Church to put the money back and do my volunteer duties.

I probably should've gotten a shower and brushed my teeth first, but the way I saw, God didn't care what I looked like as long as I returned the tithe. And maybe did a little snooping around for Mamie's million dollars.

“Good morning,” I said to Mable Claire, who was sitting in her regular table at Higher Grounds, minus Beulah Paige. I stopped to give my condolences. “I'm so saddened to hear about Beulah. Is she going to be all right?”

“I don't think we should talk about it, since you were the one who put her there.” Mable Claire's bottom lip jutted out.

“Mable Claire, I did no such thing,” I protested, being careful not to move around too much with the wad of cash stuck down my waistband. “When I left there, she was healthy as a hog. Regardless, I wish no ill will on anyone.”

“Thankfully she switched her funeral arrangements to Burns, and I'm going right over to do the same thing.” Mable Claire stood up and jingled her way to the door.

“Good!” I yelled at her back. “We don't want you anyway,” I muttered, thinking about the hissy fit Charlotte Rae was going to have when she found out.

“Let's hope she doesn't kick the bucket.” Cheryl Lynne poured a to-­go cup of coffee for me. “It seems like you are batting a thousand with the Auxiliary women.”

“Yeah,” I grumbled and ran my hand through my hair, which was becoming increasingly greasy as the morning minutes flew by.

“I was there last night,” she said. “I'm not sure you want some coffee with your bowel issues.” She handed the cup over the glass-­top counter.

“I don't have diarrhea.” I knew what she was saying without having to say it. “I'm fine,” I informed her.

“There seems to be a lot of strange things going on around here.” Cheryl leaned against the glass counter, resting on her forearm. “The money from the church went missing. Beulah has some sort of heart attack. Strange.”

“How did you know about the money from the church?” I asked. Jack Henry was pretty good at keeping police business on the down-­low.

“Mable Claire told me.” She pointed to Mable Claire, who was across the street on the sidewalk talking to Pastor Brown. Cheryl Lynne walked over to the cappuccino machine. She threw in all sorts of things to make the fancy drink. “I guess she should know. She comes in here every Monday morning before she goes to the church to count the money.”

“She wasn't going today.” I watched the interaction between Mable Claire and Pastor Brown.

“What did you say?” Cheryl Lynne asked over the cappuccino maker.

“Nothing.” I waved and stood at the door of the café until Mable Claire and Pastor Brown turned enough so they wouldn't see me slip out and down the street to the church.

Haste makes waste, and I didn't wait. If fast walking was an Olympic sport, I knew I could win a gold. No one, not Pastor Brown, was going to beat me to the church. I would slip in through the side door, which was always open for anyone who felt the spirit and needed to pray, and put the money in a different collection plate.

All in Sleepy Hollow must have been good, because no one was in there to pray. I did stop at the altar and give a little healing thought to Beulah Paige. If she did have a heart attack because of me and my lies, that would be hard to live with. I really did want her to be okay, although maybe come back a little nicer.

“Boo!” Junior danced around, smoke signals floating up in the air. The signals turned into perfect smoke rings. “I've figured out how to create rings. If I move this way and that way . . .” He darted in a circular motion.

“Great.” I walked up the altar steps and went over to the door Pastor Brown always comes out of during ser­vice, then I jiggled the handle.

To my surprise, it was open and exactly where I needed to be—­the hallway, the guts of the church. On my way down the hall, I opened each door on the left and the right. I needed the office, and these were Sunday-­school classrooms. Each had a table with chairs around them, Bibles on top, and a chalkboard with all sorts of Bible verses written on them. One of the rooms had a Baggie full of frosted animal crackers.

I couldn't resist. I took the bag.

“Mm . . .” I chewed on an animal cracker and sipped my coffee. It was so good.

The office was at the end of another hall. The door was open, so I was happy I wouldn't have been accused of breaking and entering. The empty collection plates were stacked on a large credenza.

The sound of footsteps caught my ear. I jumped in the rolling chair and took the money out of my waistband. I wheeled over to the credenza and stuck the wad of cash in the top collection plate. With the plate in my hand on my roll back to the desk, I grabbed a piece of paper off the copier and pencil off the desk.

“One hundred and twenty,” I counted the money loud enough for the person coming closer to hear me. “Twenty-­one, twenty-­two.” I wrote the number down. “Jesus loves me this I know,” I sang and pretended to stack the money when I heard the footsteps stop at the door of the office.

“For the Bible tells me so.” I sang loud and proud of the one and only song I remembered from Sunday school.

“Emma Lee?” Pastor Brown asked.

“Pastor.” I smiled and held a stack of money in one hand. “I'm here to do my volunteer work.”

“Where did you get the money?” he asked with a perplexed look on his face. He walked over. His mouth dropped when he saw the collection. “Where did it come from?”

“Um . . . in the plate right here.” I tapped the stack with my pencil. “Is this not right?”

“You mean you came in here and the money was in the collection plate?” he asked with trepidation.

“Right there,” I confirmed my big lie.

Please God, don't strike me dead right here in your house.
I bit my lip and begged for forgiveness.

“Is everything all right?” I asked, as if I didn't know anything about the missing collection.

“Great!” He clasped his hands together. Joy spewed out of his mouth. “Better than great, Emma Lee!”