A Ghostly Murder (4 page)

 

Chapter 5

T
he old abandoned mill on the outskirts of town was owned by Leotta Hardy and her daughter, Mary Anna Hardy, the owner of Girl's Best Friend Spa.

Not too long ago, the mill was in an unfortunate situation, when it was blown up with me in it. Luckily I escaped, which was another story on a different day, and the bones of the mill remained standing.

Leotta and Mary Anna had come into a little bit of money from Leotta's deceased husband and my former Betweener client, Cephus Hardy. The two women used a little bit of the money to restore the mill.

Fluggie Callahan's old, beat-­up, wood-­paneled station wagon was parked in the gravel lot. She said it was all she could afford on a poor man's newspaper salary.

“Looks good in here.” I opened the mill door to find Fluggie tucked behind a desk.

Fluggie looked up. Her eyes were magnified behind the glasses perched up on her nose, causing her white eyelashes to jump out even more. Her sandy-­blond hair was pulled up in the normal scrunchie-­and-­bobby-­pin look she always seemed to be going for. Her white, short-­sleeved collared shirt was tightly tucked into her elastic-­waistband capri khakis that were pulled clear up under her armpits.

Her phone rang out a typewriter ring tone. She looked at it and sent whoever it was to voice mail.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” Fluggie asked.

I'd needed Fluggie's help on some information regarding Cephus Hardy, and she'd sort of blackmailed me when she'd found out Granny was running for mayor. The
Sleepy Hollow News
had been shut down after Fluggie had stuck her nose into something someone hadn't wanted exposed, and Fluggie had wanted the paper to be brought back to life even if the Internet was taking over. Needless to say, Granny hadn't won, but O'Dell Burns had been more than happy to bring back the paper. The old mill had been open, and that was where Fluggie had set up shop.

“I need your help and resources.” I plopped down in the chair in front of her. “I need some information on a very wealthy woman who was an only child. She's been dead a while, but I'm interested in how much money she had and who she left it to.”

“Is this a story I might want in on?” Fluggie asked. “Something you are working on for that little hot number of yours?”

“Story. Maybe. For Jack Henry? No.” I bit my lip.

“I likey!” Fluggie banged her hand on the desk. “You know something about this woman, and you aren't telling your man.” She scooted to the edge of her seat and planted her forearm on the corner of the desk, leaning in. “I want in.”

I shook my head.

“No, no, no,” I insisted. “There's nothing to it. No story. Nothing. I just want to know what she did with her money.”

Fluggie took the glasses off her face and put the ends of the frame in her mouth. She eased back in the chair.

“Then you can ask around all them Auxiliary women. I'm sure they can give you the gossip. Unless . . .” She took the glasses out of her mouth and pointed them directly at me. “You don't want anyone to know you are snooping around.”

My chest heaved up, and then down from a big sigh. Fluggie and I were stuck in a stare down. I needed the information, and she knew it. She had the resources and I didn't, unless I talked to Jack Henry.

“I'm not saying you have to give me any details to why you are looking into this woman's past or financial situation yet.” She drummed her fingertips together. “I want the story when you've collected all the data.”

“I'm not sure there's even a story.”

Of course there was a story. Hell, there was a murder. And I was going to have to make a deal with the devil. Fluggie Callahan.

“There's a story, or you wouldn't have come to me. Just like Cephus Hardy.” She clicked her tongue in her mouth. “I haven't figured it out, but somehow you were on to his murder. Was this woman murdered?”

“No.” Nervously, I laughed. I couldn't risk anyone finding out how I helped murdered ghosts discover who killed them. “Okay,” I went on. I would feed Fluggie just enough to get the information I needed. “I have reason to believe Mamie Sue Preston might have been murdered.”

Fluggie grabbed a piece of paper, took the pencil from behind her ear and scribbled away.

“Go on.” Her features twisted into a maddening leer.

“She supposedly had millions. But where did they go if she didn't have any family or next of kin?”

“How do you know she didn't have anyone? And where did you come across this . . .” Fluggie put her glasses back on her face and scanned her paper. “. . . Mamie Preston?”

“I noticed her fancy gravestone at the cemetery the other day and I asked my granny about her.” I put on my best blank stare so she couldn't read me. “Granny said Mamie was the wealthiest woman in Sleepy Hollow to this day. So that got me thinking. Where is the money?”

“Interesting.” Fluggie took the glasses off and tossed them on top of the paper she had scribbled on. “There might be something here. Long shot. But might. It could've gone to various charities.”

“Well.” I tapped the desk and stood up. “See what you can find out. I'd appreciate it.”

Fluggie grabbed her phone, and her fingers flew over the keys like it was a typewriter.

“What are you doing?” I asked, wondering if she was already texting someone to find something out.

“I like to handwrite a lot of things, but I keep all my notes in my phone.” She waved her hand in the air. “If one of my contacts calls when I'm not here, I keep notes on my phone so I can add the information. Then I come back to the paper file and write down my new tips or anything I figured out.”

“Alrighty, thanks.” I walked to the door.

“Tell me, Raines,” Fluggie stopped me before I walked out. She had gotten used to calling me by my last name. I took it as a reporter thing. “Are you going through old client files from the funeral home and trying to figure out their lives?”

“Nope. Just a hunch.” I left it at that before I disappeared out the door and jumped back in the hearse to head to Junior's funeral.

 

Chapter 6

W
hen I got back to the funeral home, Mary Anna Hardy was bent over Junior's body. Her big floor lamp was turned on Junior's head like a spotlight.

“What in the world is going on?” I asked and scanned the room. John Howard sat in the front row with his hands folded between his knees.

The smell of Pine-­Sol overtook the smell of the fresh flowers that had been delivered and strategically placed around the viewing room earlier in the day.

“Ask him.” Mary Anna didn't look up.

She wore tight white pants tapered at the ankle, with black sequined flats on her feet. She had on a bright red wrap top. Her bleach-­blond hair was styled in a short bob like her icon, Marilyn Monroe.

“Well?” I walked over to Junior's coffin.

Mary Anna was cutting, hair spraying and combing what was left of Junior's toupee, which wasn't much. The candelabra, positioned at the head of the casket, was a four-­tiered candle holder. The candles were usually lit for ambiance during the funeral, but it looked like they had already been burning. There were hardened beads of wax on the holder that hadn't been there earlier. I had made sure new candles had replaced the old ones.

“Miss Emma Lee,” John Howard said in a low voice. “I don't like the smell of funeral flowers. They have a certain smell to them. I lit the candles,” he admitted. “The lingering smell of death kept creeping up my nose.” He used the back of his hand to give his nose a good scratch.

“Not before you put a sheet overtop Junior.” Mary Anna didn't miss a beat with the scissors as she told on John Howard. “When he got finished dusting, he whipped off the sheet before he blew out the candles. Junior's toupee went flying right across the flame. The front of his toupee.”

Even though Mary Anna had eight stylists at Girl's Best Friend Spa, she also did all the corpses' hair and makeup here at Eternal Slumber. I barely got my own hair done and I rarely wore makeup, so there was no way I was going to be able to do that part of the business. There was no way Charlotte Rae was going to dig her manicured fingers into the hair of a dead person.

Mary Anna said hair was hair and dead or alive, it was all the same. Gave me the groddies but not her.

John Howard looked like he was on time-­out.

“Charlotte Rae clouded up and rained all over him.” Mary Anna shook her head. “I didn't see all of it. I got her call and came in on the tail end. But I know she gave him a verbal beatin'.”

“I'm sorry you had this happen, John Howard.” I felt sorry for him. He'd always been a great employee, and I had never had to get on him.

“If you had Dixie this wouldn't have happened.” Mamie Sue looked over Junior. “He got teeth in there I can have?”

“Don't worry about Charlotte.” I patted John Howard on the shoulder and ignored Mamie. “You can go on. I'll finish up here.” I took my phone out of my back pocket and looked at the time.

I had half an hour before this place was going to be filled, and I still needed to get on my regular funeral outfit.

When John Howard walked out of the room, Mary Anna started laughing.

“Charlotte Rae was madder than a wet cat.” Mary Anna did another spray of something before she up-­righted herself and took a good look at Junior through her bright blue eyes. “I've never seen her so wound tight.”

“She's been like that lately. I just ignore her.” I looked at the toupee. It wasn't exactly what Junior used to wear, but it was what he was going to wear to his going-­away party. “Thanks, Mary Anna.”

“No problem.” She gathered her things.

“Do you know what happens to a client's false teeth?” I asked, hoping to get some sort of answers that would lead to me finding Mamie Sue's.

“I always leave them in unless their mouths look funny once Vernon sews up the lips.” She shrugged. “In that case you keep them out and use filler.”

“I want my teeth.” Mamie stomped around. “Find my teeth.”

“What do you do with them if you use filler?”

“The teeth?” Mary Anna's swooping bangs drew a shadow over her eyes. She tugged the wrap shirt up, covering a bit of her cleavage.

“Yes. The teeth that aren't used.”

“I leave them in their file. I guess it's up to you what you do with their teeth. Maybe give them back to the family or something.” She shrugged. “Hell, I don't know.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I walked out of the viewing room and stopped in the vestibule.

“See you in a little bit.” She waved off before she left.

I hurried back to my apartment in the back of the funeral home to get changed.

Charlotte Rae and I grew up in the residence of the funeral home. It wasn't uncommon in the South for a family to own a funeral home and live in it. Same held true for my family. My grandparents lived there with my dad. When my parents married, they moved in and raised Charlotte Rae and me there. Of course it did nothing for my popularity status, which was null because I was known as the creepy funeral-­home girl. Sticks and stones . . . right?

Anyway, when Charlotte Rae and I took over from Granny and my parents retired to the sunny state of Florida, we turned the residence into another viewing room off the vestibule and kept a small efficiency for me that included a bedroom, kitchenette, family room, bathroom and small hallway.

I plunked down on my little couch and closed my eyes. I went over what Granny had told me about Mamie Sue. And over it again. It was too early to know anything, which meant I needed more information.

“Sitting here isn't going to get me my teeth.” Mamie appeared next to me. She was busy looking at her ring from an arm's length away. “It's so gorgeous. I love it.”

“Yes.” I rolled my eyes. “So, do you know how you died?”

“No. But I told Doc Clyde I felt bad. He put me on all sorts of vitamins.” She puffed hot air on her ring and polished it on her green skirt.

“Doc Clyde?” That got my attention. “You saw Doc Clyde?”

“Yes. He was the only doctor in town.”

“Still is,” I grumbled. “He wants to put me in the crazy house.”

“Why? Are you nuts and no one told me?” She had an “aw shucks” look on her face.

“No. Before I knew of my little gift.” I gestured between me and her.

“Ohhh.” She smiled. A look of relief settled on her face.

“I told him I was seeing dead ­people and he told me I had what was called the Funeral Trauma. Obviously I don't.”

“So no one knows about your . . .” Now she gestured between us.

“Jack Henry Ross knows,” I confessed.

“And you two are an item?” Her brows wiggled. “I saw you two kissing at the Inn and decided to skedaddle.”

“It's nice because he can help. But in your case . . .” I bit my lip. “Your case is a little difficult.”

“Why is that? I was murdered just like everyone else that comes to you for help.” She huffed.

“Everyone else who has come to me was a client of Eternal Slumber, not Burns Funeral. I can't access their files or try to get their bodies exhumed so easily.”

“You are just going to have to try harder.” Her chin lifted and she looked away.

“Why did you move your funeral plans?” I asked.

“Zula Fae pissed me off.” Her cheek muscles stood out from her narrow face as she clenched her jaw.

“About what?” I asked.

Just like that, Mamie Sue Preston disappeared.

 

Chapter 7

D
id you talk to your granny?” Jack Henry nodded and smiled as the mourners passed us in the vestibule on the way to Junior Mullins's food line.

The funeral went off without a hitch and the burial just as smooth. No one uttered a word about Junior's toupee. There were a lot of compliments on how nice the funeral home looked. Charlotte Rae beamed.

“About?” I waved to some of the locals and directed them to the room where the food was waiting for them. It was hard to concentrate when the smell of pulled pork, ribs, hush puppies, collard greens, fried green tomatoes, deviled eggs, and macaroni and cheese swirled in the air.

John Howard had a satisfied look on his face. The homemade cooking completely covered up the smell of funeral flowers.

“Bea Allen's missing pie platter.” Jack Henry stood tall with his blues on. He was always so respectful and in uniform when he came to a funeral.

I didn't mind, because not only was I proud to stand next to him but it was also a big turn-­on.

“I told you, you are way off about Granny.” My eyes snapped over to her.

Granny's five-­foot-­four-­inch frame was tucked against the corner of the table, where she was spooning something out of a Crock-­Pot onto the plates of Junior's mourners as they passed. She set the spoon down when our eyes met, leaned over and whispered something to Mable Claire, one of the Auxiliary women. Then Granny ran her fingers through her short red hair and looked at me. Her eyes darted to the media room, where the video player for the TVs, controls for the surround sound and anything audio or visual for the funeral home were housed. It was employees only. She ducked into the room.

“You know as well as I know she wasn't making apple pie for this.” He looked down at me. His eyes locked on mine. “You told me she was making peach. Your favorite.”

“Did I?” I gulped and ran my hand down his arm. “Aren't you hungry?”

There was no getting around Jack Henry when he was on a case. He had great intuition, and I wasn't sure how to shake him. He was like a coon dog on a scent. He wasn't going to stop until he found out what he was hunting for.

“Sheriff. Emma Lee.” Doc Clyde walked up and greeted us. “Mighty fine funeral.”

Doc Clyde had on his regular pin-­striped 1960s suit and his big brown doctor shoes with thick leather soles. He was Granny's latest conquest, and I wasn't sure what she saw in him. And I didn't question it. As long as he kept her busy and out of my business, I was good.

“Emma Lee, have you been feeling okay?” he asked.

Both Doc Clyde and Jack Henry looked at me with a renewed interest.

“I'm fine. Thanks so much for asking,” I assured them.

“Wow, he has really aged.” Mamie appeared.

“I would like to come in and talk about something,” I said to Doc Clyde. I had to get into his office to see Mamie's records.

Jack Henry drew back, his eyes hooded. It was a sure sign he knew I was up to something. I hated to say something to Doc Clyde in front of Jack Henry, but I couldn't shake him.

“Is that right?” Doc Clyde asked with a shocked tone. “Great. Give Ina a call and tell her I said to get you in right away.”

“Great. I will.” I smiled. “If you'll excuse me. I need to make sure we don't need refills on the food.”

I did a quick drive-­by around the food tables so Jack Henry wouldn't follow me. I looked back in the vestibule, where he was surrounded by a few citizens. They loved to talk to him to make sure he was keeping Sleepy Hollow safe. When I knew he wasn't looking for me, I slipped into the media room off the viewing room where Granny had disappeared.

“It's about time you get in here,” Granny said in a hushed whisper.

“Did you put that platter back in Bea Allen's window?” My brows drew together. “You have done a lot of things, but this takes the cake.”

“I didn't do it,” Granny protested. “I'm telling you that I didn't do it.”

“Oh, ookaay.” There was no way I believed that. I poked my finger toward her. “Maybe
you
need a little appointment with your man, Doc Clyde, not me.”

“Emma Lee, honest to God.” Granny crossed her heart. “I came in the kitchen and there it was.”

Granny walked over to a small cabinet where one of the video components was located. She opened the door to reveal the pie plate.

“You brought it here?” I gasped and rushed over, shutting the door in case someone came in and saw it. “What were you thinking?”

“I'm telling you I didn't do it. Someone is framing me, and I'm sure it's Bea Allen herself.” Granny's green eyes turned to ice. “I swear,” she warned, “I'm going to break bad when I find out.”

“Shhooo-­we.” Mamie Sue cackled. “Someone has got Zula Fae's panties in a wad and thank God it's not me.”

Mamie Sue did a little jig around the room. She swung her elbows back and forth while kicking her legs in the air. Her cane was tucked up under her armpit.

“Jack Henry has pictures of the crime scene.” I paused to see Granny's reaction.

“Crime scene? Pish posh.” Granny waved me off.

“There are tire marks that look just like your moped tires. We both know only one person in this town drives a moped and has a beef with Bea Allen Burns.” I pointed to her. “You!”

“Pointing is rude.” Granny sighed. “The pie showed up. I knew exactly where it had come from.” She shrugged. “Bea Allen is trying to make me look bad, because I bet it was her who put it there.” She had it all figured out. “I took the damn pie back and stuck it on the windowsill.”

“You did?” I asked.

“I came home and did a ­couple things for the Inn before I came back into the kitchen and the damn pie was back on the counter.” Granny's voice lowered. “I don't know how she got it back there so fast.”

For the first time with this whole pie thing, I believed Granny, though I wasn't so convinced it was Bea Allen who was taunting her. These repasts were fierce competition.

“I don't know why, but I believe you.” I watched as Granny's shoulders deflated and slumped over. “Now, why on earth would Bea Allen want to say you stole her pie?”

“I don't know. She was at breakfast this morning at the Inn with Jo Francis Ross.” Granny's hands flailed about. “And I came back in the kitchen and it was there.”

“Jo Francis Ross as in Jack Henry's mom?” I threw my head back.

This couldn't be happening. I ran my hand through my hair and ended it with a big stretch. Maybe I needed to go to Pose and Relax for a little stress relief. I bounced my shoulders up and down to try to get the knots out of them. The sound of Jo Francis Ross's name made me get an instant headache.

“Yep,” Granny quipped. “That's the one.”

“She hates me.” Sweat gathered on my upper lip just thinking about it.

“How could she hate you?” Granny put her arms around me and squeezed.

“She thinks Jack Henry needs to get a girl outside of Sleepy Hollow so he can become a state trooper and get out of this town.” It was a conversation Jack Henry and I had after a few beers at the Watering Hole, a bar on the edge of town, the next county over. I was sure he didn't mean for it to come out of his mouth, because he profusely apologized after he said it.

“And you couldn't be a state trooper's wife?” Granny married me off on my first date with Jack Henry.

“Wife?” I jumped back. “Aren't we putting the cart before the horse?”

“Honey, you ain't getting any younger.” Granny made an observation that hurt but was true.

“Anyway,” I waved her off. It was hard enough to admit my first boyfriend was Jack Henry and nearly impossible to swallow how his mother wasn't too fond of me. “Why would Bea Allen want to frame you?”

“I don't know.” Granny's eyes narrowed. “You have to find out. In the meantime, you have to get the platter back to her house!”

She pulled her set of keys out of her pocket and dangled them in front of me.

“Me?” I drew back. “Are you kidding?”

“No.” She extended her arm closer. “Go on. We don't have all night.”

“You want me to leave the funeral to replace the dish? Now?”

“Can you think of a better time? Everyone is here, including the sheriff.” She patted a curl here and there.

Granny must've been mad at Jack Henry coming to see her this morning. When she was mad at him, she referred to him as “Sheriff.”

“I'm not going to get into why you are mad at Jack Henry. There is no way I can get over there and back without someone noticing.” I pushed her keys back. “Plus your tire marks are in the dirt next to the bushes there. You do your own dirty work.”

“I thought you said you believed me,” she blazed tightly.

“Your face tells me you didn't steal the pie. The hard evidence tells me you did.” I held up a finger. “One, the pie was in your garbage. Two,” I held up another finger, “you said it was in your kitchen. And three, tire marks.”

“I told you exactly what I know. I told you how the marks got there. I'm telling you, someone is out to get me.” She closed her mouth when the door opened and Charlotte Rae's face peeked around the door.

“What are you two doing?” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder into the viewing room as she slipped in, shutting the door behind her. “We have a hundred ­people out there, and you two are in here playing poopsies?”

“Funny.” I pushed my way past her and out the door.

Poopsies was a make-­believe game our parents used to tell us to go play when they wanted to get rid of us and stop bugging them.

“It's about time someone put Zula Fae in her place.” Mamie shuffled past me. I did my best to ignore Mamie, but she let out the most awful shriek. “Dixie!”

Mamie ran off.

Beulah Paige Bellefry and Pastor Brown stood in the doorway between the vestibule and the viewing room. She stood as pretty as a picture with her black skirt and jacket to match, along with a wide-­brimmed hat. The lace hung over the hat in front of Beulah's face. Her pearls dripped around her neck and wrist.

She lifted the veil once all eyes were on her.

Pastor Brown was his usual pious self. The sleeves on his brown suit hit his wrists exactly at the too-­short line, and his pants hit above the ankle. I wasn't sure why he never bought clothes to fit. His income couldn't be much as the preacher of Sleepy Hollow Baptist Church. There hadn't been any growth in the congregation or any additions to the building, but surely he could afford a suit.

He gave a slight wave when his razor-­sharp blue eyes caught mine. I contained my giggle when Mary Anna moseyed over his way and pointed to his hair. She had been dying to get her hands in his coal-­black, greasy comb-over.

I kept a close eye on Mamie Sue when she got a little close to Beulah. Beulah's eye swiveled toward Mamie Sue, a dumbfounded look crossed Beulah's face. For a second I thought Beulah felt Mamie Sue next to her.

“Dang. Someone's been to the tanning bed and the plastic surgeon for those lashes.” Mamie reached out and touched Beulah Paige's fake lashes.

Beulah waved her hand in front of her face as if to swat a fly; little did she know it was Mamie Sue's finger.

“Dixie?” Mamie's eyes filled with tears. They darted between Beulah Paige and the lady standing behind Beulah, who I only assumed was Dixie. “Are you working for
her
?” Mamie asked Dixie as if Dixie could hear her.

Mamie Sue's face drew from bad to worse. Her nose curled, and she took a big whiff from the casserole-­carrying case nestled in the crook of Dixie's elbow.

“Is that my secret chess pie recipe I smell?” Mamie Sue's body stood rigid, her fist clenched. “Oh my God! Dixie!”

“Hello,” I greeted them. “I'll take this.” I took the carrier from Dixie. “Mmm.” I took a nice long whiff. “Is this chess pie?”

“Why yes, it's my secret recipe.” Beulah Paige stepped in front of Dixie. “Emma Lee, this is my new maid, Dixie Dunn. Dixie, Emma Lee.”

“Her secret recipe my ass!” Mamie took a deep breath and plunged forward, sweeping right through Dixie.

Dixie coughed something fierce. Pastor Brown put his large hand on Dixie's back and asked her if she was okay. Dixie nodded.

“Let me get you a drink.” I had Dixie follow me to the drink table.

Charlotte Rae and Granny had emerged from the media room and were back at their posts behind the serving table.

I handed Granny the chess pie so she could put it with the other desserts.

“Here.” I handed Dixie a cup of Granny's sweet tea. “I hope you are okay.”

“I have no idea what got into me.” Dixie took some sips of tea. “It was like the wind was sucked right out of me.”

I stood there getting a good look at Dixie Dunn. She had anthracite eyes and a mop of blond hair. She was definitely younger than I had anticipated Dixie to be. She couldn't have been any more than midforties. She even dressed snappy in her indigo wrap dress, showing off a nice set of gams.

Mamie Sue Preston was what got into you,
I wanted to say, only I knew I couldn't.

“Emma Lee.” Mamie stepped between me and Dixie. “Don't you dare let anyone eat a bite of my chess pie. Dixie had no right giving my recipe to that, that, that . . .” Mamie turned toward Beulah, who was still in the back of the viewing room where we'd left her. “That hillbilly with money. She stole my pie recipe!” Mamie tugged on the hem of her jacket, gathering her wits.

“So you work for Beulah Paige?” I asked.

“I do,” Dixie said between slurps. She handed her cup over the table for one of the Auxiliary women to refill it.

“How long have you been working for Beulah Paige?” I asked, wondering when Beulah Paige got a maid. Even more, when Beulah decided to bake anything, much less chess pie.