A Ghostly Grave (8 page)

“She is a witch. She is slutting around Lexington with Chicken's neighbor and riding all around town in Lady Cluckington's Cadillac. I can't be so sure she didn't kill him and covered it up.” Sugar's head nodded. “She even filed for divorce, but Chicken didn't want to lose her so he told her about the property he owned and told her she had to stay with him.”

“What property?” Hettie asked.

“Don't worry about that,” I said under my breath just enough for her to hear me. I really didn't have to be so discreet, because Sugar was getting loaded by the gulps. “I'll tell you later.”

“Did she rip up the divorce papers?” Hettie asked.

“She agreed to take care of Lady if anything happened to him.” Sugar threw his hands up in the air. “That's when my buddy died. I miss him so much.” Sugar let out a cry and his head came down smacking on the bar top.

“Sugar?” Hettie jabbed him in the arm with her finger. “Sugar?”

“Passed out.” The bartender took Sugar's glass and put it behind the bar. “He'll come to soon. Did you get the answers you came to get?”

“What?” Hettie straightened up.

The bartender ran his hand over his mustache and down his mouth before he leaned on the bar with his hands. “I own the place. When I see two girls walk in here all buttoned up and all the sudden your junk is hanging out asking all sorts of questions about specific things, I know something is up.”

“Did you know Chicken?” I asked.

“I don't know if you are a reporter or not, but I'm not saying a word.” The bartender swiped his wet towel on the bar top to clean it off. “But I do know I don't want no trouble around here. You got it?”

“Got it.” I grabbed a twenty-­dollar bill out of my purse and smacked it on the bar. “It's yours if you tell me how Marla Maria treated Chicken when they were here.”

He put his hand on the twenty and eased it closer to him. He slipped it in his jeans' pocket.

“The only thing she talked about was that damn duck—­”

“Prize hen,” I corrected him.

“What the hell ever. Prize hen.” He glared at me. “Do you want your twenty dollars' worth or not?”

“I'm sorry.” I put my hands up.

“Anyways, she said that she was going to wring the
prize hen's
neck.” He leaned over a little more and whispered, “Chicken said, ‘Over my dead body.' Marla Maria said, ‘Over your dead body is fine with me.' ”

That was as good an admission as I'd ever seen on TV.

“I knew it! I knew she killed me!” Chicken danced on top of the bar. I bit my lip in fear I would laugh out loud. “She's going to pay for this.” He jumped down and stared me directly in the eye. “You have to go save Lady Cluckington before Marla kills her too. Then she'll take the money and run!” There was urgency in Chicken's voice. Desperation.

“Thanks,” I said to the bartender and grabbed Hettie by the arm, dragging her halfway across the bar.

“I expect you to tell me everything once we get in the car,” Hettie warned.

“Wait! Where're you goin'?” Sugar screamed, fumbling words. “Baby!”

We weren't safe from Sugar even outside, safely in the hearse. Sugar stumbled over to the fancy motorcycle with all the lights and tried to throw a leg over like he was going to hop on and follow us, but he couldn't get his five-­foot frame up on the seat. He swung a little too hard and fell to the ground.

“Get out of here.” Hettie strained her neck to see out of the hearse window.

“No problem.” I shifted the gear handle to
DRIVE
and peeled the hearse wheels out of the gravel parking lot, spitting up pockets of dust. “Damn,” I groaned, looking into the rearview. “Charlotte is going to be pissed because the hearse is covered in film.”

“You owe me.” Hettie draped her arm over the back of the seat. Little did she realize she had positioned her arm perfectly around Chicken's ghost making him scoot a little closer to her and leaving a little bit of room between him and me.

“She sure is a pretty thing.” Chicken took in every single facial feature on Hettie Bell's face. “Too bad she wasn't around when I was alive.”

I ignored him like I was used to doing.

“Go on. Spill it.” Hettie wanted to know why I had dragged her to the Watering Hole. “Plus, I need some hand sanitizer after that goon held my hand.” Hettie took her arm off the seat and rubbed it on her capris.

“Awe darlin',” Chicken begged Hettie, “I was just getting used to snugglin' up.”

“You know it, and I know there was a reason they had me dig up Chicken Teater.” I had to proceed with caution because I couldn't tell her I saw ghosts and the fact we knew Chicken was murdered. “With all the new media I'm sure it will come out.” I hesitated.

“You talking about the murder of that man?” Hettie asked. “Remember Zula Fae let it out during yoga.” Hettie clasped her hands together and did some sort of breathing exercise. “I have to get my Zen back from that nasty smoky place.” Hettie fanned her shirt in and out from her body.

“Regardless.” I wasn't going to give in to the Zen world. I had to go to bed and rest for an early-­morning ride to the trailer hood and wait until Marla Maria was out of the house so I could go in and find the agreement and any information about Chicken's doctor. “Doctor!” I hit my palm on the steering wheel.

“What?” Hettie jumped and looked out the window.

“Sugar said something about the doctors and how Chicken wasn't really sick.” I tapped the wheel with my finger. “If he wasn't sick, then why did they say he died of pneumonia? And the doctor would have had to sign off on the death certificate because Marla Maria said she called the doctor to come over when Chicken wasn't feeling well. The doctor came to her house and Chicken was dead.”

“I don't remember that.” Chicken tapped his temple.

“What does that have to do with you? I mean, I get that you date Jack Henry and all, but . . .” Hettie's eyes narrowed. Was she trying to read me?

“Jack Henry is over at Marla Maria's right now. I have to help solve this murder or she's going to try to get her claws into him.” I had to admit, playing the girlfriend card was coming in handy.

“Emma Lee Raines, I never pictured you as the jealous type.”

“I am.” I bit my lip looking over at Chicken Teater and talked to Hettie, but really directed it toward Chicken. “A woman scorned will do anything to get what she wants.”

 

Chapter 11

H
ettie Bell was satisfied with my answer of a woman scorned because she didn't make mention of the bar scene the rest of the way home. Apparently, Sugar Wayne didn't make it onto his motorcycle or at least he didn't catch up to us.

“Are you sure you don't want me to go in and check around with you in case there is someone in there?” Hettie asked as we pulled up to Eternal Slumber. Hettie's car was parked at the square from going to the opening ceremony of the Kentucky Festival of Caves.

“No. I'm sure they got what they wanted.” I wasn't sure what it was that they wanted, because the only room torn up was Charlotte's office. There was no way they were going to get into the elevator to get Chicken's body or autopsy report.

I glanced over at the funeral home. It was eerily dark. I had never been scared of Eternal Slumber or the contents, but tonight it was a little different. Someone out there killed Chicken. They knew we had dug him up. No thanks to the media, it was obvious Chicken's remains were taken to Eternal Slumber, and the entire state knew we had purchased the new equipment—­again, no thanks to the media.

Music spewed from the gazebo in the square. There was a bongo player and guitar player, along with a hippie-­looking girl singing her heart out. They weren't on the opening ceremony venue. Apparently, they were visitors taking in the festival while exploring the caves.

“I might just go grab a Diet Coke from one of the food coaches.” I pointed to the lively group still gathered at a ­couple of the scattered picnic tables that the council had put out for the festival.

“I'm going home and taking a long, hot shower.” Hettie did a shimmy shake.

I laughed. I didn't blame her. “Did Sugar sprinkle a little too much sugar on you?” I winked.

“Uh.” Hettie's tongue protruded out of her mouth as her face scrunched up. “You owe me big time. So be ready to put on a painter's cap. My yoga studio is ready to be painted.”

“Sure.” I nodded. I'd agree to paint, knowing that once I started she'd ask me to stop since I was so bad with a paintbrush, which was due to my impatience and just slapping it on.

I pulled into Eternal Slumber's driveway and we got out. As we crossed the street, Hettie waved bye on her way to her car and I continued toward the group standing near the beer booth.

“Well, well. How is the star of the show?” O'Dell Burns stood up and stumbled over to the food cart. “You know”—­the drink in his cup swashed up and over the rim as he pointed his index finger at me—­“it's not good for business to go digging up your clients.” He grinned.

“Not here, Mr. Burns.” I turned back around to the person working the booth. “I'll have a Diet Coke.” I took out some cash from my purse, exchanging it for my drink.

“Why not?” O'Dell slowly rocked from heel to heel. “I think this is a good time,” he slurred his words as he held up the sloppy wet cup.

I walked over to the group from where he came. If I would have known he was there, I probably would have gone home and to bed. It was known around the Auxiliary group that O'Dell was a drinker and sometimes took a nip or two while working on a client, making business good for us.

“Hi, Beulah Paige.” I nodded when I saw her right in the middle of O'Dell's group. “Does Granny know you are here supporting her competition?”

Where was her loyalty? Beulah Paige would stab you in the back every single time, using her gossiping tongue to do it.

“I didn't realize Zula Fae was on my social calendar.” Beulah grinned from ear to ear and looked at each person in the circle of gossipers. She batted her fake lashes at me before she looked at O'Dell. “Isn't that right, O'Dell?”

“That's right.” O'Dell stumbled and fell into the spot next to Beulah on the bench. “So, Emma Lee, tell me why you went and dug up poor ol' Chicken?”

“I don't think that is any of your business.”

“It is when Marla Maria Teater paid me a visit to rebury her husband after you do God-­knows-­what to his body.” His words stung. Had Marla Maria really contacted Burns Funeral?

Steam poured from my gut and up into my mouth. “I haven't heard from her. Besides, I'm still not going to tell you why.”

“As the new mayor of Sleepy Hollow, I promise here and now . . .” He stood up again, sloshing the contents of his cup all over Beulah's long salt-­and-­pepper perfectly manicured hair, causing her to jump and shove him to the side, knocking him down. But that didn't stop his loose lips. “I promise here and now that I will never let someone dig up your loved one from their eternal resting place.”

“And you think these people are going to elect a town drunk for their mayor?” I shouted at the top of my lungs and gestured to his little group. “And a man who is openly drinking in a public place—­not to mention a dry town!”

“Over your crazy granny? I'm a shoo-­in with her on the ticket.” O'Dell jumped up, coming nose to nose with me. I held my breath. If I took another whiff of the alcohol oozing out of his pores, I just might get drunk from the fumes. “Then you are crazy too. I'm a shoo-­in.” His lip cocked up to one side.

“Over my dead body!” I balled my fist up and turned on my heels running smack-­dab into a kid. “Watch it!”

“You watch it, funeral girl.” The kid, who was head and breast to me, was none other than Sugar Wayne. “Where's my girl?”

“Where did you come from?” I asked and noticed the black marks on my shirt from Sugar's dripping hair. In the distance, I could see flashing lights coming around the square and toward the funeral home.

“Watering Hole to claim my babe from you.” He jabbed me with his ringed finger. “Oh crap. The po-­po.”

Sugar Wayne darted into the darkness as fast as his little five-­foot frame could carry him.

“Tell my girl I'll find her!” Sugar shouted from the dark abyss.

“You better watch yourself,” O'Dell warned. “I'm going to rule this city by taking care of the living and the dead.” His grin sent chills over my body.

“Like I said,” I glared at him, well aware that Jack Henry's cop car had pulled into Eternal Slumber's driveway. “Over my dead body.”

I turned back around and walked across the street to the funeral home wondering why Jack Henry still had the lights of the cruiser on.

“Well, I'd love to bury it.” O'Dell's cackle echoed off the hollows of the caves, taunting me over and over until the vibrations stopped.

“Granny?” I watched in shock as Jack Henry opened the back door of the car and removed a handcuffed Zula Fae Raines Payne with a big grin on her face. I took off running to them. “Jack! What are you doing?” I gasped.

“You need to keep a leash on her.” Jack whipped Granny around and uncuffed her.

“Where are your manners, Jack Henry Ross?” Granny rubbed each wrist. “Your momma will be getting a call from me.”

“Yes ma'am.” Jack took his hat off. “Be sure to tell her that I caught you trying to crawl through the window of Burns Funeral Home.”

“I'll be.” Granny stomped. “I told you he stole my moped.”

“Wait.” I stood between Granny and Jack Henry, giving them a little distance. I knew Granny and so did Jack. There was no arguing with her. “O'Dell stole your moped?”

Jack Henry let out a big sigh and shook his head.

“He did!” Granny protested. “Ask him!”

“Emma Lee, honey.” Jack Henry's slow Southern drawl when he said
honey
sent all reasoning out the window. “Can you please take Zula home?”

“Yes,” I muttered, giving him a little smile of gratitude. “I'll be right back.”

“I'll wait inside.” Jack Henry got in the car and turned off the lights and ignition.

“Come on Granny.” I took her by the elbow. “Tell me why you think O'Dell stole your moped.”

I made sure to take the back side of the square in fear we would see O'Dell and Beulah. That would send Granny over the edge even further.

“He has it out for me,” Granny said in a shaky voice. “He came to the courthouse right after you left and warned me that the first thing on his agenda was to ban mopeds from Sleepy Hollow. He claimed I was going to kill someone.” Granny stopped, the moon shone down on her face. There was stress in her eyes. “I'd never hurt a flea. Well, maybe a flea, but not a person.”

“I know, Granny.” I patted her hand and moved her along. The quicker I got her across to the Inn, the quicker I would be back at my place and looking at Jack Henry. I had to assess him to make sure Marla Maria didn't get her claws into him. “What about the moped?”

“It's gone!” she shrieked. “He left the chain.”

“How did he get the chain off?” I asked. The chain was the thickest thing I had ever seen, plus she had a heavy-­duty lock on it.

“The key to the lock was on my keys.” Granny pouted. “I bet he stole them when he came into the Inn to eat lunch a ­couple of days ago. That's when I heard him say he was running for mayor. That's when I decided I had to run against him. Criminal.”

“Aren't they all?” I snickered and walked up the steps of the Inn. “Go get some sleep. You are lucky Jack Henry didn't haul you off to jail for breaking and entering. We will talk more in the morning. I'll find the moped.”

Granny nodded and disappeared into the Inn.

The crowds had gone from the square and Sleepy Hollow was mostly silent except for the distant bongo drums that echoed throughout the dark night sky.

I had a lot to tell Jack Henry about Marla Maria and why I felt like she killed Chicken.

“Help . . .” The voice gasped for air. “Help me . . .”

“Hello?” I spoke into the dark. The only light was from the carriage lights around the square, which were really there for looks and thus were dim.

“Emma Lee . . .” The voice sounded a lot like O'Dell Burns. My eyes darted to the picnic table where I had left O'Dell gloating. There was a pair of legs sticking out from under the picnic table.

“Help!” I screamed and ran over to him. “Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Help!” I fell to the ground when I saw blood coming from his side and scooped him into my arms. “It's okay. Jack Henry is right across the street. He will help. Help! Help! Jack Henry!”

“Emma Lee?” Jack Henry appeared on the porch of Eternal Slumber and ran over when he saw me on the ground. He bolted down the stairs screaming something into his police radio. My mind was swirling and everything around me was twirling around.

“It's going to be okay,” I whispered to O'Dell rocking him back and forth.