A Ghostly Grave (9 page)

 

Chapter 12

S
leeping was virtually impossible after the attack on O'Dell Burns and the bags under my eyes were definitely showing it.

I grabbed my notebook off the bedside table and went through the clues I already had because somewhere there had to be a link between O'Dell's attack, Granny's moped theft, and the break-­in at the funeral home. Somehow, they had to be connected, and connected to Chicken. But how?

“Chicken has money tied up in property and Marla Maria gets the money based on an agreement where she takes care of Lady Cluckington if something happens to Chicken. Oddly enough, Marla Maria filed for divorce a week before Chicken's supposed pneumonia.” I read what I had written. “Marla Maria had the doctor come to her house, where he pronounced Chicken dead from pneumonia.”

I grabbed my phone and dialed Vernon Baxter.

“I'm here.” Vernon sounded out of breath. “I'm late because of all the news media, but I'm here.”

“I didn't know you weren't here. What's up with the news media?” I asked.

“They have the entire town surrounded and are asking everything with two legs about Chicken and his death.” I could hear the sound of metal clinking in the background, which meant he was probably working on Chicken's remains with the fancy new tools. “After Jack Henry decided to hold a press conference on the steps of the courthouse, the town got crowded.”

“He did what?” I gasped and grabbed the remote off the bedside table, flipping the TV on.

“What did you need? The quicker I get the evidence they need, the quicker Sleepy Hollow goes back to being sleepy.” Vernon took the words right out of my mouth.

“Did the doctor who pronounced Chicken dead sign the death certificate?” I pinned my phone between my ear and shoulder so I could write down the doctor's name.

“Yes. Let me get his name.” Vernon put the phone down and the shuffling of papers was heard in the background. “Doctor Jeremy Finkel. F-­I-­N-­K-­E-­L.”

“Got it. Thanks.” I hit the
END
button and immediately opened up the browser on my phone searching for Dr. Jeremy Finkel. When his information popped up, I wrote it in the notebook knowing I was going to have to go to Lexington and figure out how to get my hands on Chicken's records.

I flipped back the pages to continue to read what clues I had just in case one of them sparked an idea. “Footprint, see picture on cell phone, feather from Granny's kitchen.” I shut the notebook. There was only one way to see where the feather came from and see if Marla Maria owned the shoe that made the print from the kitchen.

“It's about time you got up.” Chicken stood near the TV where the camera had focused in on Jack Henry walking to the podium.

“Shh!” I held my finger out to Chicken and pointed to the TV. Using the remote, I turned the volume up on the TV.

“I hope he's going to say he arrested that two-­bit—­”

“Please.” I begged him to be quiet. “I'm trying to listen.”

The sound of cameras clicked, making it hard for me to hear Jack Henry's opening remarks. He stepped closer to the plethora of microphones all tied up to the stand in front of him.

“Thank you for coming. I'm Sheriff Jack Henry Ross, here in Sleepy Hollow, Kentucky. I want to assure everyone that Sleepy Hollow is a safe place to visit. We encourage you to come and take part in our semi-­annual Kentucky Cave Festival. For your piece of mind, we have added more security. It is true we have opened the case on the death of Colonel C. Teater, based on evidence that he was a victim of a homicide.” Jack Henry's deep brown eyes held a serious look I had never seen in them. He meant business. “We are following some very solid leads and asking for the public to come forward if they know of anything that might seem suspicious around the time of Mr. Teater's death four years ago.”

The cameras went crazy when Jack Henry took a deep breath.

“As for the attack on Mr. O'Dell Burns last night, we are asking for anyone who saw anything suspicious last night during the opening ceremony of the festival to come forward or call the number on the bottom of your TV screen. We'd like to talk to you. We do not believe the death of Mr. Teater and the attack on Mr. O'Dell are related. Thank you for coming. I will have an update this time tomorrow.” Jack Henry stepped away from the media.

Several people yelled out questions. Jack Henry ignored them and got in the cruiser. He flipped the lights on to move the crowd before he took off in the direction of the funeral home.

I jumped up, threw on a pair of jeans, and threw my hair up in a ponytail just in time for a knock at the door.

“I knew you would be over.” I opened the door to find Jack Henry leaning up against the frame.

“It's so good to see you.” He leaned in and kissed my lips, sending the pit of my stomach into a wild swirl. I angled toward him going deeper into his kiss. “Let's go inside before the cameras follow me here.”

“You looked great on TV.” I swooned over my celebrity boyfriend. “I'm glad you are here so we can go over some of the clues I have collected along with Chicken's help.”

“If it has anything to do with Marla Maria, I'm going to cut you off.” Jack Henry stepped up into my efficiency. “I was there most of the night and there was no evidence that she killed Chicken.”

“Did her lover come over? Did you see Lady Cluckington? Did you know she filed for divorce a week before Chicken died? And did you know they had an agreement?” I spurted off a lot of questions. His mouth dropped. “Yeah, I'm sure she didn't tell you anything.”

I walked past him and walked into the small kitchenette. I stuck a Dunkin' Donuts cup in the Keurig coffeemaker and pushed down, making Jack Henry a cup and then myself one after his was done.

“She didn't say a word about any agreement. She did say they hadn't gotten along right before he got sick.” The steam swirled around his face when he took a sip.

“Of course she didn't.” My brows lifted. I loved knowing when I was right. “Who is the detective here?” Sarcasm dripped out of my mouth along with the crease of a smile.

“Okay. I admit she did try to flirt, but that was because she was nervous.” Jack admitted to Marla Maria trying to get her claws into him.

“Nervous about what?” I knew he would say the media. “No. You have to think like a woman, think like a murderer.” I tapped my head. “She was nervous because you were there in her house where your cop instinct was supposed to kick in. And it didn't.”

“You are cute trying to be the detective.” He pointed around the room. “Is he here?”

“He was. Not now, but I do have some information.” I held my finger up and went back to my bedroom to get my notebook.

Jack Henry's phone rang.

“Gotta go!” Jack Henry rushed down the hall. “I'll call you soon. O'Dell Burns is awake from surgery.”

I stood at the door with my notebook in my hand and sadly watched as Jack Henry sped toward Lexington, where O'Dell Burns was in the hospital.

“I'm glad he's gone.” Chicken stood next to me with his arm loosely draped around my shoulders. I moved away. Though I am comfortable with the whole ghost thing, I was not at all comfortable with the whole touchy thing. “What? He takes you away from the work you are supposed to be doing. Figuring out who murdered me.” He puffed his chest out and crossed his arms.

“How does Jack Henry hurt my investigation?” I drank the last sip of coffee in my cup and grabbed my notepad, phone and purse.

“You get all googley inside and your thoughts get filled with all sorts of junk. That is why I get lost. I can't stand all the mushy stuff.” Chicken followed closely behind me. “Where are you going? I hope it has something to do with my case.”

“I'm going to get a real cup of coffee and then head over to see Marla Maria.” I locked the door behind me and Chicken walked right on through it. “You're going to be mad when I tell you this.” I took a deep breath and said, “O'Dell told me Marla Maria came to him and she paid him to stick you back in the grave.”

“You already stuck me six feet under.” There was confusion written on his face.

“The second time around.” I twirled my finger around him. We walked down the steps and got in the hearse. Chicken sat right next to me as usual. I was starting to get used to it.

“I wouldn't let O'Dell Burns touch my body and she knows that.” Chicken wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

I shimmied in my seat. “Do you have to sit so close?”

“Do you have to take so long to follow up on the leads I'm throwing your way?” He threw a jab back at me.

“I'm not going to break into your trailer. I'm going to go right in and ask Marla Maria about O'Dell and about the agreement.” I shifted in my seat and pulled into a space in front of Higher Grounds Café.

Like I was going to talk to him with a crowd watching my every move.

Wait. Why were people watching me?

 

Chapter 13

S
omething weird is going on, Emma Lee.” Chicken eased in the door sideways between me and another customer.

“Hi.” Cheryl Lynne stood behind the counter of Higher Grounds and wiped her hands down her apron. There were big thermal mugs with steam coming from them and on a table next to her were platters of yummy goodness all ready to be taken over to the square to sell to the festival-­goers. She gave a crooked sympathetic smile.

“What is going on?” I asked.

Cheryl Lynne glanced over my shoulder. I turned and followed her line of vision. Beulah Paige, Mable Claire and a couple more of the Auxiliary women stared at me, but quickly turned to their cups of coffee when I looked at them.

“I heard about O'Dell Burns.”

“Totally sucks.” I peeked at the scones in the glass case standing between us.

“Beulah is going around telling everyone about some sort of altercation you had with him right before someone stuck him with a knife.” Cheryl Lynne knew more than I did.

“She what?” I gasped. Thank goodness, my head was attached to my shoulders, because it would have spun right off when I jerked around to look at Beulah. Beulah fidgeted with her strands of pearls draped around her neck and down her chest. I turned back to Cheryl Lynne. “I want a large coffee with light cream. To go.”

Nervously Cheryl bit her lip and nodded. “Please don't start something.”

“Can you get me a tea?” Chicken asked. I narrowed my eyes, giving him the death look.

“Emma Lee, what are you looking at?” Cheryl didn't miss a thing. She obviously saw me glare at Chicken, only to her it looked like I was glaring into the air. “Do you need to see Doc Clyde about the Funeral Trauma? Because Beulah said you might be—”

“Geez!” I stopped her right there. “Coffee, Cheryl,” I ordered and smacked a couple of dollars on the glass counter before I turned to face Beulah.

“Good morning, Emma Lee.” Beulah tilted her head to the side and peered down at her cup. She pursed her lips.

“Beulah Paige Bellefry, don't you go around and good morning me when you are spreading gossip like wildfire. You know good and well that I didn't hurt O'Dell Burns.” I planted my hands on my hips. Chicken stood on the other side of her with his hands planted on his hips.

“I didn't say any such thing.” She gave a quick shake of her head and put her chin in the air before she straightened her back, making her sit very tall. “I only told people about Marla Maria Teater paying O'Dell Burns a visit about reburying her late husband. Rest his soul.” Beulah made the sign of the cross. The Auxiliary women gave an “amen” in unison.

“You aren't even Catholic.” I glared at her. “Shame on you and you and you.” I pointed to the women sitting around the gossip table. “From now on, you worry about yourselves and leave me out of it.”

“She's as windy as a bag full of farts,” Chicken said as serious as could be.

I busted out laughing. I tried to stop, but it wasn't going to happen. Even Chicken let out a little giggle.

“See, she's crazy.” Beulah nodded to all the women. “Ever since that plastic Santa fell off Artie's roof and hit her square in the head, she ain't been right.”

She picked up her cup and tipped it up to her mouth to take a drink. Chicken reached out and plucked the bottom of the cup making Beulah tip it a little too much, spilling the hot liquid all down her fancy pearls and into her lap.

“See?” I pointed to the sky. “Gossip is a sin.” Pleased as pie, I grinned and trotted over to the counter to get my coffee.

Leaving Higher Grounds, I could see Beulah glaring at me in my peripheral vision as the other women fell over each other to dab at Beulah's blouse.

“That was great.” Chicken skipped to the car, swinging his arms. “She deserves that and more. Now where to?”

We got back into the hearse. Chicken got in his normal position—next to me. I shrugged. He didn't notice.

“We are going to your house.” I started the hearse and pulled out, making sure I didn't hit anyone.

The square was filling up fast. The food booths were open and smoke was coming from the barrels of bonfires set throughout the square. It took a ­couple of hours for the fog and brisk morning air to roll away from the hollow. The fire pits added a nice touch to the festival, making it more cozy and enjoyable.

Within minutes, Chicken and I were sitting in the hearse in front of his double-wide, staring at it through the window. Neither of us said a word for about a minute.

“I hope she lets you in,” Chicken said softly.

I took a deep breath and got out of the hearse, making sure I locked it.

“You sure could have fixed these steps.” Cautiously, I climbed up the three makeshift steps to the door of the trailer and tapped on the door.

The front porch light came on and the door swooped open. Marla Maria wore a long black housedress with a tight black tank top and black leggings. Leopard print heels made her taller and thinner than she already was. Her hair was pinned all over her head.

She patted her head and started to take out all the bobby pins. “I wasn't expecting company. Of all people, not you. Please excuse my hair. I haven't fixed it yet because I have my bi-­weekly appointment at Girl's Best Friend today.”

Oh crap!
I had totally forgotten I had an appointment with Mary Anna today. I ran my fingers through my hair.

“I wanted to speak with you about something. May I come in?” I asked.

She hesitated.

“You have to compliment her.” Chicken stood next to her and took a big whiff of her hair. “She always smelled so good.”

“I can't believe you are going to get your hair done.” I pushed my fingers in mine to puff out my hair. “It looks great to me.”

“Come on in.” She didn't look like she was convinced that I had given her a compliment.

“Telling her she's pretty works every single time.” Chicken smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing.

I stepped inside. The wood paneling made the room look very dark. There were a couple of fabric-­covered La-­Z-­Boys, each with an afghan draped over the arm. The kitchen was small, and steam was rolling from four pots on the stove. The hardwood flooring was as shiny as a new penny. There wasn't a feather or piece of chicken dander anywhere to be seen. Not that I didn't think Marla Maria was a good housekeeper, I just figured she didn't bother with it because it seemed a little beneath her.

“What do you want?” Delicately she walked over to the stove while putting on an apron covered with chicken pictures, picked up a ladle and stirred whatever was in the big stockpot. “I'm in a hurry.”

“I've heard some rumblings around town.”

“You mean O'Dell Burns spread his lips?” She shook her head. “Yep. I told him to keep it on the down-­low but when I heard he was running for mayor against Zula Fae Raines Payne, I knew he was going to use it to his advantage.” She shook the ladle toward me. A little something flung off it and flew past my shoulder. “O'Dell is slicker than pig snot on a radiator.” She turned back around and continued to stir.

“Whoo-­weeee!” Chicken smacked his leg. “She's making Lady Cluckington her favorite meal.”

“I just think it's best that I cut ties with Eternal Slumber. Nothing against you, Emma Lee,” Marla said, but I wasn't so sure she was telling the truth.

“Marla Maria, I was only doing what the police told me to do.” I stated the facts but left out the parts where I believed she was the one who killed Chicken and the reason they dug him up. I didn't think she would like that.

“I just don't get why they think he was murdered.” She shook her head. “He was a saint.” She dabbed the corner of her eye.

Chicken started clapping. “And the Academy Award goes to Marla Maria Teater.” He clapped so loud it made my ears ring. “I don't care who puts me back in the grave as long as you put her in jail. Go on and ask her about the food.”

“I didn't know you were a chef.” I used the word
chef
loosely.

“Chef? You mean slave to that . . . that,” Marla Maria raised her forearm and wiped some steam off her brow. “I mean, sweet Lady Cluckington is on a special diet. On Chicken's deathbed, I promised him I would take extra great care of her.”

“You mean you killed me because you wanted to get your hands on my half a million!” He spat on the floor near her feet.
If only it weren't ghost spit
, I sighed.

“I have to go up to Lexington to that fancy whole food store and buy all sorts of things to feed her.” Marla Maria pulled out a piece of paper from her apron pocket and read from it. “Kelp granules, millet, oat groats, black oil sunflower seeds, hard red wheat berries, kamut, whole corn kernels, brewer's yeast.” She put the list to her chest. There was a disgusted look on her face. “Have you ever heard of such ingredients?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Those are the things I have to go buy once a week in order to take care of our precious Lady.” There was a monotone in her voice.

“But isn't she a chicken?” I asked. I had to play off the fact that I knew that Lady and she didn't get along. Rephrase—­that she didn't like Lady.

“You'd better be glad Chicken is dead or he would have a fit hearing you say that.” She laughed. The lines at the edges of her eyes deepened, creating a glow on her face. “He would be madder than a wet hen if he heard you say that. Speaking of wet hen,” she grabbed a pot off the stove, “I've got to go feed Lady, so if you'd like to meet her come along.”

“Get a glass of that sweet tea.” Chicken stood next to the stove and pointed to the pitcher of sun tea sitting on the windowsill. “Marla Maria might not be the best at making Lady Cluckington's food, but she does give Zula Fae a run for her money in the tea department.” Chicken licked his lips. “Mmm-­mmm. Sweet and sugary.”

“I'd love to.” I tried to keep my voice steady and my eyes on her, but Chicken made it difficult as he danced around Marla doing his best chicken impression and acting like he was going to peck her in the neck.

“
Bock, bock
. Open the cabinet door under the TV.” Chicken strutted over to the family room and scratched his foot at a door in the entertainment center like a chicken scratching at the dirt.

I glared at him. How did he expect me to open the door when Marla Maria was right there? What was in there anyway?

“Open the door!” Chicken protested when Marla Maria and I walked past it.

My mind reeled trying to think how I could get away from her and see what Chicken wanted me to see.

“You comin'?” Marla Maria asked and held the back screen door open.

“Uh . . . yes.” I smiled and followed her out the back door.

The fenced-­in backyard was very charming. There was a small garden to the left of the yard and on the right side was the chicken coop, which looked like a mini-­mansion. The two-­story white colonial structure was nicer than the trailer. No wonder Marla Maria was jealous. I could see why. It seemed that Chicken took better care of Lady than he did Marla Maria.

“Lady C!
Cluck, cluck, cluck.
” Marla Maria clicked her tongue on her teeth and banged the ladle on the pot.

“Lady girl! Lady girl!” Chicken shouted from the top of his ghostly lungs.

A dust ball exploded from the lettuce patch in the garden. Within seconds, a low-­flying chicken darted out. The red-­and-­white feathered creature was a dirty mess. She pecked at the ground around Chicken Teater's feet and would look up as if she knew he was there.

“That's my sweet Lady.” Chicken bent down and touched her. She bent her head up to the sky.

“What is that crazy thing doing?” Marla Maria watched Lady Cluckington shift right and left as if she was being petted. And she was, only Marla Maria couldn't see Chicken Teater and Lady Cluckington reuniting.

“She sees me!” Chicken looked up. There were tears streaming down his face. “And she's a dirty mess.” He glared at Marla Maria. “But she's gotten fat, so that means Marla has been feeding her.”

“Why is she so dirty?” I asked and tried to ignore the unusual behavior Lady Cluckington displayed. I had heard animals had a sixth sense of seeing beyond the living.

“The darn thing loves to take dirt baths. Chicken would die. But she is happy and she loves it.” Marla Maria walked over to the coop and unlocked the chicken wire gate. “Come on Lady.” Frustration had settled on Marla Maria's face.

“Why do you keep it locked if you let her run around?” Moving Marla Maria's concentration away from Lady Cluckington was proving difficult as she continued to peck around Chicken Teater. It did look like Lady was going a little cuckoo, pecking while darting around in a circle.

“She misses me so much.” Chicken popped a squat in the dirt and let Lady jump in his lap.

“I think she's losing it.” Marla Maria could only see Lady jumping up and down in the dirt. If she could only see how happy Chicken Teater looked. “Come on, you crazy-­assed bird!” Marla Maria screamed, causing Lady and Chicken both to jump.

Lady did what she was told and darted off through the open gate. Marla Maria practically threw the homemade slop on the ground before she locked Lady in.

“She can stay in there all night for all I care.” Marla Maria jerked her heel out of the mud. “Look what you did to my new heels.” Marla Maria huffed off in the direction of the trailer, and I quietly followed behind, trying to devise a new game plan in my head.

“Emma Lee,” Chicken ran beside me with his hands out, “you can't let her leave Lady in there.”

In the background, Lady was clucking and bocking up a storm. Without looking, I could hear her wings flapping in distress. The further away Chicken Teater got from Lady, the more Lady made a ruckus.