A Ghostly Murder

by Tonya Kappes

  “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.

  “Not long.” Dixie’s words were short and sweet.

  “Woo-­hoo, Dixie,” Beulah Paige waved a few envelopes in the air.

  “Excuse me.” Dixie and her tea walked off. “I need to distribute the Auxiliary invitations for her.”

  “Auxiliary invites?” I put my hand on Dixie. “Is it that time of year again?”

  In order to be a member of the Auxiliary Women’s Group, you had to be invited by the leader. When Ruthie Sue Payne died, the women voted Beulah Paige as the new gossip queen . . . er . . . president. Another time Granny was knocked out of running for something else.

  “I guess.” She shrugged and pulled away.

  I watched Beulah hand Dixie the invites and utter a few words, which I could only imagine were instructions. Beulah had a funny way of doing things. She called them the proper way; I called it rich ­people’s way of doing things. It didn’t seem too proper to be handing them out at a funeral, and that was my opinion.

  “I hope you have one of those for me,” I said with a big smile on my face when Beulah walked up to get a glass of iced tea.

  “Emma Lee,” Beulah pulled her lips into a tight smile. “Not this year. I remember you received a generous offer last time and didn’t take it.”

  “I’m going to accept this time,” I responded matter-­of-­factly.

  “No.” Her smile was still tight to her face. “Not this time.”

  Dixie walked by, about to hand out her first invite to Hettie Bell.

  “You don’t want to do that.” I patted her arm. “We don’t allow solicitations of any sort at funerals. It’s not polite.” My eyes slid to Beulah. “And Jack Henry is right over there if I need him.”

  We all turned and looked at Jack Henry. Not his finest moment. His mouth dripped with barbecue sauce from his pulled pork sandwich. He gave a slight wave. I waved back as though he knew what I was doing. It was best to leave him in the dark about my little blackmail scheme.

  “Tree!” Beulah pointed to Granny, and then pointed to me. “Apple!”

  “What?” For a second, I thought she knew about the apple pie!

  “The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree,” Beulah spat. Her fists balled.

  She grabbed an envelope and handed it to me before she pulled down the black veil and huffed off in a different direction.

  “Nice going.” Mamie folded her arms next to me. “Now, let’s go put that platter back.”

  Ahem, I cleared my throat.

  “I hate to say it, but Zula Fae is right.” She lifted her cane in the air. “No one is at Burns, they are here. And that little hot hunk of yours is stuffing his mouth. You aren’t on anyone’s radar. Beulah wants to stay as far away from you as possible. Plus . . .” Her fine silky eyebrows rose a trifle. “You can look for my file. Grab my teeth.”

  It only took me a half a second to go back in the media room, grab the platter and dart out the back door.

  “You are going to need these.” Granny stood on the back porch of the funeral home with her moped keys dangling from her fingers.

  In a big toss, Granny threw them at me. I snagged them out of the air and hopped on her moped without even thinking how I had never even ridden the thing.

  If Granny could ride, though barely, I could ride it. I didn’t bother with the skintight aviator helmet or big goggles Granny wore. I gunned the handle and whizzed down the driveway, turning left before anyone saw me.

  Burns Funeral was on the opposite side of town. The hearse would’ve been faster, but it was blocked in.

  Granny and Mamie were right. Burns Funeral was like a ghost town, and it thrilled me to no end to see it that way. I secretly wished it was like that all the time. Thanks to ­people like Mamie, who switched their pre-­needs arrangements without telling us, Burns was going to stay in business.

  “Right through there.” Mamie Sue pointed to a ser­vice door on the side of the funeral home.

  The building was really no different from Eternal Slumber. They were both very old Victorian houses turned into funeral homes. The stately brick buildings had wonderfully large rooms with big windows. The crown molding was something new buildings didn’t have. The character added to the feel of the importance of a nice send-­off. Just like Eternal Slumber, there was a large front porch with a fence. Burns had yellow brick and white trim, Eternal Slumber had red brick with white trim. Both were beautiful, but the employees and owners were quite different.

  “Tell me.” I put my hand on the door. “Why should I help you when you didn’t use Eternal Slumber and you don’t like my granny?”

  Not that I wasn’t going to help her. I wanted her to cross over as much as she wanted to cross over.

  “Because I’m paying you.” She stood next to me. She was serious.

  “Fine.” I didn’t know why, but somehow I believed her. I would be happy that Mamie would be on the other side to greet Granny if something ever happened to her. And maybe tell Granny about my job as a Betweener, which I felt was far more important than being an undertaker.

  “Right there!” Mamie pointed to the large stained-­glass window in the only viewing room that Burns had. “I was laid out right under that big, beautiful window.”

  “Great.” I kept going. “Let’s hurry.”

  I had never been in the Burns residence. I had heard it was upstairs and nice. The large staircase stood to your right as soon as you walked in the front door. The Oriental carpet covered each step to the top. Each one creaked with every step I took.

  There were two bedrooms. One on the right and one on the left. At the end of the hallway was one big room with a TV, firepl
ace, and kitchenette.

  “Wait.” Mamie stopped. “Didn’t that hot hunk of yours say it was taken from the window downstairs?”

  “Oh!” I snapped my fingers. “Good thinking.”

  We headed back down the steps and took a swift right turn. The kitchen was much larger for the funeral home, kind of like what we had at Eternal Slumber, but nicer. Way nicer.

  There were stainless steel appliances, along with a double oven and gas stovetop.

  “Where in the world did Burns get this kind of money to redo this kitchen?” I wondered.

  There was a rumor he had done some remodeling to update some things a few years back, but who knew it was this nice. These items cost an arm and a leg now. It must’ve cost a kidney back then.

  My phone chirped a text from my back pocket. My heart jumped. Who figured out I was gone?

  Be at the mill tomorrow at nine a.m. It was Fluggie. She must’ve stuck her nose to the ground and found something out. I stuck my phone back in my pocket and opened the cabinet doors until I found the one with the platters. I stuck the stolen one in and shut the door, closing the who-­stole-­the-­pie-­and-­platter case.

  Too bad the pie wasn’t on the platter, or I would have put it back in the window to let Bea Allen think she was going crazy.

  “Teeth,” Mamie reminded me.

  “File.” I nodded in agreement.

  O’Dell Burns’s office was just as nice as his new kitchen. The coffee-­colored leather couch was in between Chippendale antique tables flanked by two overstuffed leather chairs and ottomans. The wooden blinds in the window had to be custom made, because when Charlotte Rae and I took over Eternal Slumber, we wanted to get rid of the heavy curtains. When we priced the custom blinds, we decided our clients couldn’t see the heavy curtains and kept them. Plus we didn’t, don’t, have that kind of cash.

  “Damn.” I looked around. The filing cabinets were built into the wall. “This is costly.”

  “Yep.” Mamie pointed her cane at one specific filing cabinet. “Right there.”

  I tugged, and it pulled out with ease. I ran my finger along the tabs until I reached Mamie Sue Preston. I pulled it out, and a Ziploc bag fell to the ground.