A Ghostly Undertaking

by Tonya Kappes

  I headed back to my office. There were only a few more minutes until the Eternal Slumber Funeral Home was supposed to be hosting the good-­bye ceremony for Ruthie Sue Payne, which meant that there was no time to print a letter like Charlotte wanted me to. I grabbed the tape dispenser off my desk and rushed out to the front door.

  “There.” I smoothed out the wrinkles and put tape on each corner of the warrant, taping it to the door. I brushed my hands together and made sure the door was locked.

  I stood in the vestibule long enough to see a few ­people show up and try to open the door along with a few curse words. I was sure I heard my name and “Funeral Trauma” thrown in under their breath after they read the posted paper.

  “It won’t be long now,” I whispered and pulled the front room’s curtain back just enough to watch an angry five-­foot-­six Beulah Paige Bellefry shake a fist at the funeral home before she stomped back to her red Cadillac.

  At the ripe old age of forty-­two years, Beulah was the youngest woman in the Auxiliary group. She was also the fashionista of Sleepy Hollow, with her fake lashes and tan.

  Beulah Paige was second only to Ruthie in the gossip department. Since Ruthie was dead, it was Beulah Paige’s time to shine.

  She would have the news of the warrant spread all over town, like wildfire, before I would even make it back to my desk.

  I’d put a bet on it that she was planning on being the first Auxiliary member at the funeral so she could get a front-­row seat and watch everyone come in, and then go back and share everything she saw with the ladies in the Auxiliary. She’d supply them with plenty of gossip for the next month or until something better came along.

  “Nice move.” Ruthie appeared next to me and pointed toward Beulah, zooming off in her red Caddy. “With Beulah in charge, now everyone in Sleepy Hollow is going to know I was murdered. You know, she’s been dying to take my spot in the Auxiliary.”

  “I never thought of that. I simply wanted everyone to know that your funeral has been put on hold.”

  “My funeral on hold?” She pointed at the viewing room. “You mean on ice?”

  John Howard Lloyd and Vernon Baxter had moved Ruthie’s casket back onto a church truck and was wheeling her down the center aisle to take her back down to the refrigerator in the basement.

  “Mornin’, Ms. Emma.” John Howard grinned a big, gummy openmouthed smile and patted down the top of his hair. No matter how much he patted that wiry mess, it wasn’t going to cooperate. “Ms. Charlotte told me to move poor ol’ Ruthie’s body to the refrigerator.”

  I’ll never forget the first time I met John Howard. He looked like he had one foot in the grave. He came to the funeral home without a tooth in his head and that crazy hair sticking up all over, but he needed a job. Granny immediately put him to work digging graves and doing odd jobs around the funeral home.

  “Yes, thank you.” I smiled, giving him the go-­ahead to take the body. “Can you please put a blanket on top before you close the refrigerator door?”

  He looked like he was weighing what I had said before he pushed the cart down the hall.

  Ruthie stood next to me in silence, never once taking her eyes off the casket being rolled away. The only sound was the creak of the steel wheels trying to make it over the thick-­threaded carpet with each turn.

  John Howard stopped and only turned his neck to look at me.

  “Do you think there is a killer out there?”

  “I’m not sure, John Howard.” I shook my head and tried to ease his fears. “I guess I really shouldn’t have posted the warrant.”

  He continued to push the casket and finish the task Charlotte had bestowed on him.

  I walked back over to the door and peeled the warrant off of it. The chattering crowd down the street caught my eye.

  Several ­people were gathered in front of Artie’s Meats and Deli next to Beulah’s big red Cadillac. Beulah stood in the middle, mouth flapping, waving her hands in the air, telling the grandest tale.

  “Hmm . . .” Ruthie’s eyes narrowed, taking in the scene.

  I could see it now. Everyone running to Artie’s to stock up on ammunition or get a new gun because I had put fear in them by taping the warrant to the door. “Posting this was probably not the best idea.”

  “Probably not.” Sheriff Jack Henry Ross leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He peered at me, intently.

  My heart jolted as my pulse pounded.

  “Jack Henry!” I jumped around, running my hands through my hair. What if Ruthie was right and my stuck-­in-­the–nineties hairdo was the problem of all of my dating issues? “What are you doing here?”

  I walked past him and down the hall toward my office. He wasn’t far behind.

  “The phone at the station has been ringing off the hook. So I decided to come down here and see what all the commotion was about.” His jaw clenched. He leaned up against the office door. He was not amused. “Now my officers have to spend time reassuring everyone that there is not a serial killer running the streets of Sleepy Hollow.”

  As much as I wanted to hear what he was saying, I hated myself for focusing on his lips and remembered the most embarrassing moment I had ever had.

  Look away. My mind told me to stop staring, but my eyes wouldn’t listen. Remember the past. I repeated in my head and walked behind the desk and sat in my chair.

  No matter how much I tried to forget the time Jack Henry and I almost kissed in high school during an intense game of spin the bottle and how awful the situation was, I could barely resist the urge to kiss him now.

  “Mayor May gave me an earful at Higher Grounds Café.” He held up a paper cup. “When I told her the funeral was not going to happen today.”

  “After I got home from visiting Granny, I completely forgot to call the Journal.” I forced my eyes to look at my empty coffee mug sitting on my desk. I had to get out of there and get myself together. Why did Jack Henry have to be one of those guys who got better-­looking with age? Grabbing my mug, I got up. “Do you want a refill?”

  “Sure.” He handed me his cup. His fingers brushed up against mine. Electricity spread across all my nerve endings.

  “I will be right back.” I could feel my cheeks ball up and I tried not to smile, but lost all control. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  “You’ve got it bad.” Ruthie rushed to my side and walked behind me all the way to the kitchen.

  The funeral-­home kitchen was basic, with a refrigerator, stove and microwave, and we had to clean our own dishes in the single sink that sat under the only window in the room. We used an old cupboard we bought at the Goodwill for storage after we cleaned it up.

  The kitchen really wasn’t bad. Charlotte found a cute wooden café table with four bar chairs and sat it in the middle of the room for us to eat on.

  If we were working on a body, we were all here, so we would try to eat family style. My little funeral-­home family.

  “I don’t have anything bad.” I denied my attraction to Jack Henry. I was never good at covering up my feelings. I clamped my mouth shut when Mary Anna Hardy, the funeral-­home hair stylist and makeup artist, walked into the kitchen.

  “You don’t have what bad?” Mary Anna put a wonky eye on me when she saw me talking to myself. She looked around. Her empty mug dangled from a finger. “Who are you talking to?”

  Mary Anna Hardy owned Girl’s Best Friend Spa, the only hair salon in Sleepy Hollow. Even though she had a staff of eight hairdressers, she was the only one weird enough to do hair on dead ­people.

  “I heard you coming, and I do have something bad.” I grabbed a handful of my limp brown hair and flipped it in the air. “I have bad hair and wanted to see if you could do something with it.”

  “Really?” Mary Anna’s blue eyes opened with shock. She rushed over in her hot-­pink high heels and stuck her
hands in my hair. I couldn’t help but look down at her big boobs toppling out of her white V-­neck. Her short bleached blond hair was styled exactly like Mary Anna’s icon, Marilyn Monroe. Mary Anna was never seen without a pair of high heels. It didn’t matter if she was going to Artie’s to grab toilet paper and had on sweat pants. She lived by the dead icon’s words Give a girl the right pair of shoes and she will conquer the world.

  “I’ve been dying to get my hands on these boring strands.” She put her hands together and raised them to the sky as if God had just answered her prayers.

  “Boring?”

  Ruthie stood next to Mary Anna with a huge smile on her face. “Told you.”

  “You would look great with some fresh highlights and a little layering.” She continued to fluff my hair. “Yes, layers. Maybe some big bangs.”

  “I think she’s right.” Ruthie nodded. “Highlights are exactly what you need to make a change.”

  “No bangs. Nothing big,” I protested, instantly regretting the lie I told Mary Anna. I didn’t want her to touch my hair now or ever. Who cared if I was boring? Certainly not the dead ­people I worked with.

  “I will put you down for noon tomorrow at the salon.” She bounced on her toes, she was barely able to contain her excitement. She grabbed the coffeepot and filled her mug to the brim, and took a few sips out of it to make room for the five spoons of sugar she dumped in. “Gotta stay awake to keep up with the dead.” She winked before she walked out.

  “I’m so glad you are going to get your hair done,” Ruthie said.

  I glanced around the kitchen and down the hall to make sure we were alone.

  “This is not what you think it is.” I flipped up the edge of my hair. “I had to think quick on my feet when she came in. ­People are going to think I’m crazy if they keep seeing me talking to you . . . talking to the air.”

  I filled up my mug and Jack Henry’s cup.

  “Fine.” Ruthie shrugged. “You won’t regret it. Especially after the cute sheriff sees it.”

  I ignored her and walked back to my office, stopping briefly on the outside of my door to watch Charlotte and the two businessmen at the front door.

  “Be sure to give me a call,” one of the men said and handed Charlotte what looked like a business card.

  “We would like to resolve this matter quickly and quietly,” Charlotte assured them as she shook their hands.

  I ducked into my office before she saw me spying on her.

  The last thing I needed was for her to come into my office to give me “the business” about forgetting to call the Journal to cancel Ruthie’s funeral.

  “Here you go.” I walked over to the chairs in front of my desk where Jack Henry was sitting.

  “Who is Ruthie’s next of kin?” His eyebrows lifted and then he took a sip.

  “I have no idea.” I shook my head. I tried to straighten my cluttered desk so I could set my mug down. “There isn’t any record that I could find.”

  “Didn’t you ask her?” He set his cup down, leaned back in the chair before he crossed his arms and stared at me.

  The muscles in my hand gave out and the mug went crashing down on my desk, coffee spilling all over the place.

  “Oh!” I grabbed a handful of Kleenex sitting on the credenza behind my desk and tried to soak up the coffee that landed all over my paperwork and files.

  Did I ask her? His words rang in my head. What did he mean, did I ask her?

  My eyes scanned my messy desk for my detective notebook as I piled files on top of each other. It had to be here somewhere.

  “Are you looking for this?” Jack Henry’s eyes danced around my face in amusement. He held my little spiral pad in his fingertips.

  Chapter 6

  How could I be so stupid? I questioned myself. I knew better than to leave it sitting out for all the world to see.

  “That’s mine!” I leaned over the desk, files tumbling to the floor, and grabbed it from him.

  “Doing a little detective work?” A shadow of annoyance crossed his face. He stood up and picked up the messy file off the floor.

  “I’m . . .” I thumbed through the notebook, looking for anything that might have tipped him off to Ruthie’s ghost.

  “You see Ruthie, don’t you?” With his hand planted firmly on the desk, he leaned over and whispered, “You don’t have ‘Funeral Trauma,’ do you?” His air quotes sort of annoyed me.

  I sank into my desk chair and clutched my notebook. Ruthie stood next to Jack with her eyes wide open, begging me to tell him. She looked like she was holding her breath, waiting for me to spill it.

  “I . . .” I hesitated.

  “There are things in that little notebook of yours that only Ruthie would know, and she’s dead.” He rolled his eyes and plunged his hands in his uniform pants pockets.

  “Tell him!” Ruthie’s hand flew up in the air and she stomped around. “You can help him and get closer to him at the same time,” she chirped.

  “Yes. I see Ruthie,” I blurted. I could see on his face that he thought I was two cups of crazy. Scratch that. Make it a full pot of crazy. There was no hiding the crazy now. “She . . . she’s standing next to you in hot-­pink pajamas and kitty cat slippers.” I pointed to the left of him.

  He jumped right, facing what to his left. “Th . . . th . . . there?” He stuttered and pointed to the empty space in front of him.

  He reached down, grabbed the chair and held it like a shield between him and Ruthie.

  “Yes.”

  “Pink pajamas and kitty slippers?”

  “Hot pink.” I took the chair from his grip and put it back where it belonged.

  Ruthie bounced around in joy.

  “But that’s not what she was wearing when she died.” He ripped the Velcro pocket open on his uniform jacket and pulled out his notebook. “Right here, she was wearing a black button-­up cardigan, flat black shoes, pink capri pants and a sleeveless blouse under the cardigan.”

  Ruthie listened to the list of items she had been wearing when they found her. “No, that is not right.” Ruthie refuted what he was saying. “I was in bed and heard a noise. I went to the top of the steps and hollered for Zula. That’s when someone pushed me.”

  “What? Is she talking to you?” Jack questioned me. I was turned in Ruthie’s direction and paid him no attention.

  It was difficult to have two conversations. One with the living. One with the dead.

  “Emma Lee?” Jack Henry was trying to get my attention. I was sure I looked crazy, looking at thin air, when I was actually watching Ruthie.

  “She said that she was in her pj’s when she heard a noise. She went to the top of the stairs and that was when someone pushed her.” I conveniently left out the Zula part, because Ruthie and I had already established that Granny was telling the truth by her eye-­twitch method. Plus, I didn’t want to give Jack any more information that could hurt Granny.

  “Are you telling me that someone took the time to change her out of her pajamas after they killed her, and then put her in regular clothes?” Jack eyed me and then looked at the space next to him as if he was giving Ruthie the same look.

  Ruthie nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “But why would they do that?” He asked a very good question.

  “I don’t know.” I paced in front of the desk between Jack and Ruthie. Glancing at her, and then at him. “You are the sheriff, not me.”

  I snapped my fingers.

  “Why would someone take the time to change her clothes?” I grabbed a pen and my notebook. I wrote down what Ruthie had said, word for word, except the part about Granny.

  “Ask her.” Jack nodded.

  “Ask her what?”

  “Ask her if someone switched out her clothes.”

  I looked at Ruthie. I didn’t have to ask her. �
�She can hear you.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “When I died, I followed the signs that told me how to get on the other side. Once there they told me to go back. By the time I got back, I was here.” Ruthie stomped a kitty slipper on the ground.

  “She said that she went somewhere in the universe,” I waved my hand in the air, “and they sent her back. When she got back, she was here.”

  He threw back his head and let out a great peal of laughter.

  “What?” I shook my head. “You think I’m crazy and this was all a big joke to you. Well, I’m not crazy Jack Henry, Sheriff Ross. So go on. Call Doc Clyde and tell him I’m all primed for the nut house!”

  “Stop.” He was bent over, holding his stomach. His laughter was a full-­hearted sound. “The crazy thing is, I believe you.”

  I tried to suppress a giggle once Ruthie clasped her hands together in delight and gave a little chuckle.

  “What’s going on in here?” Charlotte stood in the doorway, unamused. “Oh, you’re here.”

  “Good to see you too, Charlotte.” Jack took his hat off and greeted her like a good Southern boy and then put it back on.

  “Are you here to stop another funeral, Sheriff Ross?” Sarcasm dripped off her lips. She folded her arms across her body.

  The quick moment he took his hat off, I noticed he put in a little more hair gel, making him look very GQ. I liked it.

  “Nope. Just here to ask Emma Lee if she wants to go to the karaoke bar tonight.” He gave an irresistibly devastating grin.

  My eyes widened.

  Charlotte lifted her perfectly waxed eyebrow into a shocked surprise. She turned on her heels and clicked back down the hallway to her office.

  “Did you see her face?” I laughed. Charlotte and I both knew that Jack was not there to ask me out, but it was worth seeing the look on her face.

  “What?” Jack shrugged. “I’m not kidding. Since you sing and all.”