A Ghostly Grave (14 page)

 

Chapter 20

O
nce I was onstage, the announcer started reading off my stats, like my height, weight, talent and occupation. Things I didn't have a clue how he knew. I didn't care. I was here to do my job as a Betweener and get Chicken to the other side.

My mind was boggled with all the information Marla Maria had spit at me right before I took the stage. The pageant lights hung down from the open metal building, shining directly on me. It was hard to see out into the crowd. But I could make out Chicken and Marla Maria, who must have gone back and gotten Lady Cluckington out of her cage, because Lady was neatly tucked in Marla's lap.

Chicken paid no attention to me as I walked down the runway, showing off my ballet chicken-­feathered dress, doing my best princess wave. Marla Maria kept putting her hands up to her face and pointing to her lips as she mouthed
smile
.

“The lovely Ms. Emma Lee Raines is going to be singing for us tonight.” The announcer pointed to the guy in the audio/visual booth.

“I . . .” A small childlike voice came out of me. I had made no preparation to sing. As a matter of fact, Marla Maria and I had only discussed it earlier and then I didn't think she was serious.

Like slow motion, I watched the audiovisual guy take the VHS and put it in the old VHS tape player.

“Stop!” I screamed and put my hand out when I realized it was Chicken's home footage tape I had taken earlier from Marla Maria's cabinet. She must have thought it was my talent tape when she saw it in my bag.

It was too late. The video played a scene from the life of Marla Maria and Chicken Teater's home life.

“What the hell?” Marla Maria held tight to Lady Cluckington when she stood up. “Stop that tape right this instant!” Marla Maria stomped her heeled feet.

The video guy kept pushing buttons, but the video wouldn't stop. He said something about it being old. But Marla Maria wasn't going to have any part of it. She stomped over to the audiovisual booth. She held Lady tight to her chest with one hand while she pushed buttons with the other.

In the meantime, Chicken was arguing with Marla Maria on the tape about the beauty pageant. Marla Maria was in perfect position for the camera angle when she shouted at Chicken, “That pageant is stupid. Raising Orloff hens is stupid. If you want to hang around stupid and ignorant people all of your life, fine with me! I want a divorce!”

The crowd fell silent. Marla Maria jerked the old VHS player causing the wiring to pull out of the electrical socket. Sparks flew everywhere.

The microphone stand was in front of me and the crowd stared at me.

“Old McDonald had a farm,” I sang out, “E-­I-­E-­I-­O. And on his farm he had a chicken. E-­I-­E-­I-­O.” I gestured for the crowd to sing along. “With a . . .” I put my hand up to my ear. Reluctantly the crowd sang
cluck, cluck here and a cluck, cluck there.

The videotape machine must've been on the same circuit as one of the spotlights, because one of the two lights were out, allowing me to see Marla Maria being dragged out from underneath the metal building. At first I thought it might have been one of the Orloff pageant committee members dragging her out, but it wasn't. It was Sugar Wayne. He had Marla Maria in one hand and Lady in the other.

I jumped off the stage, running as fast as I could to see what he was doing. But I lost them in the crowd. I made it to the parking lot to see if they were there. There was a cloud of dust leaving the parking lot and turning left onto the main road. It was Chicken's red Cadillac.

 

Chapter 21

W
ait!” I screamed, running after Marla Maria with my arms flapping above my head. “Wait for me!”

I flipped off the stupid heels, which I should have probably done hours ago, and patted around for my cell phone while continuing to run on the hard gravel road.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch.” My feet stung under me. “Damn.” I stopped when I got to the road and realized I was still in the stupid dress with no pockets, and no cell phone. Not that my cell was charged up anyway.

“Hop in.” The old beat-­up Chevy pulled over and the driver rolled down the window. “If you want to follow her, I said to hop in.”

“What the hell is that low-­life no-­good sonofabitch doing in my truck?” Chicken Teater stood in front of his old Chevy with his arms out as if the driver could see him.

“You . . .” I swallowed hard. “You are Marla Maria's neighbor.”

“I'm not wasting time.” He gestured for me to come on. “I'm out of here if you aren't going with me.”

Oh . . . I hesitated. These were the scenes—­the scary scenes—­that made up the TV crime shows. But I was stuck. I was sure Marla Maria had been banned from the pageant after what she had said on the tape. I didn't trust a fairground full of chicken lovers when they only associated me with Marla.

“Oh . . .” I darted back and forth between the truck and the parking lot trying to decide whether or not to get in the truck with a stranger—­much less him. The truck started moving forward. “Wait!”

John Deere hat guy jerked forward when he slammed on the brakes. Chicken stood his ground, still standing in front of the truck. He didn't take his eyes off John Deere guy.

“I'm coming.” I ran around the truck and shrugged my shoulders when I passed Chicken.

“You are a traitor!” Chicken didn't move. “I don't know what kind of Betweener you are, but I won't be passing your name along to anyone else!”

I hopped in the old truck and reached for a seat belt.

“Truck is too old for a seat belt.” John Deere pushed the pedal and lurched the old Chevy forward, right through Chicken Teater's ghost.

“Eek!” I shrieked when I saw the truck hit Chicken and I shut my eyes, squeezing them tight.

“I won't let this sonofabitch steal my wife or my truck! Or my Betweener!” I heard Chicken squeal.

I barely opened my eyes and I was relieved to see Chicken was facedown with his arms outstretched on the hood of the truck.

“Duckie Finney.” Duckie held his hand out for me to shake.

“Emma Lee Raines.” I took his hand. What was it with Marla Maria and men with fowl names?

Suddenly he wasn't as scary as I had thought he was when I watched him from behind the tree when Chicken's coffin was being dug up. “Why were you watching Chicken being dug up? And why are you always over at Marla Maria's?”

There was no reason
not
to ask blunt questions. I was already in the car and if he was going to kill me, I might as well go down with answers that would satisfy my curiosity.

“I. Love. Her.” Tears dripped out of Duckie's eyes. “She and Chicken had a volatile relationship. There was no doubt in my mind they loved each other, but I can give her all the attention she needs.”

“Duckie, where are we going?” The Chevy was going in the opposite direction of Sleepy Hollow, toward Lexington.

“I told Marla Maria I would meet her at the property to give her ideas for the beauty school.” He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the snot off his nose, grossing me out. “I'm going to build it for her for free.” He looked over at me. “I love her.”

“I understand you love her.” I smiled. My throat tightened.

“That sonofabitch killed me to get my woman!” Chicken shouted from the hood of the truck.

That's exactly what I was thinking.

“I saw you snooping around her house when she was with Lady.” His hands gripped the steering wheel, causing his knuckles to whiten. I couldn't help but picture them around my neck.

Nervously, I plucked the feathers from the skirt of my dress.

“I need to get you out of here.” Chicken's eyes deepened. He looked determined to do something. “Don't let him get near my ladies.” It warmed my heart to hear Chicken refer to Marla and Lady as his ladies, but my gut was anything but warm. It was stone cold as I feared for my life.

“I watch over Marla Maria.” Duckie looked back at the road. I noticed the truck was speeding up. I gripped the handle on the door, wondering if I opened it and jumped out if I might make it. “What were you looking for?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I wanted to be her first student at the school.”

“I was thinking about going to Eternal Slumber and making some pre-­need funeral arrangements, but I don't do business with liars.” Duckie's Southern drawl was so deep I had to focus on listening to understand what he was saying to me. “You, Emma Lee Raines, are a liar. I dug into your past. You have never been able to hold a candle to your sister, Charlotte. Though I do think you are a pretty girl.”

“Why does everyone say that?” I was annoyed and fed up. “I'm tired of everyone comparing me to her. We are two different people.”

“Your hair looks great. Marla Maria told me she was having you go blond for the pageant, but it looks like you screwed up her chances of getting the property that is rightfully hers.” Duckie's eyes narrowed. “Which means my woman won't be happy and will have to be stuck in the double-­wide the rest of her life.” He shook his head. “Such a shame too. She really wants to share her beauty with the world. Chicken Teater held her back from shining, you know.”

“I know Chicken loved her.” I wasn't going to let him talk bad about Chicken. “Duckie, did you kill Chicken to get Marla Maria's heart?”

He slammed on the brakes, making the Chevy come to a screeching halt. Chicken flew off the truck and onto the street before he appeared between Duckie and me in the cab of the truck, in his usual position, only the other arm was planted around my shoulders.

“You think I would make her heart hurt? I'm trying to help her get over Chicken.” Duckie took off his John Deere cap and revealed the most beautiful head of blond hair. The curls clung tight to his head from the sweat the cap had created. “I would never hurt her. That included killing her husband. Not that I didn't want to get my hands on him when Marla Maria had cooked him a roast dinner one night and he spent the night at the Watering Hole with that no-­good realtor friend of his.”

“Sugar Wayne?” I asked, and oddly, believed that Duckie wouldn't hurt a fly.

“Yeah, that's his name. Which reminds me”—­he pushed the pedal to the metal—­“I know he is in love with my Marla Maria. Chicken was loyal to the wrong people in his life and now Marla Maria is paying for it.”

“Slow down.” I held on for dear life as Duckie used the truck as the fastest roller coaster in the world. The curves and winding road made my stomach do somersaults. “Why are we in such a hurry?”

“Didn't you see him throw Marla Maria and Lady Cluckington into the Cadillac?”

“Sugar?” I asked.

“The police need to be looking at Sugar Wayne.” He got my attention.

“Go on.” I was curious as to why he thought that.

“I told you I'm in love with Marla Maria. I checked out everyone in her life like I did you.” He pointed at me as we turned on a dirt road. “He claims he was Chicken's friend.”

“He is my friend, you shmuck!” Hatred dripped from Chicken's lips.

“His real-­estate business is dying. It's been dying. He sold Chicken this property years ago, knowing it was going to be worth millions when they put in the new interstate between here and Ohio.” He eased the truck between some overgrown brush. “He wanted to be an Orloff chicken dealer like Chicken and Marla Maria, only he wasn't able to afford it. So he got knee-­deep into cockfighting using those gold-­and-­black cocks.”

“He's lying!” Chicken tried to punch him again like he had back at the trailer park, but it didn't bother Duckie like before.

“Gold and black?” I questioned, remembering the feather from Granny's kitchen. The shoeprint still came from Marla Maria—­it had to.

“Yes. He is using the gold-­and-­black cocks to cockfight and gamble, all on the back part of Chicken's property.”

My jaw dropped.

“When Marla Maria took me to see the property a few weeks ago, we saw the remains of the fighting. So I started to follow Sugar Wayne around. I even hid in the bushes while he was hosting a fight.” Duckie held his finger up to his mouth. “Shh. They are here.”

“Here where?” I looked around at the wooded area.

“This is Chicken's property. It's worth half a million.”

“Why would Marla Maria want to build a school here?” I questioned. Some things didn't add up. Especially the cockfighting theory. “And you saw the fighting going on?”

“I told you there is an interstate coming through here, which will give Marla more money. It won't take up all the property. But it will give Marla Maria visibility from the interstate and she can open up a strip mall for others to join her. Making her more money and more business.”

“So why would Sugar kill me?” Chicken asked a great question.

“None of this makes Sugar a killer,” I said. “Marla Maria could have had the motive to kill him with the property in some sort of hold until she held up her agreement.”

“I'm telling you. The police need to be looking at Sugar Wayne and not my Marla Maria.” He opened his door. “You slide out on my side. I don't want to alarm them we are here in case I need to save my girls.”

“They are
my
girls!” Chicken stood next to him with his fists raised, ready to fight.

I did what Duckie told me to do. I wasn't convinced of anything. All I wanted was to go home to my dead clients, put on their good-­bye parties and eat at Bella Vino with Jack Henry. Maybe even have a glass of sweet tea with Granny while sitting in one of the rocking chairs at the Sleepy Hollow Inn.

Duckie grabbed the tire wrench out of the back of Chicken's truck. I followed him through the brush breaking all sorts of old branches.

“Please be careful where you are stepping.” He looked down at my bare feet. “Where are your shoes?”

“Marla had me in heels and they hurt. I kicked them off.”

Duckie let out a heavy sigh. He leaned his body up against a tree, untied both of his shoes and handed them to me. “Here. I can't let a lady go barefoot through the woods.” He held one of his feet up in the air showing me his sock foot. “I've got socks I can wear.”

“Thanks.” I smiled and took his shoes. I had to put the grossness of inserting my bare feet into someone else's shoes out of my mind. “Now what do we do?”

“I think he has kidnapped Marla Maria and is going to sell Lady Cluckington.” His eyes looked hollow. “Or worse . . .” he paused, “ . . . use Lady Cluckington as a fighter.”

“A fighter?” I asked. This entire situation was going way beyond my sleuthing expertise. I was just a funeral girl from Sleepy Hollow, not Kate Beckett from
Castle
. The ghosts were supposed to tell me what happened to them, not put me in the middle of it.

“Sugar Wayne would never do that to Lady Cluckington.” Chicken wasn't buying anything Duckie was selling me.

“Hear him out.” I was so tired of Chicken defending Sugar Wayne.

“Hear who out?” Duckie stopped. He turned around and looked me up and down before he put his hand on my forehead.

I jumped back.

“What are you doing? Get your hands off me.” I turned to run back but he grabbed me. This was it. Duckie was the killer. I just knew it. All the stuff he said about Sugar was believable. Too believable. I freed my arm and ran as fast as I could while darting in and out of the brush until I got to a clearing.

I stopped when I saw Sugar, Marla Maria and Lady Cluckington, standing with a slew of other people.

“Wait!” Duckie squawked and stood next to me. He was bent over trying to catch his breath. “I was just making sure you weren't talking to someone else. I read you got the Funeral Trauma.”

“Shh.” I nodded toward the group of people. “Besides,“ I whispered, “I never had anything called the Funeral Trauma.”

I glared at Chicken. I wished he could read my mind, because I was giving him a piece of it for making me talk to him out loud.

“Move it.” The gruff voice came from behind me. A hard round something dug into the small of my back. “I said walk.”

I'd seen enough TV shows to know to throw my hands up in the air and walk. We did what we were told.

“That dirty, no good sonofabitch.” Chicken knew exactly who was behind us. “It's that dirty bartender from the Watering Hole.”

“
Thank you
,” I mouthed to Chicken. I was glad he was there to be my eyes for me.

“Look what I found lurking in the woods.” The bartender had us walk straight over to the crowd that stood circled around a scared Lady Cluckington and big old cock in a chicken pen, ready to be let out to kill Lady; he was big enough to win a fight.

“Are you here to watch me train
my
prize chicken?” Sugar's gritty smile was smarmy and scary. “Did you think I didn't recognize you, funeral girl?”

“You can't possibly use Lady Cluckington to help train a cock to fight.” I gestured toward her. “She's a helpless princess. What will it teach your bird?”

“You aren't so stupid, are you? He will kill her, taste her blood, and want more.” He raised his voice. “He will bring me millions, especially with my fighting ring going on right here.”

“Where are your shoes?” Marla Maria asked.

“This is going on and all you can ask me is where my shoes are?” I couldn't believe her.