A Ghostly Undertaking (6 page)

“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

H
ow 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.”

“I don't. I was talking to Ruthie all of those times.” There was no way, no how I was going to go to a karaoke bar and make a bigger fool of myself. “I am not going to any karaoke bar.”

“Oh, yes you are, Emma Lee Raines,” Ruthie protested. “You are going to get your hair fixed and go to that bar.”

“What? Did Ruthie say something?” Jack asked.

“No.” I shook my head. Ruthie was right. It was high time this funeral girl got a taste of life. “Not tonight. Tomorrow, pick me up at eight.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Because I have a murder to solve.”

He smirked. “Emma Lee, you leave the detective work up to the police. I'll let you know the questions I need to ask Ruthie and you give me the answers. Got it?”

“Got it,” I lied.

There was no turning back now. I had to figure out how to get Ruthie to the other side and Granny off the hook.

“Tomorrow night at eight,” he confirmed. “I'm going back to the inn to see if they found any prints.”

“Prints?”

“After I saw you at the inn, I figured you went there to snoop, so I put a warrant on Ruthie's room to check for prints.”

“I'm telling you Granny didn't do it.” No matter how cute he was and how much my heart fluttered when he looked at me, I wasn't going to stand for him accusing Granny.

“I never said she did. But those pajamas have to be somewhere.” He darted out the door.

Hmm . . . I had never thought of that. Where were Ruthie's hot-­pink pajamas and kitty slippers?

I wrote the new discoveries in my notebook. If I find the pj's, I find the killer.

One thing Granny said that didn't add up and haunted me was that she had just gotten home from the doctor's. Ruthie said that she was in bed. Why was Granny at the doctor's at night?

As far as I knew, Doc Clyde only kept daytime office hours.

Go see Doc Clyde
, I wrote in my notebook.
See if Granny did go to the doctor and why she went to see the doctor.

“By the way . . .” I turned back to ask Ruthie if she knew something that someone wouldn't want her to know that would give them a reason to kill her, but she was gone.

Quickly I wrote my question in the notebook, before putting it in my purse. I grabbed my phone.

“Time to go play crazy,” I whispered, and then stopped by Charlotte's office.

I rapped on her office door. She was hunched over a file on her desk and clicked away on a calculator.

“What?” She snarled, and didn't bother to look up.

“I'm going to see Doc Clyde.”

“Good! You need to,” she snapped.

 

Chapter 7

E
mma Lee, what are you doing here?” Ina Claire Nell slid open the receptionist glass, and then looked up at the clock. It was already past noon and I still hadn't figured out anything new on who killed Ruthie or why.

“I wanted to talk to the doc.” I rolled up and down on my toes. After I got to see Granny's file, I'd spend the rest of the day working on the few leads I had written down about Ruthie's murder. But figuring out why Granny was with Doc Clyde in the middle of the night seemed a lot easier than finding a killer.

Ina Claire's hands were a little shaky as she thumbed through the schedule book on the counter searching the names of appointments. Nervously, she fiddled with fallen strands of hair from her blond frosted updo and whispered, “Do you have an appointment?”

I looked around the waiting room, which consisted of two wooden chairs with padded cushions tied to them and a stack of old
Southern Living
magazines on the table between them. Maybe Granny needed to come over here and do a little redecorating. The plain beige walls screamed of needing some color.

The only other person in there was Hettie Bell, the streetwise girl who Ruthie and Granny had given a job to a few months ago at the inn. Telling by Hettie's black pants, black sweater and thick black eyeliner, she needed Doc Clyde way more that I needed him. At least I didn't dress crazy.

We made eye contact for a brief moment before she looked down, her long, straight black hair cascading in front of her eyes. She played with her fingers.

Hhmph.
Ina Claire got my attention by clearing her throat.

“No,” I whispered. With a sense of urgency and a little hint of crazy, my eyebrows lifted upward. “I
need
to see him, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh.” Slowly Ina Claire nodded and pushed her glasses farther up on her nose and tucked the stray hairs back into a bobby pin. “Ho . . . hold on.” She slid the glass window closed like she could breathe in my crazy “Funeral Trauma” germs. Ina Claire couldn't get out of her swiveling chair fast enough.

In the meantime, I sat down next to Hettie.

“Hi,” I said. She didn't look up—­only scooted her chair away from me. “Don't you work at the inn with my granny?”

“What's it to you?” She glanced over at me.

“I was just making some idle chitchat.” I grabbed one of the magazines that was dated five years ago and flipped through it. “What do you do at the inn anyway?”

“I'm not interested in
idle chitchat
.”

“Okay.” I planted my elbow on the chair arm closest to Hettie and leaned way over. “Then let's get down to the nitty gritty. Is there anything strange going on at the inn? Was there anyone unusual there the week Ruthie died? Anyone that looked suspicious?”

Hettie didn't move. It was like she was digesting all the questions I had just thrown at her.

She used her hands and parted her hair, throwing it over her shoulders. She glanced at the receptionist window, and then to me.

“I did see this man, in a suit, come around a few times over the last ­couple of months to see Zula. She made sure Ruthie was gone every single time.” Hettie started to talk very fast when we heard Ina Claire's footsteps were coming closer. “I don't think Ruthie knew about this guy because Zula asked me to keep tight lipped.” Hettie shrugged. “So I did. Then there was this time a ­couple weeks ago where this interior decorator stopped by because Zula asked her to come by. All the way from Lexington too.”

Interesting.

“One problem.” Hettie's eyebrows rose in amusement. “Zula wasn't there when the decorator came. Only Ruthie. And you should've seen Ruthie's face when that woman said who she was.”

I could only imagine. I laughed.

“Needless to say, that woman didn't wait around.” Hettie straightened up and went back to ignoring me when we heard Ina Claire's footsteps coming back down the hall toward the waiting room.

Ina Claire didn't bother looking at Hettie. She glared at me.

“Hi.” I wiggled my fingers in the air, and then pointed to the empty chair next to me as if something or someone was next to me. “Can you get her an appointment too?”

“Who, Emma Lee?” Doc Clyde appeared in the doorway that led to the single exam room.

“Me!” I jumped up and pushed my way past him, leaving Hettie and Ina Claire with their mouths gaped open. There was silence until I reached the exam room and hopped up on the paper-­lined table, and then I heard them down the hall.

“I will not be in the same room with someone who thinks she can see dead ­people.” Hettie Bell's whisper was not a whisper anymore. “That girl is crazy!”

“Now, now, Hettie,” I could hear Doc Clyde trying to soothe her. There were a few mumbles that I couldn't understand.

Why was Hettie there? Who was Hettie really?
I grabbed my notebook out of my purse and jotted down these questions. Hettie Bell showed up out of the blue one day and the next thing I knew, she was working at the inn.

I had never questioned Granny about her. Like Granny would say, it was Hettie's tale to tell and I should just sit on mine, which meant that it was none of my business. Hettie was a little scary with all her black, but it wasn't unusual for those types to come to the area to explore caves and do whatever they do around campfires.

I quickly put my notepad back in my purse and used the pen to make stick figures on the white paper I was sitting on.

Doc Clyde told Ina Claire to take Hettie next door for a soda at Higher Grounds, and then I heard Doc Clyde's old brown doctor shoes dragging on the grungy carpet.

Surely Doc Clyde would think I was there for the “Funeral Trauma” and not there to try and read Granny's records.

“Emma Lee, so glad to see you.” Kindly, his eyes had a deep set of worry in them. He shut the door behind him. “What brings you here without an appointment today?”

He glanced at the stick figures, brushed his thinning hair to the side and then looked back at me.

“I wanted to talk to you about my medicine.” I punched my finger in the paper and created a big hole, pretending to be a little crazy. It wasn't like I was taking those little pills he had given me for the “Funeral Trauma,” but it was a good excuse to try to get a look into Granny's file.

“All right. I need to get your file.” He opened the door.

“Wait!” I stopped him. I needed him to be out of the office in order for me to get a look into Granny's records. “I want one of them sodas you sent Hettie and Ina Claire to get. I feel like I might pass out.” I knew he didn't keep soda in the office.

Doc Clyde held his pointy chin up in the air and let out an awkward cough. “How about water?”

“No!” I started twitching. “I need caffeine.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Fine. I'll be right back.” He left the room.

“Thanks!” I screamed and waited for the front office door to click shut before I jumped off the exam table.

The files were kept in a pantry type closet behind Ina Claire's desk. It wasn't brain science to look for Granny's file. It was alphabetized.

“What are you doing?” Ruthie came up behind me, peering over my shoulder.

“Ruthie!” I nearly jumped out of my skin. “You have got to start announcing yourself and stop scaring me.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Ruthie asked, tapping her kitty slippers on the old tile floor.

“I don't know. Maybe ring a bell or something.” I thought it sounded like a good suggestion. “I know! How about a bell like a cat wears to warn the birds?”

“Emma Lee, I can't get a bell. I'm dead, in case you have forgotten,” she chided, each word heavi­ly laced with sarcasm. “Now, what are you doing? You can't go reading private files. The last thing I need is for you to be put in the slammer.”

“I don't intend to go to the slammer.” I shut the drawer and gripped Granny's file. “I got what I needed.”

She scanned the file's label.

“And just how is Zula's file going to help solve my murder?”

“She claims she was at the doctor's office and when she got back to the inn, you were dead.” I shook the file in the air. “Doc Clyde keeps meticulous records and if she was here, then it would be in this.”

“You put that back.” Ruthie scolded me like she was my own Granny. “This is a federal offense.”

“Says who?”
Was I really arguing with a ghost?

I knew figuring out who killed Ruthie was my number-­one priority, but Granny's health was just as important.

“Besides, it will only take a second to see why Granny was here.” I threw my hands up in the air. “I promise to devote the rest of my free time figuring out who the murderer is.”

“If they find out you took the file . . .” She shook her finger at me. “Besides, we already know that Zula didn't kill me.”

Was Granny sick? I had to find out the answer. “Me taking a tiny peek at her file will let me know why she was here.”

“If Zula wanted you to know why she went to see Doc Clyde, she would've told you.” Ruthie came closer and grabbed the edge and pulled. “Now, put it back!”

“No!” I pulled harder, forcing her to release the file.

Ignoring her, I raced back to the exam room after I heard faint whispers coming from outside of the doctor's office front door. I put Granny's file deep in my purse and made sure I planted my butt in the crease of the white paper so Doc Clyde didn't think I got up.

“Here you go, Emma Lee.” Doc Clyde held out a Coke can when he came back into the room.

“No.” I shook my head. “I don't drink that. I wanted diet.”

He extended his arm fully and held it out farther. “This is what I bought and it's all I've got.”

“No thanks. I'll go get what I want.” I jumped off the table in protest and grabbed my purse.

“Where are you going, Emma Lee?” Doc Clyde stood firm in front of the door with his arms crossed.

“I'm feeling much better.” I smiled, throwing my purse over my shoulder. “I think it's seasonal allergies.” I scratched my nose and desperately tried to ignore Ruthie.

“It's a case of liar-­liar pants on fire.” Ruthie stood in the corner of the exam room where the ear thingies hung on the wall next to the blood pressure cuff.

“Ina Claire said that you had someone else with you,” Doc Clyde said.

“There is. Me!” Ruthie jumped up and down waving her arms. There was definitely nothing wrong with her physical abilities.

“Ina Claire needs her head checked out worse than me.” I looked around. “Do you see someone? I don't.”

“A . . . no, but . . .” Doc Clyde paused.

“But nothing.” I pushed past him. Ina Claire jumped back from the wall in the hallway where she was clearly listening to our conversation. I pointed at her. “Your turn.”

Ina Claire glared at me with reproachful eyes. “I don't know what you are up to, Emma Lee, but you sure can bet that I'm going to be putting a call in to Zula Fae and Charlotte Rae.”

“You know their numbers!” I made it to the waiting room where Hettie was sitting, still slumped over with her hair down in her eyes. I could feel Ina Claire coming up behind me. Ruthie sat in the chair next to Hettie. I pointed to it. “There you are.”

“There's who, Emma Lee?” Ina Claire asked. She wrung her hands. “Emma, are you having a hallucination?”

“Come on let's go.” I motioned for Ruthie, and then looked at Hettie. “Girl, you better run out of here or they will have you committed looking like that.”

“Doc! Doc!” Ina Claire rushed in her office and slid the receptionist glass door closed. Only she slammed it, shattering it into tiny pieces all over the floor, before she ran to the back to find Doc Clyde. “Emma Lee is acting crazy!”

“Oh, shiny like stars!” I hollered. If I was going to play crazy, I'd better do a good job.

“See ya,” I patted my purse and waved over my shoulder before heading out the door. I had a town council meeting to get to.