A Ghostly Undertaking (8 page)

 

Chapter 11

T
here was no way I was going to go and see Granny after all the commotion from the council meeting. She was fit to be tied as she stomped her way back to the inn after Hettie yelled back at her. Granny was too classy to even give Hettie a second glance, but I knew she was plotting her sweet revenge. And going to see her at this moment would only put me on her bad side, which was someplace I didn't want to be.

I needed to be on her good side so she would tell me the truth behind her rendezvous at midnight with Doc Clyde and her little conversations with the developer.

Stopping by Higher Grounds Café to enjoy a fresh cup of coffee might take just enough time and space from the meeting for me to go pay her a visit.

Anyway, it was almost six o'clock and Granny would have her hands too full at the inn with the supper crowd to be bothered with me.

The line was out the door and down the sidewalk at Higher Grounds. Walking past, I couldn't help but overhear a few hushed whispers about the meeting and the big news of a new developer in town. I made my way to the end of the line.

Hmm . . .
maybe I could get some information that I didn't have if I went in, sat at the counter having one cup of coffee while “minding my own business,” but keeping my ear close to the ground just in case.

“Shooo wee, I heard there was a little ruckus over at the council meeting tonight.” Cheryl Lynne Doyle grabbed my arm. She pulled me out of the crowd and into the café. “I've got a table of one, just for you.” She patted my arm in an empathetic way.

I wasn't sure if that was a dig to my single status, but I went anyway. Cheryl Lynne and I grew up together in Sleepy Hollow. It wasn't until high school that Cheryl Lynne blossomed and suddenly got very popular, leaving me in the dust, and I didn't mean cremation dust . . . social dust.

All the guys loved how Cheryl Lynne's Southern drawl was just that . . .
drawn out
. It was even prettier coming out of those perky red lips of hers. Cheryl Lynne was far from stupid even though she was the perfect stereotype of a blonde: petite, ample breasts and a perfect size six, without a single blemish . . .
ever
!

Cheryl Lynne had gone on a senior trip to New York City and when she discovered the fancy coffee houses, she knew that a coffee shop was exactly what Sleepy Hollow needed. And with the Doyle money, her daddy had no problem buying up the old post office building next to the courthouse to give Cheryl Lynne her own coffee house, Higher Grounds Café.

I followed her in, squeezing through the crowd. Most of the people I recognized from the council meeting, so I figured that everyone had gathered after the meeting to see what everyone else was thinking about the big news.

The café wasn't a large space and I was sure the fire department would be here any minute to shut the place down due to overcapacity.

“You sit,” Cheryl Lynne ordered, pulling out the chair from the single-­top half-­moon-­shaped table.

The crowd's whispers overlapped one another, each one debating the pros and the cons of a new five-­star hotel coming to Sleepy Hollow. Of course most of the pros were the business owners of the community, while the cons were the residents who didn't want their small community taken over.

“Tell me all about the new developer,” she squealed, and put the biggest coffee mug in front of me. I swear it was a watering trough and if I drank all the coffee she put in it, I'd be up all night looking for clues—­or going to the bathroom.

“He wants to put a big hotel where the inn is.” I picked up the cup, steadying it with both hands. The steam rolled up my nose. There was nothing that smelled or tasted better than a fresh cup of coffee.

“I swear, Emma Lee,” Cheryl Lynne waved me off, “you are so funny. No wonder you are still single. I'm talking about his looks.” Her eyes rose, the glitter on her lids glistened against the black mascara. She put up a finger when someone called for her. “Hold that thought.”

The single-­person table where Cheryl Lynne seated me was actually a great spot. It was positioned perfectly in the back with a full view of the café and all the other tables, which were filled, leaving most ­people to stand around discussing the issue at hand.

I got my notebook out of my purse and drew a map of the inside of the café, labeling the tables one through ten. Some were three toppers, while most were four.

Table one: Beulah and a few of the Auxiliary women.

Table two: Mary Anna and Ina Claire.

I glared at Ina Claire for a minute just to see if she could feel me. I was still mad at her for treating me like I was crazy. I reached in my purse and felt for Granny's file. If anyone did find out I stole it, I definitely could claim temporary insanity. I had plenty of witnesses at Doc Clyde's office, including Ina Claire and Hettie. Something told me that Ina Claire would be the first in line to tell them about my peculiar behavior.

I went back to observing the rest of the tables and jotting down who was sitting at them. Someone in here had to have known something having to do with the developer, Ruthie, or Hettie.

I inched my way up to table one, where Beulah Paige Bellefry was sitting. I pretended to look at the magazines Cheryl Lynne had hung on one of the old rungs from the slanted wooden ladder propped up against the wall that was used as a magazine rack.

Surely Beulah Paige had something worthwhile to say. Even if it wasn't a clue, she was still entertaining.

“I did hear that Ruthie Sue didn't want to sell it for any cheaper than two million dollars,” Beulah whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. “But that was just some gossip, of course. God bless Ruthie's soul.”

The other auxiliary women at the table nodded, bowed their heads, closed their eyes like they were God blessing Ruthie's soul.

Two million dollars?
My mind couldn't even picture that kind of cash. What was Ruthie thinking?

“Did she ever find out about that picture she was researching?” One of the blue-­haired ladies asked.

Picture? What picture?
There were some things that Ruthie hadn't been forthcoming about and I needed her to tell me everything in order to help her figure out who murdered her.

Quickly Beulah Paige shushed her and looked at me. I reached for a
Cottage Today
magazine and flipped it open, pretending not to hear them.

Ears low to the ground.
Too late . . .

“Good evening, Emma Lee.” Beulah tossed her newly dyed red hair behind her shoulders. A new color choice for her.

“Good evening, ladies.” I held the magazine up. “Thinking about doing some redecorating.” I lied. I lied again, “I like your new hair color, Beulah.”

I moved out of the way when a man with a guitar took a small rug and rolled it out over the top of my shoes.

“Excuse me.” A little annoyed, I scooted my feet from under the rug.

“Can you please move somewhere else?” He jabbed his guitar at me. He pointed to the poster on the wall. “I'm the live entertainment tonight and this is my spot.”

“Live music?” I read the poster. I had no idea Higher Grounds had live entertainment. “I'm so sorry.” I shuffled to the side.

“Redecorating like your granny just did with the inn?” Beulah gave a crocked smile. I swear I saw devil horns pop out on each side of her flaming red head. “I bet Ruthie Sue Payne wasn't even cold when Zula Fae got rid of her stuff.”

I ignored her. I knew she was baiting me.

“Don't you love what Granny has done to the place, though?” I asked.

“I do!” One of the other women at Beulah's table jumped right on in. “I went there for dinner with Ina Claire the other day, and Zula really does have the best fried chicken and sweet tea around.”

The table rattled and the lady rubbed her shin. I was sure Beulah gave her a swift kick under the table—­or poked her with her devil pitchfork.

“Have a nice evening, ladies.” I smiled.

Beulah nodded her head. “Emma Lee?”

I cringed when I heard Beulah call me back.

“Yes, ma'am?” I used my good Southern manners and turned around. I clutched the magazine to my chest and tried to be the good woman my granny expected me to be.

She patted the empty chair at the four top that was right next to her. I sat down.

“Tell me.” She leaned in, her blue eyes were like ice. “Why do they think Ruthie was killed?”

The other two women leaned in. I leaned back.

“I have no clue.” I shrugged.

“Emma Lee, don't you be going around lying to us. We know that you and that . . .”

“Jack Henry,” one of the other ladies finished her sentence.

“Jack Henry have a date tomorrow night.” Beulah winked. “Surely he lets you in on all his little secrets.”

I shook my head. “Who told you we have a date? Because we don't,” I protested.

“Emma Lee,” Beulah reached over and squeezed my leg to the point where I grimaced. “You aren't trying to persuade him not to call Zula Fae a suspect with your . . .” she looked me up and down, sarcasm dripping from her lips “ . . .
Southern charm, are you
?”

I jumped up and the chair crashed down behind me, smacking the floor. All the hushed gossip about the development had stopped.

“Beulah Paige Bellefry!” I pointed at her. “You should be the one in that casket, not Ruthie! Don't you dare go around accusing me of trying to persuade Jack Henry on this investigation! You will regret it!”

“She was acting this crazy at the office today,” Ina Claire whispered.

I turned to glare at her, but realized the entire café was staring at me, even the guitar player, and the only sound was the percolating coffee coming from behind the counter.

“Emma Lee, darling, are you okay?” Cheryl Lynne stood by my single table with my purse in her hand. “Maybe you have had too much coffee.”

“It's okay, Emma Lee.” Mayor May stood in the door next to Scott Michaels. “It is very hard to adapt to changes.” She winked and waved.

I grabbed my purse from Cheryl's grip and marched past everyone and stopped at the mayor. It took everything I had not to reach out and grab those fake lashes off her eyes.

Instead, I turned back around, looked at the crowd and then zeroed in on the guitar player. “Start strumming!” I screamed before I dashed out the door, behind the courthouse and back into the safety of my hearse.

 

Chapter 12

A
few minutes later, I had the hearse parked in the town square parking lot. The inn was packed. Maybe Sleepy Hollow needed another restaurant instead of a five-­star hotel.

I stomped across the street, still mad at Beulah's comments on my real intentions for going on a date with Jack Henry. Though I couldn't dismiss that she might have a good point, which made me even more mad at myself for thinking that I'd use him to help Granny.

The concrete walkway, which Granny just had put in, was bordered with an assortment of spring flowers native to the region. Granny spent any and all free time working in the yard, which made me question why she'd consider selling the inn when she clearly loved it. She had put in such hard work.

The inn, positioned in a wooded area and tucked back into a cavern's hollow with the mountains as a backdrop, was a truly beautiful place to stay. No wonder it was the site the developer wanted.

When I walked in, Granny was busy serving a guest. I went back outside and planted myself in one of the rocking chairs to calm down. There was just something about that front porch that made my worries lessen. Plus, the cool night breeze might calm me down.

Beulah Paige did a good job making me and Granny look like fools in front of everyone. I hated myself for losing control. It only gave them ammunition that I was crazy and another reason for them
not
to use Eternal Slumber Funeral Home for their loved ones. I guess that was what I got for eavesdropping.

Sigh
. I took a deep breath before I pulled the notepad out of my purse and jotted down what I did know.
Ruthie would sell the inn for two million dollars. Ruthie was trying to figure out who was in a picture. What picture?
Ruthie never made mention about a picture.

“Slow down.” The rocker came to an abrupt halt when Granny put her hand on the back. “You are shaking the entire inn. What is wrong with you?”

Granny wiped her hands off on her apron and sat in the rocker next to me.

“There's my brooch!” Ruthie plopped in the rocker next to Granny. Sure as I was sitting there, the spider brooch was pinned on the strap of Granny's apron.

Granny reached over and put her hand on mine. “Please tell me what's wrong. I'm so worried about you.”

“That Beulah Paige Bellefry is a mean old lady and has the flaming red hair to prove it.” Granny always told me to watch out for a red head with a hot temper. She should know since she and Charlotte both have red hair. I was going to wait to ask her about the brooch. If I even brought up Ruthie, I'm sure she'd make up an excuse to go inside. “I went into Higher Grounds Café to get a coffee and almost every single citizen was in there talking about the council meeting.”

I paused and waited to see if Granny was going to spill her guts about the developer, but she only gestured me to go on.

“Beulah is hardly old,” Granny reminded me. “If forty-­two is old, I'm ancient.”

Ruthie reached out and tried to snatch the brooch, only to come up short.

“You better get my brooch back and stick it on me in that freezer!” Ruthie continued to eyeball Granny, while I continued to ignore her.

“Whatever.” I waved my hand, trying to get Ruthie to go away, and focused on Granny. “Anyway, Beulah hinted around that I was only going out with Jack Henry to persuade him not to arrest you for Ruthie's murder.” That should get her attention.

She clasped her hands and squealed, “You are going out with Jack Henry?”

My mouth dropped open and my eyebrows swooped downward. “Granny, did you hear me?”

“No she didn't hear you.” Ruthie's cheeks were balled up with red dots. “She's a senile old lady that stole my brooch. Ask her. See if she goes to twitching.” Ruthie got up and hopped around on her kitty slippers, twitching her eyes, doing her best imitation of Granny.

I twisted my body to focus more on Granny.

“Yes. You have a date with Jack Henry and I can't believe you didn't tell me.” Granny had been on a mission for years to get me hooked up with Sleepy Hollows' most eligible bachelor. “That boy comes from good stock.”

“No, the part about you killing Ruthie.” I stood up and paced the veranda. “Everyone in town thinks that you killed her.”

“Emma Lee, why on earth would I kill Ruthie?” She cackled as if it was a farfetched idea.

“Well . . .” I crossed my arms and tapped my shoe, “for starters, you two hated each other and . . .”

“That's nonsense,” Granny interrupted and protested as she looked the other way. “Hate is a strong word for a Southern woman to have in her vocabulary, much less use. You must watch what you say and how you say things, Emma Lee.”

I ignored her and continued, “And she didn't want to sell the inn and you do!” I pointed at her. There. She had to tell me about the developer
now
. “When were you going to let me in on the whole new development thing?”

“When there was something to tell.”

“And having a council meeting based around this wasn't enough ‘something' to tell?” I made sure to make the air quotes in the air. Granny always hated them. She said that you should never talk with your hands unless you needed to use sign language.

“Emma Lee, you have enough on your plate to worry about this old inn.”

“And the brooch.” I pointed to the ugly-­looking spider. “That was Ruthie's.”

Granny hid the brooch with her hand; her mouth dropped open. She gasped, “How did you know about this brooch?”

“It was in Ruthie's pre-­arrangements.” I raised an eyebrow. “You should know better than anyone that the client always lists what they want to be buried with.” I reached over and tapped the top of her hand that was still covering the ugly pin. “And that was on her list.”

A guilty look flushed her cheeks. She batted her lashes. “Earl wanted me to have it.”

Ruthie and I both waited for the twitch.

“How did she know I kept it in my shoe box under the pillows in my closet?” Ruthie begged to know.

“How did you know it was under all of those pillows if you didn't go through Ruthie's things?” I asked.

“Emma Lee, first off, I don't like you accusing me of stealing something that was given to me by my late husband.” She cast down her eyes. I flickered remembering her words about hot-­tempered, redheaded women. “Secondly, how did
you
know it was in the closet under the pillows?”

“Ah, oh.” Ruthie pulled back and looked at me.

“It was in her arrangement packet on where I could find it.” I lied . . . yet again.

“Good!” Ruthie nodded her head in delight.

“Earl told me.” Lightly, Granny brushed her fingers across it like it was a pet spider instead of a brooch. “He told me that when Ruthie died, I was to keep the brooch.”

“Liar!” Ruthie stomped around the front porch.

Granny wasn't lying. Her eyes were as calm as a baby with its belly full. No twitching whatsoever.

“What about Hettie?” I threw my hands in the air, giving up on the whole brooch thing. As far as I was concerned, Ruthie had her explanation. Besides, she couldn't take it with her to the other side, but somehow I knew Earl was going to hear about it once she got ahold of him in the great beyond. “They were talking about you firing her and her quitting. What is that about?” I lied about overhearing someone. I bet if I would've kept my big mouth shut at the café, I'd have heard something about the fight.

“Obviously she was sticking her nose in some business she had no business sticking her nose in.” Granny was good with words and switching them around to confuse me. “It's time for dessert.” She got out of the rocker. “You can either help me or go home.”

She walked in, the screen door slamming behind her.

Like a good granddaughter, I went in to help. After all, Hettie wasn't there and I knew she always helped wash the dishes after the supper crowd.