by Tonya Kappes
“I was.” I could see the old neon cowboy boot half lit up in the distance. It was an icon. In grade school everyone talked about the boot and for as long as I could remember, the lights on it were never all lit at once.
“Then what did I say?” Hettie jerked her head.
“You were telling me about your studio plans.” I lied but made it general enough for her to believe me. Clearly, my head wasn’t into yoga, nor was my body.
Hettie crossed her arms and gave out a sigh. Evidently, my answer was enough to satisfy her.
I pulled into the gravel lot. There weren’t too many cars. I scanned them looking for Sugar Wayne’s but it wasn’t there. A few motorcycles lined the front. I had heard there were a lot of riders who came here.
“Vroom, vroom.” Hettie giggled. “I might find me a Harley man and ride off into the sunset.”
“Let me know so I won’t be waiting around,” I joked, and turned the hearse off. If Sugar Wayne wasn’t there, I was wasting my time. My phone buzzed. “Jack.” I stuck it back in my pocket.
“You aren’t going to answer?” Hettie’s eyes grew big. There was never a time I didn’t answer a phone call from Jack Henry.
“We are here to have fun!” I yelled and jumped out of the car. My idea of fun was talking to Sugar, hopefully a drunk Sugar, and help get more information on Marla Maria to pin her for Chicken’s murder. Then the media would leave and she wouldn’t need to be protected by Jack Henry Ross. “Fun,” I muttered under my breath before I clicked the key fob to lock the hearse up.
“There a dead body in there?” A lady had jumped off the back of a motorcycle. She had a cigarette tucked in the corner of her mouth that wiggled up and down as she talked. Her eyes squinted from the smoke swirling up around her face. My eyes couldn’t get past the Harley shirt shredded on the ends, like she got stuck in a paper shredder, which exposed a large fat roll with stretch marks all over it.
“No.” I shook my head and walked past her.
“I’ll be dammed!” the woman shouted, catching my attention. “Honey,” the woman pointed to me and then to the motorcycle that was pulling into the Watering Hole. The bike looked like a Christmas tree traveling on wheels, there were so many colored lights all over it. “I might kill him tonight so stick around. You might have you a new client.” She cackled, leading into such a deep cough I was sure she would fall over dead from not being able to catch her breath.
I almost asked her if she wanted to smoke another cigarette, but I figured being a smart-ass in such an establishment wouldn’t make me very popular, since smoke was rolling out of the door when Hettie and I walked in.
“Look how cute this is, Emma Lee!” Hettie Bell ran up to the bar and patted the bar stools, which were disguised as horse saddles.
I smiled and nodded. I was eerily aware that all eyes were on us, not to mention, our attire did not fit in at the Watering Hole. There were five or so men playing billiards on the far end of the small bar. There were only four tables with four chairs and the rest of the seating was along the bar.
“I’ll have a cosmopolitan.” Hettie plopped her purse on the bar top.
“Y’ull have a what?” The bartender cocked his lip to the right, his mustache twitched a little. He firmly planted his hands on the bar top and leaned his body weight on them, leaning a little closer to Hettie.
“Umm . . .” Hettie nervously stalled, “whatever you have on tap is fine.”
“That’s what I thought.” The man growled, grabbed a glass from the stack and flipped the beer tap, filling the glass to the rim. Hettie and I didn’t say a word. He slammed the glass down in front of her. He looked at me. “What do you want?”
“The same is good for me.” I gestured to Hettie’s drink and moved slightly away from the leather-clad man who popped a squat on the horse saddle next to me. I had to breathe out of my mouth to avoid the smell of cologne the man must have bathed in before he decided to come to such a fine establishment. There was nothing like the smell of cologne and smoke mingled together with beer.
Without acknowledging me, the bartender poured the drink and slid it my way.
“He scares me.” Hettie tilted her head to watch the bartender go down to the end of the bar and take care of the Harley momma. The bartender poured her a whiskey shot and one for himself. They cheered and threw the shot back, coming up for a big laugh at the end.
“So does she,” I said about the Harley momma.
“You new around here, baby?” The man clinked his glass up against mine.
I pulled my glass closer to me and tried not to look at the man.
“You are that funeral girl.” He smacked the counter. I instantly knew who it was when I saw the gold ring. Sugar.
“I am a funeral director.” I corrected him. Being called funeral girl got old real fast. “Do I know you?” I played dumb.
“Who is your little friend, Emma?” Amusement grew in Hettie’s eyes. She threw a cocktail napkin across me and over to Sugar. “You have some black stuff dripping down the side of your face.”
“Damn. Damn. Damn.” Sugar grabbed the napkin and tried to get off the saddle, only his five-foot frame was too short and he had to jump. He tumbled off, luckily landing on his feet. He rushed off.
“What the hell was that?” Hettie laughed.
“That is why we are here.” I picked up my beer and took a gulp. I was going to have to flirt with Sugar Wayne. I smiled when I looked over at Hettie. “Hettie, I need a big favor. I mean big.”
“What?” She sounded a little cautious.
I looked to see if Sugar was on his way back, because I had limited time to tell Hettie what she needed to do.
“I need you to flirt with this guy. Get him to drink a lot.” I unbuttoned a couple of her buttons. She jerked away.
“Have you lost your mind?” she yelped.
“No.” I rushed; Sugar was walking back. “Here, trade me.” I got up from my saddle and pushed her over to mine. “Please. It’s about the exhumation of that body.”
“Shit, Emma Lee.” Hettie scooted her beer in front of her. “You okay, darlin’?” she asked Sugar.
He lit up like a firecracker.
“I’m good now.” He winked and leaned closer to Hettie before he took a deep inhale. “You sure do smell good. Is that . . .”
“Eau de toilette Bell.” Hettie swung her head, making her bob swing from side to side. I grinned, knowing she was referring to her own smell.
“That’s it.” Sugar grinned. “That’s that expensive stuff.”
“Ummhmm.” Hettie rolled her eyes and took a drink. “So what do you do?”
“Besides drive my big hog?” Sugar winked again. He gave me the creeps; I knew he had to be freaking out Hettie. “I’m Sugar Wayne, the big realtor in Lexington. Sweeten the deal with a little Sugar on it. Haven’t you seen my commercials?”
“You are him?” Hettie’s mouth dropped. Slowly she turned her head and glared at me. “I didn’t know we were in the company of a celebrity. Did you, Emma Lee?”
“Yeah, funeral girl, you need to give me the respect I deserve.” Sugar leaned back in the saddle and looked at me behind Hettie’s back. “Your lovely friend, and I mean all of her is lovely”—his eyes went straight to the unbuttoned part of Hettie’s button down—“seems to know a man when she sees one.”
“Where?” Hettie yelped.
“Where’s what, baby?” Sugar leaned back up against the counter.
“A man,” she muttered under her breath toward me. She threw her hand in the air. “I need another drink on him.” She pointed to Sugar. Reluctantly, Sugar nodded.
“Don’t worry about Emma Lee.” Hettie elbowed Sugar. “She keeps to herself.”
“As long as she keeps away from me and my love for you.” Sugar laid it on thick. I started to feel a little bad for asking Hetti
e to flirt with him, but I had to have answers about his part of the agreement he had with Chicken. “It’s been a bad day, baby.”
“He’s up to his old tricks.” Chicken Teater appeared, standing between Hettie and Sugar with a big grin on his face. “The night I met Marla Maria he was hitting on her. Little did I realize she wanted a date with me. Ask him about the time I met Marla Maria.”
“So tell me.” I leaned on the bar using my elbows. “What were you doing at Chicken’s place earlier?”
“How do you know Chicken?” Sugar questioned and downed the rest of the glass of beer. He smacked the counter. The bartender didn’t skip a beat. He had a new glass of brew in front of Sugar in no time.
“He was a friend of my daddy’s. Plus my Granny put him in the grave four years ago,” I said casually. “And I had to dig him back up today.”
Sugar shook his head. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself for digging up a good man from his resting place after all of these years.”
“You knew him well?” Hettie patted Sugar’s hand, which was resting on the bar, with a look of disgust on her face.
Sugar took the gesture as if Hettie wanted to hold his hand. He grabbed hers and held it to his heart.
“Knew him?” His eyes glazed over. I couldn’t tell if he was getting emotional because Hettie had given him some sort of hope or if he was upset thinking about Chicken. “I was his best friend. Why’d you go digging him up anyways?”
Hettie tried to tug her hand away when Sugar put it on his leg and put his on top, but he held tight.
“I do what I’m told and don’t ask questions.” I couldn’t help but smile when Hettie gave me the stink eye to help her out. “What did his wife say about all of that?”
“She said she didn’t know why they dug him up. But the police don’t go digging up graves unless they have good evidence.” Sugar smacked the bar again. The man could drink beer faster than anyone I had ever seen.
“I heard he was murdered,” the bartender said as he pulled the tap putting more beer in Sugar’s glass. “At least that was what that fancy reporter said on his way back to Lexington when he stopped in here for a beer.”
“Really?” I asked, keeping the questions going.
“Seriously, why are you here?” Chicken stood behind the bar questioning my intentions while he checked out the drinks. “I sure do wish I had a sweet tea. Marla makes the best sweet tea; not that Zula Fae’s isn’t great, but mmm-mmm, Marla Maria’s is pretty good too.” Chicken’s eyes looked into the air like he was remembering how great it was to be alive. “She loved to come to this old bar. I quit drinking, so she would bring me a jug of sweet tea to sip on while she drank her beers.”
I grinned. Memories are all we have and Chicken was living a special one that included Sugar.
“Chicken sat right here.” Sugar smacked Hettie’s saddle. “That crazy wife of his sat where funeral girl is.”
“Emma Lee is my name. ‘Funeral girl’ is getting a little old.” I huffed. “How would you like to be call realtor guy?”
“Add a little Sugar.” He kissed the air and blew it my way.
“Ugh.” I groaned. “I knew Chicken Teater because he was friends with my daddy. He didn’t seem like he would hang out with you.”
“I don’t know what that means, but Chicken and I did some business dealings years ago and became fast friends.” Sugar took a long drink from his glass. He could finish a glass of beer in two big gulps. The bartender set another drink in front of Sugar. My plan was working well. He even let go of Hettie’s hand.
“Why were you at his house?” I questioned again, hoping he had forgotten the first time I asked him.
“Lady Cluckington.” Sugar took the last of his beer and chugged it. “Sweet Lady. Marla Maria is killing her just like she killed Chicken.”
“How so?” Hettie suddenly took a vested interest in what Sugar had to say. She leaned a little closer to Sugar, exposing her chest a little more, making eye candy for him.
“Chicken knew something was going to happen to him.” Sugar’s eyes narrowed. “He made me promise the week before he died, and he wasn’t a bit sick like them doctors in Lexington said he was.”
“Made you promise what?” Hettie coaxed him. All I had to do was sit back and listen.
“I promised him I would take great care of Lady and continue to show her at the pageants. One problem,” Sugar’s eyes closed. He stopped talking. His head bobbled up and down.
“Now what?” Hettie asked me. “He’s about to pass out.”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I have to have more. But I don’t know what. Just encourage him.”
“Gross.” Hettie’s face contorted. She let out a sigh before she took her hand and reached out to touch Sugar’s painted-on hair. “You okay, Sugar?”
“With you I’m doing great,” he muttered. Hettie grimaced and her nose curled.
“What do you think about Marla Maria?” she asked in a breathy voice.
“She is a witch. She is slutting around Lexington with Chicken’s neighbor and riding all around town in Lady Cluckington’s Cadillac. I can’t be so sure she didn’t kill him and covered it up.” Sugar’s head nodded. “She even filed for divorce, but Chicken didn’t want to lose her so he told her about the property he owned and told her she had to stay with him.”
“What property?” Hettie asked.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said under my breath just enough for her to hear me. I really didn’t have to be so discreet, because Sugar was getting loaded by the gulps. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Did she rip up the divorce papers?” Hettie asked.
“She agreed to take care of Lady if anything happened to him.” Sugar threw his hands up in the air. “That’s when my buddy died. I miss him so much.” Sugar let out a cry and his head came down smacking on the bar top.
“Sugar?” Hettie jabbed him in the arm with her finger. “Sugar?”
“Passed out.” The bartender took Sugar’s glass and put it behind the bar. “He’ll come to soon. Did you get the answers you came to get?”
“What?” Hettie straightened up.
The bartender ran his hand over his mustache and down his mouth before he leaned on the bar with his hands. “I own the place. When I see two girls walk in here all buttoned up and all the sudden your junk is hanging out asking all sorts of questions about specific things, I know something is up.”
“Did you know Chicken?” I asked.
“I don’t know if you are a reporter or not, but I’m not saying a word.” The bartender swiped his wet towel on the bar top to clean it off. “But I do know I don’t want no trouble around here. You got it?”
“Got it.” I grabbed a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse and smacked it on the bar. “It’s yours if you tell me how Marla Maria treated Chicken when they were here.”
He put his hand on the twenty and eased it closer to him. He slipped it in his jeans’ pocket.
“The only thing she talked about was that damn duck—”
“Prize hen,” I corrected him.
“What the hell ever. Prize hen.” He glared at me. “Do you want your twenty dollars’ worth or not?”
“I’m sorry.” I put my hands up.
“Anyways, she said that she was going to wring the prize hen’s neck.” He leaned over a little more and whispered, “Chicken said, ‘Over my dead body.’ Marla Maria said, ‘Over your dead body is fine with me.’ ”
That was as good an admission as I’d ever seen on TV.
“I knew it! I knew she killed me!” Chicken danced on top of the bar. I bit my lip in fear I would laugh out loud. “She’s going to pay for this.” He jumped down and stared me directly in the eye. “You have to go save Lady Cluckington before Marla kills her too. Then she’ll take the money and run!” There was urgency in Ch
icken’s voice. Desperation.
“Thanks,” I said to the bartender and grabbed Hettie by the arm, dragging her halfway across the bar.
“I expect you to tell me everything once we get in the car,” Hettie warned.
“Wait! Where’re you goin’?” Sugar screamed, fumbling words. “Baby!”
We weren’t safe from Sugar even outside, safely in the hearse. Sugar stumbled over to the fancy motorcycle with all the lights and tried to throw a leg over like he was going to hop on and follow us, but he couldn’t get his five-foot frame up on the seat. He swung a little too hard and fell to the ground.
“Get out of here.” Hettie strained her neck to see out of the hearse window.
“No problem.” I shifted the gear handle to DRIVE and peeled the hearse wheels out of the gravel parking lot, spitting up pockets of dust. “Damn,” I groaned, looking into the rearview. “Charlotte is going to be pissed because the hearse is covered in film.”
“You owe me.” Hettie draped her arm over the back of the seat. Little did she realize she had positioned her arm perfectly around Chicken’s ghost making him scoot a little closer to her and leaving a little bit of room between him and me.
“She sure is a pretty thing.” Chicken took in every single facial feature on Hettie Bell’s face. “Too bad she wasn’t around when I was alive.”
I ignored him like I was used to doing.
“Go on. Spill it.” Hettie wanted to know why I had dragged her to the Watering Hole. “Plus, I need some hand sanitizer after that goon held my hand.” Hettie took her arm off the seat and rubbed it on her capris.
“Awe darlin’,” Chicken begged Hettie, “I was just getting used to snugglin’ up.”
“You know it, and I know there was a reason they had me dig up Chicken Teater.” I had to proceed with caution because I couldn’t tell her I saw ghosts and the fact we knew Chicken was murdered. “With all the new media I’m sure it will come out.” I hesitated.
“You talking about the murder of that man?” Hettie asked. “Remember Zula Fae let it out during yoga.” Hettie clasped her hands together and did some sort of breathing exercise. “I have to get my Zen back from that nasty smoky place.” Hettie fanned her shirt in and out from her body.