A Ghostly Murder

by Tonya Kappes

  “I guess I know where you will be tomorrow morning if I need you,” she said. “Did you get anything personal on Mamie?” she asked. Her chair creaked when she leaned back, her hands folded in front of her.

  “She had a maid, Dixie Dunn, who can’t be any older than fifty. Now Dixie works for Beulah Paige Bellefry.” I folded the piece of paper and stuck it in my pocket. “I just so happen to be going to an Auxiliary meeting at Beulah’s house tomorrow. I want to get Dixie alone, or at least give her a cleaning job at Eternal Slumber so I can question her.”

  “I’ve got a few feelers out about where the rest of Mamie Sue Preston’s wealth went.” She pointed to the blank space between us. “Maybe you can get more information from that lawyer. When I went there, he could smell I was a reporter and called me out on it.”

  “Undertakers have a way of getting into places.” I smiled.

  Fluggie and I parted ways with a list of tasks. Both of us agreed to get in touch with the other if we found out something.

  My list of questions was growing. The biggest one of all was why she left Pastor Brown the million dollars and why there hadn’t been any gossip about it.

  That was the type of gossip that would have spread like melted butter on a piece of toast, but Pastor Brown had never mentioned a word. Not even to the congregation.

  It looked like I’d be taking a spot in the front pew of Sleepy Hollow Baptist tomorrow.

  The roar of absolute silence hung between me and my ghost friend on our way back into town.

  “Sooooo,” I dragged out the word for more emphasis, “do you want to tell me why you left Sleepy Hollow Baptist one million dollars?”

  “It’s the right thing to do.” Her words were short and direct.

  “What does that mean?” I asked. “Feed the needy. Feed the animals in the animal shelters. That would be the right thing to do.”

  “It was my money, and I got to decide what I wanted to do with it. Just like I wanted O’Dell Burns to bury me!” Mamie pounded her tiny tight fist on the dash of the hearse.

  “And I’m the Betweener who needs the answers to these questions so I can help you get to the other side!” I yelled back, which didn’t prove to solve anything.

  Mamie Sue Preston disappeared into thin air.

  She was protecting someone, and I was going to find out who. Unfortunately, the person might be her killer.

  Chapter 10

  If Mamie wasn’t going to help me out with simple questions, I wanted to just forget about helping her, but she and I both knew that wasn’t going to happen. I was going to have to figure this out without her help, and I didn’t care who she was protecting. Even if it was a man of the cloth.

  The Sleepy Hollow Courthouse held as many secrets as the Auxiliary women. If you knew exactly where to dig, the answers would show.

  I pulled the hearse into the parking space right in front of the oldest structure in town. The three large concrete pillars held up the ornate design. Several large steps led up to the heavy lead-­glass doors. The marble hallways echoed with each step as I made my way to the records room.

  “How can I help you today?” The deputy clerk looked up from her filing cabinet and swept her bangs to the side.

  “I think I’ve got it.” I smiled and helped myself to the public files in the back of the room.

  Things such as deeds, marriage certificates, wills, taxes, anything public was located there. Anything public on Mamie Sue would be there. Including her street address.

  Addresses was more like it.

  Mamie Sue Preston held the deed to not only a mansion in Triple Thorn, the wealthiest neighborhood in Sleepy Hollow, but also the building where Pose and Relax was located, as well as the deed to Sleepy Hollow Baptist Church along with a house in the country. The properties were left in trust with Emmitt Moss, Attorney at Law, as trustee of the DD LLC. The land deeds showed the properties changing from Mamie to the trust as well. Who did the trust go to? Who was this lawyer covering for? And who or what was DD LLC?

  Is Emmitt Moss the lawyer you went to see? He is the trustee for the trust for DD LLC. Mamie owns a bunch of property, including Sleepy Hollow Baptist Church. All the property went to a trust at DD LLC. I texted Fluggie. She was good at looking into those types of things, and I was good at sniffing out ­people.

  I used the notes section on my phone to type in the Triple Thorn address, which I plugged into my maps. It was time I went to see some neighbors about sweet little ole Mamie Sue or poke around to see if anyone had a need for pre-­need funeral arrangements.

  The mansions in Triple Thorn only reiterated I was in the wrong business. There wasn’t hardly any money to be made after a funeral and Charlotte Rae took her salary. We had agreed she’d make more money, since I was living at the funeral home and using all the utilities I needed. There was something to be said for dead ­people. Job security.

  Still, these houses were colossal. All of them had at least five or six roofs peaking at all different pitches. Not to mention funny-­shaped trees. Some lawns had tree animals, while others had water fountains big enough for me to swim in.

  I pulled the hearse into Mamie Sue’s driveway and stopped right at the privacy gate. I got out. With my hands on my hips, I looked around me. There was no getting in there unless I hit the button. I wasn’t sure if anyone was there, but I did know DD LLC was the owner.

  “Hello?” I pushed the button several times.

  “You can stop hitting the button. One time is sufficient,” a woman’s voice answered through the speaker. “No one is dead here.”

  “What?” I asked, my finger still holding the button down.

  “Stop holding the button. You can just talk,” the woman instructed me. “The hearse. No one is dead.”

  “Oh. You can see me?” I asked, looking around for a camera.

  “What do you want?” she asked again.

  “I had a few questions about the owner of the house, Mamie Sue.”

  Dead silence.

  I leaned into the box. “Hello?”

  “I’m here.” She paused. “Okay.”

  Buzz, buzz. The gate started to move. I jumped in the hearse and drove up the long blacktop driveway. The landscapers stood up on those fancy mowers and zipped around the trees and wrought-­iron fencing. There were a ­couple of guys hand-­trimming the edging with scissors. I didn’t envy their job. My back hurt looking at them.

  Mamie Sue had definitely known how to live. Her white colonial home had a fenced wraparound porch. The outdoor furniture looked like it cost more than what I would pay for indoor furniture. I could definitely get lost in one of the large comfy cushions.

  I got out of the hearse.

  A stick-­thin young woman with an apron tied around her stood at the top of the colonial steps, her hands clasped in front of her.

  “Can I help you?” she asked in the same voice from the call box, only very low now, almost whispered.

  “I wanted to talk to the person who lives here now,” I informed her.

  “They aren’t here.” She didn’t budge from her post in the middle of the steps. “What did you want to know about Ms. Preston?”

  I had to lean a little closer to hear her.

  She wasn’t messing around. Her hair was a plume of black in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. There was no way she was much older than me. Thirties at the oldest.

  “Can you tell me who owns the house now?” I asked.

  “Ms. Preston still owns the home.” She wasn’t offering up much information or expanding on my question. She peeled off a long, heavy-­duty yellow cleaning glove. “I just clean here.”

  “I thought you said the owner wasn’t here at the moment, so if Ms. Preston owns it still—­”

  She interrupted me. “You asked me if the person living here was here. They are not here. Now, I have to
get back to work.”

  “Can you please tell the person living here to give me a call?”

  “I suppose.”

  I rushed back to the hearse, grabbed an Eternal Slumber brochure from the glove box and ran it back up the stairs to her. There was a familiarity to her eyes.

  “Did you go to Sleepy Hollow High?” I asked.

  She tugged on the brochure until I let go. “No.” She turned and walked back into the house. The sound of dead bolts sliding into place on the other side of the door was followed by the sound of footsteps walking away.

  My mind was lost in what had just happened. The girl looked familiar, and I was having a hard time figuring out what it was that had resonated with me. One thing I did know, someone involved with DD LLC lived there, but who?

  I pulled over in the next driveway down and sat, trying to recall everything the conversation had held.

  Fine. I’ll be on the team, but you have to have dinner with me and my parents tonight at their house. My phone chirped a text from Jack Henry.

  Blackmail? I texted back.

  Only if you are going to continue to be my girlfriend. He texted back a response I wasn’t going to fight.

  His mom’s words the last time I met her played in my head. “So what are you going to do with your life, Emma Lee?”

  He must’ve read my mind. He texted, Stop thinking my mom doesn’t like you. I love you! I’ll pick you up at 5.

  I texted back a heart emoji, which he hated. He said emojis weren’t a form of communication and when did they become punctuation. Just for spite, I sent a smiley face as well.

  A car pulling up to Mamie’s gate got my attention. It was a long blue station wagon with a sign on the side that read DUSTING DIXIES and included a dancing feather duster image.

  Someone was still paying for a cleaning ser­vice and the landscapers, plus the woman who answered the door was dressed as a maid. Who was funding this? There wasn’t an estate.

  I had a ­couple hours until I was going to meet Jack Henry at the funeral home. I ran through the McDonald’s and got me a large Diet Coke with extra ice. I needed the extra caffeine if I was going to have to deal with both Jo Francis Ross and a fancy Lexington lawyer.

  Chapter 11

  MOSS AND SON, ATTORNEY AT LAW was scrolled in gold lettering on the glass door. The reception area was really nice. There were leather chairs, and only one was occupied.

  “Hi.” The receptionist smiled. In a chirpy voice she asked, “How can I help you?”

  “I’m with Eternal . . . um . . . Burns Funeral in Sleepy Hollow, Kentucky. I need to talk to Emmitt Moss about a client of ours. Mamie Sue Preston.” I didn’t feel one bit bad for lying.

  Mamie Sue might be hiding something from me, and it might not have to do with her murder, but now my curiosity was up. Which was not a good thing. A Southern woman always wanted to be seen as a lady, but really, we were all nosy.

  The receptionist held a finger in the air and jumped out of her seat.

  “Hold on,” she quipped. A wary, haunted look crossed her eyes before she rushed down the hall and into a room.

  A few seconds later she and a stocky older man in a black suit with a nicely manicured goatee emerged from the room.

  He looked at me, said a ­couple words in the woman’s ear and gestured for me to come on back.

  “Thank you for seeing me without an appointment, Mr. Moss.” I held my hand out. “It seems that I had never gotten a final payment from Ms. Preston’s estate regarding that special bell stone of hers.”

  “Years have passed. This matter should have been taken care of a long time ago.” His brows hooded his curious eyes.

  “I know. It was an oversight on our part. I’m not sure if you are aware, my brother, O’Dell, was elected mayor of Sleepy Hollow, and I have taken over.” I smiled, gave a little wink and deepened my accent. “Of course I’m learning the business side and going through the books. Unfortunately, Ms. Preston wasn’t the only one O’Dell let slip through the cracks.”

  He sat in his chair and leaned back. He put his hand on his chin, giving his goatee a good scratch.

  “I know you are a busy, busy man and I hate to bug you with this.” I planted my hands on his desk and leaned way over. “I’d be more than happy to contact them myself if you want to give me the contact information to DD LLC.”

  His eyes had a hard time focusing on my face. I had never used my body to get what I wanted, but there was a first for everything.

  Ahem, he cleared his throat. His eyes looked at me. I dragged myself off the top of the desk.

  “Miss . . .” He searched for my name.

  “ . . . Burns.” I reminded him of whom I was pretending to be.

  “Burns. Miss Burns.” He said it like he was trying to remember it. “Sally will get the contact information for you if you would like to leave your number with her.” He stood up and adjusted his pants. “Or we could just skip that step and you could give it to me.” A sly smile crossed his lips, exposing a gold eyetooth.

  “Thank you.” I waved and headed out the door.

  There was no way I was going to give a slimeball like him my phone number. I guess my assets didn’t work the way I wanted them to.

  “Aren’t you going to give me your number?” Sally the receptionist asked as I walked by and out the door.

  I took a long sip of Diet Coke once I got back into the hearse. There was something fishy going on with all this. There were too many hands in Mamie Sue’s financial pot, but who was the killer? I had an eerie feeling the killer was someone I had already met. But which one?

  I looked at my notes on my phone to see if anything at all would click. Wealthiest woman in town. Dixie Dunn, Emmitt Smith, Pastor Brown, million-­dollar donation to the Baptists—­where was it? And Mamie owned the building for Pose and Relax.

  “Pose and Relax.” I smacked my hands together. “Namaste.”

  I turned the hearse back toward Sleepy Hollow. It was time to get my Zen on. Hettie Bell rented the building. And if the building was in Mamie Sue’s estate just like the courthouse documents stated, Hettie Bell had to know who was cashing her checks.

  It didn’t look like Charlotte Rae had bothered coming to work. Her car wasn’t in the back parking lot of Eternal Slumber when I pulled in and parked. I quickly changed into the only pair of yoga pants I had and walked next door to Pose and Relax.

  I was happy to see Hettie Bell through the window . . . alone.

  “Hey!” There was an element of surprise in her face when I walked into the studio. She looked like a fit yoga girl in her black yoga pants with pink stripe up the side. She had a T-­back tight yoga shirt to match the pink on her pants. She turned around to straighten the brochures on the counter; YOGA GIRL was printed on her butt in pink. “What are you doing here?”

  “You’ve been begging me to try all this crap. I mean Zen.” I sucked in a big deep breath. “So have your way with me.”

  Her lips pursed suspiciously. “Cut the bull. What do you really want?”

  “Damn. I thought the yoga pants were a good cover-­up too.” I smacked my legs. “How did you hear about this place to rent?”

  “Why do you ask?” Hettie asked. She leaned on the glass counter and folded her arms. “Usually when you start asking weird questions, something is up your sleeve. Kind of like the time you took me to the Watering Hole.”

  “I’m trying to figure out the history of the building and who owns it. Granny had mentioned my grandfather was going to buy it.” I shrugged. “It got me curious.”

  I walked over to the middle of the yoga floor. I threw my hands in the air and plunged myself forward into some sort of pose I made up on the spot.

  The board under me creaked. I scooted my foot an inch and it creaked more.

  “Curious enough to pretend to want to do yoga?” Hetti
e Bell was maybe a ­couple years younger than me. She wasn’t stupid and was proving to be a good businesswoman. “I’ve got to get that board fixed. It just started creaking, and there’s nothing less Zen than a creaking board.”

  “Just tell me and I’ll get you a beer from the Watering Hole with no strings attached.” I cut to the chase. A big grin spread across my face and I lifted my brows, along with my shoulders.

  “Hold on.” She sighed and walked through a door that had a black plate with OFFICE engraved on it.

  My phone chirped from the waistband of my yoga pants.

  DD LLC = Dusting Dixies owned by Dixie Dunn, Fluggie texted.

  The maid???? I texted back.

  Yep. Still digging.

  “Dixie Dunn?” I asked out loud. “Did Mamie Sue leave her wealth to her maid?” I asked in a hushed whisper when I heard Hettie shuffle back in the room.

  “I had gotten the listing online at craigslist and emailed this lawyer.” She handed me the paperwork she had printed off the computer.

  “Emmitt Moss.” I read the name and noticed that the P.O. box’s zip code was Sleepy Hollow’s one and only zip code. “DBA, DD LLC.” I looked up at Hettie. “Say, can I get a copy of this?”

  “Sure.” She wiggled the paper out of my hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  A ­couple of ­people with yoga mats came in. They laid their mats on the hardwood floor in front of the large mirrored wall and started to stretch. The big chalkboard on the wall had the list of daily classes. There was a stress relief class starting at four thirty, which meant I only had thirty minutes to get all gussied up for my dinner date with Jack Henry at his parents’ house.

  It really didn’t matter how much time I had. Her Royal Highness Kate Middleton could be his girlfriend and Jo Francis Ross still wouldn’t approve.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Hettie greeted the yoginis and handed me the paper. “Class will start in a few minutes. You probably want to move up. I have a creaky board there.”