A Ghostly Murder

by Tonya Kappes

  “Rolled away!” the voice yelled.

  I laughed. My eyes slid up to the altar. Mamie Lee stood in the choir line with her arms extended and head raised to high heaven, singing at the top of her lungs.

  “Yes! Rolled away!” She dropped her head and skimmed the crowd.

  “Sweet Jesus,” I murmured when I realized the awful singing was coming right out of the mouth of Mamie Sue Preston and no one could hear her, leaving me looking crazy, yet again.

  “Do you like the song?” Doc Clyde asked.

  “What song?” I had to diffuse the crazy. “Are you okay, Doc? The ser­vice hasn’t started yet.”

  “I told Eugene he needed to incorporate more music.” Mamie watched as the choir filed in one by one with their purple robes on, leading into a song before Pastor Brown came out of the side door and took his seat on the altar.

  Eugene? I looked at the bulletin and read “Pastor Eugene Brown.” Come to think of it, I had only known Pastor Brown as “Pastor Brown.” I looked him over as he sat up there with his chin in the air. His blue eyes lit up as he preached the good word.

  He did look like a Eugene.

  Eugene glanced around the room. His eyes stopped when he got to me. He gave a hard squint as if he was making sure it was me. The crow’s-­feet deepened. They softened. Subtly his lips turned up to let me know of his approval.

  Don’t get used to it, Eugene, I thought and smiled back. He gave me the nod, the Baptist nod. The man had some secrets in there. I could probably sneak out all the gold in Fort Knox quicker than get those deep secrets out of Pastor Brown.

  God forgive me, but I didn’t listen to a word Pastor Eugene Brown preached on. I was too busy asking God to give me the answers to where the one million dollars was, because the financial report on the back of the church bulletin said the church brought in six hundred dollars last week and four hundred and fifty the week before that, which didn’t come near to adding up to a million dollars.

  One Sunday ser­vice wasn’t going to get me the answers I needed.

  I shifted in the hard pew, making a mental note on how he could spend a little of the million on pew cushions.

  Pastor Brown asked everyone to bow their heads for the last prayer. I glanced over at Granny. Her eyes were shut as tight as bark on a tree, her hands folded in her lap. Her Bible was open to the day’s scripture reading.

  Sticking out of her Bible was a picture. I pulled it out gently so as not to disturb her prayer time. Her hand flew up and smacked the back of my hand. I still got the picture though.

  “I’ll be,” Mamie Sue Preston said out loud. “I had forgotten all about that.”

  The picture was of two young women and a young man. They each had on pearls, long dark dresses, and the fanciest high-­heeled shoes I’d ever seen. The young man was dapper in his black suit and fancy two-­toned shoes. The picture was black and white, but the wealth of the three was apparent.

  They were hugging on each other, standing on the steps of none other than the Sleepy Hollow Baptist Church.

  Granny winked one eye open. She pointed to the girl on the far left and mouthed, “That was me at your age.”

  “And that was me.” Mamie’s finger came over my shoulder and tapped the other girl. “But that old bat ain’t going to tell you that.”

  Granny and Mamie had been friends, and neither of them wanted to admit it.

  I furrowed my brows and pointed to the other girl.

  Granny shrugged and mouthed, “I can’t remember.” Her brow twitched. It was a sure sign she was lying to me.

  “You are such an old goat. Can’t remember my ass,” Mamie belted over Pastor Brown’s amen.

  I snorted trying not to laugh. Granny dug her fingernails into my leg, only making me yelp. Pastor Brown looked at me.

  “Don’t forget about the spaghetti dinner on Wednesday night and keeping the good Lord’s house in your giving today when you leave.” He pointed to the back of the church. “A few of the deacons are back there with the collection plates.”

  The organist flung her fingers on the keys and belted out a Hallelujah before the congregation got up to leave.

  “Who is that?” I pointed to the man.

  “Honey,” Granny smiled, “that is Pastor Brown when he was your age too.”

  “Emma Lee,” someone said, touching my shoulder.

  I turned around to find Pastor Brown staring at me.

  “It was so good to see you this morning.” He smiled. The eyes of the young man in the photo were the exact same eyes as Pastor’s. “I’m sure it not only warmed Zula Fae’s and God’s hearts, but it made their week.”

  “Thank you,” I said and noticed the line of ­people who were waiting to talk to him.

  “I hope you come back.” He patted me on the back.

  “Pastor,” Mable Claire interrupted. “I’m not going to be able to count the money tomorrow. I’ve got to be somewhere, and I just can’t be in two places at once.”

  I watched her scurry off.

  “What kind of money counting?” I asked.

  “Mable Claire volunteers every week to count the collection plate. She also takes the money to the bank for me. She does a fine job,” he boasted about her ability.

  “I could do it one time.” One time was all I needed to get some of the answers I was seeking. “I mean, I do the funeral home’s money, and I don’t mind offering my ser­vices.”

  “I’m thrilled to see you take an active role in the church.” Pastor Brown rocked back and forth on his heels. “Can you be here in the morning?”

  “Bright and early,” I said.

  That was settled. Everyone seemed happy. Everyone but Granny.

  “What was that about?” she asked me in the parking lot of the church. She snapped the helmet off the handlebars of her scooter and rolled it down over her head.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You know what.” Her words were sharp and held some anger in them. She snugged the aviator goggles over her eyes, magnifying them ten times their normal size.

  “You’ve been trying to get me to go to church since I was legal enough to make my own decision not to,” I said as I steadied the moped for her as she swung a leg over it.

  She scooted her butt up to the top of the seat.

  “You are up to something, Emma Lee Raines.” She turned the key. “And I’m gonna find out.” She twisted the throttle and whizzed off toward the Inn.

  Chapter 15

  Fluggie Callahan had done a big write-­up in the paper about the revival of the softball league, and everyone was excited.

  When I pulled into the gravel lot of Softball Junction I knew John Howard’s idea was a hit. Who knew so many ­people had time on their hands, especially on a Sunday afternoon?

  “Like the shirts, Emma Lee?” John Howard asked.

  A lanky, blond-­haired young man with dopey gray eyes and a wisp of a goatee stood next to him with a Grave Digger shirt on.

  “I do.” I nodded, putting my hand over my eyes to shield the sun. “Grave Diggers,” I said in my best spooky voice. “Nice name.”

  “Thanks.” John Howard’s dingy hand smacked the boy next to him. “This here is Arley Burgin. He is my buddy who works for Hardgrove Funeral Homes.”

  Homes as in many.

  “You know ’em?” Arley asked.

  “Yes,” I said without a hint of sarcasm, which surprised even myself.

  Gina Marie Hardgrove. Saying her name put a bad taste in my mouth. My mind traveled back to mortuary school. I spent many wasted hours in Descriptive Pathology class gawking at the baseball-­sized diamond on her hand—­I blamed my C-­minus on that ring. Needless to say, Charlotte Rae and I didn’t have it easy, like Gina Marie. Everyone in the state knew the Hardgrove Funeral Homes. They started out in a neighboring town but quickly expanded
throughout Kentucky. They weren’t only a funeral home, they were also a reception center.

  In one room, you could have a viewing of a dead client, and in another room they were celebrating the arrival of an impending birth. They ushered in births and sent out the dead. It was the darndest thing I had ever heard of. ­People loved it. Even brides started to rent out the reception hall. Talk about freaky.

  “She’s my boss,” Arley said in a deep Southern accent, bordering the line of hillbilly.

  “Boss?” That grabbed my attention real fast. I cocked my head to the side so I could hear Arley really well.

  “Yeah, old man Hardgrove retired about six months ago, leaving Gina Marie, Ms. Hardgrove, in charge.” He scratched his goatee. “Her brothers didn’t like it too much.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  Now that was some Southern fried gossip I could chew on. Charlotte Rae would find it very interesting, since those boys had spent a lot of time trying to get her to go out with them when we were younger.

  My parents and Granny used to take us to conventions. Of course like anything else, the funeral world was just as small as Sleepy Hollow. We saw the same families, same kids and heard all the shared stories time after time.

  The Hardgroves always fancied themselves rich. The boys especially strutted around Charlotte Rae like horny roosters, since she was the prettier, more endowed of the two of us. Granny scooted those boys off a dozen times at those conventions as they sniffed around Charlotte. I was sure one of them was eventually going to piss on her to mark his territory.

  Granny always reminded me and Charlotte Rae to never forget our raisin’. Which meant never forget where you came from and it should keep you humble. I never forgot. Hell, who knew what happened to Charlotte Rae.

  “Why yes, ma’am, she sure is.” He took his Grave Digger hat off and rubbed his tangled, shoulder-­length hair. “Them boys sure are mad. Mad as a wet cat. Mad.” He shook his head and walked off with John Howard to the field.

  I bet those Hardgrove boys were mad. They promised Charlotte Rae the world, saying they were going to be known as the Funeral Kings one day and would put her up in a mighty big house with all the finest things.

  I recalled Charlotte Rae liking Gina Marie’s big diamond too, and she did mention she could have one if she wanted to marry a Hardgrove.

  Yeah, right.

  Not with the bit of news I just got. I couldn’t wait to tell Charlotte Rae about Gina Marie dethroning the Hardgrove kings.

  “Hello, Emma Lee.” Fluggie Callahan stood next to the fence with her camera at the ready, taking pictures of all the men in their uniforms. “Grave Diggers? Couldn’t they come up with a better name?”

  “I guess not.” I looked out onto the field at my sponsored team.

  My heart fell into my feet when I saw Jack Henry Ross out there in his tight white baseball pants and lime-­green Grave Digger shirt. On the back they had ETERNAL SLUMBER printed on them.

  His muscles contracted with every throw. Every time he caught the softball, it made a smack in his glove. I was thrown back into high-­school mode all over again. Then I used to watch him from the sidelines and picture me running up to him at home plate after he made a home run. Today I felt the same.

  I had no idea where we stood after last night’s dinner with his parents that never ended up happening. And the fact I had found out he had been offered a job out of state and never once told me. Plus I knew he was considering taking it.

  “Emma!” Jack Henry called out, waving his glove in the air, bringing me out of my memories. “Hi!”

  His smile was boyishly affectionate. I waved and smiled back. I wanted him to have a good game. His attitude told me he still wanted to talk about what had happened. Today I was ready to conquer that beast.

  Plus I was sure he wanted to question me about Mamie Sue. If I could prove she was murdered and had enough supporting evidence, he’d be willing to exhume her body by going through the proper channels, Burns being one of them. But I had to give him reasonable cause.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have the answers to his questions.

  The umpires yelled for the game to get going. Grave Diggers ran into their dugout before they ran back out, taking the field first. We were up against Holy Bats from the Sleepy Hollow Baptist Church. Pastor Brown was up first.

  “Hey, batter, batter, batter!” Grave Diggers screamed. They had their cleated feet propped up on the edge of the dugout, and their fingers grasped the chain fence. “Swing!” they yelled as soon as Vernon Baxter pitched the ball straight for home plate.

  Pastor Brown made contact with the ball, sending it straight out to right field.

  “Catch it, Jack Henry!” I screamed and jumped up and down in the stands.

  Jack Henry caught it and the crowd went crazy. My heart swelled with pride.

  “Everyone is having such a great time.” Hettie Bell climbed to the top of the stands and sat down next to me.

  She looked cute in her cutoff jeans, tank top and sandals. Her bob was pulled back on the sides with clips.

  Each hand held a large Styrofoam cup.

  “It’s fun.” I pointed to one of the church deacons, who was up to bat next.

  “I got you a Diet Coke.” She handed me the cup. “I figured it’s your form of relaxation over yoga.”

  “Thanks, girl.” I took it and sucked down a big gulp just as O’Dell Burns hit a bunt.

  Vernon Baxter ran up between home plate and the pitcher’s mound to grab the ball. He threw it to John Howard Lloyd, who was at first.

  In the flash of an eye, I saw the base move to the right. I blinked my eyes. The base moved a little more to the right.

  The deacon and John Howard danced around each other to see who could get to the base first.

  If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it was Mamie Sue’s ghost playing a joke, but it wasn’t. She was sitting next to me laughing so hard, I thought she was going to fall off the top bleacher.

  “Emma!” someone screamed from the field. My eyes slid over to where it was coming from.

  “Oh shit,” I said.

  Junior Mullins kicked the first base bag one more time before the deacon and John Howard fell on top of each other. Junior grinned ear to ear, smoke coming out the top of his head.

  “That’s what you get for setting my toupee on fire!” Junior waved his fist in the air at John Howard.

  “Are you okay? Are they okay?” Hettie Bell didn’t know whether to laugh like the crowd was doing or cry. She put her hand over her mouth. “Did the base move?”

  “I don’t think so.” I took another swig of Diet Coke to help ease the pain of seeing Junior.

  Seeing Junior meant one thing.

  “Oh yes it did.” Mamie smacked her hands together. “I swear. Junior Mullins was always playing tricks. He is so funny.”

  Ahem, I cleared my throat to keep back the tears. I wanted to run away. This job as a Betweener was getting harder and harder to deal with. They made me feel crazy.

  “How do you do, Emma Lee?” Junior waved his hands from right field, where Jack Henry was staring at me. He looked like a smokestack standing out there.

  By the look in Jack Henry’s eyes, I could tell he knew it wasn’t just by coincidence John Howard and O’Dell had collided. The umpires called the deacon out and the game continued.

  Slowly, I shook my head to let both Jack Henry and Junior know I acknowledged them. Needless to say, Junior ruined what little joy there was with Grave Diggers winning their season opener.

  “We have to talk.” Jack Henry ran off the field and grabbed me by the arm before I could get the hearse door unlocked. “And not just about us, though it’s the important one I’d like to discuss first.”

  “I agree, we do need to talk. But right here isn’t the place.” I wanted to get over to the post off
ice to stake out the P.O. boxes.

  Sleepy Hollow’s post office didn’t hold normal hours for P.O. box owners. They were only open from 3:00 to 5:00 p.m. on Sundays. It was pretty darn close to 3:00 p.m.

  “Fine. I’ll come over,” Jack Henry said with a stern face.

  “It’s not a good time.” I fidgeted with my keys.

  “When then?” he asked. “Please don’t say tomorrow. I didn’t sleep all night. I couldn’t call because of your phone and I came by this morning, but you weren’t there.”

  “I went to church.”

  “You what?” He smirked, knowing I never went to church.

  “Yep, me getting a little religion,” I said. He didn’t seem amused. “Fine. I have a ­couple errands to run, and then I’m going to the Auxiliary meeting at seven. You can come over after that.”

  “And be prepared to talk about the first base thing,” he warned before he bent down and gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Emma Lee. And it felt good seeing you in the stands today.”

  He walked away without expecting me to say I love you back, even though I did. Unfortunately, I didn’t want my heart to get any more broken when he told me he was going to be moving away from me. Far away.

  “Jack Henry,” Pastor Brown called as he ran after him. “I need to report something.”

  That got my attention. I meandered my way over to them, like my conversation with Jack Henry wasn’t over.

  “One of the collection plates is missing,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Jack Henry asked.

  “At the end of ser­vice we collect the offering. Then the deacons put all the money collected into one big collection plate. They lock it up. I count it and leave it for Mable Claire to count on Monday mornings before she takes it to the bank for a check and balance, keeping everyone accountable type of thing.” He went on to say how the deacons had done their job. He’d gone in to count the money. He’d gone to the bathroom, and when he’d come back, the collection plate full of money had disappeared.

  “Why don’t you follow me down to the station and I’ll get you to give a formal statement.”