A Ghostly Murder (10 page)

“You need to leave Artie's alone,” I warned him.

“Y'all be nice! Ya hear!” Mamie chirped in. “Emma Lee, don't you go and work on his murder before you work on mine because you don't like the smell of burning hair. I was here first,” Mamie protested.

“Now listen here.” Junior scooted back toward the front. “I'm ready to go to the other side, now get me there.”

“Shut up!” I screamed as the two bantered back and forth. “I'm going to try to figure out who killed Mamie first, because she was first. Junior”—­I looked in my rearview mirror at the displeasure on his face—­“you are going to have to take a number.”

I glanced around to look at him. I felt like I was going to throw up when I saw a shadow of another ghost next to him.

 

Chapter 16

T
he P.O. box stakeout ended up being a bust. No one showed up to check his or her P.O. box. I didn't know whom I was expecting—­Dixie Dunn or Emmitt Moss. The shadow I had seen in the back of the hearse must've been Junior's, because it wasn't there when I pulled into the post office.

I took the time to ask some questions.

“Mamie, do you know anyone who knew Junior?” I asked. “Or any reason someone would want to kill him?”

“Not that I know of,” she said.

“Not that you know of.” I pondered her answer and then asked Junior the same thing.

“No. I lived in the home of the near dead. Not some fancy rich person's palace.” His brows furrowed, his arms crossed. He looked out the window. “And I was pretty popular too.” He huffed.

“I'm trying to figure out if you had the same killer or if there are two different killers out there.” I tried to recall any of the murder plots I had caught on
CSI
or even old Sherlock Holmes novels I had read.

“What is the last thing you remember?” I turned to Mamie.

“The last thing I remember was getting ready for bed. I had been gone all day at a charity event. I walked into my bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth and went back into my bedroom to put my nightclothes on.” She had a distant look on her face. “I was really tired. Just really tired. I lay down on the bed without changing, and next thing I know, I was stuck between worlds.” She smiled. “Then you came along.”

“Did you eat at the charity?”

“Just the standard fare. Relish tray, fruit, and things like that. I did have a cocktail . . .” Her eyes narrowed, “Or two.”

There wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

“Did everyone else eat the same things?”

She nodded.

“What about Dixie Dunn? Did she go with you?” I knew it was a loaded question, so I anxiously awaited her answer.

Dixie was the only person who had access to all of Mamie's things, both while she was living and now, in the afterlife.

“Dixie Dunn is the kindest woman in the world.” She shook her crooked finger at me. “If you think she tried to kill me, you get that out of your head, because she took care of me. Good care of me!”

Mamie Sue disappeared.

“Someone got mad,” Junior said.

“If you and Mamie expect me to help you, I'm going to have to ask questions about important ­people you love and who were in your life,” I warned him. “And for some reason, I can't put a finger on who would want to kill her. Even for her money. She seemed nice to everyone.”

I kept the information about Dixie and Emmitt to myself. There was no need to tell a ghost when there was nothing he could do and he didn't know these ­people.

“Okay.” I let out a heavy sigh, wishing I had my phone so I could take notes. “Tell me everything about your last living day.”

“Well.” He paused. “I got up. Got a shower. Got dressed.”

“Big events.” I wasn't going to waste my time on when he went to the bathroom.

“You said tell you everything,” he said in a snide tone. “Fine. I went down to breakfast, which happened to be biscuits and homemade sausage gravy.” He licked his lips. “I went back up to watch
Price Is Right
.”

I motioned him to go on.

“Fine, fine.” He stopped. “I might've taken a little siesta or three before dinner. After dinner I got back up, put on my poker hat. It was the last thing I remember.” He shrugged.

The day I'd gotten the call from the Happy Times Retirement Community about Junior's passing didn't strike me as odd, since I get a lot of business from nursing homes. Just like me, everyone thought he had died of natural causes, like most of the residents there. Jack Henry had come to take the report before I'd taken the body. Vernon Baxter had done the coroner's report, and he'd reported that Junior had died of natural causes, so there hadn't been an autopsy.

“Nothing out of the ordinary?” I asked.

“No, not a thing.” He shook his head.

I put the hearse in gear when I realized it was after five and no one was coming to the post office. I pondered Mamie and Junior's answers the entire way back to Eternal Slumber.

Jack Henry's cruiser was in front of the funeral home. He got out when I pulled in, and he followed me to the back of the lot where I had parked.

“I'm sorry.” He took me into his arms as soon as I got out of the hearse. “I can't bear for you to be upset.”

“I love you too, but I can't be the reason you don't live your dream,” I whispered into his ear.

No wonder his mom didn't like me. She saw me as the one keeping him here in our small town, where there wasn't a whole lot of advancement in the police department. Jack Henry had already gotten the head job as sheriff, and there wasn't much more he could do.

“You are too talented to stay here.” It was breaking my heart; I knew I had to do whatever I could to get him to take the job.

“I'm sorry you had to hear it from my mom.” He pulled away and rolled his eyes. “Of all ­people.”

“I think that was the hardest part,” I admitted. “I guess I wish you had told me first. But I get it.”

“I was going to tell you first, but she came to the office and saw the letter on my desk. And being nosy Jo Francis, she picked it up and read it. She insisted I take the job.”

“Let's go in,” I suggested. “We can talk while I get ready for the Auxiliary meeting.”

We walked in, and before I could go all the way through the doorway, Jack Henry drew me close to him. He didn't need to tell me how he felt, he showed me.

 

Chapter 17

I
guess I can forgive you.” I kissed his nose and jumped out of bed. “I've got to hurry up. I'm going to be late for my first meeting.”

I was already ten minutes late, and the thought of how Beulah was going to react when I walked in made my stomach hurt. It would take me another ten minutes to get ready, and another ten minutes to drive there.

“Tell her I had to frisk you.” His dimples deepened, and an evil grin crossed his lips.

“Jack Henry.” I couldn't stop the smile. “You are a bad cop,” I teased.

“Emma Lee, you will be the first person I tell when my decision is made about the job. In fact, before I make it, we will sit down and talk about the pros and cons.” He propped himself up on the pillows in my bed. “Grab my jacket and look in the pocket. I've got you a gift.”

“A gift?” I giggled. I loved getting gifts.

I grabbed his cop jacket and pulled out the packet in his pocket.

“I don't like not being able to get ahold of you,” he said.

It was the latest and greatest smartphone. The one a small-­town undertaker's salary wasn't able to afford.

“Oh, Jack Henry,” I gasped. “This is way too much money for you to spend.”

“Nah, the guy at the shop owed me a favor.” He put his hand out. “Let me have it, and I'll turn it on so you can have it after you get ready.”

“Thank you. I love it.” I bent down and gave him a long, drawn-­out kiss before handing the phone to him. “Now, what to wear.”

I opened the door to my tiny closet and looked at the selection. The standard was going to have to work. A pair of black pants and a white button-­down with some accessories. I didn't own pearls and diamonds like most of the women who were going to be there, so my large beaded multicolored necklace was going to have to do. It had just enough pop of color to make the outfit not look so funeral home-­ish.

As I got ready, Jack Henry asked questions about Mamie.

“It's not just Mamie who is my new Betweener client.” I didn't bother looking at him. I already knew the look I would get. “Junior Mullins is also here. Well, not here this minute. I have no idea where they go, but I do know Mamie gets mad at me when I ask her questions about her housekeeper, who happens to be the heir of her estate.”

“Really?” Jack Henry sat up a little straighter.

“Yeah.” I buttoned the shirt. “I found out Dixie Dunn had been her maid for years. Mamie left one million dollars to Sleepy Hollow Baptist Church and the rest in a trust for DD LLC, which belongs to Dixie Dunn.”

“Does the lawyer in Lexington have anything to do with this?” He asked a question he already knew the answer to. I guess he just wanted to hear me confirm it.

“Yes. And I didn't tell him I was Bea Allen.” I buttoned the sleeves before I walked over to my jewelry box and pulled out the necklace. “I told him I was with Burns to get any information on who would have paid Mamie's funeral bill.”

“Did you go to the funeral home and take Bea Allen's pie?” he asked.

“No, but it was in Granny's garbage can. She said she didn't take it, and I do believe her.” I pulled my brown hair over one shoulder and put the necklace around my neck before I headed over to the edge of the bed to let Jack Henry clip the clasp for me.

“Now the entire collection for Sleepy Hollow Baptist is missing.” After he clasped my necklace, he pulled me to him, nibbling on the exposed skin on my neck. “You don't know anything about that?”

“Why on earth would I know anything?” I asked. “It's strange, because I was supposed to go and count the money tomorrow morning. I wonder if he still needs me, since it's all missing.”

“It's like it vanished into thin air,” Jack Henry said. “And what about the million dollars?”

“Strange. I asked Mamie about it because I haven't seen the church use any money that would amount to that.” I took a swipe of mascara across my lashes and lip gloss on my lips. “She said ­people give money to churches all the time in their wills, which I know is true, but one million dollars?” I shrugged and made my way back over to give him a kiss good-­bye. “Junior was murdered, and neither of them have a connection to each other.”

“Hmm.” Jack Henry's eyes lowered. “I wonder if some of the Happy Times workers knew something. It's always on the news how something fishy goes on in those places. I go by there every once in a while. Maybe I'll stop in.”

“Yeah, I have plans to go check it out.” I bit my lip.

“
I
will check it out. Not you. I guess I'm going to have to try to get him exhumed along with Mamie.” His face hardened. “I hate doing that without some sort of concrete evidence.”

“I'm trying.” I knew he wasn't going to be happy with my amateur sleuthing techniques.

“I told you when you started this Betweener job to leave the cop stuff to me.” He warned, “Don't you do any more. Emmitt Moss is already on to you, and so is Bea Allen. Thanks to my mom, Bea Allen isn't going to press charges against you, even though Mom said you were a little crazy.”

“Great.” I sucked in a deep breath and held my arms out. “Do I look like Auxiliary material?”

“Better.” He smiled, then his face grew serious. “Please don't tell me you are doing this gossip group just to get information on Junior and Mamie or this Dixie Dunn character.”

“Let's just say I want to pick Dixie Dunn's brain, since her new employer is Beulah Paige.” I smirked and cocked a brow.

“Be careful. Whatever information you have, you bring to me and I'll look into it.” He stared. “Got it?”

“Got it.” I grabbed the new phone and headed out the door.

 

Chapter 18

I
felt a lot better now that Jack Henry and I had made up. Granted, I didn't know where our relationship stood if he did take the job out of town, but he was here now, and that was good enough until something happened.

For now, I had to put my relationship issues on hold and sleuthing hat on to see what I could figure out about Dixie Dunn, on the down-­low, of course.

The hearse looked out of place amongst the Volvos, Mercedes, and other luxury cars, but I didn't care. I pulled right up front in the center of the round driveway, smack dab in front of the steps. Business was business. Maybe I could get some pre-­need arrangement applicants while I was there, then maybe Charlotte Rae would change her mind about joining.

There was a fancy butler guy at the entrance with a tray of champagne flutes filled with the bubbly stuff.

“Ma'am?” He held the tray out at a good distance from his person, but not too far.

“Thank you.” I carefully took a glass, fearing that if I took the wrong one, it would send the entire tray tumbling.

Evidently, he had done this a few times. The tray didn't even tilt.

“Right this way.” Dixie Dunn appeared out of nowhere and gestured to follow her.

“Hi, Dixie.” I looked around to see if anyone was nearby. There wasn't, so I took the opportunity to ask, “Do you remember me?”

“Yes, ma'am,” she said in a whisper.

“I meant to get some information from you about hiring someone to clean the funeral home on a regular basis.” Regular meaning once a month at the most. Other than that, Charlotte Rae would flip. “Are you available?”

“I'm full-­time here, and sometimes I just stay overnight if I work late, but I can recommend someone.” She eyed me. “I own a cleaning ser­vice and have several girls who work for me. I'll check and get back with you. Tinsie”—­Dixie grabbed the arm of another girl with a Dusting Dixie apron on—­“Can you please get Miss . . .”

The girl looked at me. It was the same thin young girl who answered the door at Mamie Sue's private residence, only her unruly black hair was slicked up into a tight bun, making her look like a ballerina.

“Say,” she snapped her fingers. “This is the girl who came to the Preston house in a hearse.”

I gulped down the big goose egg in my throat.

“I see.” Dixie Dunn's eyes drew down me and then back up. “Tinsie, can you please get her number? I need one of the girls to go over to her funeral home and get an estimate for our ser­vices.”

“Dead ­people?” Tinsie's nose curled.

“Just get her number,” Dixie ordered. She took the tray of crackers and fancy cheese from Tinsie and disappeared into a sea of bobbling heads of gossipy women gathered in the all-­season room in the back of Beulah's house.

“Hold on.” Tinsie held up a finger.

Only I didn't hold on. I waited until she went into Beulah's kitchen and I darted up the steps. If Dixie Dunn lived here at times, maybe she'd have something in her room.

The largest room had to be Beulah's, and I couldn't resist. The large mahogany posters on her bed—­which was too high to just sit on—­were as large around as the pillars on the front of her house. The covers were fluffy down, and it took every ounce of restraint in my body not to take a running dive into them.

This was the type of room I dreamed of. And the closet was just as large as the room. There was a fancy shoe rack in the middle with an electric spinner so Beulah didn't have to walk far or reach up to get the pair she wanted. Her clothes were arranged in color coordination. Attached to each outfit was a small velvet pouch with jewelry to go with it.

Damn, it must be nice to be rich. I walked out, through the room to the other side, and stepped through the other door.

“Oh my God.” I walked into the room and sat my flute on the counter of the bathroom sink.

Beulah's bathroom had to be fancier than the Queen of England's. Her drapes were adorned with tassels and the shiniest silk. Since taking over the funeral home, I knew how much nice drapes cost, and these were not cheap.

The marble tub sat on gold clawed feet. One of those fancy rainfall heads dangled down from the ceiling, and every showerhead was angled to not leave one body part with a speck of dirt. The marble counter was full of all sorts of beauty products. She had at least one hundred different bottles of perfume, ranging from Chris­tian Dior to Chanel. The bottle stared at me, begging me to get a little squirt. Just a little tiny spray wouldn't hurt.

I admitted to perfume envy, since I was used to the death smell. And let's just say the death smell was real and was a far cry from Chanel. I couldn't help myself. I picked up the bottle and did a little dab behind my ears and on my wrists before returning it to its original spot.

“Oh,” I picked up the moisturizer. She had at least ten bottles of the same one.

When I opened it, I noticed it had the same peach smell that had caught me off guard the night I had come by to see her . . . or rather, be nosy. It had to be the same stuff.

I stuck my finger in and rubbed a sample on the back of my hand. I lifted it to my nose and took a deep breath. The spot I rubbed it on looked moist and shiny.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Dixie Dunn stood behind me.

“I've got to poop.” I held my hand to my stomach. “I didn't want to stink up the guest bathroom, and I knew Beulah wouldn't mind if I used her bathroom.”

“Actually,” Dixie Dunn plucked the moisturizer jar from me and put it back. “She does mind if you are anywhere in her home. She asked me to keep an eye on you, and I see she was right.”

“I beg your pardon?” I pulled back like she had gotten it all wrong. Again, I didn't have a good poker face. “The nerve. After I pooped, I was washing my hands and saw all this moisturizer. I couldn't help but notice how good her skin looked at church this morning, and I wondered if this is what she's using.”

“Yes. She loves this moisturizer. I actually make it from herbs and natural ingredients.” Dixie's face lit up. Her eyes brightened. “It was my momma's secret cream.”

“No! Don't be going around giving everyone your special cream!” Mamie Sue appeared and stuck her cane in Dixie's face.

“Tell me about it,” I encouraged Dixie.

By the way Mamie Sue acted, maybe I was on to something.

“It's been in my family for years, like the chess pie I made the other day for Junior Mullins's repast.” She opened a jar and took a swipe with her finger. She grabbed my arm and used both her hands to rub it in.

“That was my recipe,” Mamie Sue muttered, and I realized it really wasn't.

“I've been making it on the side and selling it at different little boutiques in Lexington. It's a big seller.” She stopped rubbing, keeping her hands on me. She looked me in the eyes. “Do you really see a difference in Beulah's appearance?”

“I do,” I admitted. “How much does this cost?”

I was game for a jar. If it opened up a line of communication with Dixie.

“I'll give you a jar.” She picked up one of Beulah's. “Take one of hers. She'll never know, and I'll just replace it. If you like it, tell all your friends, or even clients at the funeral home.”

“My clients are dead,” I reminded her. “But I can mention it to families.”

“That would be wonderful. I'd love to grow the distribution and become larger than those fancy moisturizers, which are mostly water and not ingredients.” She picked up another brand of moisturizer in a much fancier bottle than hers. “This stuff is crap.” She put it back and rubbed her finger and thumb together. “Unfortunately, I need the cash to run with the big dogs.”

“Really? How much?” I asked.

“A lot. More than a ­couple million to do it right. I guess I have to clean a lot more houses.” She sighed. “We better get back before Beulah has my hide and yours.”

Millions
? I looked at the jar she'd given me. I had her motive for killing Mamie Sue. Now I needed the weapon.
You mean kill a lot more ­people?
I thought but kept my mouth shut.

Beulah had already scouted the house for us and found us coming down the large staircase.

“I told you she'd be all over this house.” Hate dripped out of Beulah's mouth.

“No, ma'am, she has a bad case of the diarrhea.” Dixie kept my lie. “And I told her she could use the upstairs guest bathroom.”

I pinched my nose and fanned my other hand in front of my face.

“I wouldn't go up there if I were you.” I doubled over like I was really sick.

“You need to leave if you are sick. I won't have the women get sick from your germs and blame my party for it.” She stuck her arm out for me to go out the front door. “And why do you have a jar of my moisturizer in your hand?”

“Oh, it's not yours.” Dixie Dunn came to my defense again. “I noticed she's got some premature wrinkles and told her about my cream. She bought a bottle.”

“You are working for me right now. Not selling shit.” Beulah's teeth gritted. “Get back to work. It was nice seeing you, Emma Lee.”

She walked down the stairs and opened the front door. It was her polite way of throwing me out.

“There you are.” Tinsie came into the room with a tray of small cocktail glasses filled with something really refreshing. She handed the tray to Beulah. “I need to get your number,” she said to me.

“Are you kidding me?” Beulah's face contorted. It was apparent she was beneath holding a tray of food for her own party.

“I'm so sorry,” Dixie profusely apologized for Tinsie's actions. “She's young and learning. It won't happen again.”

Dixie took the tray from Beulah.

“You're damn right it won't. Send her home and don't let her step toe on my property again.” Beulah took a quick turn and stormed out of the entryway.

“Get the number and go,” Dixie instructed Tinsie.

I rattled off my number and Eternal Slumber's number before I left.