Six Feet Under Read online

  Praise for the Kenni Lowry Mystery Series

  “Fabulous fun and fantastic fried food! Kappes nails small town mystery with another must-read hit. (Also, I want to live in Cottonwood, KY.) Don’t miss this one!”

  – Darynda Jones,

  New York Times Bestselling Author of Eighth Grave After Dark

  “Packed with clever plot twists, entertaining characters, and plenty of red herrings! Fixin’ To Die is a rollicking, delightful, down-home mystery.”

  – Ann Charles,

  USA Today Bestselling Author of the Deadwood Mystery Series

  “Southern and side-splitting funny! Fixin’ To Die has captivating characters, nosy neighbors, and is served up with a ghost and a side of murder.”

  – Duffy Brown,

  Author of the Consignment Shop Mysteries

  “This story offers up a small touch of paranormal activity that makes for a fun read…A definite “5-star,” this is a great mystery that doesn’t give up the culprit until the last few pages.”

  – Suspense Magazine

  “A Southern-fried mystery with a twist that’ll leave you positively breathless.”

  – Susan M. Boyer,

  USA Today Bestselling Author of Lowcountry Book Club

  “A wonderful series filled with adventure, a ghost, and of course some romance. This is a hard book to put down.”

  – Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

  “Kappes captures the charm and quirky characters of small-town Kentucky in her new mystery…a charming, funny story with exaggerated characters. The dialect-filled quirky sayings and comments bring those characters to life.”

  – Lesa’s Book Critiques

  “With a fantastic cast of characters and a story filled with humor and murder you won’t be able to put it down.”

  – Shelley’s Book Case

  “Funny and lively...Before you blink you’re three chapters down and you’re trying to peek ahead to see what happens next. Fast moving with great characters that you wish were real so that you might be able to visit with them more often.”

  – The Reading Room

  “Kappes is an incredible author who weaves fabulous stories…I can’t wait to see what she comes up next in this series.”

  – Community Bookstop

  “I am totally hooked. The people of Cottonwood feel like dear friends, and I enjoy reading about the latest happenings…The story is well-told, with plenty of action and suspense, along with just enough humor to take the edge off.”

  – Book Babble

  The Kenni Lowry Mystery Series

  by Tonya Kappes

  FIXIN’ TO DIE (#1)

  SOUTHERN FRIED (#2)

  AX TO GRIND (#3)

  SIX FEET UNDER (#4)

  DEAD AS A DOORNAIL (#5)

  Copyright

  SIX FEET UNDER

  A Kenni Lowry Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition | March 2018

  Henery Press, LLC

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, LLC, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2018 by Tonya Kappes

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-308-2

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-309-9

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-310-5

  Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-311-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  To Eddy:

  ODO NNYEW FIE KWAN

  Chapter One

  “Y’all ain’t gonna believe this” was the first thing Mama said as Finn Vincent and I moseyed into Ben’s Diner. That was something you didn’t want to hear out of Mama’s mouth at seven in the morning. Or any time, for that matter.

  “The clock is wrong?” I asked. “Because I know I’m not seeing you here at seven a.m.”

  Mama gave me the mom look. She quickly turned her attention to Duke, my fur-deputy bloodhound that went practically everywhere with me.

  She bent down and patted him, letting him give her a few kisses. “You’re never too old for a whoopin’.” She looked up and wagged her finger at me.

  The beating and banging coming from the other side of the diner caught my attention. The construction crew was already at it. And so early. I was going to need at least four cups of coffee instead of my usual two if Finn and I were going to be eating here.

  “I know why we’re here.” I motioned between me and Finn, my deputy sheriff and recent boyfriend. Very recent. We were regular morning customers. “But why are you here so early? And looking fresh as a daisy?”

  Mama stood up and brushed her hands together.

  I looked at her closer and noticed her olive skin was a little too fresh. Her long brown hair was fixed as if she were heading to a party and her wrinkles were, um, less wrinkly. Maybe it was the beautiful spring morning we were having. The warm sunlight already beating through the windows of the diner projected on her and made her look a little more youthful.

  “There is something going on with you.” I pointed my finger in a circle around her head. “There’s something wrong with her face.” I turned to Finn.

  Finn looked at me with a very amused expression. It was one of those curious looks that made my heart flip-flop every time he wore it. Over the past few months, we’d explored a relationship outside of the sheriff’s office, and I’d have to say that it’d been going slowly but swimmingly.

  “We’re happy to see you this morning,” Finn said, stepping between us and giving Mama a hug. He was using his new southern charm to do exactly that: charm my mama.

  His voice was warm and deep, matching the depth of his eyes. His black hair was neatly combed to the side. The first time I’d seen him had been when the Kentucky Reserve Unit was called in to help on Doc Walton’s murder investigation. I knew I was in trouble when my physical reaction to his presence was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Now, a year later, he still had that same hold on me.

  “It’s refreshing to see your face instead of his,” Finn said to Mama and playfully elbowed Ben Harrison, the owner of Ben’s Diner, when he walked over to us with a couple of menus tucked up under his arm and three coffees.

  He nodded his head towards our usual table up front near the window. Finn, Mama, Duke, and I followed him over.

  “One for you.” Ben set a coffee down in front of Finn. “Two for you.” He sat the other two in front of me before he handed us the menus. “And something for you.” Ben tugged a doggy treat out of the pocket of his jeans and gave it to Duke.

  “New menus?” I asked, noticing the stained menus that were normally wedged between the salt and pepper shakers were no longer there. “New way of handing out the menus?”

  “I was trying to tell you before you rudely interrupted.” Mama pushed back over to me. “I’m sorry,” she said to Finn. “I raised her better than that.”

  “Rude,” Finn teased me, his smile making my breath catch.

  He knew the tension between me and Mama had just started to dissolve in recent months after she’d finally accepted my career choice. I was the sheriff of our
town, Cottonwood, Kentucky.

  “I was saying that Frank Von Lee is going to be here today!” She bounced on her toes. “In a few short hours,” she squealed.

  “Really?” I asked a little louder than normal. The construction worker was making a bunch of ruckus banging on a new wood beam on the ceiling of the old building. “So soon? The diner doesn’t look like it’s completed yet.” I turned around in my chair and gave the diner a good onceover.

  Ben Harrison had been working hard over the past few months to get the diner camera ready for the Culinary Channel’s show Southern Home Cookin’, starring the biggest southern culinary chef that’d turned food critic, Frank Von Lee.

  “Yes.” Mama clapped her hands together. “He’s staying at the Tattered Cover Books and Inn right next door. They sure don’t give you much notice. Glad I spruced up a bit.” She pushed her manicured fingers into her hair to give it a little more volume.

  “The diner will look great once they finish getting the beam up today and with a little elbow grease,” Ben noted.

  “This is it, Kenni.” Mama beamed. “Winning that cooking contest last year and having my pot pie featured in the Cottonwood Chronicle has changed my life.”

  “Not to mention I added your delicious pot pie to our menu,” Ben interrupted and pointed to the new menu, where it read “Cottonwood Chicken Pot Pie, homemade by Viv Lowry.” He called Mama by her nickname, short for Vivian.

  “Mmhmm.” Mama’s lips were pressed tight as she hummed and nodded, pride all over her face. “That’s me.” Her shoulders drew up to her ears. Her nose curled, eyes squinted as she smiled. “I’ve gotten so much recognition.” She talked to Finn like he didn’t know what was going on.

  “You deserve it too.” Finn was good at feeding her ego.

  “Do I look good?” She craned her neck side to side. “Which is my good side? Left or right?” She rotated some more.

  There was definitely something going on with Mama’s face. Maybe it was a lot of makeup.

  “What?” Mama drew back and looked at me. “Do I have a booger?”

  “No, Mama.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Both sides are beautiful, Viv.” Finn was full of malarkey.

  “Oh, Finn.” Mama giggled and brushed her fingers towards him along with a nose scrunch.

  She ran her hand over her hair and down her custom-made apron embroidered with her initials. “Edna is stopping by to do an exclusive interview with me this morning, and I’ve got to look my best.” Edna Easterly was the Chronicle’s reporter. Mama’s face glowed with pride. “She’s going to take some photos of me cooking my famous pot pie. She’s going to come back tomorrow too, because that’s when Frank is going to try the pot pie. But can you believe he’s going to be here in a few short hours? We’ve been waiting so long for him.”

  “Frank? Since when are you on a first-name basis?” I asked, lowering my voice since the hammering had stopped.

  Ben laughed.

  “It’s not guaranteed that I’m going to make it on the show.” She let out a deep sigh. “There is that diner over in Clay’s Ferry he’s going to later in the week.” She tossed a loose wave of hair. “It’s between me and them.” She swung her finger back and forth between us. “But you and I both know I’m going to win.” She winked.

  The construction worker passed us with some wood propped up on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry about the mess. He should be out of here in an hour.” Ben let out a deep sigh. “I was hoping to get the whole diner remodeled, but we just ran out of time.”

  Ben looked exhausted. He had on his normal baseball cap turned backward over his shaggy brown hair. It didn’t matter if the president was coming, he wouldn’t stray from his normal plaid-shirt-and-jeans look.

  “A whistling woman and a crowing hen never come to a very good end.” The faint whisper of a familiar voice breezed past my ear.

  Duke jumped up and wagged his tail.

  “A whistling woman and a crowing hen never come to a very good end,” I repeated in a hushed tone, looking around to see exactly where the familiar voice of the ghost of my Poppa was coming from.

  My stomach dropped. The room tilted slightly and I grabbed the edges of the diner table.

  “Hey there, Kenni-bug,” Poppa greeted me in a long, low voice, stretching out the greeting. “I’m back.”

  Chapter Two

  “What did you just say?” Mama asked. Her body stiffened.

  “A whistling woman and a crowing hen never come to a very good end.” My Poppa’s ghost did a little jig on his way over to the table with a big grin on his face. He clapped his thick hands in delight.

  Duke shimmied and shook with excitement. His nails moved along the diner’s tile floor as Poppa danced around.

  “Well?” Mama planted her hand on the table and leaned in towards me. “I’m waiting.”

  “What is Duke doing?” Finn’s head tilted to the side.

  I cleared my throat and reached over, grabbing Duke by the collar.

  “He’s probably hungry,” I lied, ignoring Mama.

  The diner was starting to fill up with the breakfast rush crowd. The way I saw it was that if I did repeat the expression as Mama asked me to do, there were too many people around for her to pitch a fit. Mama would never let anyone see her lose her religion in public, because it wasn’t pretty. I’d been on the receiving end of it, and it was nothing I’d wish on my worst enemy.

  “I asked you to repeat what you said,” Mama demanded through gritted teeth.

  “A whistling woman and a crowing hen never come to a very good end,” I choked out.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Yeah, before I died, I used to say that to your mama all the time.” Poppa had a way of playing little jokes on me since I was the only one who could see and hear him. “Good boy.” He patted Duke on the head.

  It’d been a little over three years since he died. Elmer Sims had been the sheriff of Cottonwood and my mama’s daddy. He was my rock and I looked up to him more than anyone else in this world. Something Mama had a problem with, especially after I went to the police academy and ran for sheriff of Cottonwood, where I was now in my third year of a four-year term.

  Thank God the bell over the front door jingled, signaling someone’s entrance, because it took the heat off of me. It was Edna, here to do Mama’s interview for the Cottonwood Chronicle.

  “Mornin’, Sheriff.” She nodded my way. The bright orange feather hot-glued to the side of her yellow fedora waved in the air with the swoosh of the door closing behind her. “You ready to get this show on the road, Viv?”

  Edna stuck her hand in her usual fisherman’s vest where she kept all her writing utensils and took out a pen and paper.

  She gave a finger wave to Mama and pointed toward the counter before she walked across the diner and sat down on one of the stools next to the regulars. She didn’t give anyone but Mama eye contact. She was focused. There wasn’t anything that required such media attention that I knew of, if you could call the Cottonwood Chronicle media. Besides the Chronicle, we did have a small radio station in town, WCKK, that played oldies and did a few interviews with citizens in Cottonwood.

  “I’m not done with you yet.” Mama shook a finger at me. “I’m going to do my interview, but I want an answer when I get back. I’ve not heard that expression in a long time and I know I’ve never said it in front of you.” Her tongue was sharp. “And don’t forget about my class tonight at Lulu’s Boutique. I expect you to be there.”

  Poppa smacked his thigh and doubled over laughing. He stood next to Finn, who was sitting across from me looking at the menu. He’d gotten used to ignoring Mama’s and my banter. Only this time, she meant business.

  “I won’t forget.” I confirmed that I would at the cooking class she was offering to the community.

  It had been a
little over a year ago when the ghost of my Poppa showed up after two simultaneous crimes were committed in Cottonwood. Before that, there hadn’t been any crime on my watch since I’d taken office two years prior. It wasn’t until I’d accepted the fact that Poppa was my guardian angel deputy from the great beyond that I realized he’d been scaring away any would-be criminals during those first two years of my term. Since then, whenever Poppa showed up, I knew there was some sort of crime about to happen. Though I loved seeing him, it made me feel sick to know the reason he was here.

  “What can I get you to eat? Your usual?” Ben asked.

  “Coffee is fine.” I’d suddenly lost my appetite. There was no way I was going to be able to stomach a thing before talking to Poppa to find out exactly why he was here.

  Finn looked up at me and narrowed his eyes.

  “You were starving before we got here. What’s going on with you?” he asked.

  It was cute how his voice held concern when just a few short months ago he probably wouldn’t have noticed if I’d not eaten. We’d been spending more and more time together in the off hours since he’d moved in down the street.

  “Nothing.” I turned my attention to Ben. “The diner looks great. I love how you’re replacing the old wood beams with new ones.”

  “Thanks.” He pointed to the old wooden ceiling. “The beams really needed to be redone, and even though Frank Von Lee is only here to taste the pot pie to decide if they will feature it on the show, I thought I’d go ahead and get the work done anyways.”

  “I don’t blame you. Y’all deserve to be recognized for all this amazing southern food.” I smiled. “What are you trying to finish in a couple of hours?”

  “I got the floors buffed and shined. He’s on the last beam now. The menus are done, and all I have left is getting a new pot holder to replace the old one hanging above the kitchen island.” Ben rocked back on the heels of his shoes.