A Ghostly Secret (Ghostly Southern Mysteries Book 7) Read online

  “No. We’ve got something to celebrate.” His slow southern drawl still sent my heart into a rapid beating fit. His deep brown eyes stared at me, making me want to reach out and run my fingers through his brown hair that had grown out a little from the high and tight he normally sported.

  “Oh.” I gnawed on my bottom lip wondering how I was going to get out of this one. I just knew he was taking me to our favorite restaurant to propose. I bit back the tears. The thought of me getting married without Charlotte Rae was really heavy on my heart. “Okay,” I whispered and put it in the back of my head.

  I’d do something, but right now I had to get back to Shelley Shaw’s funeral.

  Chapter Three

  “Sh…sh…shell,” the little girl sat on the top of Shelley’s casket trying to sound out the sash on the casket spray while Julie Miller’s gospel, All My Tears, played over the loud speaker.

  I couldn’t help but think if Shelley Shaw knew her time was coming to an end since she’d had this song playing in her car the night they found her body.

  And I will not be ashamed. For my Savior knows my name. It don’t matter where you bury me. I’ll be home and I’ll be free, Julie belted out and made me wonder if Shelley sang these words and had wished to be free from the grip alcohol had seemed to have on her.

  “Let’s pray.” Pastor Brown’s razor-sharp blue eyes scanned the crowd to make sure everyone’s head was bowed and eyes were clamped tight. If they weren’t he’d curse you with those eyes until the fear of God was in you, which made you close your eyes.

  He put his hands up in the air. The sleeve on his already too short brown pinstriped suit coat exposed a tarnished metal watch. His pale skin stood out against his coal-black greasy comb-over.

  “He sure is scary lookin’.” The little girl appeared next to Pastor Brown and looked up at him with a snarl on her face. “Are you sure he’s not a ghost like me? He’s awfully white.”

  Granny nudged me when I giggled.

  “Act like you got some sense,” she warned with a whisper but her whisper was as loud as a train whistle. “What’s wrong with you, laughing while someone is lying corpse?” She bent down and scratched her legs to high-heaven.

  Pastor Brown’s voice boomed as he cracked one eye open and mentally told me to hush.

  I rolled my lips together and looked down. Mr. Whiskers was dancing between Granny’s ankles.

  “I’m so itchy.” She gave one last scratch before she gave up, giving me the head nod to follow her. “You got any itch cream?”

  “Not a bit.” Even though we were in the foyer, I kept my voice down.

  “I’ve got some at the Inn.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the funeral home and down the steps.

  The square, what we locals called the downtown area of Sleepy Hollow, was just that, a square with businesses on the circumference, like shops, local business, the courthouse and The Sleepy Hollow Inn. In the center was a big park with a large gazebo in the middle where people tended to gather.

  Granny stalked across the street, through the park, and across the street again to The Sleepy Hollow Inn, or as locals called it the Inn, where she was the proud proprietor.

  “Don’t it look good?” Granny stood in the front yard of the Sleepy Hollow Inn with her hands on her hips as she looked at the freshly painted inn. After about a second, she started to itch again.

  “It does look good.” The pale yellow had been freshened up to more of a lemon yellow. With time it’d fade like before. There was a long porch along the front with four white pillars.

  The white rocking chairs were occupied by guests of the Inn.

  “Good night for a funeral, ain’t it?” Granny greeted the guests in only a way she could. The guests looked half-scared, half-amused. “Get on in here before you let the bugs in.” Granny held the screened door for me.

  The inside of the Inn was very homey and inviting. It was the only place to stay within downtown Sleepy Hollow, so it was always filled. There were many returning guests because they love Granny’s down-home hospitality. Though I think they liked her blunt attitude which some could mistake as crazy.

  The big room on the right was the hospitality room where Granny kept refreshments for her guests. Most of the guests were in town to explore the caves and caverns. Some would even camp, but keep their room at the Inn. The room to the right was a dining room that was also open to the public. That’s where everyone experienced Granny’s southern cooking. Up the stairs were the guest rooms. Granny also lived there so it was hard for her too to separate work from life.

  While Granny walked to the kitchen, I walked into the refreshment room and grabbed a couple of her chocolate chip cookies and a glass of sweet tea. Granny made the best sweet tea in the entire state of Kentucky and I’d bet the funeral home on it.

  “What are you doing in here?” She came back in with a tube of itch cream. She unscrewed the top and squeezed out a glob. She bent over and smacked the goop on each ankle. “Darn fleas. You’ve got fleas in the funeral home. Get an exterminator.”

  “I’m sure I don’t have fleas.” I watched as the red bumps got bigger on her ankles.

  “I’m telling you that I’ve not had a reaction like this since I was a kid and took home a cat with fleas. I’m allergic to cats and to fleas. You ain’t got no cat, so I’m telling you it’s fleas.” She snarled. “So what’s going on with you? How have you been, kiddo?”

  She grabbed a glass and poured some tea, gesturing me to follow her back out to the front porch.

  “You know. It’s still not getting any easier.” I referred to the loss of Charlotte. “I think it’s going to take time.”

  “Time is flying by. You might need to go see a doctor.” She cocked a brow and started to give the ferns a drink of her sweet tea by pouring some in each pot. She claimed it was magic food for them.

  They were gorgeous and bouncy and perfect for the start of fall. Maybe if I drank more of Granny’s tea, I’d be gorgeous and bouncy. I sighed.

  “And I think Jack Henry wants to propose.” It came out of my mouth like a bad thing.

  “You sound like it’s a death sentence.” She picked and plucked the ferns to get out some of the soon-to-be-dead pieces. “I sure do remember you swooning all over that boy when you were a teenager. Ain’t it just like a woman to get what she wants and don’t want it?”

  “Oh. I do love him.” There was no denying that. “I never imagined myself getting married without Charlotte Rae and for some reason I feel like my happiness doesn’t feel appropriate.”

  “If I recall, and don’t go thinking I got memory loss because I don’t, but if I do recall, Charlotte Rae did tell you to go and be happy according to your dream.” Her eyes narrowed and she brought the glass up to her lips and let the last little drops of tea fall into her mouth.

  The last time I spoke to Charlotte Rae’s ghost played in my head like a movie.

  “No.” I gulped back the bittersweet moment. “Not without you by my side.”

  “I have to.” Charlotte ghosted herself next to my bed. “I’m sorry for not being the big sister you wanted me to be. You are going to be a beautiful bride.”

  She pointed to the coat.

  “Now pick it up and act like you don’t know anything about it.” She looked so angelic with the brightest smile across her face. Her eyes lit up like stars. “Let him wow you with how much he loves you and adores you.”

  After that I’d told Granny that I’d had a dream about Charlotte Rae. I couldn’t tell her the truth about my Betweener gig.

  “I’m telling you that spirits come to us in our dreams and she wants you to get married to Jack Henry as much as I do.” Her eyes slid past me, across the town square, and over to Eternal Slumber where John Howard was getting the hearse ready for the drive to the cemetery.

  Jack Henry stood on the front porch of the funeral home and waved me over.

  “Look at that boy,” Granny said in her saucy voice. “Now, you get on
over there, finish up Shelley Shaw and get a ring on that finger. Good gawd, you’re gonna be a thirty-year-old maid in a few days.”

  I grumbled the entire way over to the funeral home. It was true. I was going to be thirty in a few days and had hoped she’d forgotten since Charlotte was always on the forefront of our minds.

  “It’s gonna be your birfday?” The little girl appeared. I couldn’t help but smile at her lisp. “I loved mine. I think I’m eight.”

  “You’re eight?” I asked with my eyes still on the funeral home as I walked across the square. My shoulders dropped when I noticed she’d disappeared. It was the first real fact that she might’ve told me about since she showed up.

  Chapter Four

  “I wish so bad that you could see Mr. Whiskers.” I was bent over in the passenger seat of Jack Henry’s police cruiser laughing about the cat teasing Granny on our way out of Sleepy Hollow.

  It was so much nicer than driving my car. . .the hearse.

  “Granny was fit to be tied. She hates cats so I knew Mr. Whiskers was doing it to bug her.” I shook my head and looked out the window.

  The forty-minute drive to Lexington from Sleepy Hollow was beautiful. Especially this time of the year when the summer leaves were losing their vibrant green coat and turning into yellows, oranges, and a few reds. The Kentucky bluegrass was still lush as we drove the two-lane curvy country road that was lined with one horse farm after the other.

  “It was a nice funeral. I did feel sorry for the family.” He reached over with one hand and patted my leg. “You always make the services so nice.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered and looked out the window. “I’m really excited you got an appointment with Debbie. I was thinking about doing it, but you know how much I try to keep my secret close to the vest.”

  “With Doc and Granny always looking at you, I can see why.” He gave me a saucy wink and squeeze of the leg sending my heart right down to the tips of my toes. “I’ll take care you.”

  Oh the times I’d prayed to hear those words.

  “Are you sure this ghost is the only thing bothering you?” he asked after there were a few minutes of silence.

  “It’s the fact that she’s a little girl. What do you think her parents are thinking?” I asked, tears forming in my eyes. “I’m lucky I’ve got this gift. I can truly help people. If I find out who she is, I can tell her parents.”

  “Whoa.” Jack Henry was trying to reel me in. “You know that people can’t know you see the ghosts of murdered people. If Debbie can help you and you do get some leads, we will do what we always do.”

  The comfort of knowing I wasn’t alone was nice. When I had my first Betweener client and before Jack Henry and I even had our first date, he could tell I knew something about Ruthie Sue Payne. It looked like she’d tripped down the Sleepy Hollow Inn stairs and died, but she was pushed. She told me. I encouraged Jack Henry to investigate but when Granny was his number one suspect, I had to tell him that I could see Ruthie’s ghost. What was even more magical. . .he believed me! We pretended to go on dates but we had teamed up. I’d give him clues Ruthie would give me about her death and he’d investigate.

  In most cases, my clients didn’t see who killed them. And in the afterlife, everyone loved them and didn’t have a bad word to say.

  “We are a team.” I looked at the small brick house. Debbie and her young son, David, sat on the front porch.

  Debbie waved. She had on a pair of blue jeans and a black tank top. She stood all of five feet tall, with a short brown bob with blunt bangs, hitting right at her eyebrows.

  “Hi, Emma and Jack!” David smiled.

  “Your tooth grew in.” I smiled back at the precious little boy who’d had a big gap in his teeth the last time I was here.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He stuck his finger in his mouth, using the pad of his finger to wiggle another loose one back and forth. “Soon.”

  “David,” Debbie put her hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you get inside and finish up your school project.”

  “Yes, Mama.” He scurried inside.

  Debbie caught the door before it slammed and she opened it.

  “Please come in.” We stepped inside. “You too,” she said out the door. “Come on, honey. It’s okay.”

  The little ghost girl came in with the book hugged up to her chest, looking somewhat timid.

  “Can you see me?” she asked Debbie. Debbie nodded. “The last lady that said she could see me was a ghost. She even told me she was my sister. I always wanted a sister.”

  “She doesn’t have a sister.” My eyes popped open. “This was the first bit of information she’s given me.”

  “You know how this works.” Debbie pointed into the dining room where her glass top table was filled with lit candles and a burning incense. She picked up the incense with one hand and a feather in the other. She walked around the room brushing the feather in the smoke.

  It was her way of cleansing the area free of spirits other than the little girl’s. Jack and I sat down. The little girl was fascinated by Debbie. She didn’t take her eyes off of Debbie. She giggled when Debbie took the feather and brushed it along her nose.

  “Ghosts don’t remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Little ones really don’t have a lot of memory. Oh.” Debbie smiled. “A cat. You have a cat.”

  Mr. Whiskers had ghosted up on the table. The little girl put her hands to her side. One still gripped the book, but she was a little more relaxed.

  “We know that her demise was not an acceptable form since she’s visiting you.” Debbie sat down in the chair across from us. “And I think that Mr. Whiskers and she died together.”

  “My name is Betsy Lynn. What’s yours?” she asked Debbie.

  “Betsy Lynn,” I whispered. “Her name is Betsy.”

  “I’m Debbie. A friend of Emma’s, but I can’t help you. That’s Emma’s job. I’m here to help ask some questions so she can help you and Mr. Whiskers.”

  “Can you tell me about the woman that was with her six months ago?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. Those sneaky ghosts. They are just wandering spirits. Most of the time they attach to children ghosts. They get the little ones to trust them and follow them, but when they came across you, Betsy here is too smart to fall for her tricks once she saw that you could really help her. Isn’t that right, Betsy?” Debbie asked.

  “Yes. My daddy used to say I was smart. I liked school and reading. I love to read.” She bounced on her toes. This was the most excited I’d seen her.

  “She loves the library. Go to the library.” Debbie started to give me some information on where to start. “Type in Betsy and missing children into the database.”

  “Do you think it was an abduction?” I asked.

  Debbie closed her eyes. Her face grew serious. Her jaw would tense and release and tense. Her head bobbled.

  “She knew the person. I can’t see who the person is. But I do see Betsy taking the hand and walking to a barn. The barn is dark. Betsy is scared. There’s a barn cat. He’s comforting Betsy.” A tear trickled down Debbie’s face. “She’s so scared.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered as the rims of my eyes became wet.

  Jack Henry scooted his chair over and put his arm around me. There was nothing better than his warm embrace.

  “I feel you.” Debbie’s eyes opened and she looked at me. “Your heart hurts.” She looked between Jack Henry and me like she could see right inside of me. “You must let go of Charlotte Rae and move forward in your life. That was Charlotte’s last wish,” she reminded me.

  Jack rubbed his hand up and down my back as the tears fell like a waterfall down my cheeks. Debbie pushed a box of Kleenex across the table.

  “You have to focus on Betsy and let’s take one ghost at a time.” I knew she meant the ghost of my past that I couldn’t let go.

  After a little chit-chat about other things in our lives and just visiting with each other, it was time for Jack Henry and I to leave.


  “Can we just go home?” I asked after Jack had opened my car door. He was such a southern gentleman and I loved that. “I’m not hungry and I’m afraid I won’t make good dinner company tonight.”

  “Of course,” Jack Henry curled me into his arms, kissing the top of my head.

  Chapter Five

  “Oh no, you didn’t get a call already this morning?” Cheryl Lynne Doyle asked when she noticed I’d walked into the coffeehouse. Her blond hair was neatly combed into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck.

  Cheryl was the owner of Higher Grounds Café. It was the first and only coffeehouse in Sleepy Hollow. Cheryl and I were classmates in high school and when she went off to the big city to go to college she’d been sucked in by all the fancy coffees and the environment that came with it. Cheryl was used to getting everything in life that she wanted. A coffee shop was no different. It was also a way for her parents to get her out of a big city and back home in Kentucky.

  I had to admit that I was surprised at how well Cheryl has taken to owning her own business. Though we weren’t friends in high school, we’d become friends as adults.

  “Nope. No one has died that I know of.” I assured her because it was usually this early in the morning I’d show up here to grab a big coffee after I’d gone to pick up a body from a late night call.

  That was the thing with being an undertaker. Many of my funeral home clients had pre-need funeral arrangements, which meant that they’d made their funeral plans long before they died. For some reason, God only knows, most people seemed to pass in the middle of the night. I’d get the call and off I’d go. If I wasn’t available, Vernon picked up the emergency phone. Of course he got all the police calls, but I generally knew about them first because of Jack Henry.

  “Actually,” I reached over the counter where she’d already poured my big cup of coffee. “I’m going to the library to do some research.”