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

  “No. He kept me company when I was alone. I was scared. Especially when the flames came.” She looked up at me. Her eyes popped. “There was smoke and flames. I couldn’t breathe.” She lifted her hand and put it across her nose. “Mr. Whiskers laid on my face to filter the smoke.”

  “She said there was smoke and flames. Google barn fires around that time.” It seemed like a reasonable suggestion.

  Jack hurried back behind his desk and as he typed away, I secretly prayed that as much as a barn fire and dying that way would be painful, not knowing where your child had gone had to be even more painful for her mother. Unless her mother had any hope that Betsy was still alive.

  “Right here.” He pointed to the screen of his computer. I walked behind him and looked at it over his shoulder. “And it’s in Sleepy Hollow County too.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “You know the old strip mall out halfway to Lexington?” He referred to an old farm that’d been turned into an Adidas outlet, Dress Barn outlet along with a few other stores that seemed to be popping up in the south along with a few restaurants. “It went out of business when we were like sixteen or something. Now it’s abandoned.”

  “Yes.” I shook my head.

  “There was an old barn out there. The owner who sold the land to the developer had set fire to the barn instead of having it bulldozed. I remember something about this because it had to do with a fire. The county got him for arson since he didn’t have the right permit to do it and he should’ve had the fire department there and everything. The moms at the ball field talked about that too.”

  “You don’t think it could be the same fire do you?” I asked.

  “Only one way to find out.” He grabbed his keys, badge, and gun holster. “Want to ride in a cop’s car?” he teased. “I’ll let you turn on the siren.”

  “You are so sexy.” I giggled and grabbed his hand.

  “Ewww.” Betsy moved her hand from her nose to over her eyes.

  Unfortunately, Jack Henry wouldn’t let me turn on the siren as he’d promised, but he did let me cuddle up next to him on the way over to the abandoned strip mall. Quite a distance behind the mall were still the remains of what looked to be a charred barn.

  “That’s it.” Betsy shivered and took off running toward the barn. “Mr. Whiskers lived here first.”

  Abruptly I stopped and watched as Betsy ran. The grass was tall and she was barely visible. When I squinted, I could make out Mr. Whiskers’s tail bopping along the top of the grass as if he were trying to keep up with her.

  “What’s wrong?” Jack asked and looked off toward the barn.

  “Betsy and Mr. Whiskers said this is it. Apparently Mr. Whiskers was just a barn cat that she met here.” The thought of the owner not knowing a little girl was hiding inside made me sad. “The owner.” I gulped and followed Jack through the weeds and grass with each high-step. “Do you think it’s murder if he didn’t know she was in there?”

  I asked this because I knew that once the killer was brought to justice, then Betsy would cross over to the other side and Mr. Whiskers to what the living called the Rainbow Bridge for animals. Right now, she wasn’t going anywhere but in the barn.

  “So she’s not gone?” His brows furrowed. “Maybe her parents need closure.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” I gnawed at the thought of having to tell her parents. “I just can’t imagine telling them after all these years. What if they are still holding out hope that she’s alive like all those other cases over the past few years?”

  “The reality is that we can’t think that way. We have to or at least I have to think that we are giving them closure. It’s the only way I can do my job.” He pulled the flashlight off of his utility belt and shined it all over the remaining charred wood.

  We were losing daylight fast and I just couldn’t leave unless we found her or at least part of her remains.

  “We played over here a lot and,” Betsy stopped, looked down at Mr. Whiskers as he pawed something. She simply pointed to a board that looked like a beam from the barn ceiling.

  “Under there. Betsy is pointing under there,” I told Jack Henry.

  As he positioned himself on the uneven boards, I could barely bring myself to look.

  “It’s okay.” Betsy’s sweet voice assured me. “See.” She put her hands out. “I’m fine.” Mr. Whiskers danced around her feet.

  “I guess we better get forensics out here.” Jack Henry shined his light down on the ground where he’d moved the beam. “It looks like we have some skeletal remains.”

  There were no words to say about what I knew he was going to find. The only thing I felt was sick and empty, just like the day I found Charlotte Rae.

  Chapter Eight

  An old wood-paneled beat-up station wagon pulled up to the scene. Behind the wheel was Fluggie Callahan, the editor-in-chief, owner and only employee of Sleepy Hollow Gazette. Her sandy blond hair was pulled up in a scrunchie. The stray hairs were tucked tight around her head with bobby pins. Her white lashes were magnified under her big-rimmed glasses.

  “News sure does travel fast.” Jack Henry’s eyes were covered with the Rayban mirrored sunglasses.

  “News and gossip.” I could hear it. The whiz of the moped. It was distinct like a train whistle that could be heard from miles away. Only the conductor was Granny.

  The forensic team looked like an archeological dig team. They’d roped off the area and used what looked to be paint brushes as they slowly and meticulously brushed along the area where the small skull was sticking up from the ground. Betsy and Mr. Whiskers continued to stand off a little bit in the distance.

  Fluggie, on the other hand, had gotten out of her car and clipped on her fanny pack. She wore a long-sleeved white tee that was tucked in her pants that were about three inches too short and pulled plum up to her armpits. She had on a pair of white tennis shoes and a camera hung around her neck.

  Granny wasted no time driving right up between Jack Henry and me. I was never so happy to see her in regular clothes.

  “Bless their heart. Who was it?” Granny pulled off her aviator goggles and black helmet. Her red hair sprang out. Her eyes twinkled with curiosity.

  “We got a tip that it could possibly be Betsy Lynn Brady,” I said, but didn’t take my eyes off the scene after I caught some movement other than dusting away the dirt.

  “We’ve got a book.” One of the officers held up a children’s book by the corner.

  Another officer rushed over with an evidence bag and held it open.

  “Be careful with my book.” Betsy stomped. “I love my books! Emma!”

  Our eyes met. There was a sadness that I’d not recognized in her eyes over the past few months. Maybe it was too much for a little girl to see what’d happened to her. It was then that I followed her eyes to a police car that was pulling up with the lights on but not the siren.

  “Who?” Granny nudged me. “We don’t know no Betsy.”

  “Do you remember a little girl that went missing from Lexington when I was about ten?” I asked and kept on eye on the police car and wondered who had needed an escort to the site.

  Out of the corner of my eye, Fluggie was taking all sorts of photos of the landscape. She also walked toward the police car.

  “Excuse me.” Jack Henry put his hand out and stalked toward Fluggie.

  “Who’s in the car?” Granny rubbernecked. “Betsy who?”

  The air had turned a bit chilly. The sun was starting to set and sent a light yellow glow behind the trees that lined the property.

  “When I was ten, there was a little girl who’d gone missing.” I watched as Jack Henry said something to Fluggie. She nodded her head and rested the camera on her chest. She opened her fanny pack and pulled out a notepad and pen.

  “I do remember something about that and I think her mama was the suspect.” Just as the words left Granny’s mouth, a woman stepped out of the police cruiser.

  Her eyes were red aro
und the ridges. She held a Kleenex up to her face. Betsy ghosted to her and then over to me.

  “Is that my mommy?” Betsy’s voice cracked as if she were about to cry. “Tell me, Emma,” she begged.

  I sucked in a deep breath and tried not to pay attention to her because Granny was standing there.

  “That looks like my mommy but she’s so old.” The little girl looked up at me. “Please talk to me,” she begged and sniffed in and out of her nose.

  With my lips curled in, I looked down at her and did a long blink. When I reopened them, Betsy wasn’t there.

  “I think her mom was a suspect, but nothing came of it. I couldn’t imagine she did that to her only child.” I watched as Jack Henry stood with her. I could only imagine what he was saying to her. She nodded her head and blotted her eyes as he talked.

  “Where did the lead come from?” Granny was curious now. “And do you think it was the killer finally getting a conscience after all these years? If this happened to one of mine, I’d wallop on whoever did it. They’d not need a trial. I’d hold my own court. Me and my forty-five.” Granny’s brow rose.

  “I’m not sure how Jack Henry found out,” I lied and looked around to see if I could see where Betsy had gone.

  She was pretty upset with the fact that twenty years had passed. In her world, she was still ten years old and her life was the same. The police officer brought the book over to the Betsy’s mom and she collapsed into Jack Henry’s strong arms.

  Fluggie wasted no time throwing her notepad on the ground, sticking the pen behind her ear, and grabbing the camera to get some action photos. My heart dropped and my insides cringed. Another officer saw Fluggie and stalked toward her with his hands up. He spouted something to her and she shouted back something about her rights.

  “Hurry it up boys, we’re burnin’ daylight.” Jack Henry peeled the glasses off his face and looked over the crime scene.

  “Lord have mercy,” Granny tsked as the police car with Betsy’s mom passed us on the way out of the scene.

  Jack Henry was going to stay at the scene a little longer than he’d anticipated. He suggested an officer take me back to the funeral home, but Granny chirped in that she had another soft helmet in the storage compartment underneath her moped seat. Jack was more than entertained and happy to coax Granny on and for me to ride with her back to Sleepy Hollow.

  “I’ll get you back,” I warned him when he bent down to kiss me goodbye.

  “I hope so.” He winked with a sexy smile that made any part of me trying to get mad at him falter.

  “Hold on!” Granny yelled above the moped motor and gunned it by gripping the throttle and twisting it all the way toward her.

  I jerked back and grabbed her behind the waist, praying I wouldn’t fall off. I had to be nuts riding with her. I’d never done it and I wasn’t even sure if she had insurance on the thing. She didn’t care. Zula Fae Raines Payne did exactly what she wanted to do.

  Instead of her taking me to Eternal Slumber, she pulled the moped up in the middle of the Inn next to the large oak tree.

  “I figured since you don’t have no funeral clients, you can have some supper with me and Hettie before we do a little night yoga.” Her brows wiggled.

  She bent down and grabbed the large chain that she used to put around the tree and her moped. She clipped the big lock in place, took a step back, brushed her hands together and looked at her handiwork.

  “I have no idea why you don’t just put your moped in the shed instead of chaining it up.” I gestured toward the small shed at the end of the small gravel parking lot next to the Sleepy Hollow Inn.

  “Are you kidding me?” She snarled and peeled the goggles off of her face. “The yahoos that like to climb them caves and caverns sometimes have too much to drink or smoke that weed.”

  It sounded so funny when Granny talked about recreational drugs.

  “They’d be more than happy to steal anything and everything.” She nodded. “My moped being one of them.”

  “Did I miss something? Because we don’t have a high crime rate or tourists.” The only time I knew of crime was when I had Betweener clients.

  “You never know. Always got to be prepared.” She huffed and scurried onto the porch where a few guests were enjoying Granny’s cocktail hour she offered to inn guests before supper.

  Hettie Bell was in the dining room setting the linens when we walked in. Granny had her particular way to set a table.

  “Go on in there and help Hettie. That whole bones being found thing made me late on making my pork chops.”

  She gave me a slight push toward the dining room French doors and she shut them behind me. The doors were left closed until it was time to open them up for the dining crowd. Granny had a little chalkboard that hung off the door knob with the times the dining room was open. The chalkboard clinked against the closed doors.

  “I’ll never get tired of this view.” I still marveled at the mountainous caves that were the backdrop for the Inn.

  This was what made the Sleepy Hollow Inn so valuable. It had the prettiest view of all.

  “It’s the perfect spot to relax after a long day of hiking.” Hettie walked over and stood next to me to enjoy the view. “I’m so glad I don’t have to clean that wall of windows.”

  The dining room’s back wall was just one big window.

  “Your reception is going to be so pretty here.” Hettie tucked a piece of her growing-out bangs behind her ear and a fistful of silverware in the other hand. “I’m so excited you agreed to do prenatal yoga.”

  “Whoa.” There were two things that made alarm bells go off in my head. “Reception? Prenatal yoga?”

  “Namaste.” She did a lovely bow but not lovely enough to convince me to do any sort of yoga. Hettie wasn’t a local. She moved to Sleepy Hollow a couple of years ago and completely changed her look. Once she was a Goth-type but now she’s all into her body, mind, spirit and my business thanks to Granny.

  “Granny,” I sighed and rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “First off, I’m not engaged.” I lifted my hand in the air to show her no ring. “Secondly, I’m nowhere near having a baby.”

  Goodness gracious no. I took the silverware from her hand and busied myself by walking around the tables to make sure each table had the appropriate number of place settings. Hettie kept her mouth shut and walked around to straighten the linen napkins.

  “Are these new?” I noticed Granny had switched out the maroon linen napkins to a white. “Granny hates using white napkins.”

  “Mmmhmmm.” Hettie offered a thin smile.

  “And did she take out some tables?” I asked, trying to get Hettie to talk to me. “Listen,” I turned back to her. “I’m sorry that I took my frustration with Granny out on you. I know you’re only doing what she asked you to do. Doesn’t she realize you have Pose and Relax to run?”

  “I don’t mind helping out Zula Fae. She did give me my first job and I have to say that it’s fun to come here and rub elbows with tourists.” She stopped in front of the windows. Her head tilted to the side and she signed, loudly. “Even after a couple of years, I’m still new to the caves and caverns. I learn something new in here from a customer every week. Besides,” she came back to the present and shrugged, “my classes are early morning and a couple at night. But not tonight.”

  “What’s going on tonight?” I asked, knowing that I’ve been out of the loop all day.

  Without even answering me, she looked at the french doors. Granny stood there with a big white cake and lit sparklers in her hands with Beulah Paige, Mary Anna Hardy, Mable Claire, Marla Marie Teater, Fluggie Callahan, and Cheryl Lynne Doyle behind her. All of them holding presents.

  “Happy engagement shower!” They sing-songed in unison and walked in.

  “What the hell?” I fumed under my breath.

  “I understand you aren’t engaged, but please just don’t make a scene. Zula Fae will have Doc Clyde over here in a minute,” Hettie warned.

  C
hapter Nine

  “Doesn’t Granny look happy?” I asked Doc Clyde when he showed up for supper. Granny was in the middle of the gifts, looking like it was her shower.

  He’d no clue Granny had closed the dining room, though she did have a barbeque set up outside for her guests in the side yard. She’d gone to great lengths while I was in the dining room helping Hettie Bell set up for what was an engagement party for me, the unengaged Emma Lee Raines.

  While I was inside, Granny had The Southern Soiree put up a couple white tents with two buffet tables of the best barbeque. They also had southern slaw, flat green beans, biscuits along with cornbread. They’d also brought the two-layer white engagement cake that had simple white daisy flowers on the top.

  “She loves a good wedding.” It wasn’t a bad idea to put the thought in Doc Clyde’s mind. Maybe I could turn this whole wedding mix-up into a wedding for her. The idea was brilliant really. “She’s so young and spry. I hope you. . .er. . .” I pretended to have a Freidan slip. “I mean, I hope Granny gets to experience another wedding in her life. She’s had such trauma the last few months,” my voice took a dip with sadness, “that it’d really help get her mind off our sorrow.”

  “You think Zula wants to get married again?” Doc Clyde fidgeted.

  “Absolutely.” Maybe absolutely was a teeny-tiny bit of an exaggeration. “She’s seventy-nine years old. Still spry and feisty as ever.”

  Both of us turned our attention toward her. She was stuck in the middle of the gossiping women. Her bright red lipstick matched her bright red short hair. When she noticed us staring, she gave a wink and a wave, followed up by blowing a kiss to Doc Clyde, to which he turned as red as her fake L’Oreal hair dye that she claimed Mary Anna insisted on putting on. Knowing Granny, it was the other way around.

  “I’m worried about the hives that she’s got.” Doc reminded me about Granny’s reaction to the ghost cat.

  “Hmmm.” I pinched my lips together.

  “You said you ain’t getting married to Jack Henry.” Beulah Paige had made her way over and rudely interrupted Doc and me.