Free A Ghostly Grave by Tonya Kappes

chained-­up scooter proves it.”
    â€œThat is why I called you.” Granny did a little hop. Her feet were planted under her. Her arms did a fluid motion up to each side. She clasped her hands over her head. “I need you to find the spare key to my motorcycle in the funeral-­home office. I’ve misplaced my keys or someone has stolen them.” Her eyes focused on me. “One of them little campers.” She pointed up to the mountainous caves that were the backdrop for the Inn.
    It was the most beautiful picture. That was why the Inn was so valuable. It was a perfect spot for visitors to rest their tired heads after a day of hiking the caves and gorge. Plus the dining room was seated on the back side of the Inn. The entire back wall was glass and had a picturesque view like no other in Sleepy Hollow.
    â€œKeys? As in all your keys?” I asked.
    â€œUmmhmm.” Granny didn’t bother opening her eyes.
    â€œAs in the keys to the Inn, Eternal Slumber, hearse . . .” Holy crap! They had to be somewhere. Had. To. Be.
    â€œUmmhmm,” she repeated, like it was not a big deal that every single key was on there.
    â€œWhere did you have them last?” I snapped at Granny. My temper was beginning to flare.
    â€œWhere I always put them.” Granny cocked up one eyebrow when she took in a deep breath through her nose. She released the air. She positioned herself to talk to the other women and made the motion as if she had keys in her hand. “Hanging on the hook in the kitchen. Not there now. I needed to go to Artie’s for some more eggs for that delicious egg-­and-­ham-­omelet casserole, you know Mary Anna Hardy’s recipe that she brings to people’s layout dinners.” All the women nodded. The Auxiliary women loved to bring their best dishes to feed mourners at funerals. The better your dish, the higher in society you were. Granny was known for her good country cooking and Mary Anna wasn’t going to pass her up. No doubt in my mind that Granny wasn’t putting her own spin on the recipe to make it better for the next funeral.
    Their eyes grew as big as their stomachs when Granny mentioned food.
    Granny continued, “Anyway, I had to walk all the way there and back,” she said as if it were a far place, not something through the square, which was across the street. A five-­minute walk at the most. She rubbed the small of her back. “I know someone had their eye on my motorcycle, so while I was there I had Artie deliver me a chain and lock. No one is going to steal my cycle.” Her lashes lowered, creating a shadow over her cheeks.
    â€œIt’s not a motorcycle! It’s a moped! Geez, move it.” I barreled my way through their yoga mats to the front door of the Inn, knocking Beulah square on her silk covered butt. Under my breath I said, “I can’t believe you are worried about that old dime-­store moped.”
    Granny thought she hit gold when she came back from the Lexington flea market riding the moped. She boasted how it was only fifty dollars after she traded in her car, and she could get around town for pennies of gas. Little did she realize she wasn’t good at staying upright on two wheels. Every week, I got endless complaints about Granny almost running people over.
    â€œ Out of my way! Old lady riding a motorcycle!” She would yell right before she was about to hit someone. Jack Henry even came to see me about it, but there was nothing I could do about Zula Fae Raines Payne. Granny was set in her ways and not even hunky Jack was going to sweet-­talk her into going back to driving a car.
    â€œZula Fae Raines Payne, didn’t you teach your granddaughter better manners than that?” Beulah huffed and puffed.
    I didn’t wait around to see if Granny had defended me. I had to find her keys. The last thing I needed was to worry about someone stealing the hearse . . . or