Free A Ghostly Grave by Tonya Kappes Page A

worse . . . breaking into Eternal Slumber now that everyone knew there was a murder. Eternal Slumber was on high alert, especially now with the new forensic equipment. Four years was a long time in the detective department.
    I bet the killer didn’t figure little ol’ Sleepy Hollow would invest in some high-­tech equipment where we could figure out decade-­old murders. Or had I been watching too many TV detective shows? Either way, anything could happen, and I needed to find those keys.
    The white front double doors were wide open and Granny had the screen doors put in to let in the constant flow of fresh air. Since Sleepy Hollow was just that—­a deep hollow—­we had a beautiful and refreshing breeze all year round.
    Recently, Granny had redecorated by painting the entire inside a more subtle and homey tan color. She replaced all the old Victorian furniture with a more modern look of printed fabrics and leather. She did a fabulous job and everyone in town loved it. The Inn guests always told Granny how comfortable staying there was.
    I walked back down the hallway and glanced up at the stairs as I passed. There were some guests coming down with large backpacks filled to the gills. They disappeared into the room on the right, which Granny used as a common area for the guests, and she kept snacks there all day long.
    I swung the kitchen door open. There was a hook nailed to the wall where Granny kept her keys so she wouldn’t lose them. Some luck she’s had with that . The hook was empty, just like Granny said. I walked around the kitchen counter looking for the set of keys.
    The old farm table in the middle of the room was filled with flour bags and all sorts of ingredients, along with a written recipe from The Kitchen of Mary Anna Hardy; at least that was what the recipe card had printed on it. Good Southern women always kept their recipes on personalized stationery and in a fabric box. Me? I relied on good old McDonald’s to feed me—­but not tonight.
    My mouth watered for a taste of delicious bread from Bella Vino and Jack Henry’s lips on mine. The thought made me tingle.
    â€œIs that Zula’s sweet tea?” Chicken Teater stood by the window where Granny had set a pitcher of her famous sweet tea in the early morning sun. She claimed the sun helped bring out the natural flavor of the tea, but we all knew it was the pound of sugar that made her sweet tea to die for.
    â€œIt sure is.” The golden orange color was so inviting, any time of the day. “We don’t have time to have a cup of tea.”
    â€œIf I could drink it, that entire pitcher would be gone.” Chicken rubbed his hands on the pitcher.
    Buzz . The timer on the oven brought me back to the reality of why we were in the Inn’s kitchen. Granny’s keys. Buzz .
    I grabbed a potholder and pulled down the oven door. Granny’s version of Mary Anna Hardy’s omelet casserole looked “to die for” with the crispy brown top and bubbling sides. I reached in, pulled it out and set the dish on the baking rack Granny used for cooling her dishes.
    â€œI really miss doing this with Lady.”
    I jumped around. I still wasn’t used to hearing voices of people who weren’t in the physical world. Chicken Teater was blowing a feather through the kitchen.
    I grabbed it out of the air.
    â€œWhere did you get that?” It was a real feather, right here in Granny’s kitchen. Granny would never have a feather in her kitchen. I surveyed the gold and black feather, bringing it closer to my face.
    â€œIt was over there next to the door. Lady Cluckington and I used to run around the chicken coop blowing feathers.” He chuckled. “Well, I blew the feathers and she would try to grab them with that sweet little beak.”
    â€œOkaaay . . .” I drew the word out as I put my hand in the air and shook my head. There was no time for strolling down memory