Free A Ghostly Grave by Tonya Kappes Page B

lane. “This could be a clue. Show me exactly where you found it.”
    â€œYou sure are a testy Raines.” Reluctantly, he walked back toward the door and pointed directly underneath the hook where the keys always hung. “You sure don’t have your parents’ personality.”
    â€œLeave my parents out of this. They are enjoying their retired life in Florida.” I walked over and bent down to the place where he said he found the feather. The small dirt footprint wasn’t visible unless you squatted down. “Marla Maria,” I whispered and took my phone out of my back pocket.
    I took a quick picture for evidence. Granny would have a fit if she knew there was a dirty shoe in her kitchen.
    â€œYou think?” Chicken stood over the print.
    â€œMove,” I ordered and snapped a ­couple more pictures at different angles. “You are blocking my view. Do I think what?”
    â€œYou think that little bit of dirt is Marla Maria’s?”
    I looked up. Chicken had tears in his eyes. I stood up and rubbed his arm—­well, as best as one can rub a ghost’s arm—­for some sort of comfort.
    â€œIt has to be hard to think that the one and only woman you married and poured your heart into, the love of your life, would ever harm you.” I knew it wasn’t much comfort, but it was all I had in me. I put my phone and the feather in my pocket. Neither Granny nor the Auxiliary women needed to know what I had found out.
    My nerves gurgled at the thought of going back to Marla Maria’s, but I knew I had to. I had to break in when she wasn’t home and search for those clues.
    â€œMarla Maria?” Chicken slapped his knee and broke out in a fit of laughter. “Love of my life?” He pointed at me before he bent over cackling some more. “Lady Cluckington is the love of my life.”
    â€œYou were just crying,” I pointed out.
    â€œBecause, the thought that that woman would hurt my Lady hurts my heart. Hell, Marla Maria had filed divorce papers on me a week before I died. If I’d known I was going to die, I would’ve torn up the agreement.” Chicken disappeared into thin air.
    â€œWhere are you?” I twirled around. “You can’t just drop bombs on me and leave.” I gestured between myself and the air and loudly whispered, “This is not how this gig works.”
    â€œWho are you talking to?” Granny stood at the swinging door with her hands on her hips.
    â€œYou.” I bit my lip.
    Her eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t in here.” She lifted the back of her hand and put it on my forehead to check and see if I had a fever. I jerked away. “You got the Funeral Trauma again?” She stomped out of the kitchen. I followed her. She spouted, “I knew digging up Chicken Teater wasn’t going to be good on your health. I’m calling Doc Clyde.”
    â€œGranny I’m fine. I was talking about your keys. You can’t just drop a bomb on me about your keys and not care.” I tried to worm my way out of the sticky situation I had just put myself into.
    â€œI swear. I’m going to give hottie Jack Henry a piece of my mind—­after I let him hug me—­when I see him.” Granny fanned herself with her hands and we walked out the front door of the Inn.
    â€œNow, now.” Beulah straightened up. “Doc Clyde said not to get your blood pressure up.”
    â€œBlood pressure?” Was Granny confiding in Beulah Paige now? That was odd.
    Granny gave Beulah the stink eye. Beulah looked away and dove down into a downward dog. I wasn’t going to argue with her. I just wanted to get out of this frying pan and jump into another one. Marla Maria’s.
    I trotted down the steps.
    â€œI’m going to find those keys.” I turned around once I got to the bottom. “Oh, I’d love to attend the next Auxiliary meeting.” I grinned, knowing