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. There was no way to hide the surprised expression on Granny’s face. “Marla Maria?”
    â€œDon’t go pointing fingers.” I grabbed the pot of coffee and poured each of us a cup. “Jack Henry isn’t going to tell me what evidence he has.” Which wasn’t a lie. He didn’t have any evidence except Chicken’s ghost and me. Thank goodness, Jack Henry was in charge. This type of evidence to exhume a body would have never gone this easily in a big town. “And we don’t know if Marla Maria had anything to do with it. She did look sad today.”
    â€œSad my patookie.” Granny sipped her coffee as she referred to her behind. The steam swirled up around her face and clouded over her eyes. Without seeing Granny’s expression, she knew as much as I did that Marla Maria was a great actress.

 
    Chapter 4
    A cross the street from Eternal Slumber Funeral Home was the town square, where the annual Kentucky Cave Festival mainly took place, as it should, since it was in the middle of the town with all the main streets leading away from it. The festival had been going on for a ­couple hundred years. In fact, the city records show in one way or another, the celebration of the caves had started from the first time many of them were discovered.
    Granted, they probably didn’t celebrate like we do today. It was important for the festival to be successful in today’s down economy. The festival committee got smart and decided to capitalize on the seasonal change of the caves—­the spring and fall. Therefore, every spring and every fall Sleepy Hollow was the host to the largest festival in Kentucky.
    This one happened to be my favorite. The flowers this time of the year were amazing and the spring foliage in the caves were nothing short of magic. The colors popped in the dark caverns, dimly lit by the visitors’ torches used on tours. A few years back, the committee hosted a fund-­raiser in order to put limited electricity in the caves for those “just in case” moments. The ones we didn’t like to think of. Like falling down the cave and landing on a stalagmite. One would think that would hurt—­being stabbed by a collection of cave droppings that formed a sharp pointy cone. The thought of it sent the willies up my legs.
    â€œMornin’ Emma Lee! Mornin’ Zula Fae!” Hettie Bell shouted from the top of the ladder on the gazebo steps, steadying the wobbling rickety old wooden thing while hanging on to the lattice around the old structure with one hand and waving with the other. “Lots of stuff happening today!”
    Normally I’d yell back; instead, I bid Granny good-­bye and decided to walk over since the camera crew was still camped out in front of Eternal Slumber, and all the reporters had their microphones at their hips as if there was a gun-­slinging about to happen between my lips. I pinched them together to make sure not even a bit of air escaped them.
    Granny jumped on her moped and zoomed across the square toward the Inn, but not before giving a big ol’ wave and “hi y’all” to the cameras.
    The festival committee was busy draping the small white festival lanterns all over the trees while some food RVs had set up along the perimeter, and there was poor Hettie Bell hanging on for dear life.
    â€œShe’s going to kill someone if she doesn’t slow that thing down.” Hettie shook her head as we watched Granny swerve a little too far left, almost running into a park bench.
    â€œYou tell her that.” I shuddered inwardly at the thought of the tongue-­lashing Granny would give Hettie Bell if she tried to tell Granny how to ride the scooter. “Let me help.” I held on to both sides of the ladder, bearing all the weight I could so she could finish stringing the lights. “Everyone seems to be excited.”
    â€œThat’s an understatement.” Hettie draped