Waffling in Murder (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 20) Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  WAFFLING IN MURDER

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  Waffling

  in

  Murder

  Book Twenty

  in

  The Diner of the Dead Series

  By

  Carolyn Q. Hunter

  Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.

  **This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.

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  WAFFLING IN

  MURDER

  Book Twenty in The Diner of the Dead Series

  PROLOGUE

  * * *

  “Darn him,” Barry Niles grunted, trudging through the low brush of the Rocky Mountain wilderness. The late morning sunlight filtered through the trees and reflected off the forest ranger’s metallic nametag. He had been hiking through the center of Rock Burrow State Park for just over an hour now.

  After a short meeting at the ranger outpost near Haunted Falls, Barry Niles and Shelton Briarworth had been instructed to hike up the summit of Tillerson Peak to check out a reported fire code violation. Supposedly, campers had seen smoke coming from the top of the mountain.

  That was a big warning sign.

  Due to somewhat dry conditions, there were fire restrictions in place for the summer season. Campfires could only be lit inside designated firepits built by the park. Fires required at least one person’s attention at all times. Most important of all, no open fires of any kind were allowed.

  The fact of the matter was, the top of Tillerson Peak had no fire pit and therefore shouldn’t have had a fire on it.

  The instant the report had come in, Niles and Briarworth were assigned to the case—much to their dismay.

  Barry openly admitted he didn’t care for his fellow park ranger. Shelton was short tempered, stuck-up and egotistical, a man who treated Barry like some sort of child. On multiple occasions, Shelton told him he was a “good-for-nothing young’un” who was always trying to “ride up the ladder of success on other people’s coattails.”

  It wasn’t true, of course. Barry worked his hardest to provide the best service possible to the forest rangers. Despite being only in his second year with the park, he had already been promoted to second rank.

  It had taken Shelton nearly seven years to achieve second rank, a fact that infuriated the older man.

  He was just jealous, that’s all, Barry decided.

  To make matters worse, both Shelton and Barry were recently announced as nominees for the Park Ranger of the Year award.

  How could that even be possible? It wasn’t like Shelton ever did anything besides spout regulations from the handbook, order people about, and brag about how great he was. What did he do to deserve a nomination?

  At the same time, Shelton was furious when he’d heard the news that Barry had been nominated and even more furious when their supervisor had paired them up for the day. It was her sick way of forcing them to face their own issues.

  Unsurprisingly, her plan totally backfired. It started with Shelton calling Barry an “entitled jerk.” More words were fired back and forth and ultimately a scuffle had ensued. The brand new twenty-two rifle Shelton had been carrying had toppled over the edge of a nearby incline and down a cliff, firing off one shot into the air.

  “Are you insane? You could have killed me!” Barry screamed.

  “Me? You just threw my rifle over the cliff. Who is going to go down and look for it?” Shelton had retorted.

  “I’m not standing here and taking this anymore. As soon as I’m done checking Tillerson Peak, I’m reporting you for endangerment.” Barry turned to leave, unwilling to deal with the older ranger for a single second longer.

  “Go ahead, see if they even believe you. I have seniority here.”

  “Like that means anything,” Barry had cut him to the core.

  Shelton’s face had tightened up, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth deepening with anger. Without another word, he’d turned and stomped off back down the path, presumably to find a way down to the bottom of the cliff to locate his gun.

  “Whatever,” Barry muttered, focusing on the job at hand. “Who does he think he is?” he spat.

  Now, over an hour later, he had nearly reached the peak on his own. He had been so focused on his anger that he hadn’t been watching his step as carefully as he should have been.

  Glancing back, he noticed the trail of smashed grass, plants, and weeds he’d created. “Darn,” he whispered, scolding himself for his lack of awareness. As a park ranger, it was his duty to preserve the wildlife, not damage it.

  There was no path to the top of Tillerson Peak, so it was necessary to walk through the open wild. However, if he’d been paying more attention, he could have reduced his footprint. Deciding he’d just need to be more careful from then on, he continued the hike.

  Finally able to let go of the anger he’d been feeling all morning, he took in a deep breath of fresh mountain air and remembered why he’d become a ranger in the first place. He loved the peaceful atmosphere the woods created; the sense of serenity with the world as a whole. His personal goal was to help preserve this type of experience for the coming generations.

  He instantly felt foolish for his petty rivalry with Shelton. The man may be infuriating but he was hardly worth the energy.

  Let him be childish, Barry decided.

  Stepping in between two trees, the park ranger came into the clearing at the top of the small mountain. Scanning the area, he spotted the sm
oldering ashes at the center of a makeshift firepit. The border of the pit was made up by a circle of assorted white rocks in varied sizes.

  The reports had been correct. Someone was burning an illegal fire up here. Worse yet, they had left the hot ashes behind and unattended—a very dangerous situation that could quickly escalate into a forest fire.

  Why couldn’t people follow simple rules? There was just no respect for forests and wilderness areas anymore.

  Pulling a spade from his hiking pack, he headed toward the makeshift firepit with intentions of burying the ashes for good, but as he neared the circle, he paused in his tracks. His mouth dropped open.

  What he’d thought were white stones outlining the fire, were animal skulls. Rabbits, raccoons, owls, deer, and even a wolf skull made up the macabre collection. Each one was picked clean of hair and flesh and then bleached white, almost as if done by a professional taxidermist. “What the heck?” he muttered. Was someone living out here and killing wild animals against hunting regulations?

  Shuffling his boot, he realized the dirt beneath his feet had a wide variety of strange and undecipherable symbols drawn into it, as if with the end of a stick.

  “What is this?” he wondered out loud.

  The snap of a twig drew his attention. Spinning around to face whoever may be coming up the mountain behind him, he was instantly greeted with the pop of a rifle. A sudden stabbing feeling in the center of his chest caused him to double over, falling into the dirt.

  Touching his hands to the wound, he realized he was bleeding.

  His vision blurred from the pain in his chest, the pressure building like a balloon. All strength went out of his arms and legs and he fell limp in the dirt. A hazy figure crouched over him, grabbing him by the arm. Slowly, he was dragged against his will toward the tree line.

  Minutes later, he blacked out.

  CHAPTER 1

  * * *

  Sonja Reed stood in the kitchen of The Waffle Diner and Eatery with a mug of coffee in one hand and a pen in the other. A yellow notepad lay on the counter in front of her, waiting for her to begin writing up the latest and greatest waffle recipe she would be serving at her well known restaurant.

  Tapping the pen against her cheek, she thought hard, narrowing her eyes at the paper. Finally, letting out a groan of distaste, she dropped the pen and took a drink. Usually, she had her coffee black, or with just a hint of soymilk, but today she’d decided to treat herself.

  She’d added a dash of caramel, a shot of hazelnut creamer, a dollop of whipped cream, and added some flakes of chocolate on top. In addition to the familiar buzz of the caffeine hitting her system, there was a slight high from the sugar as well.

  Sighing deeply, she turned around to face the service window. It was eleven-thirty in the morning and the brunch rush was all but over. Still, the calming clink of dishes and silverware accompanied by the subtle hum of conversation emanated from the dining area. A sizzle of meat, bacon and sausage, came from the griddle where Vic stood cooking in his normal stoic silence.

  Sonja loved all the sounds of the diner and found it surprisingly peaceful.

  “Having trouble?” a voice chimed in as the swinging door separating the kitchen from the dining room opened. Alison, Sonja’s business partner and lifelong friend, smirked as she moved into the room. Wearing the usual nineteen-fifties style dress of the waitresses, Ally had been helping serve customers that day. She’d just finished delivering a plate of crispy hash browns, maple pancakes, and two slices of bacon to one of the guests.

  Sonja didn’t much care for pancakes, feeling that waffles were the superior dish, but still served them at her diner since she knew many of her customers liked a good stack of flapjacks once in a while.

  However, she didn’t do any specialty pancake plates.

  “I just don’t know, Ally,” Sonja sighed, turning back to face the blank notepad.

  “Writer’s block?” Alison moved over and opened one of the waffle irons, pouring in a helping of batter from the chilled bowl. At The Waffle Diner and Eatery, the irons were rarely cold.

  “More like chef’s block. I seriously can’t come up with anything that doesn’t sound like it’s boring, been done already, or just plain weird.”

  “Maybe weird is good?” Ally offered.

  Sonja tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at her friend. “Doubtful.”

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  “Another waffle?” Sonja asked, nodding toward the cooking iron.

  “Yep. Just a regular one with maple syrup.”

  “I guess you can’t beat the classic,” Sonja laughed quietly. “Maybe I shouldn’t even try coming up with new recipes.”

  “Are you kidding? Our customers kill for new waffles,” Ally scolded her.

  “I guess.”

  “When my dad owned this place, we never got the kind of traffic that you do.”

  “Really?” she perked up with a smile.

  “I’m dead serious, Sonj’. Every time a new waffle is released, we have lines out the door. People from all over Colorado come to try your food.”

  “All over the country. Remember that couple from New York? Or what about the family from Michigan?” she informed her.

  “Exactly.”

  Sonja took another long sip of coffee and picked up the pen. Holding its point over the paper, she waited for inspiration. Nothing. “But what good is it if I can’t come up with a new waffle?”

  “It’ll come. You’ve just been chugging through for too long. You work too hard.”

  “Are you kidding? I visited Frank’s family for Thanksgiving last year, and don’t you forget that vacation we took together.”

  “Yes, and I also remember you helping to solve a murder at the hotel most of that time.”

  Alison was right. Sonja really hadn’t gotten a vacation. Everywhere she went there were new murders and old spirits. Whether she wanted to or not, she often found herself at the heart of homicide investigations, either because she was a key witness or because a ghost had visited her to ask for aid.

  Being a medium who could speak to ghosts sure had its downsides.

  “Anyway, my point is that you need to be easier on yourself. Don’t burn out on me, okay?”

  Sonja gave a firm nod. “Got it.”

  A low buzzing interrupted the conversation and Sonja dug into her jeans pocket to retrieve her cellphone.

  “Is it Frank?”

  Glancing at the screen, Sonja shook her head. “It says unknown.”

  “Don’t answer it. Those are always scam numbers.”

  “What if it’s important?”

  “It won’t be.”

  Ignoring her friend’s advice, Sonja stepped into the small office and answered, “Hello?”

  “S-S-S-Sonja?” a garbled voice came through. It seemed that whatever connection the unknown person as calling on was getting spotty service.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  There was a pause of blips and electrical pings before the answer came.

  “S-S-Sonja? I-It’s Belinda.”

  “Belinda?” Sonja gasped. Belinda Smith was a friend of Sonja’s and her go to expert on the occult. Over the past year, they’d been working together to hunt down a witch who had taken up residence somewhere near Haunted Falls. Ultimately, it seemed the witch was drawing evil energy off all the murders that were happening as well as using Sonja’s supernatural powers as a tool to feed her own. About a month earlier, Belinda had gone on a camping trip and disappeared into the woods. This was the first Sonja had heard from her. “Where are you? Where the heck have you been?”

  “Y-You need to meet me in the woods. At the s-state park.” The call was becoming clearer, thankfully.

  “Which state park? What’s happening?”

  “I think I’ve found the witch.”

  The line went dead.

  CHAPTER 2

  * * *

  “Hello? Hello?” Sonja said into the phone.

  “Are yo
u okay, Sonj’?”

  “That was Belinda,” Sonja gasped.

  “Oh yeah? What did she want?” Ally asked. She had no idea Belinda was even missing. No one did. Letters kept on coming back to Belinda’s manor house telling the staff of maids and cooks that she was going to stay out on her camping trip a little longer.

  Only Sonja seemed to find this odd.

  Belinda was considered by most of Haunted Fall’s residents as the town loony. That was all thanks to the rich young woman’s obsession with ghosts and the occult.

  For Sonja, however, Belinda had been an invaluable source of information during murder investigations and unsettling hauntings.

  “I need to go,” Sonja said, pulling her apron over her head and walking to hang it on the peg near the door.

  “Go? What about your new waffle recipe?”

  “It has to wait,” she replied, sliding her purse onto her shoulder.

  “But, why?”

  Before she could reply, the swinging door opened slightly. “Knock, knock,” Sheriff Frank Thompson called, poking his head into the room.

  “Frank!” Sonja exclaimed, surprised to see her boyfriend.

  “Do you have a minute?” he asked, never fully stepping into the room.

  “Actually, I’m a little busy right now,” she admitted, her mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Belinda and the witch.

  “She was running out the door,” Ally noted.

  “Is it important, Frank?” Sonja asked, not wanting to be completely rude.

  “Could be. I might have someone who is interested in your catering services.”

  Alison shot Sonja a glance.

  While it was true, Sonja was worried about Belinda, she also hated to disappoint a potential customer—especially if it was someone Frank was recommending. Justifying to herself that the call from Belinda wasn’t as frantic as she first believed, and that it was just a result of poor reception, Sonja decided she could spare a few minutes.