A Very Catty Murder
Table of Contents
A very Catty 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
A Very
Catty
Murder
A Wicked Waffle Paranormal Cozy
Book 9
By
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2018 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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A very
Catty
Murder
A wicked waffle paranormal cozy
Book 9
Prologue
A low clank echoed from beneath the hood of the nineteen-eighties German vehicle--not a good noise when you were on a two-day road trip from Chicago, Illinois to the Colorado Rockies.
It would be a miracle if the old clunker of a car would make it to Haunted Falls before the next morning, let alone make it up the steep grades of the mountain roads which made up the final leg of the drive. The car's tires sagged for want of air, the metal edging was pockmarked with rust and holes, and the exhaust coughed like a frail old man dying of pneumonia on a winter's night. As it drove down the highway, it shuddered and quaked as if it may die at any second.
No matter how hard its driver pressed her foot down onto the pedal, the monstrosity was never quite able to meet the speed limit of seventy-five miles per hour.
"Blasted thing," Sheba cursed, feeling what little power the car had easing off as she'd begun the first climb among the rocky terrain. As much as she didn't want to stop, she knew the car needed a break. As she pulled off into a roadside truck stop, she let out an outraged sigh at the predicament.
Carefully, she navigated the vehicle into one of the parking spots in front of the squat of a building. The store was dwarfed by the massive parking lot around it--designed to accommodate a full fleet of semi-trucks if they so decided to stop all at the same time.
That evening, however, the lot was nearly devoid of life. A single semi sat in the furthest corner of the lot up against the trees. Sheba could only guess that the driver was asleep inside the cab for the night. A blinder had been pulled up over the windshield, blocking out the hot rays of the setting sun that still pierced between the peaks beyond.
The station itself looked nothing like the larger chain road stops Sheba had grown accustomed to seeing along the way. The big and fancy ones often had a restaurant, if not two or three, attached on either side. The storefront was more like a gift shop than anything else, with all manner of junk food and candy to make any child's culinary fantasy come true. The bathrooms were large, clean, and spacious and even had showers. A few of them even had game rooms with arcade machines, pool tables, foosball, and more.
This truck stop, however, appeared to be nothing like the other ones. Part of Sheba didn't even want to go inside, but with the sun setting and some heavy looking storm clouds chasing the horizon, she knew it may not be the best choice to stick around outside.
Stepping up onto the sidewalk, she was instantly forced back as a black cat came speeding across the pavement and under her feet--yowling bloody murder all the way. A pinprick of pain sliced its way through Sheba's leg.
"Darn you, cat," Sheba spat out, watching as the animal disappeared around the side of the building.
She didn't bother to stop and check the injury on her leg right away. Instead, she marched right up to the glass front door and pushed her way inside.
The interior was nothing more than a dingy storefront where you could pay for gas. A small display of candy that looked like it hadn't been replenished since the seventies was all there was to offer besides a dirty and groaning soda machine.
A man sat on a stool behind the counter, his ample gut protruding against a stained, thin white t-shirt. He held a sucker in the corner of his mouth and read some sort of tattered fantasy novel that appeared to have been printed in the late eighties. A mesh baseball cap did a poor job of hiding his bald head.
He glanced up as the woman entered. He smiled, never removing the sucker, and asked, "Anything I can help you with, ma'am?"
"Bathroom?" she snipped out in short order, not interested in a conversation with the scraggly stranger.
He jabbed a dirty thumb off to his left. "That-a-way, ma'am."
"Thank you."
"Hold on," he declared, holding up a hand for her to stop.
She froze in place and turned to the attendant with a cocked eyebrow of impatience. "What?" she demanded.
"Bathroom's for customers only, ma'am."
"You've gotta be kidding me," she complained, feeling the pinch in her ankle where the cat had got her only growing more painful.
"Sorry, ma'am. Those are the rules." He held up a long and oversized piece of PVC pipe with a tiny key attached to the end on a ring. Along the side, in sharpie, the word bathroom was written in poor handwriting.
Sheba wondered if it was the attendants handwriting or someone else's.
It was the kind of thing that establishments like this seemed to revel in--embarrass the customer by making them carry around an obvious key that announced yes, I have to use the restroom. "To get the key, you need to buy something--even if it's just to top off your tank."
Sheba clenched her jaw but willingly marched up to the counter, grabbed some off-brand candy called Peanut Butter Doodles and slapped it down in front of her.
"Two-fifty, please," he told her.
"Two-fifty? What is it made of, gold?" she grumbled while digging out a five-dollar bill and practically tossing it at the fellow.
Smirking, he took his time dog-earing the book, setting it down, taking the bill, and finally making change. It was almost as if he enjoyed this game.
Perhaps it was his only source of entertainment in the dusty and boring place.
"Here's y
our change, ma'am," he said, handing it over.
"And the key?" she ordered.
"Oh, yes. Of course," he said as if he'd forgotten, handing it over to her with greasy hands that left marks on the PVC.
Sheba tried to hide her disgust as she headed back and opened the singular bathroom door. The tiny room had one toilet, a sink, and was stuffed full of junk. Packages of toilet paper and towels, cleaning supplies, and extra stock for the front of the store was stacked in piles against the wall.
Besides the dim buzzing bulb hanging from the ceiling, only a tiny window let in any light.
Repressing the urge to turn and run out of there instantly, Sheba shook her head and lifted her leg up onto the sink to have a look at it.
The tiny mark where the claw had cut into her skin revealed a slight drop of blood. It didn't look right. Sheba quickly dabbed it away with a cloth from her purse. "I'll need to take care of that," she noted to herself. "Blasted cat."
She quickly produced a band-aid and put it over the small wound. Next, she pulled out her water bottle and drank from it, a dribble of something green running down her chin as she gulped down the pungent liquid inside. The black cat sat in the window sill outside watching.
Chapter 1
"Sheesh. You weren't kidding about there being a ton of stuff in here," Sonja commented as she got out of her car that was parked along the old neighborhood sidewalk.
Meanwhile, Frank stood in the driveway of the small single-story house that had originally been constructed in the nineteen thirties and showed its age. The shingles had cracks here and there, the sunshine yellow paint was chipped off around the corners, and the concrete foundation sagged a bit.
It was in one of the oldest neighborhoods in town, closest to the road that led out onto the mountain highway that passed one of the only bars around.
Still, over the past seven or so years while Frank had called the place home, he'd worked hard to maintain the house as much as possible--and his work paid off to make the building appear comfortable and cozy.
However, when he and Sonja had finally married in April, the decision was that he would move into her rather large cottage-style home on the Smith estate while he rented out his old place.
Unfortunately, he still hadn't figured out what to do with a lot of the stuff he'd left behind.
The garage door had been opened and Frank stood in front of it like a king looking over his filled coffers. Only, instead of gold, it was all manner of knick-knacks, memorabilia, and junk he'd managed to collect over the years. "It is a bit of a mess, isn't it?" he agreed, his hands on his hips.
They had their work cut out for them.
Sonja rounded to the back seat of her car and pulled out two large take-out boxes stacked one atop the other along with a drink caddy with four cups in it. "Don't worry. That's why I'm here to help," she announced, happily walking over and kissing her stressed husband on the cheek.
Turning his nose up slightly, he sniffed the air and then smiled, eyeballing the boxes in her hand. "Did you bring me waffles?"
"Yep. I opened the kitchen extra early this morning at the diner, so I could make sure we all had something to eat before the day ahead," Sonja informed him.
"Ooh, you do know how to brighten my day," he admitted, rubbing his hands together. "And you're sure Ally is okay running the diner by herself this morning?"
"Positive," she affirmed. The Waffle Diner and Eatery was Sonja's pride and joy, her passion project and escape in a crazy world. Of course, it was certainly not the kind of project she could have taken on alone. Her best friend, Alison, co-owned the diner since it had originally belonged to her father before he passed.
Most of all, it was a place where she was able to create new and sensational waffle recipes--her favorite food.
"She's got Vic there to help, you know?" she continued, referring to Ally's father-in-law.
"I thought he wasn't taking as many shifts, now," Frank commented, raising an accusing eyebrow. Seeing as Vic was getting older, and his heart wasn't growing any younger, the doctor had told him to retire from his job as the full-time grill cook at the diner--a position he'd held for most of his life.
He'd compromised by going to part-time while Sonja was still seeking another cook to help.
"He's not taking on as many shifts, trust me. But he didn't want to drop out of the business altogether, you know? You've gotta still keep your pride, even when you're getting older."
Frank chuckled, his hand moving out toward the drink caddy. "I suppose that's true."
Sonja held the caddy closer, so Frank could take his coffee from her. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but the sound of the front door of the house opening drew their attention.
"Morning, Frank. Sonja," the gray-haired man dressed in a stiff business suit called as he locked the door behind himself.
"Hi, Jameson," Frank called back.
"Garage sale today, huh?" he asked, despite already being aware of the situation.
"That's right, and I wanted to thank you again for your flexibility--letting me keep my stuff here a little while longer after you moved in, allowing me to run the garage sale."
The man gave a smile and shrug. "It's your house, ain't it?"
"And you're renting it, so it's your home for now," Frank reminded him. "In some ways, I worry that you've been too accommodating."
The man walked over to them from the front step. "Nonsense. I know it'll all be cleared up soon. After that, the place will be all mine."
Frank gave a nod. "That it will, my friend."
"Well, anyway. I need to get to the office. Early meeting with the town council members, and all," he gave a brief wave as he headed toward his sporty vehicle parked just in front of Sonja's. "I'll have the rent to you by the end of the week."
"I'm not worried about it," Frank called back as the man got into his car. "You always pay on time."
The engine of the powerful sports car roared to life and the man was off, quick as a shot.
"You sure lucked out getting the town treasurer as your tenant," Sonja joked.
"Jameson's a great man, that's for sure," Frank agreed, heading toward the garage and pulling out a card table from the side with his one free hand. He unfolded the legs and placed it out on the concrete driveway.
"Are we setting up already?" Sonja asked, looking down at the food she'd brought that would get cold if they didn't eat it right away.
Frank set his cup down on the table and smiled. "Nope. Just setting out a place for us to eat."
"Good idea." Walking over, Sonja put the two boxes down on the table and opened them. Steam wafted up as the lid released it, revealing the tasty dishes inside.
"Oh, my goodness. Is this your new Summertime waffle?" Frank asked, his eyes widening so large you could almost fall into them.
"That's right," Sonja beamed, clasping her hands in pride. "The Citrus Sea Salt Waffle." She was thrilled to see that the presentation of the food had been preserved on her trip from the diner. The base of the dish was her classic waffle with just a pinch of orange zest inside. It featured an orange and dark chocolate drizzle across the top with a sprinkle of freshly ground sea salt that made it sparkle, almost like the sands on a beach. The highlight was a small slab of white chocolate carved and colored to look like a beachside lounge chair. A tiny drink umbrella splayed out over it, shielding it from the sun.
"It looks almost too good to eat," Frank said while he unfolded two canvas camping seats.
"It'll be cold if we don't," Sonja laughed, opening her own container with the same kind of waffle in it. "But I really did want a nice summer dish for everyone to enjoy these last few weeks of the season."
"I'm sure no one will complain," Frank admitted, taking the plastic fork and sitting down to dig in. He savored the first bite, allowing his eyes to close as the combination of savory and sweet danced on his tongue.
"Good?"
"Do you even have to ask?" he joked. Her waffles were alwa
ys amazing. "By the way, I thought your parents were going to come help set up?"
"Who do you think the two extra coffees are for?" Sonja asked.
"Oh, for me?" he joked, admitting to his mild addiction to the drink. As the town's sheriff, he was known to take late hours and keep early mornings depending on if he was working on a case or not. Coffee was one of the only things to keep him going through it all.
"Nope. They should be here shortly. I think my mom wanted to cook Dad's breakfast before they came."
"What's wrong with your breakfast?" Frank asked, admiring his food one more time and then taking a hearty bite, consuming the little white and blue chocolate chair.
"Dad's on a diet. No sugar, as per the doctor's orders."
Frank swallowed. "Sheesh. Is everyone being put on health restrictions?"
"Hey, it's just part of life sometimes," Sonja admitted, stabbing into her own waffle for the first time.
"I guess so. You know, they could be like my first girlfriend."
"How's that?" Sonja wondered, scooting forward on her chair. She'd never heard many stories about Frank's previous loves. This could be entertaining, she thought.
"Oh, Sheba was allergic to almost everything."
"Sheba? As in, The Queen of Sheba from the bible?"
"Yeah, her parents were religious, so she got a biblical name."
"Nothing wrong with that, I suppose," Sonja said, deciding she kind of liked the sound of that name.
"But yeah, she was allergic to everything. Milk, wheat, nuts, but peanuts most of all."
"Wow. That sounds hard," she admitted.
"Eh, just forces you to be creative when planning meals."
They were quiet for a moment, enjoying their meal when Sonja looked up from her plate and saw a black streak across the street. Pausing, she looked that way and realized it was a black cat moving about.
For a brief second, the animal paused, turning its iridescent green eyes toward her, looking at her as if it knew her. In the next second, it was on its way, jumping a fence and disappearing.