Hot Buttered Murder (Wicked Waffle Paranormal Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  Was this, in fact, the beginning of another whole round of frightening ghostly encounters?

  She prayed she was wrong.

  Breathing in a deep rush of morning mountain air, she regathered her senses and shuffled back to the body. With two fingers on the woman’s rigid wrist, she made double sure that there was no pulse.

  Letting out a sigh and sitting back on the concrete, Sonja knew she was dead.

  The next question was, who exactly was this mysterious woman and how had she ended up on the front stoop of The Waffle? Examining the strange position of the body, Sonja tried to gather clues. The victim was wearing a normal pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and had her red hair tied up in a ponytail.

  Based on how stiff and cold her body was, Sonja could only guess she’d been dead for a few hours or more. She knew Frank and the EMTs would be able to tell for sure.

  Standing up from the pavement, Sonja dug into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Dialing her boyfriend’s phone number, she held the speaker to her ear.

  After a few rings, he answered. “Hey, Sonja. It’s a little early to be calling, don’t you think?” he teased. The chipper and warm sound of his voice indicated he’d likely been awake for some time now.

  “I wouldn’t be calling unless it was an emergency,” she told him straight out.

  Frank grew suddenly quiet, his silence a serious indicator that he was bracing himself for bad news. “What’s happened?”

  “There is a body, a dead body, here on the front steps of the diner.”

  More silence for Frank as he gathered in this new information. “Who is it?” he asked.

  “I’ve never seen her before, and I didn’t look for ID.”

  “I see,” he grunted. “Any sign of what happened?”.

  She glanced over the body, it’s strange contorted angles sending chills through her body. “There is a little puncture wound on her neck,” Sonja pointed out, having just noticed it. Sonja bent forward to get a better look. The tiny pin prick sized wound—right in the center of her neck—was swollen and red. “It may be from some sort of sting,” Sonja guessed, realizing she was no expert on biology or zoology.

  “Well, we’ll figure it out. Don’t touch anything. I’m coming right now.”

  “Should I call nine-one-one?”

  “I’ll contact emergency services as soon as we hang up. Remember, don’t touch anything until I get there.”

  “Got it,” she agreed.

  “See you in a few,” he said.

  Before she could even say goodbye, he’d hung up. Cradling her phone in her hand, she stared down at the blinking screen. It went dark.

  Shoving her phone in her pocket, she glanced at the strange mark on the woman’s neck again. She couldn’t tell, but thought perhaps it was a large wasp sting or similar insect.

  Maybe, she was allergic? Sonja wondered to herself. She knew a lot of people were susceptible to insect and spider stings. If they had an allergy or even a weak immune system, they could die in a matter of minutes without immediate medical attention.

  This woman, of course, appeared to have been completely alone—but why? Why was she here at the diner?

  Being careful not to disturb anything, Sonja bent and tried to peer at the mark on the neck up close. An allergic reaction was possible, but unlikely, she realized. She’d seen someone go into anaphylactic shock before and it looked nothing like this. Most of the time, an allergic reaction would involve more swelling in the face, ears, and lips. Sonja examined the victim’s features, noting that they looked normal.

  What was more, she’d never seen someone’s body in a state of paralysis like this before.

  So, how did she die, then?

  Sonja pulled her hair back into a ponytail while she thought, wondering if there would be an autopsy. At this point, all she knew was that whatever bit her had severely poisonous venom. Just thinking about it made her stomach do a flip-flop.

  She thought back to their insect unit in high school science, trying to remember if they even had bugs with that kind of potency in the Rocky Mountain region? The only truly dangerous ones she could think of were the brown recluse or hobo spider.

  Sonja shivered. If there was one thing she hated, it was spiders. She’d seen pictures online of bites from those spiders and it wasn’t pretty.

  However, this pinprick type of a sting hardly looked like a spider bite. Although, she knew there were newer species of insects and arachnids, such as the yellow sac spider she’d stumbled across on her social media feed recently, which no one knew much about yet.

  “Then what the heck is it?” Sonja groaned under her breath, not liking the idea of some new form of wasp or spider going around stinging people. Or something else, Sonja thought to herself. She shivered, looking over the body. The hands were all clutched up, indicating spasms and fits of pain before the woman died.

  Then she paused. She swore there was something white in the woman’s hand. “What’s that?” she asked out loud.

  Bending down, she pulled a wadded-up notecard from the clutching hand. Unfolding it, she read the scribbled letters. Instantly, her eyes widened.

  Written on the card was the address of the diner. It also had Sonja’s name on it.

  It seemed this woman was looking for her.

  CHAPTER 3

  * * *

  “Sonja,” Sheriff Frank Thompson called as he climbed out of his police cruiser, the lights flashing in the dim morning light. The local ambulance wasn’t far behind, parking just behind him.

  Sonja, who had been sitting inside of her catering van with the door open, sprang out. “Frank.”

  The paramedic and two EMTs were clambering out of the ambulance and rushing over to the woman while a silver sports car drove up and parked behind the two blinking emergency vehicles. At first, Sonja raised an eyebrow of confusion. Who would drive up to an emergent scene in a car like that? Most people, when they saw flashing lights, would steer clear.

  She watched carefully as an older gentleman in a checkered shirt and tie climbed out. Despite his age, the man came off as suave and energetic, a slight skip in his step. His silver hair was perfectly combed over to one side and he wore a distinguished red mustache on his upper lip.

  Even as he walked, he oozed confidence and control.

  He quickly worked his way over to the body. “Make some room, please,” he said in a raspy tone. The EMTs took a few steps back.

  “Who is that?” Sonja whispered to Frank, scooting closer to him.

  Frank glanced up at the man now crouching near the body. “Him? That’s the coroner, Taylor Collins. I made sure to call him up for this case, to check the state of the body.”

  Sonja knew what Frank meant. A coroner would be able to tell more quickly if this was an accident or murder.

  “We have an official coroner now?” she gasped, surprised at this new development.

  Frank nodded. “Yes. Didn’t you see him on the last election ballot?”

  Sonja shook her head. “I didn’t vote in the last local election. Sorry.”

  Frank gave her a scolding look, but didn’t bother giving her a lecture on her responsibility as a citizen. “After all those murders last year, the city council thought it was in the best interest to add a full-time coroner to the budget.” He motioned with a nod toward the silver-haired man at the scene. “He’s supposedly the best at what he does.”

  “But driving up to a potential crime scene in a sports car?”

  Frank shrugged. “He has his own way of doing things. The city knew that when we brought him on.” Frank folded his arms and turned to look back at the body.

  “I think something bit her, an insect or something,” Sonja whispered.

  “We’ll know for sure in a minute,” he said, placing a hand on her arm. His touch was warm and brought a sense of joy back into the day, even for a second.

  Sonja let out a sigh, the moment of peace vanishing into the reality of the situation. “I checked her vital sign
s. She was as cold as stone and pale as a ghost.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow of concern.

  “Just an expression, this time. I haven’t seen any ghosts.”

  “Good. Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Oh, by the way, I found this on the body,” Sonja said, remembering the notecard.

  “I thought I told you not to touch anything.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

  “I know, but I when I saw this, I knew I had to show it to you in person.” She held the card out toward him.

  As he read the text, his eyes widened. “Your information? This woman was looking for you?”

  “It appears so.”

  “Sheriff.” The coroner stood up and looked toward Frank. As their eyes met, Taylor shook his head indicating the woman was, in fact, dead.

  “I told you,” Sonja whispered, gripping Frank’s hand and squeezing it.

  “All right. I better have a look at the body,” he announced, walking off toward the body. “And you better get out of here,” he called back.

  A paramedic stepped forward with her kit of supplies in hand. “Just a moment. Are you all right Miss Reed?” she asked.

  “Fine. It’s not my first dead body.” She had no desire to get checked out for shock or anything.

  “Sonja,” Frank scolded her, pausing just before reaching the body.

  “What? It’s true,” she defended herself, feeling more than capable to handle the situation. “Don’t worry about me, Frank,” she instructed him. While her upbeat spirit she had most of the morning had fizzled slightly, she wasn’t feeling ill or woozy from the sight of the body. She’d been a key witness on other homicide cases. This was nothing new, even if it was slightly unpleasant.

  Sonja felt like she was somewhat adept at dealing with trauma and death at this point. Keeping an even head was important in these situations. She wouldn’t be helping anyone by letting herself fall apart.

  Frank shook his head. “Sonja, why don’t you head inside? I know you have to put up some sort of sign to tell your patrons you won’t be open today.”

  Sonja knew she was getting close to overstepping her bounds. Now that the coroner knew the woman was dead, Frank likely wouldn’t want Sonja anywhere near the body. “Okay, I’ll go take care of it,” she sighed.

  “And I want you to head back home as soon as you’re done with that,” he ordered.

  She only gave an irritable nod, knowing how this whole procedure worked.

  She walked slowly toward the side of the building, intending to head in through the back door.

  “So, what do you think?” she heard the sheriff saying in the distance.

  “Seems like some sort of neurological toxin, to me—could be poison from a potent sting or injection,” the coroner informed him.

  Sonja stopped dead in her tracks as she heard this. An injection? If that were true, that meant they could be dealing with murder.

  CHAPTER 4

  * * *

  As Sonja stood in the diner’s kitchen the following morning, pouring a large bag of flour into the industrial mixer, she couldn’t help but think that there was something more to this death than she had first thought.

  The woman’s name was Kara Bran, according to Frank, someone Sonja had never heard of and never met before in her life. Both Sonja and Frank were left wondering why Kara had a note with Sonja’s information on it—or who had written it.

  Was it just Sonja’s delicious waffles that drew the woman in, or was it something else?

  She supposed someone might have told Kara about the diner and its great food. Some mystery person could have written down the info and given it to Kara so she could find the place.

  Groaning with anxiety, Sonja tried to concentrate on her work.

  Turning the red switch on the mixer to low Sonja stepped away to check on the large metal pot on the stove. Multiple sticks of butter were in the process of melting down, sloshing about as they turned to the beautiful liquid that would make the Blissful Butter Waffle the delicious masterpiece it was.

  Picking up the wooden mixing spoon, Sonja began to stir the pot’s contents to help it in the melting process.

  If this Kara woman had just been interested in trying out Sonja’s famous waffles, then why had she randomly arrived in the middle of the night at the front door?

  Sonja wasn’t an expert, but knew the woman had been dead for at least a few hours when Sonja had found her. The time of death could easily be as early as one in the morning. That was evidence enough to Sonja that this wasn’t a normal customer looking for an extra early breakfast—and it was even more of an indication that this might just be foul play.

  What in the world could she have wanted? What was so urgent that she went looking for Sonja at such a late hour? Most important of all, who had given Kara the information?

  Giving one final stir to the yellow liquid, Sonja set the spoon aside and grabbed two oven mitts—patterned with little gray and yellow cats—and slipped them on. Grabbing the pot, she hefted it over to the mixer and poured it in. The waterfall of hot liquid hitting the batter was magical, creating a sizzling noise as the flour, milk, eggs, and butter mixed together.

  Setting the now empty pot in the sink, she took off the mitts and whipped back a stray red hair which had come loose from the hairnet. She always kept her hair back in either a bun or ponytail, especially when she was working. It made it easier to put on and take off a hair net quickly. The only time she wore her hair down was when she was attending a special event and actually had the time to make it look halfway decent.

  Of course, just like a man, Frank preferred her hair down.

  However, he wasn’t the one who would have to deal with it in his face all day long, so he got little say in the matter.

  Straightening the hairnet over her ponytail, she thought about the dead woman again. Kara, too, wore her hair back, as if she’d just tied it up and rushed out the door. Her casual clothes were another indicator of this, and Sonja considered that perhaps this whole situation had something to do with ghosts.

  The woman could have been frightened about something and had come looking for Sonja. She didn’t have a better explanation of why she thought ghosts were involved, but she couldn’t help her hunches.

  Flipping the mixer to medium the large arm began to spin faster.

  Sonja walked over and checked that her lineup of waffle irons were all plugged in and ready to go. From the irons that made thin and crispy waffles, to the thick and fluffy Belgian, she had many different kinds. All were good in their own right, and each had their place on Sonja’s menu.

  She smiled, feeling a small bit of her excitement coming back. In the next few minutes she would be opening for business and all the guests would be filtering in, each asking for the tasty and buttery waffles Sonja had to offer.

  She just wished this sudden death wasn’t hanging over the diner.

  There was one major thing that was still bothering Sonja about the situation, more-so than the notecard with all her info written out on it. It was what the coroner had said.

  Could be poison from a potent sting or injection, were the words still ringing in her memory. What exactly did that mean? When Sonja had found the woman, and saw the mark on her neck, she had automatically assumed this was an accidental death thanks to some sort of sting or bite.

  However, if the coroner thought it could be an injection point . . . that meant murder.

  The familiar gut feeling rising in Sonja’s stomach gave her an answer she didn’t care for but couldn’t ignore. If the wound was from a needle, who had administered it?

  Unfortunately, the only witness to the events had been Sonja’s scarecrow she had put out the day before. He wasn’t in any state to give an eye witness account.

  She’d just have to wait for the coroner to do his autopsy. That would give a little more clarity to the situation, although neither Frank nor the coroner would clue her in as to what the autopsy revealed.

  “So, what w
as going on yesterday?” Alison, Sonja’s best friend said as she entered through the diner’s backdoor.

  Breaking from her train of thought, Sonja turned to face her with a smile. “Morning, Ally.”

  “I drove by yesterday morning and saw the EMTs loading someone into the back of the ambulance. What the heck happened?” she asked while she pulled the green apron off the hook and slipped it on, preparing to help in the kitchen when they opened.

  The day before had been Alison’s day off, and Sonja hadn’t bothered calling her to tell her about the dead body.

  Sonja wiped her hands on her apron. “There was an accident,” Sonja told her.

  “An accident.”

  “Some woman died last night.”

  Alison’s face twisted in discomfort. “It wasn’t . . . you know?” she hesitated.

  “Murder?” Sonja finished the question for her, feeling a surge of nervous energy as she said the word out loud. She swore, it felt as if she hadn’t said it in months.

  “Yeah. That,” Ally squeaked timidly, clearly afraid of the answer.

  “No, it isn’t,” she lied, rejecting the gut feeling that had been bothering her all morning.

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Alison’s shoulders drooped, a sign of released tension. She started flipping switches on the irons to get them warmed up and ready. “It’s still horrible, of course. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just relieved . . .”

  “That we won’t have to deal with another murder investigation after all this time?” Sonja headed back to the mixer and checked on the batter. It had taken on a smooth, frothy texture and a golden hue. It was ready.

  “So, what did happen then?” She was walking over to the metal counter and pulling down a Christmas themed mug with a picture of a snowman and holly on the side. It was the one Ally always used to distinguish her coffee from the rest of the generic white mugs they served in.

  “Looked like some sort of insect sting to me.”

  Alison visibly shivered. “Insects? Disgusting.”