Murderous Mocha Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 14) Read online

  “Maybe,” Belinda admitted. “But this seemed so real.” She ran her hand over the flat, cold stone wall. “They were the faces of everyone who had been murdered here in Haunted Falls since you came back, starting with my step-mother.”

  “Whoa,” Sonja whispered. Now this information was something interesting. Even if this had been just a dream, it was a harrowing one. “What do you think it means?”

  “I-I’m not quite sure yet,” Belinda admitted. “I need to look into it a bit more.” Stepping forward, she grabbed Sonja by the shoulders. “But I think someone else is going to die.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “At the end of the row, all along the wall, was one more mask, one that wasn’t finished being carved yet.”

  “And you think it was a placeholder for a new murder victim?”

  She nodded, a grim expression darkening her face.

  “Any clue as to who it might be?” Sonja asked.

  “None. The mask was mostly blank.”

  “Which means it could be anyone.”

  Both women stood staring at each other knowingly.

  “What happened after that?” Sonja asked.

  “Actually,” she admitted, “I woke back up in the study upstairs. I guess I must have passed out during a reading. My tarot cards were scattered everywhere.”

  “Sounds like you had a vision,” Sonja verified again.

  Belinda shook her head. “It just felt so real. I’ve also never had a real vision before. Not like that.”

  Sonja always thought she was the only one who had nightmare visions, but maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe someone like Belinda, without any inherent spiritual power, was susceptible to the visions of the dead.

  “I really thought it had been real and that those masks would be down here.”

  Placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder, she nodded. “I’ll keep my eyes open today at the Mother’s Day event,” Sonja noted. “If I see anything out of the ordinary at all, I’ll give you a call.”

  “That’s it?” Belinda argued. “Can’t we do something more than that?”

  Sonja shook her head. “I doubt it. Without any evidence besides that glimpse from your dream,” she shrugged, “there isn’t much else we can do. I can’t very well tell Frank that someone might be murdered at some indefinite point in the future.”

  Frank Thompson was the town’s sheriff, as well as Sonja’s boyfriend. He had no idea that his girlfriend could communicate with the dead.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Belinda agreed.

  “Who knows,” Sonja encouraged her, “for all you know, it was nothing but a bad nightmare.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  CHAPTER 3

  * * *

  Sonja hoped she was right as well and that her friend’s vision could be little more than the dark fantasy of a troubled woman. The last thing she needed was another murder case on her hands. While Belinda had gained some skill and a vast amount of knowledge about the occult, she didn’t have as much hands-on experience.

  Pulling into the community center parking lot, Sonja got out and walked into the side door of the building, carrying a box with two waffle irons and other cooking supplies with her.

  The gym where the event was to be held had old rickety hardwood floors and scratchy baseboards that looked like Velcro—both items that hadn’t been replaced since the late seventies.

  Fold out plastic tables were set out all around the room and women bustled back and forth dressing them with fine tablecloths, family heirlooms, pictures, art projects, and more. At the far end of the room, up a few steps onto a stage, were the tables for all the food.

  Already spread across many of the tables were displays of cupcakes, muffins, doughnuts, cookies, and more. It looked like a baking convention in there, and everything was still steamy and warm straight from the oven.

  If there was one thing the women of Haunted Falls knew, it was how to put on an event with food!

  Sonja scoped out a nearby table and set her box there. Usually, her business partner would be there to help with the catering, but today Alison was spending time over at her husband’s parent’s house.

  Sonja was flying solo, which was fine. It wasn’t like it was a big catering event where she was the only one serving food. She was just one of many women who would be sharing delicious, family favorites.

  “There you are,” her mother exclaimed, coming up and giving her daughter a big hug.

  “I told you it wouldn’t take long,” Sonja smiled. “Did you find a place for the stone bust of grandma?”

  “Sure did,” Diane beamed, nodding toward a corner table near the stage. The statue sat on the end of the table, near a doorway that led to the backstage hallways. The picture of Diane’s mother, along with a small decorative notecard describing the art project, sat next to it.

  “Looks wonderful,” Sonja admitted. “I better get started myself.”

  “Do you need any help with other boxes?”

  “Sure thing,” Sonja said, accepting her mother’s help.

  * * *

  After bringing in the other two boxes of supplies, Sonja instantly got to work on making waffles while Diane went to mingle with the other women as they trickled in.

  First thing, Sonja laid out a long yellow and gold flower-patterned tablecloth that she felt matched the occasion. Next, she set out the two waffle irons so they’d be ready to go.

  One by one, she pulled out the necessary items and cooking utensils. Her stomach danced with excited butterflies as she wondered how her mother would react to the new specialty waffle.

  Before she could really get into the heat of cooking, however, Patricia Hoover walked up to the booth with a look of determination carved into the wrinkles of her mouth. Patricia was the president of the knitting society in Haunted Falls and was also the one who organized the entire Mother’s Day event.

  Sonja would never say she disliked Patricia, but the woman did have a strange habit of wanting exact order and control at any function she’d planned. It had gotten so painfully obvious in the past months that Sonja’s mother had even skipped a few of the society’s Wednesday night meetings.

  “Good morning,” Sonja greeted the woman, hoping to start the conversation on a light note.

  “Dear, you can’t have this table,” she told the diner owner without a beat.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, sure she’d heard the woman incorrectly. Patricia could be a little controlling and pushy, but it was even out of the ordinary for her to seem so agitated before any of the event’s proceedings had really gotten underway.

  “I said you can’t have this table, dear. You’re just going to need to move.” The societies president, with all the gray poof of wispy hair, was shaking her head like she was overly agitated.

  “Is it reserved for someone else?”

  “Well, not exactly,” Patricia noted, twisting her hands together. “But I have a specific table reserved for you over there.” She pointed across the gym to a little alcove in the corner which was usually used for storing sports equipment. It was clear the equipment had been moved out and relocated elsewhere for the day’s events.

  “But, that’s not even out with all the other tables,” Sonja argued.

  “I just didn’t think we should have the catered food mixed in with the ladies’ food. We wouldn’t want anyone getting confused.”

  Now Sonja felt an angry stirring inside herself. If there was one thing she was prouder of than anything, it was her cooking. “Why would anyone get confused?”

  “Oh, you know. All of the other food here is supposed to represent something about motherhood,” she informed her. “It isn’t just catered food.” She turned, indicating all the baked goods that had already been brought in. “It means something.”

  “Well, my food means something,” Sonja snapped. “In fact, my waffles are only as good as they are because my mom taught me.”

  “I’m sure she did, dear,” Pat
ricia patronized her. “However, it is still the catered food, and I’ve organized the catering booth,” she jabbed with her pencil at the alcove, “there.”

  “I don’t see the problem with me being here,” Sonja argued.

  Holding up her clipboard, Patricia pointed at the printed layout of the gym she had set up. “It says right here, quite plainly I might add, that the catering booth is set up over there.” She tapped the page. “The stage is for baked goods and recipes by the ladies of the society.”

  The diner owner felt her teeth clenching together, and she knew she might just explode if she didn’t take a second to breathe. She knew it wouldn’t do any good and didn’t want to create an unnecessary scene—at least not in front of her mother on Mother’s Day. “Fine,” she relented, trying her hardest to drop the irritation in her tone of voice. “I’ll move.”

  “Thanks a million, dear,” Patricia said, patting Sonja’s arm. “It’s for the best of everyone, I assure you.” Turning on her heel, Patricia moved on to expect the other tables before she officially opened the day’s events.

  With a hint of anger in each of her movements, Sonja quickly began packing away the things she’d gotten out. She was already behind from visiting Belinda and was now even more behind from this little unnecessary setback.

  “Don’t mind her,” came a familiar voice. Turning, the flustered cook realized there was someone standing just backstage.

  A moment later Laurie Stravinsky stepped through the red curtain with a sympathetic smile on her face. She was closer to Sonja’s age than anyone else there at the fair and had perfect blonde hair pulled up into a bun atop her head.

  Laurie was the director of the local girls’ choir, an after-school program for teenagers, and they were scheduled to sing a song about mothers at the fair.

  “Laurie,” Sonja let herself smile a little. “I didn’t know you were back there.”

  “I know. I have a bad habit of sneaking up on people, I guess. My dad calls me a snoop and an eavesdropper.”

  Sonja laughed slightly, shaking her head. She herself had been accused of being a snoop and busybody multiple times by various people thanks to her amateur sleuthing habits. “I know how that goes.”

  “I’m just sort of a people watcher, what can I say?” she shrugged. “I find other people’s lives and conversations interesting.”

  “Maybe you should be a writer,” Sonja offered a friendly suggestion.

  Laurie let out a loud laugh. “Heck no. I couldn’t write my way out of a paper bag.”

  “Never know unless you try.” Sonja sighed, finishing loading up her box. “Anyway, looks like I’ve been demoted to the storage alcove.”

  “That’s rotten.”

  “It is what it is.”

  “I completely understand, believe me. Patricia forced me and the girls into one of the rooms backstage. Said she didn’t want all the young girls disrupting the events until it was time for them to perform.”

  “That’s horrible,” Sonja concurred.

  “It’s not so bad, I guess. Patricia just has a bad habit of micromanaging other people’s lives. She has a vision of how the today is supposed to go, and neither you nor me nor anyone else is going to mess that up.”

  “I guess you’re right. She’s always been a little bit like that.”

  “Well,” Laurie sighed, “I better get back to the girls. I promised them I’d bring them some treats, but I’m afraid I might get yelled at if I touch anything. I’d promise to take them to get ice cream afterward, but who could afford it?”

  Sonja nodded. “Better wait until things get officially started. Then maybe you can sneak some pastries back to the girls.” She picked up the box. “Meanwhile, I’ve got to relocate.”

  “I hope the rest of your day goes more smoothly,” Laurie encouraged the caterer.

  “So do I,” she agreed.

  CHAPTER 4

  * * *

  Moving to the other table was tedious, but nothing that could ruin Sonja’s day. Much to the diner owner’s surprise, as she glanced up at the large clock on the wall of the building, it was still early. Getting set up at the new station had taken a shorter amount of time than she’d originally expected.

  Right away, she got into creating her famous waffle batter that everyone in town adored so much. Eggs, salt, sugar, flour, and more all went into the bowl. For this particular recipe, she substituted an organic hazelnut coffee creamer instead of milk to give the batter the perfect frothy, smooth texture.

  She couldn’t help but smile and hum a little tune (one of her favorite jazz tunes, of course) while she cooked. She was certain her mother would be excited about the Mother’s Day gift. Patricia began speaking from the stage, officially opening the fair and welcoming everyone, but Sonja tried to ignore it. She was determined to have a good time and make a waffle that everyone, especially her mom, would love.

  Trying to be discreet, she pulled out a bag of dark roasted coffee beans and poured about a cupful into the hand grinder hidden behind the table. Carefully, she turned the crank until the grounds were cut up into a perfectly coarse blend. A small amount of it went right into the batter and another amount into a percolator. Unfortunately, as she poured the water in, some of it spilled across the wood floor.

  “Oh no,” she whispered to herself, watching the water spread.

  “I-Is something wrong?” came a man’s voice.

  Glancing up, Sonja noticed the building’s janitor, Tylor Mason. “I just spilled a little water is all.”

  “Oh, we better get that up,” he commented quietly, rubbing his hands together. “T-The old wood in this r-room will drink it right up if we l-let it sit. I’ll get the m-mop.”

  “Wait, I have paper towels,” she said, but he was already on his way.

  Tylor was a bit of a recluse, and was a little socially award thanks to his slight speech impediment, but was a gentleman nonetheless. He took charge of every little cleanup like a commanding force of nature. Sonja supposed it was one of the only ways he felt useful. She felt a little bad for the lonely janitor.

  Shrugging it off, she quickly began to sop up the water with a paper towel and then got back to work.

  Next, she scooped out a small amount of baking cocoa from the can she’d brought and added it to the batter.

  Last, but not least, she added some miniature chocolate chips.

  Mixing it all together, the batter took on a dark brown nutty color.

  It was ready for cooking. Opening the hot irons, she poured in the batter and closed the lids. Almost instantly, the combined smells of warm roasted coffee, chocolate, and freshly cooked waffle filled the air.

  This was going to be one of the most perfect waffle recipes yet.

  While they cooked, she began working on the cream. Pouring in one part cream and one part sugar, she began to whip it vigorously. After it just started to stiffen up, she took the freshly brewed coffee and added a small amount. She continued to whip the mixture until it made perfect little peaks when she would remove the whisk.

  Both irons dinged at the same time and Sonja plated the waffles. The last touch was the cream on top, perfectly formed in the middle, with an elegant chocolate drizzle. “Perfect,” she whispered to herself.

  She couldn’t wait to present it to her mom, to show her how much she loved her. Sonja really wanted to announce it at the microphone on the stage but was afraid Patricia would get upset and bite her head off.

  However, after thinking about it for a moment, Sonja decided she didn’t care what Patricia thought. She wanted everyone to see how much she loved her mom (and a small part of her wanted to rub it in Patricia’s face that her new recipe was, in fact, as much of a dedication to her mother as any other item of food there).

  Walking up to the center of the stage, freshly cooked waffle in hand, she smiled down at all the ladies in the room. “Good morning,” she called into the microphone.

  Slowly, everyone quieted down. “I just wanted to let you all know t
hat you can all try my latest waffle today here at my table.”

  There were a few excited noises and shouts from the group, but none as loud as Sonja’s mother—who looked sincerely surprised.

  “I created this waffle as a thank you to my own mother. She has given me the best of everything and has always looked out for me.” She held up the plate for everyone to see. “This recipe combines two of my mother’s favorite things in this world—chocolate and coffee. I call it the Cocoa Coffee Waffle.”

  The room broke into applause, many of the women talking eagerly about the chance to try this decadent recipe.

  “Come on up and have the first one, Mom,” Sonja nodded to her mother.

  Smiling Diane started to make her way to the stage.

  Unfortunately, before she reached the wooden stairs, a loud and deafening crash filled the room.

  Everyone went instantly silent and looked toward the source of the sound. Near the corner door that led backstage Tylor Mason stood with a mop and bucket in hand, his face white with horror. On the floor at his feet was the stone bust of Sonja’s grandmother—the head cracked off and rolling morbidly to one side.

  CHAPTER 5

  * * *

  “What did you do?” Diane screamed, her voice cracking with strain. Sonja was shocked, not only by the broken statue but by the volume of her mother’s voice. Never had she heard her scream so loudly.

  Rushing over, Diane hunched over the broken statue. Despite being made of stone, it was a very porous and soft cut that made carving easy. This had facilitated the crack that ultimately decapitated the bust. Picking up the head with a shaking hand, Diane looked like she might just burst into tears at any moment. “Mom,” she mumbled.

  “I-I’m sorry,” Tylor stuttered, his expression growing sickly at the sight of what he’d just done. “My m-mop handle must have hit it.”

  “You broke it,” she said, drawing in a sharp and painful breath.

  “I-I didn’t m-mean to,” he stumbled over himself, his face only losing more color by the minute. “It w-was an accident.”