Sinister Strawberry Waffle: Book 3 in The Diner of the Dead Series Page 3

“I really don’t want to do that. It would be too expensive. Besides, I’d rather support another local business. You clearly support my business.”

  She knew that Bill that he was eating here for probably the fourth or fifth time this week.

  “I s’pose you’re right. I just don’t want to cause you any trouble, s’all.”

  “How about this…” she suggested. “Let’s not cancel the contract. Instead, hold off on starting work for a little bit. At least until we have a clearer picture about who might be sending these threats.”

  “Alright then,” the older man agreed. “It’s a deal.”

  “In the meantime,” Sheriff Thompson chimed in, “How about that bagel?”

  “Your bagel?” Sonja finally realized she never brought it out. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sheriff. I’ll go get it right away.”

  “And can you take my order, too?” Merrill insisted.

  She smiled. “Of course. What can I get you, Bill?”

  “Just a stack a’ hotcakes and a cup of coffee, if you please.”

  “You got it,” she replied with a smile before turning and walking toward the kitchen.

  “And Sonja?” Sheriff Thompson called.

  “Yes, Sheriff?”

  “Someday, I’d like to come down to the diner without having to take on a new case.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Around four in the afternoon, Sonja took a break from the diner and headed home for some dinner. Mainly, it was a chance for her to leave Alex on his own for a while and see how he handled the kitchen without her—and also relax a little before returning to help close for the night. She only hoped that he would stay focused enough to handle any rushes that might come through.

  Pulling the car into the circle drive outside her mother’s Tudor style house, she looked forward to finally being able to sit down and enjoy a little peace. Despite living in the guest house out back near the woods, she always tried to have dinner with her mom in the main house whenever possible.

  When the weary young woman came in the front door, she heard her mother and Alison chatting in the dining room. Setting her purse and keys on the oak banister in the entryway, she headed back to meet them.

  “Sonja,” her mother exclaimed from her seat at the table.

  “Hi, Mom,” she smiled, leaning in to give her mother a hug.

  The table was set for dinner, including a place for Alison. Baby Cynthia, who sat in Sonja’s old high chair, seemed content with her bottle of formula.

  “Alison was just telling me some exciting news,” her mother gushed.

  Sonja could only guess what it was about and glanced at Alison suspiciously.

  Ally smiled innocently, batting her eyes.

  “So, is it true?” her mother asked, glowing with happiness and pushing out a nearby chair for Sonja. “Tell me all the details.”

  Taking her seat, she decided to play dumb, hoping that her suspicions weren’t correct. “Details about what, Mom?”

  “Oh, don’t hold out on me, dear,” her mother leaned in eagerly, elbows on the highly polished table, resting her chin in her hands. “I want to hear all about you and Frank Thompson.”

  Sonja kicked Alison under the table.

  “Ouch!”

  “Are you alright, dear?” Sonja’s mother asked.

  “Just bumped my knee, that’s all,” Alison smiled.

  “So, are you and Frank Thompson really a couple?” she persisted hopefully.

  Sonja rolled her eyes.

  “No, Mom. We’re not.”

  She knew if her mother thought something was going on it would only be a matter of hours before the whole town was in on the gossip—and she did not want any of this nonsense getting back to Sheriff Thompson, so she had to nip this in the bud.

  “I don’t understand, dear,” her mother seemed to wilt with disappointment. “Alex told Alison that you spent quite a lot of time with him at the diner today, that you even went out of your way to serve him.”

  Sonja gave her friend the best death glare she could muster. She would have to strangle Alex when she got back to the diner. Alison shrugged, suppressing a grin.

  “Well, Mom,” she tried to form words in a way so everyone would be completely clear that she and the sheriff were not an item—while also attempting to preserve her mother’s feelings. “Sheriff Thompson and I are just friends, nothing more. I spoke with him at the diner because I had some business to discuss.”

  “Oh? What kind of business?”

  “I needed to report something actually. Turns out someone is threatening both me and Bill Merrill.”

  “What?” Ally exclaimed, her mischievous expression changing instantly to concern.

  “Well, you know how we’re planning on updating the landscape?”

  Alison nodded.

  “Someone sent me a note saying to stop the contract with Bill, or else.”

  “Or else?” her mother sputtered, wide-eyed.

  “Or else what?” Ally asked in a hushed tone.

  “I’m not sure, but Bill got a phone call saying the same thing.”

  “Holy cow,” her friend exclaimed. “Why on earth would someone do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s why I was talking to Sheriff Thompson today. He’s going to check it out.”

  “Oh,” her mother mumbled, disappointed. “Well, forgive me for asking.”

  “Oh, you’re fine, Mom. You were misinformed,” Sonja narrowed her eyes at Alison again.

  “Sorry,” her friend shrugged, sounding anything but. “I still say you’d make a cute couple.”

  Sonja groaned.

  “Wow,” Ally sighed. “Ever since you arrived in Haunted Falls things have been just crazy.”

  “I’d have to agree,” Sonja admitted, pulling the cloth napkin off her plate and unfolding it in her lap. “Can we eat dinner, please? I’m starving.” She smiled mischievously at her friend. “Unless, of course, you want me to leave Alex in charge of the kitchen by himself during all of the dinner rush.”

  “Heck no,” Alison protested with a smile. “I don’t want to deal with his complaining when he comes home tonight.”

  Sonja’s mother laughed, taking a platter and helping herself. “Well, I’m famished too. Let’s eat,” she said, putting all awkward and dramatic conversation to rest.

  In Sonja’s mind that was nothing short of a miracle.

  * * *

  When Sonja got back at The Waffle after savoring her mom’s home cooking, Alex was working at a frenzied pace, trying to get multiple orders done at once. She grabbed an apron and threw herself into the fray, chopping, mixing, grilling and plating alongside him. In the heat of battle, Alex and Sonja turned out to be a pretty good team.

  Because they were so busy, closing time snuck up on them, mercifully. When the last customers finally wandered out, the diner duo cleaned up and made preparations for opening up the next morning. After most of the deep cleaning was complete, Sonja told Alex to take off a little early. He had taken a break during the lunch rush to be with Ally and Cynthia, but Sonja felt that he deserved more time with his family before the night was completely through. He thanked her profusely and headed out the door, whistling as he went.

  Around nine-thirty Sonja was nearly done with the closing duties. All that was left was to make a few last spot-checks, in case they’d missed anything during the initial cleanup, and then check the locks on the doors and windows. Starting with the front door, she pushed on the handle to test it. The bottom locking mechanism was locked, but the deadbolt wasn’t set. Turning the bolt closed—and hearing it click into place—she walked away.

  Just as she reached the kitchen door there was a quiet clicking noise. It sounded like the deadbolt unlocking. Perhaps Alex had forgotten something. Turning to look back at the door, Sonja could see that there was no one there. Operating on instinct, she went back to double check the deadbolt. Oddly, the deadbolt was unlatched, even though she would have sworn she had just latched it. Shrugging
, the weary owner tried to dismiss the curl of fear unfurling in her midsection, and turned the deadbolt closed.

  Walking toward the kitchen once more, she only got halfway there when she heard the sound again. This time, there was no mistaking the distinct click. It couldn’t be just her imagination. Pulse slowly beginning to accelerate, Sonja turned and walked back to the door again. It was unlatched.

  Cupping her hands around her eyes, she leaned against the glass and peered outside. A dull mist seemed to hang in the air of the empty parking lot, causing the singular yellow street lamp to dim in the haze. There were no cars, no people, nothing. It was like looking out at an actual ghost town. Wondering if she was going insane, Sonja felt her heart thumping in her chest.

  A low buzzing noise drew her attention back inside the diner. Her hands grew cold and clammy, and she absently wiped them on her apron as the lights in the dining area buzzed and fluctuated from bright to dim.

  “What is going on?” Sonja wondered aloud, but having experienced similar events before she had a fairly good idea what was happening—she just hoped it wasn’t true. The scared and tired owner refused to believe she was having another “ghostly” encounter.

  Locking the deadbolt one more time she headed toward the back room to check the breaker switches when the metallic click echoed through the diner again, louder this time, stopping her in her tracks. She went back to relock the door again and the whole diner instantly plunged into darkness. Now, completely convinced something unnatural was happening, cold sweat brushing her brow and her skin prickling, she stood in the dark trying to calm her breathing and heart rate.

  The low mist from outside slowly leaked in under the doorway and through the cracks in the windows, and the dream from the previous night came slamming back into her mind. Her heart thundered in her chest and sweat beaded up on her forehead, then the bone-chilling cold came, tiptoeing across her skin and deepening her dread. The glass of the front door fogged up, forming into a strange shape that resembled a woman’s face.

  Sonja gasped, trembling from head to toe. “Who’s there? What do you want?”

  The blank, white face peered out with hollow eyes—taking on the form of a woman. It opened its mouth and made an “O” shape sending a gust of frigid wind through the diner. One by one, every window fogged over, until Sonja could no longer see her reflection or the outside world.

  “What do you want from me?” she whispered.

  Large letters slowly appeared across all the windows, as if someone were using their finger to draw them. Coming together they spelled out a phrase.

  “Don’t cancel your contract.”

  “My landscaping contract?” Sonja whispered, seeing her own breath expelled in an icy puff.

  A shuddering screech, which sounded like a terrified woman screaming, rocked the diner. Lights flashed on and off again, dishes rattled in the cabinets, and the windows shivered in their frames. Tumbling backwards in shock, Sonja was knocked back onto the cold, tiled floor, where she lay stunned, waiting to see what happened next.

  As suddenly as they had gone out, the lights came back on. She blinked rapidly trying to get her eyes adjusted to the light. The windows were clear now, as clear as they had been only minutes earlier, the fog was gone, and the room’s temperature had returned to normal.

  Sonja hesitantly stood up and moved toward the front door. The deadbolt was latched in place. Without another hesitation she grabbed her purse and ran from the diner.

  CHAPTER 5

  Sonja considered calling up Sheriff Thompson when she got home, still shaking from a heavy shot of adrenalin, to tell him what had happened at the diner, but ultimately she decided that there was really no point. No one actually knew about the “ghostly” encounters she’d experienced since her return to Haunted Falls, and she didn’t need the sheriff thinking she was losing it. She needed his help with the threats against her and Bill Merrill. Despite how often or how hard she tried to rationalize the supernatural events away, the more frequently they occurred, the more she truly began to believe they were one hundred percent authentic.

  The next morning, instead of calling the sheriff or visiting the police station, the now clear-minded business owner decided to drive over to Merrill’s business office. Sonja couldn’t quite decide what she was more afraid of, threats from the living, or warnings from the dead. For the time being, she decided she was more afraid of the dead. The living were slightly more predictable and Sonja still didn’t have a grasp on what a ghost might be capable of.

  Pulling her old clunker of a car, previously owned by her mother, into the small parking area outside the white double wide trailer that served as Bill Merrill’s office, she turned off the engine and got out. In the morning sun, the trailer reflected the light like the full moon, almost hurting her eyes. Backed up by a moderately-sized warehouse and a concrete yard where Merrill and his partner kept all of their plants, seeds, and other landscaping equipment, the office seemed tiny.

  Mounting the perforated metal steps to the trailer, she stopped at the door, when she heard two voices inside, seemingly arguing. The lower of the two sounded furious.

  “I’m truthfully telling you what happened. Those trees were healthy as can be until we hired your services,” the gruff sounding man accused.

  Sonja didn’t recognize the angry voice.

  “I’m holding you responsible for their outcome.”

  “I’m sorry that you’re having trouble with your trees, but I can assure you that it has nothing to do with our services,” the second voice reasoned.

  It sounded like Macklin Sprouts, Bill Merrill’s business partner, and associate.

  “Our company only uses the most advanced and environmentally friendly methods and products. I don’t believe there is anything we’ve done that could possibly have caused this sudden change in your trees.”

  “You can disagree all you want,” the unknown voice growled. “Those trees were just fine. I’d go so far as to call them vibrant even, until I hired your company to come and do some lawn work on my estate. Now, the trees are nearly dead. Do you realize those trees are over a hundred years old? They are as much a part of my family heritage as I am.”

  “It’s our job to know about the history, condition, and quality of the land and plants we are dealing with, Mr. Baskins, and I can tell you that this company had nothing to do with what’s happening to your trees,” Macklin replied reasonably.

  “This is an outrage.”

  “Let me remind you that Merrill and Macklin is not liable for any damages done to a plot after the contract ends. In fact,” a shuffling of paper echoed through he door, “Appendix II of our contract specifically states that any damages not brought up within a thirty-day period following the final day that the contracted services are performed, are not covered by our warranty, and are the sole responsibility of the owner.”

  “Are you implying that I’m shirking my responsibility, rather than you shirking yours?” the voice bellowed.

  Macklin sighed. “No, Mr. Baskins. You may have inferred that, but that was certainly not what I was implying.”

  “The Baskins family always upholds our end of the deal. Our integrity in that regard is above reproach. We do, however, expect professionals to acknowledge their mistakes and fix them. I paid you good money for that work and I expect good results, not shoddy work that is evidenced by the death of century-old trees.”

  “The appendix of the contract, which you willingly signed, is specifically there to protect our company from these types of unwarranted accusations. So unless you have some hard evidence that points to something more specific, I suggest that you find an arborist to assess and treat your trees for whatever might be wrong with them,” he replied.

  “Do you realize those trees are worth more than this company?”

  “I’m sorry,” was the quiet reply. “We’ve said all that needs to be said here. Please see yourself out.”

  Baskins wheezed angrily. “Alright, I’ll
see myself out, but this is far from over,” he threatened. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

  There was a distinct pause. Sonja could almost hear Baskins seething. “I’ll see you in court,” the voice boomed with a parting shot.

  Heavy footsteps moved toward the door and Sonja moved out of the way just before the aluminum door slammed open, clanging against the railing. A tall bulky man, probably in his late thirties, stepped out—a cold and furrowed expression crossed his face.

  “Excuse me,” he demanded, shoving past a very startled Sonja and down the ramp. He paused and turned back to her. “If you’re looking for landscaping work, I suggest you take your business elsewhere.” Turning around Baskins stomped off, getting into his black pickup truck and tearing out of the parking lot.

  Sonja headed inside.

  “Good morning,” she said tentatively, after her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.

  Macklin sat at the desk near the far end of the trailer, slouched over a pile of paperwork. “Oh, morning, Sonja,” he replied only glancing up momentarily to see who was there.

  He had perfectly combed blonde hair, most likely gelled or sprayed to stay in place—Sonja imagined it had a hard texture—and a rigid jawline that would put most models to shame. He was the younger half of Merrill and Macklin.

  The double wide trailer had a simple interior consisting of plain white walls and a floor covered with grey commercial carpet. There were two large metal desks, one for each of the partners, sitting at either end of the room. A set of three filing cabinets bridged the gap between them. The only decorations in the room were a few pictures on the wall, displaying previous jobs the partners had worked on—a wedding ceremony with all sorts of shrubs and greenery, the local cemetery with fresh plots of grass and flowers, even a local beauty pageant featuring immense and elaborate floral planters, flanked by elaborate water features. The winner of the pageant had been caught mid-wave by a skilled photographer.

  Sonja took a seat in a black metal folding chair beside the desk. “Who was that just now?”

  Macklin looked up, seeming slightly embarrassed. “You heard that?”