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

  “Don’t worry about it?” she blurted in reply. “Can you imagine what Patricia Hoover is going to be saying about me?”

  “I’m not so sure she’ll care about your little outburst,” Sonja commented without thinking.

  “Why not?” Diane asked quietly.

  Sonja bit her bottom lip, gnawing a little of the lipstick off. “I think she’ll have bigger fish to fry,” she admitted, wondering if it was a bad idea to tell her distraught mother about the recent murder.

  “Like what?” she shrugged. “What could possibly be bigger than one of the ladies of the Knitting Society completely losing her head in front of everyone at the biggest event of the year?”

  Sonja cleared her throat slightly, “Well, Frank and his deputies were at the community center just before I left.”

  When she said this, both her father and mother turned their heads and looked at each other, both already guessing where this was headed.

  They knew about the strange luck Sonja seemed to have in stumbling across murders. In fact, her father—who shared similar supernatural abilities as his daughter’s—was aware that sometimes the ability to speak to ghosts often drew in strange crimes and murders.

  “Why was Frank there?” her father pressed.

  “There was another murder.”

  “Another murder?” Diane exclaimed, sitting up straight in her chair, the tears all but disappeared from her eyes. “Oh no, was it one of the ladies? One of the Knitting Society?”

  Sonja shook her head. “No one from the party. At least, not really.”

  “Who then?” her father pressed, just as eager to find out more details about the news as his wife.

  The young woman swallowed hard, not sure how they might react.

  “Who?” Diane insisted.

  “It was Tylor Mason,” Sonja whispered.

  Instantly, her mother went white as a sheet and passed out.

  CHAPTER 9

  * * *

  Diane came to a few moments later, laying on the floor and staring up at her husband and daughter.

  Blacking out like that was an odd experience, to be sure. When coming out of it, there was always a temporary moment of confusion. Diane took in her surroundings, trying to grasp where she was and why she was laying on the floor.

  “Mom,” Sonja gasped. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I think so.” Concentrating hard, she tried to remember everything that had happened leading up to her passing out.

  Sam was holding her hand, patting it to help ground her in reality.

  “Did you say that Tylor Mason was murdered?”

  Sonja and her father exchanged a glance, trying to decide if they should tell her again.

  “Yes,” the concerned daughter confirmed. “I found him in the janitor’s closet.”

  “My goodness,” Diane gasped. “This is all my fault.”

  “How is it your fault, Mom?”

  “I shouldn’t have blown up at him the way I did. I drove him away, out of the party.”

  “That has nothing to do with the murder,” Sonja reassured her mother.

  “I hope you’re right,” she nodded. “But I can’t but help feel partially responsible.”

  “And now, dear,” Sam commented, “you should head upstairs and lay down.”

  Diane nodded. “I think you’re right. It’s been a crazy day.”

  “We’ll help you,” Sonja added, slipping a hand under her mother’s arm and pulling her upright.

  “Oh, sweetie, did you happen to get my statue from the table when you came home? I know it was broken, but maybe I can fix it?”

  Sonja hesitated on her answer and then said, “Yep. I have it in the van, but you worry about that later.”

  * * *

  “You lied to your mother?” Sam exclaimed quietly once they were safely back down in the kitchen.

  Sonja had come clean and told him that the murder weapon was, in fact, the head of the statue.

  “I’m sorry,” she shrugged, “but did you want her passing out again, or having another fit?”

  He poured himself a fresh mug of coffee from the morning’s pot. “I guess not,” he shrugged, “but it will just make it harder to tell her the truth later.”

  “Maybe,” Sonja agreed. “She was already upset about the whole situation. She was embarrassed for her outburst and upset that the man she had so openly ridiculed is now dead. Can you imagine how much worse that would be if she knew her statue was used in the murder?”

  Frank sighed. “It’s fairly inconvenient, that’s for sure.” He took a heavy drink of the coffee. “Did you want a mug, honey?”

  “Yes, please.” Sonja was pretty shaken up herself from all that had happened that day.

  Pouring his daughter a cup, he handed the coffee to her.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, taking a moment to smell the rich, dark liquid.

  “So, what’s the verdict this time?” Sam asked straight out. “Anything supernatural involved?”

  In any normal conversation, that would be a strange question. However, after so many murders in Haunted Falls, and each of them having a connection with ghosts, it was just commonplace for her father to ask.

  Sonja shrugged. “I’m not sure yet,” she admitted. “I didn’t see a single strange thing at the community center today that would suggest an otherworldly presence. There was Patricia being her usual rude self, Laurie Stravinsky complaining at every little thing, Tylor cleaning up every little spill, and mom having a breakdown over the statue. Besides the murder, everything seems rather normal.”

  “Okay, okay,” he nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen table across from his daughter. “But don’t count it out yet.”

  “I’m not,” she confirmed. “Believe me.”

  She took a sip of the coffee, letting the warmth of the delicious bitter beverage run over her tongue.

  “What about before the fair began?” he asked. “Any weird dreams last night? Premonitions?”

  Sitting up in the chair, she swirled the coffee, watching it spin. “As a matter of fact, my friend Belinda had an odd dream last night.”

  “The volunteer librarian?”

  Sonja nodded.

  “I thought you said she didn’t have any natural abilities on her own.”

  “That’s right, but she’s trained herself to be attuned to the spirit world, and uses tarot cards and Ouija boards to communicate with the dead.”

  “But, if she isn’t a natural medium, I’m not sure a nightmare she had would hold any relevance.”

  “Well, get this,” Sonja leaned forward. “She dreamed that her basement was filled with stone death masks of each of the murder victims from Haunted Falls. At the end of the hallway in her dream was an unfinished mask.” She shrugged. “Belinda thought it meant someone else was going to die.”

  “And someone has died,” he confirmed. He scratched his scruffy chin as he mulled this new fact over. “But it could be nothing more than a coincidence.”

  Sonja shook her head. “At first, I thought the same thing. I told Belinda not to worry about, but then another murder did happen.”

  “The only way I see her dream having any real meaning is if someone else planted it in her mind.”

  His daughter’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Someone else? How is that possible?”

  “It could be someone with psychic abilities, planting the vision in her mind.”

  Sonja snapped her fingers “She said she was doing tarot when it happened. Do you think someone or something was coming through the cards?”

  Sam rubbed the stubble on his cheek thoughtfully, since he hadn’t shaved yet that morning. “I worry that maybe she’s playing around too much with things she doesn’t understand.”

  “But Belinda has more knowledge of the occult under her belt than either of us.”

  “But not first-hand experience,” he reminded his daughter. “Think of it this way. Someone could read books on computers until they were blue in the f
ace, but if they never even touched a computer it wouldn’t do them a whole lot of good.”

  “I think I understand,” Sonja nodded, “but she has helped me close rifts into the spirit world, where evil influences were coming through. How could she not recognize it herself if she were inviting something through?”

  Sam shrugged. “Occult practice is very nuanced.”

  “So, you think a ghost spoke to her through the cards? Gave her that vision?”

  “It’s possible,” he took a large sip from his coffee again. “But I’m more worried that it’s someone living that sent that vision.”

  “Someone living? How could that be?”

  Leaning forward, he looked his daughter directly in the eyes, “I think we might have another witch in Haunted Falls.”

  CHAPTER 10

  * * *

  Sonja had dealt with witches before, and it was never a pleasant experience. While she herself had some strange powers, she didn’t have the kind of frightening abilities a witch may have. Witches were people who made vows with the darker elements of the spirit realm in order to gain magical powers—and they only ever used those powers for evil deeds.

  What bothered her the most was the vision itself. If someone sent the dream through to Belinda, what could it mean? Was there some witch behind all the murders that had been happening?

  It seemed unlikely. Each homicide case was different, and each case had a different killer which they had caught.

  Perhaps the witch was just playing games, just trying to scare up some wicked fun for herself. Maybe, just maybe, the witch was somehow drawing power from the murders and was reveling in the fact that there had been so many close together.

  Sonja shivered to even think about it and tried to concentrate on the rest of the day. She climbed into her van and prepared to drive to the police station. Frank had asked her to come on by around two in the afternoon to give her official statement.

  Instead of interviewing each of the women at the community center proper, he had gotten a complete list of attendees and said he would slowly call them in waves to give statements.

  Sonja was glad he did, knowing how taxing it may be to try and do all of them in one swoop. She was also glad to have something to do, something to take her mind off the frightening things her father had inferred about Haunted Falls.

  She’d spent the last part of the morning and into the afternoon sitting in the guest house behind her parent’s home, where she lived, going over the possibilities in her mind. She had even taken the time to go through the facts and news stories listed about all the old homicide cases she worked on—hoping to spark some new information in her mind.

  She had no such luck.

  It also didn’t help that her little cat, Misty, kept standing up on the desk and laying on the keyboard. Misty was a ghost and often enjoyed “sleeping” near Sonja. While the amateur sleuth could technically use the computer while the cat was on it, there was still something a little unnerving about typing through a cat’s body.

  When Frank’s call had come, it had been a welcome excuse to get out of there.

  Pulling the van into the police station parking lot, she turned off the vehicle, got out, and walked up the concrete steps into the building.

  “Good afternoon,” Sonja waved at the purple haired receptionist.

  “Hiya, hon. Frank is just in his office,” she motioned toward the door which stood ajar.

  “Thanks,” she nodded, walking in.

  “Hi, Sonj’,” Frank greeted her, looking up from the pile of pictures and paperwork he had laid out across his desk. “Have a seat.”

  Taking a nearby, she noticed a steaming foam cup sitting on the desk near her.

  “I had Marie pour you a cup of coffee.”

  “Thanks,” Sonja nodded, gladly taking the cup and drinking from it. The police station coffee always tasted kind of sludgy, but it had its own odd charm. “So, any new developments on the Tylor Mason case?”

  “Any new developments?” Frank raised an eyebrow. “What are you, one of my detectives now?”

  “I have been involved in every other case,” she shrugged, “even if I wasn’t an official detective.”

  “You mean you butted your way in,” he laughed, thinking of all the past homicide investigations.

  “Just think of me as a private eye you hired for the case,” she offered somewhat sarcastically. “I’ve heard of some small-town police forces that do that.”

  “Well, that isn’t this police force, and you’re not a private eye,” he noted. “Unless you got a license and didn’t tell me.”

  Sonja laughed quietly, “Nothing of the sort.”

  “Good to hear,” he remarked.

  “So, you’re certain that my Mom’s statue was the murder weapon?” she asked.

  “I can’t be sure of that until I get reports back from the coroner and forensics.”

  “Forensics? You mean Greg in the back room with a fingerprinting kit?”

  Frank shook a pencil at his girlfriend. “Don’t test me. You know we have more than that in the local lab.”

  “I know, I know,” she shrugged. “I was just hoping we could possibly get the statue back.”

  “At this point, it’s unlikely,” he told her truthfully. “If it really was the murder weapon, you probably won’t get it back at all.”

  “Shoot,” Sonja muttered.

  “Why?”

  “I just told my mom I had the statue.”

  “That wasn’t very smart,” Frank noted.

  “I guess not,” Sonja admitted. “When do you think you’ll get any info back about it?”

  “Sometime later this evening,” he informed her. “Hopefully it will shed some light on this case since the idea of sifting through over fifty women witnesses doesn’t sound that exciting.”

  “You don’t want to hear all the town gossip over and over?”

  “Hardly,” he tapped the table with his pencil and pulled a notepad close. “Now, down to business. What time exactly did you find the body?”

  Sonja shrugged, “Probably around nine thirty, right after the girls’ choir finished their performance.”

  “What time did that performance start?”

  “I believe it was scheduled for nine-fifteen?”

  “And when did you see the victim, Tylor Mason, leave the gym?”

  “Just a few minutes before that,” she informed him. “He grabbed the statue and headed into the back.”

  “A few minutes. Do you have a more precise time?”

  “Maybe five to seven minutes. It wasn’t very long. Patricia took a minute or two to yell at me and then ran back to fetch the girls’ choir.”

  “Okay,” he nodded.

  “Do you think the murder took place during the performance?”

  He nodded. “Seems most likely, but I’ll wait until I get an official time of death from the coroner.” He made a few more notes on the paper. “Did you see anyone leave the gym around the same time as the victim?”

  “Well, Patricia did, to get the choir.”

  “Anyone else?”

  Sonja’s mouth went a little dry. “My mom left right before Tylor did. He had broken her statue and she was so upset she ran out of the room.”

  Frank nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “But, of course, you wouldn’t think it was her?” Sonja asserted.

  “I doubt it,” Frank reassured her, “but I need to check every angle, just in case.”

  “But it’s my mom,” she argued.

  Frank glanced up at her from his notepad. “I know that. Like I said, I have to look at every possible outcome.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

  Somehow, that didn’t make Sonja feel better.

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  Climbing back into the van, Sonja headed for the diner. With it being Mother’s Day, there would be many families who were taking their moms out to eat, and The Waffle Diner and Eatery was one o
f the most popular places in town.

  In spite of all the chaos from the day thus far, Sonja still had work to do. Her only regret was not getting to give her mom that special waffle she’d created just for her. She determined to cook it for her when she got home that evening—sort of a last minute Mother’s Day celebration.

  Pulling into the dirt lot behind the diner, Sonja climbed out and grabbed one of the boxes from the morning, carting it inside.

  “Good afternoon,” she announced as she walked in, setting the box on the metal counter.

  “Hiya, Sonj’,” Alison, Sonja’s best friend and business partner, announced from the office where she sat in front of a mountain of paperwork.

  “That looks like a pain,” she nodded toward the stack.

  “Gotta catch up after our extended vacation,” she informed her.

  “How was the morning at your mother-in-law’s house?”

  “Excellent,” Alison replied. “We had a nice breakfast together and everyone gave Alex’s mom presents.”

  “And any presents for this mom?” Sonja teased, pointing at her friend. Ally had one little girl, Cynthia, who was the sweetest little thing.

  “Actually,” she laughed, “Alex did buy me my favorite cooking TV show on DVD.”

  “Oh, he sure knows you,” Sonja laughed. Her best friend had an addiction to reality television—and her preferred shows were always the ones about cooking.

  “How about you?” Ally smiled. “How was the Mother’s Day Fair?”

  “Don’t ask,” Sonja groaned, slipping the apron over her head and beginning to unload the box.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Let’s just say, I’m not quite sure how it could have gone more wrong.”

  “Well, anyway. The important thing is that it’s over now. Just forget about it and move on.”

  Sonja only wished it were that easy.

  Walking back outside, she grabbed the other two boxes, stacked one on the other, and brought them inside. Once everything was unloaded, she pulled an order slip off the turnstile and got cooking.