Table of Contents
BUCKAROO WAFFLE 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
Buckaroo
Waffle
Murder
A Wicked Waffle Paranormal Cozy
Book 5
By
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2018 Summer Prescott Books
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BUCKAROO WAFFLE
MURDER
A Wicked Waffle Paranormal Cozy
Book 5
PROLOGUE
* * *
The fresh January air was chilly that morning. A glistening layer of ice covered the landscape. Each branch of the usually green aspen trees glittered like a light show, waving to the passersby on the winding roads far below. The sky was a slate of muted blue, not a single cloud staring back from the bleak heavens.
Vaughn Potter stood on the wooden porch of the Last Chance Museum and Train Station, bundled up in five layers of clothes. Long winter underwear was topped with plaid pajamas, a heavy sweater, a red wool robe, and a brown leather coat. In his gloved hands, he held a blue speckled tin cup that steamed with fresh black coffee.
There was a pinch in his cheeks and on his nose which urged him to step back inside the warmth of his personal apartment attached to the museum—but he refused to move.
The sun was just coming up over the horizon, sending waves of orange and yellow light like streamers through the frosted trees. In his humble opinion, there was nothing better than a chilly winter morning in the Colorado Rockies.
Taking a deep breath, he let the below-freezing air invigorate his lungs, then let it out in a magnificent pillar of steam—not unlike the very train that sat about ten yards away.
Lifting the hot cup to his lips, he sipped the dark liquid. It warmed his body against the elements all while giving him a fresh boost of energy.
The low vibration of an engine in the distance, accompanied by the crunch of tires over fresh snow, caught his attention. Walking down the steps from the porch and out from under the awning, a breeze caught him that took his breath away.
The white and blue mail truck appeared, with elevated and chained wheels, trudging its way toward the front door of the museum. Parking, the driver side door slid open, revealing a striking woman inside. “Morning, Vaughn,” she greeted.
“Hiya, Mary,” he replied, lifting his mug toward her. “Care for a break and a cup of coffee?”
Sliding out of the seat, she walked around to the back of the trunk. “‘Fraid I can’t, Vaughn. Got a whole bunch more packages to deliver.”
“I thought you’d get a break now that the holidays are over.”
She shook her head. “Not very likely. Not until the end of Valentines. Besides, everyone is busy spending their Christmas gift cards and money.”
“Sounds like hard work,” he consoled her.
“Well, it keeps me good and busy,” she said, opening the back doors. “Speaking of packages, I’ve got quite the delivery for you.”
Vaughn had been expecting this for a few weeks now. “Let me give you a hand.” Eagerly rushing back to set his mug on the wooden porch railing, he darted to the back of the truck where the mail woman was.
“I appreciate it because this thing is a mammoth,” she grunted, grabbing onto one of the rope handles of a large wooden crate.
“Don’t I know it.” Vaughn smirked, grabbing the other side and helping her to drag it down onto the snowy ground. “Let’s just get it into the lobby.”
“Got it.” Counting to three, they both lifted the hefty delivery and walked toward the museum, hobbling up the stairs, and finally pushing through the swinging double doors inside. The crate hit the floor like a ton of bricks, creating a boom that echoed throughout the whole building.
“There we go,” Vaughn said, catching his breath.
“What the devil is in this thing, anyway?” she pressed, leaning on the box for a moment as her lungs burned.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I won it at an estate auction and am hoping there are a few good antiques for the museum inside.”
“More old west stuff?”
“That’s what this museum is, isn’t it?” he laughed, motioning to all the rugged wares hanging on the walls and sitting behind glass.
“I guess so. Just thought I’d ask.” Finally catching her second wind, she stood up straight. “Hope you got a few good treasures in there.”
“Me too. You just never know with these blind auction items. Sometimes you’ll get some true family heirlooms, other times it’s a heap of junk.”
“Well, I better get moving before I freeze.” Pulling the ear flaps on her hat tight over her face, she headed for the door.
“Thanks for the help.”
“No problem.”
“You sure you don’t want to stop for a cup of coffee before you go back out? It’s bitter out there.”
“I really have a lot of deliveries to get done.”
“You could help me open this crate,” he offered, laying both gloved hands on top of the box. “Aren’t you interested to see what’s inside?”
Twisting her petite lips to one side, she couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Okay, Vaughn. You got me. But just one cup of coffee, got it?”
“As you wish, my lady,” he joked, heading off through the side door, through the museum office, and into the apartment where he poured from the tin pot sitting on top of the wood burning stove. On his way back, he grabbed a crowbar off a hook on the wall. “Here you go,” he offered, holding out a r
ed speckled cup as he reentered the room.
“Thanks.” Taking the cup, she sipped the steaming liquid and sighed comfortably, honestly grateful for the momentary break from her route through the snowy rural mountains.
“Okay, let’s pop this thing open and see what’s inside.” Jamming the crowbar under the lid, he pried upward. The long nails squeaked in protest as he unhinged the wooden top and set it aside.
A pile of packing straw stared back at him. “Let’s see,” he whispered, digging into the hay like strands and tossing them on top of the lid.
Curiosity setting in full force, Mary stepped up close to peer inside. “Looks like an old trunk.”
“Yeah, but it’s what’s inside the trunk that’s the real mystery,” he replied, shuffling the last of the straw aside. Twisting the old metal latch with a loud click, he lifted the lid.
A puff of dust erupted from the trunk, causing the two onlookers to cough and wave away the plume.
“Man, when was the last time this was opened?” Mary joked, laughing through another cough.
“A long time, I can tell you that,” he said.
A sudden chill ran through the room. Mary turned to see if the door had blown open, letting the cold breeze in. However, the door was firmly shut. “Is there a window open in here?”
“Are you kidding? It’s freezing outside, and a lot of this stuff is fragile.”
Deciding it was nothing, she leaned over to have a look in the chest. “Well, what’s in it?” she begged.
“Oh, man. Look at this,” he gasped, reaching down and lifting something from inside with a reverent touch.
“A gun?” she cocked one eyebrow as she glanced at the dust-ridden revolver in his hand.
“It’s a Colt Paterson, one of the earliest revolving firearms.”
That didn’t mean much to Mary. Honestly, it looked like any other gun to her. “Is it worth much, or something?”
“It could be. It also just might be a replica.”
“And if it isn’t a replica?”
He shrugged. “At least a few thousand dollars.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow. That’s amazing.” Leaning down again, she grabbed a piece of worn and yellowed looking paper from the box. “What’s this?”
“Let me see,” he offered, taking it off her hands. Unfolding it with only the tips of his fingers, his brow furrowed as he looked over the contents.
“Well?”
“It looks like . . . a map to a mine,” he whispered, thinking more to himself than anything else.
She gave a little shrug. “Nothing so interesting there.”
“Maybe, maybe not. The note here at the bottom claims that there may be hundreds of thousands worth of gold stored inside.”
“Ooh, exciting,” she teased, drinking from her cup again and then setting it down on the edge of the crate. “Anyway, I really better get going. It’s been real.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe.”
“Maybe,” she said with a smirk, shaking her head at the man who seemed so enraptured with a little piece of paper. It was all probably fake, she decided. Nothing that good could ever turn out to be true. “See ya,” she waved heading out the door.
As she disappeared out the front door, Vaughn continued his examination, realizing just how similar some of the landmarks on the map were to the land surrounding the museum.
CHAPTER 1
* * *
“So, any big plans for your birthday this year?” Alison asked as she took a seat in the corner booth across from her best friend.
Sonja looked up from the bridal magazine she had open in front of her, a picture of a blonde model in a powder blue wedding dress staring up from the page. “Not really, no. I’ve been a little bit preoccupied with other things,” she noted, picking up her cup of coffee and sipping it.
Ally pushed a plate, piled three high with waffles, toward her friend. A fresh pat of butter had just begun to melt into the crisp square indentations. “I know you haven’t eaten.” She spoke like a mother confronting her daughter and set down a glass pour jar, filled to the top with their specialty blackberry maple syrup. It was made from real syrup imported from Vermont. Fresh blackberries flame cooked with the tiniest dash of bourbon were the secret to the delicate aroma and enticing flavor.
Ally knew all too well that it was her friend’s favorite.
“You’re a saint,” Sonja smiled, grabbing a fork and shoving the magazine aside to welcome the hot breakfast dish.
The morning rush at The Waffle Diner and Eatery was already over, allowing the women to take a much-needed breather from the many hungry citizens of Haunted Falls, Colorado.
Unlike Winter Park of Aspen, there wasn’t any skiing nearby to entice cold weather vacationers. However, despite it being the middle of January, and nowhere near the regular summer tourist season, they were still constantly swamped with customers.
Even with all of that going on, Sonja was still preoccupied with her most recent “studies.”
“Have you guys even set a date for the wedding?”
Sonja let the corner of her mouth twitch up into a half smile. “Not really, no.”
“Why not? I’d think you and Frank would be chomping at the bit to tie the knot.”
Shaking her head, Sonja used the side of her fork to cut into the waffles. “I guess I’m not thinking that far ahead. Besides, what’s the sense in rushing things? We know we love each other, and we’re comfortable.”
Leaning down onto the table and gripping her own mug of coffee on both sides, Alison licked her lips. “I know I would be chomping at the bit to get married if I were you.”
Sonja bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too wide. “Well, I’m content to wait,” she admitted. She knew the reason that her friend would be so eager in the same situation but had no intention of teasing Ally about it. As for herself, Sonja was content to put off that awkward and nervous wedding night for as long as possible.
She had no intention of discussing the matter with her best friend, either.
“But you’re looking at dresses, aren’t you?” she motioned at the magazine.
“A girl can look and dream without making a commitment, can’t she?”
Ally raised an eyebrow. “But you’ve already committed.”
Sonja rolled her eyes. “To a dress. I don’t have to commit to a dress until later,” she corrected her friend. “I’m fully committed to Frank and have no intention of calling things off if that’s what you’re so worried about.”
Ally set down her cup and clasped her hands. “I suppose, but I just don’t want you to end up doing anything you regret.”
Sonja narrowed her gaze at Alison, letting her eyelids droop in an unamused manner. “Don’t you go on worrying about that either. Frank and I have been nothing but chaste, not that it’s any of your business.”
“I’m just looking out for you,” Alison noted, sounding more like Sonja’s parents than her friend.
“Thanks a million for the support, Diane,” she jabbed, using her own mother’s name.
“Since when do you call your mom by her first name?” she asked, raising one eyebrow.
“I don’t,” Sonja sighed, realizing Ally didn’t get the point. “The point is, you don’t need to worry about me, Frank, or about our marriage.”
“Of course, I do. I’m the maid of honor, aren’t I?”
Sonja bit her bottom lip. While it was true that she’d been looking at dresses (a girl had to dream), she wasn’t even sure that she and Frank wanted to have a traditional wedding. Something small and quiet was more along the lines of what they were looking for.
How could she tell her best friend that, though?
Heck, it seemed like she was more excited about this wedding than Sonja was. “Of course, you are, but I’ll let you know when to start worrying,” Sonja assured her, wanting this to be the end of the discussion. She made a mental note not to be caught reading any more bridal magazines in public
.
“Well, I thought you’d at least have your birthday figured out by now,” Ally said, taking the hint to change the topic.
“Nope. No plans as of yet.”
Folding her arms and leaning back in the booth, Alison glanced toward the door and back at Sonja. “Frank hasn’t planned anything for you?”
“No. Is he supposed to?” she asked. A couple years back he had taken her to a cabin for the weekend, but a murder—and a very frightening ghost—had made it a little more stressful than first expected.
The previous year, Frank had been required to attend a police training in Denver, and Sonja had been happy to just have a quiet birthday at home.
She would be happy with a simple dinner and a movie.
“He’s your fiancé now, and I’d hope he’d have something nice in mind.”
Giving a slight shrug, she could only smile. “Honestly, with how crazy things have been the past few months, I’m more than happy to have another quiet birthday.”
Alison’s jaw dropped wide open. “I’d kill Alex if he didn’t do something nice for my birthday.”
Ally’s husband was a fairly shy man, but a pure romantic. It was a perfect match for Alison. Sonja, on the other hand, was okay with something simpler. “I’m sure Frank has something in mind, but it’s probably just a little gift or a nice dinner. That’s good enough for me.”
“So, you don’t want him to do anything big for you?”
Letting out a little laugh as she thought of her fiancé, Sonja knew he was just right for her. “As far as I know, he hasn’t planned anything too tremendous. I couldn’t be more than happy about that.”
* * *
“I have a big, big birthday surprise for you,” Frank exclaimed as he stood outside the door of Sonja’s cottage home later that evening.
They’d agreed to spend a night in together with some snacks and movie that evening. Sonja had cued up Snowed Under, an old nineteen thirties comedy film on the classic movie channel’s website. She also had a bowl of chocolate and peppermint coated popcorn and pretzels she’d made using white melted chocolate and ground up candy canes left over from the holidays. She also had set out some blue corn chips and hot salsa (from her favorite hot sauce brand, The Spicy Senorita).
BUCKAROO WAFFLE MURDER (The Wicked Waffle Series Book 5) Page 1