TABLE OF CONTENTS
MURDEROUS MOCHA WAFFLE
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
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
Murderous
Mocha
Waffle
Book Fourteen
in
The Diner of the Dead Series
By
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books
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MURDEROUS MOCHA
WAFFLE
Book Fourteen in The Diner of the Dead Series
PROLOGUE
* * *
The air felt chilly. Too chilly for being indoors. Belinda Smith realized that perhaps the problem was her choice of outerwear, a thin and silky sleep dress that seemed to flow in an impossible wind.
The main problem was she couldn’t remember putting the thing on. In fact, she couldn’t even remember getting out of bed, let alone walking down the twisting steps into the basement of her own home.
What was going on? How had she gotten down here?
Again, a chilly gust took control of her dress, causing it to flutter softly around her legs.
And where was the wind coming from?
Her old family manor wasn’t exactly air tight—in fact, it was prone to chilly drafts—but this felt like she should be standing in her own garden behind the manor. It was almost as if the wind was coming from outside and directly down into the stone tunnel where she stood.
Noticing that she was holding something in her right hand, she held up the wrought iron lantern which glowed in the darkness. The little glass panes protected the flame inside from being extinguished by the wind, but again, she couldn’t remember even lighting the wick.
She needed to get to the bottom of this, otherwise, she just might go insane.
Walking further down the hallway, she was determined to figure out where the wind was coming from—and possibly how she’d even come to find herself in this particular situation.
The orange glow from the lantern danced off the cobblestone walls, casting eerie shadows which reached farther into the darkness beyond.
One shadow seemed larger than the others, stretching deeper into the black abyss beyond.
Making her way closer to the shadow, she realized there was an oval indentation in the wall. “What is that?” she whispered, walking close to the strange hole. Inside the space on a small pedestal was what appeared to be a stone mask.
In a way, it reminded her of the death masks from medieval history, molds of people’s faces made to preserve their likeness forever. However, she was confused as to why there was one hiding away in the basement beneath her mansion.
Holding the lantern up high to get a better look, she gasped, realizing it was the face of her late step-mother—a woman who had been dead a year now almost to the day.
The main question now was, how did the death mask get there and who had made it?
The light from the lantern danced further down the hallway and Belinda realized there were multiple holes in the wall, just like that first one. Following the row, her heart began to pound within her chest.
Each hole contained another mask, another face, of each and every person who had been murdered in the small town of Haunted Falls, Colorado throughout the previous year. While each of these murders had been solved by Belinda’s good friend—and spirit whispering medium—Sonja Reed, there had been something odd about each death.
Connected to each homicide was an element of the supernatural, a strong force that had only arrived when the murders began, right after Sonja had moved back to Haunted Falls.
Reaching the end of the line, Belinda came to an oval indentation with an incomplete stone mask inside. The features weren’t set, and it was impossible to tell who it was supposed to be.
Belinda knew it was an omen of someone’s coming death, and she instantly felt a deep-rooted sickness in her belly. Something evil was living in Haunted Falls, and it was feeding off the murders of these people.
The real question now, how was this entity connected with Sonja? Why had it arrived with her a year prior?
As she thought this over, she saw something move in the darkness behind her—accompanied by a low scrape of stone against stone. Spinning to face the darkness, and holding up the light to reveal the presence of whatever may be hiding there, she let out a long scream of fear.
Her step-mother’s stone mask floated just there behind her, looming like a harbinger of doom.
“What do you want?” she shouted. “Get away.”
Slowly, the grating sound of more stones moving echoed through the passage over and over again. Each of the death masks came from their resting places and floated in the air toward her.
“No,” she shouted, stumbling back nervously, accidently dropping the lantern. “No! You’re all dead!”
The horde of dead, emotionless faces congregated around her, moving in slowly as the low lantern flame finally snuffed itself out. In the pitch darkness, she let out a shrill scream.
CHAPTER 1
* * *
“Ta-da,” Diane Reed sang, pulling a long white cloth off her latest and most prized creation. “What do you think, sweetie?”
“Oh, Mom,” Sonja sighed happily. “It’s perfect.”
The stone bust which stood in the center of the garage floor was a representation of Sonja�
�s own grandmother. For reference, Sonja’s mother had a picture of the deceased woman sitting nearby.
“It looks just like Grandma,” she praised her mother’s handy work, a mist coming to her eyes.
The garage of the Victorian style home had been converted into a personal art studio years ago when Sonja had been in high school. Unfortunately, the room had been fairly neglected over the recent months until just recently when Sonja’s father had returned home after a several year stint of absence.
Diane finally had her knack and desire for art back, and it was a breath of fresh air in the home.
“It took hours of work.”
“Months,” Sonja corrected her, remembering when her mom had started the project back in February.
“But it was worth it,” she declared.
“Who knew you were so good with a chisel and hammer,” Sonja teased, knowing full well her mother was an expert in stone carving, glass blowing, and other handy mediums of art.
“Do you think she would have enjoyed it?” Diane nodded toward the bust, a fresh wave of mist coming to her eyes. “Would it have been a good Mother’s Day gift?”
“The absolute best,” Sonja informed her. “Grandma would have cherished it always.”
Sonja’s mother nodded, a tear running down her cheek. “I hope she can see it now, wherever she is, and know I did it for her.”
The understanding daughter nodded her head. “She does.”
Both women stood in silence for a moment as they admired the art piece and the many happy family memories it brought forward.
“Well,” Diane whipped the tears from her cheek, “I didn’t know if I’d make it in time, but I think it’ll be just wonderful on display at the fair.
“Speaking of,” Sonja interjected, “we better get a move on. I need to be there early to get all the waffles ready for serving.”
Every year in Haunted Falls, the Women’s Knitting Society of the Rockies—of which Diane was a long-time member—sponsored a Mother’s Day celebration at the local community center. Women from all over town got together to honor their mothers and grandmothers, creating artwork, sewing quilts, baking deserts, and even preparing live songs and performances. Any antique, craft, or recipe that held a memory of the wonderful women in their lives was put on display for everyone to enjoy.
This year Sonja had created a delicious new waffle recipe to honor her own mother, combining two of her mom’s most favorite flavors in the world. She was keeping it a secret until the first waffle was served at the event.
Sonja’s own business, The Waffle Diner and Eatery¸ would be providing brunch for all the ladies, so she needed to be at the community center early to set up.
“So,” Diane gushed, struggling to pick up the heavy bust and carefully laying it in the wooden crate filled with straw for padding, “do you have any special new waffles you’re going to reveal today? I know you love unveiling new recipes at events like this one.”
“No,” Sonja told a white lie, “Just the usual stuff. I hope everyone enjoys it.”
Diane smiled and nodded, putting the lid on the box and driving in the nails to keep it together. “Everyone always does. You know how popular your diner is.”
“Of course,” Sonja smiled.
“Do you want to help me carry this to the car? It’s a bit heavier than I expected.”
Before the daughter could respond, her phone started to ring in her pocket—playing an upbeat little jazz number. “In a second,” she held up one finger, “Let me get this first.”
“Alright, dear.”
Digging into her pocket, Sonja dug out the phone. Glancing at the number, she instantly recognized it as Belinda Smith—the town’s richest woman and one of Sonja’s best friends.
“Hi, Belinda,” Sonja greeted, answering the phone.
“Sonja, I need to talk to you as soon as possible,” she wheezed a little as if she were out of breath from running. “At my place.”
“Well, I can’t right now. I’m heading to the community center to set up for the Mother’s Day Fair.”
“This is important,” she exclaimed. “I think someone else is going to be murdered in Haunted Falls today.”
CHAPTER 2
* * *
“What could possibly be more important than the Mother’s Day Fair?” Diane complained as Sonja drove the catering van out of the circular driveway, the wooden crate tied securely in the back next to all the cooking supplies.
“She said it was important,” Sonja responded, unable to tell her mother the full truth. “Besides, it’ll only take a few minutes and then I’ll head straight back to the community center to set up.”
“How will I carry that huge crate in by myself?”
“I’m sure someone can help,” Sonja nodded. “Maybe Tylor Mason. Doesn’t he work at the center?”
“The mousy janitor?” her mother complained. “I’m not sure he could lift it.”
“He is always willing to help out if he can.”
“Well, if you say so, dear,” she huffed, slumping in her chair slightly. “You think you’d have a little more concern for your own mother on Mother’s Day.” As usual, Diane was milking the situation to get more sympathy from her daughter.
Luckily for her, Sonja almost always gave in. The red-headed caterer loved her mother so much that a little complaining went a long way, and neither mother or daughter minded so much. It was just how their relationship worked.
Of course, Sonja always knew when to draw a line. “I can help you carry the crate in if you want, but I still have to go to Belinda’s house—just for a minute.”
“Oh, all right,” Diane sighed, allowing herself to smile. “If you insist.”
* * *
After dropping her mother off at the community center, and helping her at least get the crate inside the doorway, Sonja made haste for Belinda’s mansion at the highest point of Haunted Falls.
The road to the manor wound back and forth up a steep incline, one she had driven many times, toward the front gate which stood open that morning.
Parking the van in the long driveway and getting out, she spotted Belinda running from the large front doorway toward her. “Sonja,” she shouted. “You came.”
“Of course, I came,” she responded. “You said another murder might occur in Haunted Falls. That’s a pretty serious assumption.” Closing the door on the van, she walked up to her friend. “Now what is this all about?”
“Come with me,” Belinda insisted, grabbing Sonja’s hand and pulling her along into the house.
To the normal person, this kind of exchange might be strange or frightening, but to Sonja, this was basic day-to-day life. A year prior she had moved to Haunted Falls, and it was then that she had learned about her ability to speak to the dead.
To put it quite simply, she was a natural born medium. The power ran in her family, coming down from her father’s side.
Having the power to speak to ghosts also meant dealing with real-life horrors as well. Constantly, supernatural elements would converge upon Sonja, seeking help in finding peace in the afterlife—which generally involved solving some crime—usually murder.
Additionally, the supernatural power of spirit speaking had a tendency to draw people with anger and grudges out of the woodwork. Paranormal ability attracted murders, even if they themselves weren’t aware of it.
Belinda Smith was one of a handful of people in Haunted Falls who knew about Sonja’s uncanny skill. While the rich woman didn’t have much natural born capabilities of her own, she had spent most of her life reading books on the occult and teaching herself the skills of spirit communication.
She had learned how to sense a ghost’s presence through the intricate feelings of her body but required helpful items—such as Ouija boards, pendulums, and ritual knives called athames—to aid in actually speaking to the dead.
Between her plethora of knowledge and Sonja’s inherent abilities, the two women worked together to uncover the hidden
occult secrets of the small mountain community.
Following Belinda into the mansion, or more accurately being dragged along, Sonja quickly found herself following the twisting stairwell into the basement—one place she’d never been in.
“What’s down here?” she asked as her eyes began adjusting to the low light.
“You’ll see,” Belinda insisted.
Upon coming to the bottom of the steps, the women found themselves in a long stone hallway.
“Right over there.” Belinda pointed toward the far wall.
Walking over to where her friend had indicated, Sonja looked for any sign of something out of the ordinary. However, despite her thorough search of the space, she saw nothing strange. “What am I looking for?”
“What are you looking for? The stone masks.”
“Stone masks?” Sonja shrugged, seeing nothing but a blank and empty wall.
“Of course,” Belinda blurted, stepping forward. As she did, her face dropped in shock.
“Well?”
“T-They were here just last night. I saw them.”
“Saw them? Saw what?” Sonja was hoping that she hadn’t come all the way up here for no reason, especially when she’d insisted to her mother that it was important. She wasn’t going to discount the trip to the mansion just yet. After all, she’d experienced many strange and frightening things when it came to the supernatural, things she couldn’t explain to other people.
Before she took off back to the community center, Sonja was going to at least hear her friend out.
“There were death masks carved into the wall last night,” Belinda informed her. “They were right here.”
“Maybe it was just a vision,” Sonja offered, “or a dream?” She herself had frequent nightmares and vision about horrible events that may come to pass. Dreams were just one way the spirits of the dead used to communicate with the living.
Murderous Mocha Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 14) Page 1