“Yeah,” Belinda whispered. “Lucky.”
“But it was worth it. We’re closer to figuring out who really killed Tylor Mason.”
“But how much closer are we to figuring out who made that mask?”
Sonja shrugged. “I’m not sure about that. Maybe it doesn’t matter. They helped us figure a few things out.”
“Doesn’t matter?” Belinda exclaimed. “That’s black magic. I don’t think it’s our friendly neighborhood occultist behind it all.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Sonja nodded, “but let’s concentrate on one thing at a time. For now, I’m more worried about catching the murderer and clearing my mom’s name.”
“I guess.”
“And I have a lead. I need to talk to Charles over at the pool hall.”
“And Patricia,” Belinda reminded her. “She was in that picture, too, remember.”
“I remember.”
Belinda opened her door. “Well, I better get going. It’s already ten. I’m going to keep researching the masks.” She looked her friend over as if examining her. “I have a hunch, but I have to verify it first.”
“What hunch?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she responded. “Good night.” With that, she shut the door.
Sonja couldn’t help but wonder what Belinda’s hunch was.
CHAPTER 17
* * *
The next day was Sonja’s day off. Despite having left both the Mother’s Day Fair and the diner’s dinner rush early, Ally had insisted that Sonja still take it as a personal day. After all, her mother was in jail.
The first thing the amateur sleuth did upon leaving her house that morning was hop in the van and drive over to the Macamery Pool Hall. The old squat of a building was near the edge of town and looked more run down than ever in the morning sunlight. The metal siding looked as if it might just slump off in places and return to the earth.
Sonja knew that the place was likely all locked up since they didn’t technically open until four, but she couldn’t stand just waiting around. She hoped that the owner, Charles Flannery, would be in. He was a puppy-dog of a man and hardly the type you’d expect to be running a seedy bar and night hangout. However, he was also a big man and had the strength to throw out just about any person with his bare hands.
Parking in the small roadside parking lot, which only had the capacity to hold seven or so cars, Sonja got out and walked up to the wooden front door. There were no windows on the building to speak of and no way for her to peek in and see if Charles was bustling around.
She knocked hard.
At first, there was no response, just the quiet whistle of the mountain wind coming down the road. Sonja was about to knock a second time when the door opened and Charles’ smiling face appeared.
“Oh,” he exclaimed. “Bless my soul, I thought it would be the mailman with a package.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Sonja shrugged, smiling sheepishly.
“What in tarnation are you doing all the way out here so early in the morning?” He put up a hand to stop her from answering right away. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you. Just surprised is all.”
“Of course,” she laughed quietly. “I was actually wondering if you could help me find some answers.”
“Answers? Well, I’m willing to help if I can,” he chuckled. “Come on in.” Stepping aside, he motioned her into the dark bar.
The room smelled squeaky clean, and Sonja noticed the used mop and bucket in the corner.
“I’m just doing a bit of spring cleaning,” he admitted, walking behind the bar and continuing to wipe it down with the lemon scented cloth laying there. “Can I get you anything? Pretzels, peanuts, a beer?”
“As amazing as a beer sounds, I better not.”
“It is a little early,” he agreed. Dropping the cloth into the mop bucket, he looked up and smiled. “All right. You have my full attention.”
“I was wondering if you knew anything about Tylor Mason.”
Charles raised one eyebrow knowingly. “I had a feeling this was something to do with Tylor’s death.”
Sonja nodded. “Right now, my mom is in custody for the murder, but I know she didn’t do it.”
“I’d have to agree with you there. Diane hardly seems the type.” He reached under the bar and pulled out a bag of pretzels, ripped it open, and took out a handful to eat. “What did you want to know exactly?”
“Well, I was in Tylor’s office and noticed a framed picture on his desk. It was some sort of pool club.”
“Ah, yes. The Haunted Falls Pool Club.” He popped one of the pretzels in his mouth and chewed. “I remember when that was a thing. It ended some years ago, I believe.”
“The picture was fairly old, from the seventies I believe.”
“Tylor was mad for pool. Pretzel?” He offered, holding out his hand.
“No thanks.”
“He loved it.” Charles ate another pretzel and looked across the room at the pool table, almost as if seeing into the past. “He was one of the best in the club, a real hustler.”
“He hustled pool?”
“With the best of them. Some unknowing fool would come through town and stop here for a drink. Next thing you know Tylor is challenging the guy to a game of pool. He’d wipe a tidy sum from him; it was how he made his living.”
“What about Patricia Hoover,” Sonja pressed, wanting to get to the juicier details. “She was in the picture, too, and looked a little more than friendly with Tylor.”
Standing up straight, Charles had a look of amusement come over him. “That’s right, they used to be an item.”
Sonja shook her head. “It’s true? I can’t believe it.”
“Yep, but nothing means nothing to that woman—except money. Tylor was hot stuff back then. She liked him because he was a hotshot and always had the dough rolling in.”
“I have a hard time imagining Tylor as a hotshot.”
“Well, he never bragged or anything. He was pretty quiet, but he never shied away from just taking someone’s money—pulling the rug out from under them, sort of.” He reached in the bag and pulled out another handful of pretzels. “These really hit the spot, sometimes.”
“What happened? Why did he quit playing pool?”
Charles shrugged. “He lost his touch, I guess. Out of nowhere he started losing games—and losing lots of money. Pretty soon he was broke and Patricia wasn’t interested anymore.”
“That’s horrible,” Sonja muttered.
“But recently he’s been coming back in to play some games,” he nodded toward the table again. “Most of them weren’t for money, but it was good to see him back on the wagon.”
She suddenly had a thought. “You said most of them weren’t for money but did he play bets on a few of them?”
Charles rubbed the tattoo of a rose on his hefty bicep as he thought. “As a matter of fact, he did. I think he won a tidy sum the other night. He seemed like he was really in a good mood, like he’d gotten his spark back.”
Sonja mulled over all of these new facts in her mind. “Do you think Patricia would be interested in him again, or in his money?”
“Probably not, but you never know with that woman. For her, it could be a territory dominance thing.”
“Do you think she’d be jealous?”
“Of his money? No. However, if he was sharing that money with someone else—say, a girl—she’d be furious.”
“But she broke it off with Tylor years ago, didn’t she?”
He shrugged “she’s just that kind of woman. She probably feels like she owns him, even after all this time.”
CHAPTER 18
* * *
As Sonja drove away from the pool hall and back toward town, she wondered if Patricia would be willing to murder Tylor over that “tidy sum” of money. Maybe it was all about jealousy and territory like Charles had said.
“I need a cup of coffee,” she muttered, pulling into the parking lot
of the local Beanery Café. She didn’t often indulge in a dressed-up specialty cup of joe, especially since it cost the same amount as a full meal most of the time, but some days it just hit the spot.
This morning, as she was fretting over this murder case and over freeing her mother, she needed it more than ever.
Walking into the little café she was instantly greeted by the mixed scents of freshly ground and brewed coffee and fresh out of the oven baked goods.
Walking up to the counter, she perused the menu of drink options as well as the glass case with all the delicious looking goodies. The girl behind the counter had her back to Sonja and seemed busy grinding beans. “Excuse me,” she called above the sound of the machine.
Shutting off the coffee grinder, the girl turned around.
“Laurie,” Sonja exclaimed.
“Oh, hi, Sonja,” the blonde-haired beauty beamed.
“I didn’t know you worked here.”
She nodded. “Yep, started a few weeks ago. Money’s been a little tight for me and my dad recently, and directing the girls’ choir just wasn’t bringing in that much money.” She shrugged. “It was only a part time job, after all.”
“That makes sense,” Sonja agreed. She remembered that Laurie had been living with her father, who was an invalid. While she herself technically lived in her parent’s backyard, she had a hard time imagining having to care for either one of them. They were both so spry and healthy still.
“Anyway, what can I get for you this morning?”
“I think I’ll have the White Chocolate Delight and a Chocolate Chip Swirl Muffin.”
“Coming right up,” Laurie announced.
Now Sonja felt a little bad for judging Laurie so harshly the day before. She supposed that if she was taking care of one of her parents and struggling to make money, she would find things to complain about as well.
“So, what are you up to today?” Laurie asked, opening the lid on a steaming pot of warm melted white chocolate and pouring a scoop into the cup. “Investigating Tylor’s murder?”
“Why would I do that?” Sonja asked, trying to skirt the question. She didn’t like the fact that it was getting around town about her amateur sleuthing.
“Come on,” Laurie smiled, tilting her head to one side and adding a squirt of crème to the cup. “Everyone knows you’re the unofficial homicide detective around here. I doubt that boyfriend of yours could solve a single case without you.”
“I resent that,” Sonja shot back. “Frank does very well at his job.”
Laurie shrugged. “Sorry, just saying it how I see it.” The tall gold percolator dinged and she opened the tap to let the rich dark liquid come pouring out into the cup.
“Actually,” she mentioned, wondering if Laurie might be able to help her with the investigation a little. “Do you know where I might find Patricia today?”
The barista smiled sideways mischievously. “Is she a suspect in the case?”
“Not really,” Sonja lied, “but she might be able to help me with some of the details of yesterday’s events.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” Laurie smiled. “Here she comes now.”
Spinning around, Sonja was surprised to see Patricia walking toward the café from across the street.
“She stops for a cup every morning.”
The door dinged as she stepped in. Without a single beat to recognize either woman with a greeting, she walked up to the counter. “My usual, please.”
“Coming up,” Laurie announced, still working on Sonja’s order. Giving the cup a stir, she put on a lid and handed to her.
“Thanks.”
“And here is your muffin,” she handed the large breakfast treat across the counter.
“Looks delicious,” Sonja commented, smelling the sweetness of the baked good.
“My order, please,” Patricia insisted impatiently. “I don’t have all day.”
“Just a minute,” Laurie nodded, turning to work on the coffee.
Patricia openly rolled her eyes and sighed.
Once she had her coffee in hand, she paid Laurie and turned to walk right out the door.
Sonja had been sitting nearby sipping her coffee, and it was delicious, and waiting to get her chance to talk to the rude women.
Waving a quick goodbye to Laurie, Sonja darted out the door. “Patricia,” she called.
Glancing behind herself with a hint of surprise in her eyes, Patricia glared. “What do you want?”
“I was wondering if I could ask you about yesterday.”
“Acting as the sheriff’s puppy dog again?” she remarked. “No thanks.”
Sonja held back her anger and told herself to not let it get to her. That would be exactly what Patricia wanted.
“I know about you and Tylor,” she insisted, continuing to follow her, hoping this comment would spur her into talking.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear,” she replied flatly.
“Back when he was winning money every night?” Sonja shot at her. “But you dropped him like a hot rock when he lost his touch.”
Turning around with a look of utter hate in her eyes, Patricia pointed at Sonja. “That was a long time ago.” A sick smile spread across her face as she began to remember. “He was a fool. He used that money and bought me whatever I wanted.” She shrugged, sipping her coffee defiantly. “But, like I said, that was a long time ago.”
“Were you aware he came into some money recently?”
“I doubt that, dear. He was a bum.”
“Well he did have money, and I thought maybe you knew about it.”
“Nope. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
The dog reference caused another rush of anger through Sonja. “Are you sure you didn’t want him or his money back?”
The woman’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I sincerely hope you aren’t inferring what I think you’re inferring.”
“If the shoe fits,” Sonja retorted, instantly regretting the words as they left her mouth.
“How dare you accuse me,” she snapped. “Why would I have any interest in a measly janitor?”
“It’s a simple question,” Sonja defended herself, realizing this discussion was going downhill fast.
Patricia’s upper lip curled menacingly. “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this. I’m a respected woman in this community.”
More like feared, Sonja thought, holding her own anger at bay.
“I’m the president of the local chapter of the Knitting Society. I’ve given more money to the local puppy and kitten fund than any other person. I attend every town meeting”
Sonja tried not to roll her eyes. “You did leave the gym right after Tylor did and didn’t come back until after the choir finished singing.”
“Why you insolent little brat,” she barked. “If I find out you’ve been going around saying this to anyone else, I will tear you down bit by bit, and that mother of yours too.” She straightened up proudly. “Don’t mess with me.”
Turning, Patricia got into her car and drove off.
Sonja knew she’d made an enemy that day.
* * *
Sonja was at a dead end. She didn’t get anything out of Patricia and had little else to go on. She had no way of proving someone else committed the murder. Sighing, she went over all the facts again in her mind, trying to figure out who would be angry enough, desperate enough, to murder Tylor. More importantly, she needed a way to prove it.
Driving down Lakeside Road, she looked out over the glistening mountain water.
Whoever killed Tylor was desperate enough that they took the safe. They obviously didn’t know the combination, otherwise, they wouldn’t have needed to take the whole safe with them.
But the real question was, how did they get it open, and after they got it open, what did they do with the safe? She supposed someone could have blown it open. Would someone nearby have heard the explosion? Was the killer smart enough to go out to a secluded spot to
blow it open?
Sighing, she shook her head. She was just wildly speculating at this point—grasping at straws.
“If only I knew where that safe was,” Sonja muttered.
Suddenly, there was a strange wave from the middle of the lake and an unknown object bobbed to the top of the water.
Slowing her car to a stop along the side of the road, she watched in awe as it floated across the lake’s surface toward her, almost as if it had a mind of its own. Finally, it came rest on the muddy bank.
Stepping out of the van, Sonja took a few steps closer and gasped.
It was a safe.
CHAPTER 19
* * *
“I just don’t understand how it could have floated to the top of the water,” Frank admitted, looking over the wet muddy piece of evidence sitting at the side of the water. “It’s solid metal. It should have sunk to the bottom and stayed there.”
Sonja shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I saw.” The supernaturally sensitive woman was sure something paranormal was involved, and she didn’t have another explanation to give Frank. “Do you think it’s the same one that was missing from Tylor’s office?”
The sheriff looked closely at the metal. “It’s possible.” Glancing up at her he raised one eyebrow. “I’m still not sure how you know about the missing safe in the first place.”
Sonja shrugged sheepishly. “Good guess?”
“You know?” Frank held up one finger knowingly. “The security guard down at the community center mentioned some strange things to me about last night.”
“Oh?” Sonja asked, playing innocent.
“Yes. He said that he thinks some teenagers snuck in after-hours, like we used to do when we were kids. He said a clock almost fell on him.”
“That is odd,” Sonja agreed, thinking about the clock and how it had miraculously fallen on a pile of curtains.
“Yes, yes,” Frank nodded. “Somehow I feel like it wasn’t teenagers at all.”
Murderous Mocha Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 14) Page 7