by Sarah Fox
I wondered if Wally knew about the tires. I wasn’t keen on the idea of hanging out in a poorly lit alley at night, but I decided it would be the neighborly thing to do to let Wally know about the vandalism, in case he wasn’t already aware of it. Who was responsible, I had no idea. But Wally didn’t seem to have too many fans around town, so the list of potential suspects would likely be a lengthy one. I glanced around the alley, but didn’t spot any security cameras.
Not wanting to linger any longer than I had to, I knocked on the back door of the restaurant and waited for a response. When I didn’t get one, I tried to open the door but found it locked. I left the alley for the sidewalk, hesitating once in sight of my car. While tempted to give up on trying to get in touch with Wally, I ended up in a wrestling match with my conscience. My conscience won within seconds.
After stashing my purchases in the back of my hatchback, I made my way along the street and around the corner. At the front of the waffle house, bright light poured out through the windows. I peered through the glass, but the front of the small restaurant was deserted. I knocked on the door, and tested it to see if it was locked.
It wasn’t.
I stepped inside, grateful to escape the cold air, even if it did mean wandering into the Waffle King’s territory.
“Wally?” I called out. “Vicky? Anyone here?”
I thought I heard a scuffling sound coming from somewhere in the back, so I headed in that direction. Along the way, I paused and took in the sight of Wally’s domain. The dining area was half the size of The Flip Side’s and had booths running along one wall with a handful of tables scattered around the rest of the space. The decor was on the gaudy side, with lots of gold, including light fixtures made to look like crowns. The wall above the row of booths featured a painted mural with a cartoonish Wally standing outside a castle, wearing a crown and fur-lined purple cape. He was surrounded by what I guessed were supposed to be his adoring subjects—waffles with faces, arms, and legs.
One thing was for sure: Wally certainly hadn’t held back on the kingdom theme.
I shook my head and made my way around the counter so I could get to the door leading to the back of the building. The door stood open, and I’d almost reached it when a shadow shifted and a large figure stepped into the doorway.
I stifled a yelp of surprise and clapped a hand over my heart as it thumped away in my chest.
“Ivan?” I said, shocked to see my chef standing before me. “I didn’t think you’d show up for the tour.”
“I didn’t,” he said in his gruff way. “I came by to tell Wally that someone slashed his tires.”
“That’s why I’m here too.” I glanced past him but couldn’t see anything other than the bright lights of the kitchen. “Does he know who might have done it?”
“He doesn’t know anything now.” Ivan put his hands on my shoulders, turning me around and guiding me toward the counter.
“What do you mean?”
“I need to call the police.”
“Wally’s not going to do that?”
“He can’t.” Ivan glanced at my tote bag. “Do you have a phone? I left mine at home.”
I retrieved the device from my bag and woke it up before handing it to him. “Why can’t Wally call the police?” I asked, a strange feeling settling over me.
Aside from the sound of our conversation, the waffle house was completely silent.
“Because,” Ivan said as he tapped at my phone, “he’s dead.”
Chapter 5
My first reaction was to stare at Ivan, speechless. My second reaction was to step toward the open door.
“Don’t go back there,” Ivan said, bringing me to a halt.
He turned away as he spoke to the emergency dispatcher. I stood there with a heightened awareness of the thudding beat of my heart.
Wally was dead? How?
I knew I should heed Ivan’s advice, but almost without conscious thought I stepped into the back hallway so I could see into the kitchen.
At first I didn’t notice anything amiss. The stainless steel counter in the middle of the room was spotlessly clean and clear of equipment. When I leaned forward so I could see farther, however, the scene changed. A large stainless steel bowl lay upside down on the floor, a white substance that looked like cream or milk splattered across the cupboard doors and forming a puddle near the overturned bowl. A canister of some sort lay on its side in the middle of the mess, but what really caught my eye was the foot sticking out from behind the central counter.
Part of me wanted to turn and run the opposite way, to wait with Ivan while he spoke with the emergency dispatcher, but somehow I found myself taking two more steps so I stood in the kitchen doorway.
I gasped at the sight before me.
Wally lay on his back, a thick rubber glove covering his left hand and forearm. A matching glove was on the floor nearby. Up until that moment, I’d assumed Wally had died of natural causes. A heart attack, maybe, despite the fact that he was no older than forty. But now that I’d had a glimpse of his body, I knew that wasn’t the case.
His face was yellow and waxy, nothing natural about it. As I stared at him, I could feel myself growing queasy.
“Marley!” Ivan’s voice boomed from behind me.
I hurried away from the kitchen, eager to escape now. Ivan still had my phone in his hand, but he held it away from his ear.
“You need to stay out of the kitchen. And don’t touch anything.”
Unable to speak, I nodded and wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I could erase the hideous sight of Wally’s grotesque face from my memory. His wasn’t the first dead body I’d seen, but it was the most ghastly. What had happened to him?
Ivan spoke into the phone again and then ended the call. We stood there, silent and hardly moving, until a siren sounded in the distance, growing louder before cutting off. Seconds later, a sheriff’s department cruiser pulled up to the curb outside the restaurant, its lights flashing.
Deputies Kyle Rutowski and Eva Mendoza entered the waffle house, their faces serious. I’d met both deputies before, thanks to my unfortunate habit of finding dead bodies.
“We received a report of a death,” Mendoza said, her gaze pausing on me before shifting to Ivan.
“In the kitchen,” Ivan said, indicating the door behind him.
I stepped aside to make room for the deputies to pass.
“Are you okay?” Ivan asked me, his voice as gruff as ever but a hint of concern in his dark eyes.
“Yes.” I rubbed my arms. “What happened to him? His face…” I shuddered at the memory.
Ivan rested a large hand on my shoulder. “Liquid nitrogen.”
I absorbed those words. “Cryogenic burns?”
Ivan nodded. “It’s dangerous if not handled properly.” He returned my phone to me.
“But doesn’t it evaporate quickly?” I asked, tucking the phone into my bag.
He nodded again but said nothing more.
I recalled the large bowl upended on the floor. Had Wally poured the liquid nitrogen into it and accidentally flipped the bowl in a way that sent the contents splashing up into his face?
No matter how it had happened, it must have been a terrible way to die.
“Vicky,” I said, suddenly thinking of Wally’s sister. “Someone should tell her.”
“The deputies will take care of that.”
“Right. Of course.” My thoughts were a jumbled mess, darting from one thing to another. I stared at the mural on the wall without really seeing it, the bright colors blurring together.
“Did you see anyone in the area before you came in here?” Ivan asked.
“No. I was walking from the hardware store to my car and didn’t see another soul.” I turned away from the mural to face him. “Why?”
The chef’s frown deepene
d, but he didn’t respond. His silence was as telling as a hundred words.
“You don’t think Wally’s death was an accident?” I asked with surprise.
It took a second for Ivan to speak. “Maybe he stumbled as he poured out the liquid nitrogen, and the bowl spilled onto his face.”
“But?” I prompted, knowing he didn’t put much stock in that theory.
“If someone shoved his face down in the bowl of liquid nitrogen as he was pouring it, that would explain the burns.”
A chill tingled its way over my body. “That’s terrible.”
My gaze wandered to the door leading to the back of the restaurant. The deputies had yet to reappear, although I could hear their low voices and the occasional crackle of a radio.
“Do you think he died from the burns or from asphyxiation?” I asked, knowing the latter was a possibility with liquid nitrogen involved.
“Either one, or both.”
“I guess it doesn’t really matter which way it happened,” I said. I thought back to what he’d asked me minutes earlier. “Did you see anyone in the area before you came in here?”
Ivan turned his head away from me, but not before I saw a flicker of worry in his eyes.
“Ivan?” I pressed when he didn’t answer the question.
Deputy Mendoza appeared in the doorway. “I’ll need to speak with both of you,” she said to us.
The front door opened and Sheriff Ray Georgeson stepped in out of the cold.
“Excuse me a moment,” Mendoza said to me and Ivan. She approached the sheriff and spoke to him in a low voice before leading him toward the kitchen.
Ray nodded at me as he went by, his face grim, but he didn’t offer any other greeting. If Wally was murdered, the sheriff wouldn’t be thrilled about finding me at the scene of the crime. He was Brett’s uncle, and a good man, but he wasn’t keen on my habit of poking my nose into murder investigations.
Thinking of Brett made me long for his company. I was tempted to text him but left my phone in my bag. I could wait until I’d spoken to Deputy Mendoza. I wanted to get that over with as soon as possible so I could go home. The waffle house was warm enough, but I couldn’t rid myself of the chill that had worked its way into my bones. Knowing that Wally was lying dead in the next room, possibly murdered, was creepy and unsettling.
Mendoza reappeared a moment later and asked Ivan to join her in the far corner. They remained standing as Mendoza asked him some questions and Ivan provided succinct responses. I wanted to listen in on what they were saying, but they spoke quietly and I couldn’t pick out more than one or two words.
It didn’t take long for Mendoza to wrap up her questioning of the chef, and then it was my turn. She asked me how I’d ended up at the waffle house, and I explained about seeing Wally’s slashed tires in the back alley. She also asked if I’d seen anyone before I’d entered the restaurant. I gave her the same response I’d given Ivan earlier. There wasn’t much else I could tell her, other than stating that I’d gone as far as the entrance to the kitchen but hadn’t touched anything in the waffle house aside from the front door.
When the deputy had finished asking questions, Ivan and I each filled out a witness statement form before she told us we could leave the scene. I was relieved to get out of the waffle house, even though it meant stepping out into the cold, damp air.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Ivan said as he zipped up his jacket.
We set off along the sidewalk, both of us remaining silent until we reached my car.
“Who did you see before you went inside the waffle house?” I asked, knowing from his earlier reaction that he’d definitely seen someone.
Ivan glowered at the lamppost a few feet down the street. “No one involved in Wally’s death.”
“Can you really be sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell Deputy Mendoza you saw someone?”
He focused his scowl on me. “It’s cold out here. You should get home.”
I didn’t press the matter. There was no point. Ivan wasn’t one to be coerced into answering questions he didn’t want to. As curious as I was about who he’d seen and why he was unwilling to share the information, I climbed into my car and drove off, gladly leaving the scene of Wally’s terrible death well behind me.
* * * *
I texted Brett about the evening’s events when I arrived home and went to bed soon after. My mind refused to shut down, and I tossed and turned for a couple of hours before finally slipping into a deep sleep. I expected Wally’s death to be the talk of the town in the morning, so I wasn’t the least bit surprised when it was the hot topic of the day at The Flip Side. I also wasn’t surprised to hear from various sources that the sheriff’s department had initiated a murder investigation.
It seemed everyone had a theory about who the culprit might be. As I waited tables during the breakfast rush, I heard Vicky’s name pop up and Chester’s too.
“Why would Vicky kill her own brother?” I asked, joining the conversation at one table as I filled mugs with coffee.
“Money,” Marjorie Wells said. “Wally was rich. He inherited several million dollars a while back, and Vicky is his closest relative. He probably left everything to her.”
“But killing her own brother,” Marjorie’s friend Eleanor said from across the table, “that’s a bit extreme. Can you really picture Vicky doing that?”
I left the two ladies to debate the matter. I was inclined to agree with Eleanor. It was hard to picture Vicky killing her brother, even though I really didn’t know her at all. As for Chester, I had no idea if he had a reason for wanting Wally dead.
I half-listened to the rest of the gossip buzzing around the pancake house, not paying too much attention, until I heard Ivan’s name.
“What are people saying about Ivan?” I asked, stopping at Ed and Gary’s table.
“That he’s the one who found the body,” Gary said.
“And maybe he’s a suspect,” Ed added.
“An official suspect?” I didn’t like that thought.
Gary cut into his stack of pancakes. “I don’t know about that, but there are some folks who think he should be.”
“That’s crazy! Ivan wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“We don’t believe it, Marley,” Ed assured me. “But he’s an intimidating guy, he found the body, and Wally was opening the waffle house in direct competition with this place.”
“Plus, Ivan nearly kicked him out of here the other day,” Gary chipped in. “He definitely wasn’t a fan of the Waffle King.”
“Was anyone?” I asked.
Both men shrugged.
“We’ve heard your name come up a couple of times too,” Ed said, clearly not happy to be sharing the news. “You were there when the police showed up, weren’t you?”
It shouldn’t have surprised me that so many details were already common knowledge. It never took long for news to spread through the town.
“I didn’t kill Wally, and neither did Ivan,” I said, unable to prevent myself from getting annoyed.
“We know that, and we’ve set a few people straight already.” Gary chomped down on a piece of crispy bacon. “But not everyone around town knows you and Ivan like we do.”
I assured them that my annoyance wasn’t directed at them and thanked them for the information. As much as I tried to focus on nothing but taking orders and delivering meals to waiting customers, I couldn’t stop worrying about what Ed and Gary had told me.
I wasn’t too concerned about myself. Ivan could attest to the fact that I’d arrived at the waffle house after he did, and several people had seen me at the hardware store before that, so I doubted the sheriff’s department would consider me a suspect. The same might not be true for Ivan, though. Maybe it would be determined that Wally was dead for quite some time before Ivan fo
und him. If Ivan had an alibi for the time of death, then he’d be in the clear.
But what if that didn’t turn out to be the case?
I tried to push my concerns aside but was unsuccessful. I had no doubt at all about Ivan’s innocence, but I knew full well that Ray and his deputies might feel differently.
Chapter 6
After The Flip Side had closed for the day and I’d taken care of all pressing administrative matters, I stayed in town to run a few errands. When I returned to my car and stashed two bags of groceries in the back, I set off for home but didn’t make it far before pulling over to the curb again. I’d stopped in front of the waffle house and could see lights on inside the building, although I couldn’t see anyone from my vantage point.
I sat in my car with the engine still running, trying to decide what to do. I wanted to offer my condolences to Vicky, but I didn’t know if I’d find her at the waffle house. It was entirely possible that the place was still a crime scene and I wasn’t sure if she’d be there even if the sheriff’s department had finished processing the kitchen. I had no clue where Vicky lived, though, so I decided to find out if she was at the restaurant.
Out in the frosty air, I hurried over to the door and knocked on the glass. Vicky peeked cautiously through the doorway leading to the back of the building. When she saw me, she hesitated, but then she emerged from the back and came over to unlock the door.
“Yes?” she said, only opening the door a crack.
“Vicky, I’m Marley McKinney from The Flip Side.”
“I remember.” She watched me warily through the glass; her eyes bloodshot, dark rings beneath them.
“I came to say how sorry I am for the loss of your brother.”
She swallowed and averted her gaze as she pressed her lips together in a thin line.
I wasn’t sure if she was displeased with my presence or trying not to cry. I was about to apologize for bothering her when she opened the door wider.