“But Mr. Port.”
“I hope you all die,” he spat, turning the engine back on and shooting off from sight.
CHAPTER 10
* * *
Sonja hightailed it out of there as quickly as she could, realizing that confronting Dustin had been a big mistake. If he really was the murderer, she’d just put herself in more danger than before.
She felt comforted as she parked in the shadow of the local library, an old gothic style cathedral that had been renovated when the church sold it to the city.
It had become somewhat of a sanctuary for Sonja thanks to the fact that her friend Belinda, a volunteer librarian, was almost always sure to be found within its walls. Belinda was somewhat of a scholar of the occult and had taught and trained herself to communicate with the ghost realm.
On many occasions, Sonja had found answers to a problematic ghost in one of the books there.
Stepping inside, she walked toward the front desk. However, much to her disappointment, the head librarian sat there instead of her friend.
“Good morning, Sonja,” the librarian greeted. “If you’re looking for Belinda, she’s not here.”
“She’s not?” Sonja exclaimed.
The woman shook her head. “She told me that she was going out on a camping trip this week.”
Sonja pursed her lips. Camping hardly sounded like Belinda’s style. If anything, this was so she could have some alone time to practice rituals and divinations to contact the spirit realm.
“I understand,” Sonja finally sighed.
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
Sonja thought for a second. “Do you have any books or articles on the history of the Haunted Falls Society Club?” Maybe this trip wouldn’t be a complete loss after all.
* * *
Sonja found herself at a secluded table at the back of the library flipping through a large hardbound tome—the complete open records of the society club.
The first thing she figured to look for was any information on the death of Dustin Port’s golf partner and friend. While Sonja knew the ghost of the woman was present on the golf course, it didn’t mean there couldn’t be two ghosts as well.
Besides that, it was the only reference point in the history of the club that she was aware of. Therefore, it was as good a place as any to start.
If she remembered correctly based on what Greg had said, the death had taken place around ten years prior. Flipping through the pages of the volume—taking in a range of eight to twelve years prior—she attempted to see if there was any mention of the death at all.
As expected, she found nothing. It appeared to be true that the death had been completely swept under the rug. While she had found mentions of it in the newspaper, there was nothing in the club records. If anything, this slight only added to Dustin’s motive for committing the murder.
Additionally, if one death was kept out of the records and letters of the club, why not others?
Sighing, Sonja decided she needed a cup of coffee if she was going to continue with her research. Stretching and sighing, she was about to head out when a figure appeared from behind a nearby shelf. Sonja, not expecting his appearance, let out a small squeak of surprise—thinking it might be Dustin.
“Here you are,” her father said.
“You scared me,” she scolded him.
“Sorry.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Father-daughter psychic connection?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, not amused.
“You don’t think so?” he asked, a wicked smile spreading across his face.
“No.”
“Honestly, Sonj’, this is always the first place you come when you’re investigating a ghostly presence.”
“True,” she said, sitting back down.
Stepping out the rest of the way from behind the shelf, her father brandished a cardboard tray with two coffees in it.
“Thank goodness, how did you know I needed that?” Sonja exclaimed, her face lighting up upon seeing the liquid gold.
“I was kidding about that psychic connection,” he admitted, “but, because we’re both mediums, I can sometimes pick up on your cravings.”
“That’s creepy,” Sonja informed him.
“When we’re in close proximity, it’s just what happens sometimes. If you pay close attention, you may notice similar impressions yourself.”
“Well, I’m glad for it at this moment,” she said, gratefully taking the steaming cup from her father and sipping it. “Mmmm. White chocolate. My favorite.”
“I know.”
“How did you get here so quickly, by the way? Weren’t you detained at the club?”
“Greg got my statement first, before anyone else’s, since I was one of the last people to see Manning alive.””
“Convenient.”
“Very,” he agreed, taking a seat next to her and sipping his own drink. “So, what do we have so far?” he asked, pulling the book over to glance at the page she had open.
“There is absolutely no information on any deaths on the club grounds that I’ve seen yet.” Sonja proceeded to expel all the information she had in the murder case, the ghosts, and anything else suspicious so far.
“We might be dealing with two ghosts?” he thought out loud.
“Maybe, but perhaps not. I don’t have any evidence that points to a second ghost.”
“True.” He took the final drink of his coffee, setting the empty cup aside. “You know, maybe we should be thinking earlier.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what was built on those grounds before the golf course? Before Haunted Falls?”
Sonja’s eyes widened. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Two minds are better than one. Let’s look into the history of the region.”
The two went their separate ways, each pulling out various books on Haunted Falls and Colorado history and silently flipping through them. After about two hours, their small round table in the corner was piled high with tomes and records of various sizes.
Sonja’s eyes hurt from reading, her neck ached from bending over each new book, and she was beginning to wish she had a second cup of coffee to give her another boost.
“I think I found something,” Samuel said, his head popping out from behind a tower of books.
“Thank heaven.” Sonja scooted around the table to be next to her father. “Give it to me.”
“There used to be a farm on that land,” he pointed at a grainy old picture of the farmhouse. “It was ripped down in nineteen forty-five when the land reverted back to the city and then the club bought it.”
“Why did the land revert?”
“I guess the farm was abandoned,” he said, glancing over the page, not having gotten into the details
“Hold on! It says that the family who lived there—an elderly couple and their granddaughter—all died in a barn fire started by an angry neighbor.”
“Woah, we could be dealing with more ghosts than we thought,” he replied, looking closer at the page.
“Worse than that. They all died a violent death,” she bit her lower lip. Ghosts who were connected to a place through violence were never very nice. “The suspected culprit, Ripley, locked the family inside before starting the fire.”
“Wow. Talk about harsh.”
“And what is their connection to the murder?”
“Uh, Sonj’?” He pointed at the bottom of the page.
“What is it?”
“The farm belonged to the Manning family.”
CHAPTER 11
* * *
Despite searching for another couple of hours, they weren’t able to find a whole lot more on the incident of the farm burning down. In many ways, it seemed the society club had gone to great trouble to cover that up as well—so as not to create any negative connotation with the golf course once it was built. It said that the neighbor, Paul Riley, had was never
officially convicted of the crime and therefore had gotten off scot free.
His motive, according to the papers, was that he was angry for not being allowed to borrow part of the land to expand his crop. Supposedly, he had been short on money that season—having lost it in poker games at the local saloon—and was desperate to make up his losses.
Sonja would never stop being surprised by the ridiculous reasons people had for committing heinous crimes.
Still, Sonja needed more information about the whole situation if she was going to figure out how it was connected to the recent murder. Was there some sort of age-old grudge that the spirits held for their ancestors? Had Mr. Manning betrayed their memory by becoming the president of the club? Did the dead family even have anything to do with the murder?
Thinking about all of this was frustrating, but Sonja was determined to get to the bottom of it.
* * *
Pulling up outside the clubhouse around nine in the evening, she scanned the parking lot for any sign of the deputy’s police cruiser. As far as she could tell, there wasn’t a single soul there.
Sonja, with her father whom she’d brought along, got out of the van and tiptoed over to the front doors.
If they got caught, they’d just say they were grabbing the diner equipment which got left behind earlier that day. It was partially the truth.
Motioning for her father to follow, she led the way into the darkness of the building’s front doors. Once inside, the silence of the entry hall was deafening. With only bare moonlight coming through the windows of the building, the place took an eerie ethereal glow, every piece of furniture outlined in shadow.
“I’m surprised this is the first-time ghosts have come up around the clubhouse,” Sam noted, shaking his head and taking in the scene.
“It is pretty creepy at night,” she agreed, the sound of her own voice startlingly loud. “It gives me the spooks.”
A low thud came from above them, echoing through the hallways of the empty building.
“Is someone else here?” Sonja asked, glancing up at the decorative pattern on the ceiling.
“Who knows?”
Another louder thud made the ceiling shake slightly like someone had dropped something.
The father-daughter team looked at each other with wide, concerned eyes.
Next, a shuffling noise, like something heavy being dragged, echoed down to them.
“It sounds like someone dragging a dead body,” Sonja whispered, a few beads of sweat building up on her forehead.
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Frank responded, keeping his ears trained toward the sound.
There was a flop, like something being pushed over, and then a loud slam of a door closing.
“Okay,” Sonja noted, “now I’m suspicious.”
“Shall we?” her father asked.
Nodding, Sonja headed toward the stairs. Beginning to climb, the sound of footsteps echoed in the upper hallway. She held out a hand for her father to wait. Pausing a moment, they listened as the footsteps stopped.
After waiting a few seconds, she waved for him to follow. Step by step, they went up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. If someone was up there, the murderer perhaps, they didn’t want to be caught. If it was a ghost, however, there would be no telling what might happen.
Reaching the top step, Sonja paused to listen. The hallway where they’d heard the footsteps was just around the corner, but there was no sign of anyone moving toward them now.
She held up three fingers for her father, indicating she was going to count down from three before entering the hall. Slowly, she lowered each of her fingers. Three . . . Two . . . One.
With a burst of nervous energy, she turned sharply around the corner, and crashed into a large man standing there in the darkness. She collided so hard with him that she saw a flash of light behind her eyelids.
Sonja tumbled backward onto the carpeted floor. Looking up at the black looming figure in the shadows before her, she let out a tiny scream.
CHAPTER 12
* * *
“What do you think you’re doing?” came the surprised cry of a man.
“Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry,” Sonja blurted out.
Her father was instantly behind her, helping to lift her back up to her feet. The man, still obscured in the shadows, stared at them. “Who are you?”
“Uh, I’m Sonja Reed and this is my father,” she pointed at the man behind her. “We just heard some strange noises up here and came to investigate.”
“Investigate? How did you get in?” he asked.
“The front door was open,” Sam added.
There was another short pause, and then the man stepped forward out of the shadow, his face coming into the beam of moonlight and illuminating his features.
It was Manning’s caddy.
“Hey, aren’t you that caterer lady I ran into yesterday?” he asked, examining the woman before him for the first time.
“That’s me. Guilty as charged,” she admitted, feeling awkward for having stalked the poor man.
“What the heck are you doing here so late at night?” he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied.
“But I work here,” he pointed out. “What business do you have?”
“Technically, I was working here today as well.”
“What are you doing here now though?” he asked.
Sighing, Sonja shook her head. “I came to gather up my waffle irons and other equipment. I ended up having to leave them here earlier.”
“Oh,” he whispered. She watched him start to visibly relax. “I guess that makes sense. Sorry for getting defensive. I just didn’t like being suddenly spooked in a dark hallway at night.”
“Nobody does, we only came upstairs because we thought no one else was supposed to be here,” Sam said.
“What about you? Why are you here this late at night?” she asked.
“After the whole ordeal at the tournament earlier today, I ended up having to leave the bag of Mr. Manning’s clubs in his golf cart. I let myself in so I could put them in the closet where they belong.” He held up a set of keys and jangled them. That explained why the front door was open.
“That couldn’t wait until morning?” she asked.
“They’re very expensive clubs, some of the best on the market.” He folded his arms proudly. “It was my job to make sure they were clean, polished, and in good working condition for Mr. Manning.”
“Okay, I understand,” Sonja agreed, not wanting to hear anymore bragging about the clubs.
“They couldn’t wait any more than your expensive waffle irons.”
“Makes complete sense,” Sam interjected. “Again, we’re sorry for spooking you. Like I said, we heard weird noises up here and just wanted to check it out.”
“Just me dragging the bag across the floor. Those clubs aren’t exactly light,” he informed them.
“I know,” Sonja noted, remembering how the Caddy struggled with the bag earlier that day.
“Well, I better get on home,” he said, pushing past her toward the stairwell. “Have a good night and don’t let the ghosts get you,” he joked.
Sonja smiled back at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
CHAPTER 13
* * *
“Okay, enough goofing off with the caddy,” Sam teased his daughter, walking down the stairs. “We have bigger fish to fry.”
“I think I would have almost preferred a ghost,” Sonja said, following her father down the stairs and out the back door of the building.
All of the tables were still set up from earlier that day, but most of the equipment had been packed up in boxes, thanks to Ally. Getting it all out to the van would be a quick job, to be sure.
The yard itself and the golf course seemed to stretch on forever into the darkness ahead of them, and a low evening mist was settling over the grass.
She watched her father a
s he carefully made his way over to the closet thicket of trees.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” he called back, crouching down in the brush and sifting through it with his hand. A second later, he stood up with a medium length stick in his hand. At the end, it branched off into a Y shape. “This will do.”
“For what?” she asked.
“A divining rod,” he responded.
Interested in this unfamiliar ritual, Sonja walked up closer to him. “What do you do with it?”
“Well, this is one method for finding unmarked graves, if there are any, or energetic spots where a haunting might originate.”
“Okay, how does it work,” she gave in, having dealt with crazier things.
“We both hold the rod and imagine sending out spiritual energy into it, visualizing our desired goal.”
“To find the source of the haunting here on the golf course?”
“Exactly. Then, we’ll hold out the stick and the energy will draw us to the spot we are looking for.”
“Got it.” She grabbed and held onto part of the rod.
“Now, close your eyes, and visualize what we are here for,” he instructed.
“To load up the van?” she joked.
“Be serious or you’ll disrupt the spiritual flow.”
Obeying, Sonja closed her eyes and tried to focus on the task at hand. In her mind’s eye, she imagined what the family might look like. The two smiling grandparents and the vibrant granddaughter. She focused on the image of the burning barn.
Much to her surprise, she could almost feel the heat coming from the burning building. Then, in her ears, she heard the desperate screams of the people inside, being burned alive. She shivered at the horror of it all and how realistic the screams sounded, even in her own mind.
Suddenly, she felt her hand jolt.
Opening her eyes, she realized the stick was vibrating in her grip as if it was filled with an electrical current.
Hole-In-One Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 17) Page 5