The two women walked the dishes into the kitchen and began stacking them up on the counter. “I didn’t know Frank liked football so much,” Sonja commented.
“Football is sort of a tradition among the men in this family.” Hannah turned on the water and put the first plate under the trickle. “I’ll wash, you dry?”
Sonja nodded. “I can see that. A Turkey Bowl, was it?”
“That’s right. Every year they get up at six in the morning and go out and play in the cold morning air.”
“I’ve just never heard Frank even mention football before. I can’t believe he’d keep something so important to him a secret.”
“Well, as the town sheriff, I’m sure he has better things to talk about than sports.” She handed Sonja the first plate. “Not that it would be bad to talk about sports. It’s just that he probably figured you weren’t interested, so he never brought it up.”
Sonja nodded. “He’d be right. I guess I just don’t see the appeal. Playing them is one thing, not that I’d even do that, but watching them? It seems kind of boring to me.”
“Well, you really can’t blame them?”
Sonja shook her head. “I guess not. It must be pretty important to them if they really go out and play every year and watch the games together in the evening.”
“Probably more important than you think.” She handed Sonja a large bowl, the one that held potatoes before. “Franky was up to be a star college player.”
At this, the dish drying young woman raised her eyebrows in shock. “A star?”
“Yep, he could have gone on to be a pro, that’s how good he was.”
“Then what is he doing now, out in the middle of Wyoming?”
“You have to understand, for him this is home. And ranching is just in his blood.” Hannah handed Sonja the last dish and then dried off her hands on a towel near the edge of the sink. “At the end of high school, a big college football scout came out to this tiny little town—a big deal, especially back then.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Hannah turned on the pot to make a fresh batch.
“No thanks.”
“Anyway, this football scout had a full-ride scholarship he was planning on giving away to one player in the area here. He watched the boys play and decided to give it to Franky.”
“Wow, that’s amazing. Did he accept it?”
Hannah nodded. “Of course he did.”
The young woman shrugged. “So what happened? Did he get injured or something?”
“Not at all. In fact, he’s as healthy now as he was then.” She walked over to the fridge and opened it. “I’ve got some pie crusts chilling in here for tomorrow.”
“So why did he leave?” Sonja urged, trying to get more answers.
Hannah checked the crusts and then closed the door. “He met me, first of all. I was going to school there as well, studying psychology of all things. We started dating and he became more and more torn between spending time with me and having to be at practices or traveling to games around the country. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was for him.”
Sonja herself disliked traveling, and couldn’t even think of what it was like to constantly travel to games all over the place.
“He finally decided it was enough. While he loved football, loved the skill it took, the planning, the plays, everything—he just knew that it wasn’t meant to be his life.”
“I see,” Sonja replied.
“So, he and I got married and we moved back here. We’ve never really looked back. Football is still a passion for Franky, but his true love is this ranch and his family.”
The coffee pot dinged and Hannah poured herself a mug. “Sure you don’t want some?”
The thought of ol’ Tar Face flashed in her mind. “Actually, go ahead and pour me a mug.” Pausing, Sonja listened as the game played in the other room, the two men excitedly watching.
Hannah got out another mug and filled it. “Did you want to see your room now?”
“Actually,” Sonja replied, graciously taking the steaming cup from Frank’s mother. “I think I’ll go and participate in a family tradition.”
CHAPTER 11
* * *
The wind whistled outside of Sonja’s window while she tried to sleep, but the image of the dark cowboy astride his ghostly steed was burnt into her memory and danced behind her eyelids anytime she closed her eyes.
Her bedroom was the one at the furthest end of the hall—a pleasantly comfortable guest room that looked exactly like what you’d expect in a ranch house of this type. Floral wallpaper, a brass bed frame, paintings of horses on the walls, and a large hand sewn quilt all created the ambiance that Sonja associated with country living.
The room even had its own small fireplace which Frank had built a fire in for her, something she was very grateful for now in the cold hours of the night.
Tossing and turning for some time, she stared up at the ceiling, the low glow of the coals dancing on the stucco. Even in the calm orange light, all she saw were men riding horses.
Sitting up, she glanced around the dark room, and specifically, toward her window. The autumn frost had already begun to build up on the panes from the evening’s chill, clouding the view of the ranch outside. “Are you really out there, Tar Face?”
Almost as if in response, the distinct clip clop of hooves on frozen ground echoed up into the bedroom. She felt her heart begin to leap in her chest, straining with anxiety at every beat.
The first instinct that came to her was to lay back down, cover her head with the blanket, and try to ignore the sound. Unfortunately, hiding wasn’t in her nature and she quickly found herself on her feet and slowly shuffling toward the window.
“Why do I do this to myself?” she quietly moaned. Glancing out, she instantly felt her heart drop like a rock into her stomach, and a wash of bitter taste came into her mouth.
Standing outside, directly below the window, was the skull-headed demon on his steed. Mist came off their bodies like fire, and the cowboy had his gaze set directly on Sonja. The frightened woman felt herself shivering, an intense sensation she had not yet experienced with ghosts.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered.
Raising a hand, the figure motioned for her to come down, beckoning her to his side.
Sweat had built up all along Sonja’s forehead and was beginning to drip. Without realizing it, she shook her head in protest.
Again, and more insistent this time, the figure motioned with a jerk of his hand.
Sonja shook her head, refusing to move. This sensation, the chill, the sweat, the shaking, were like nothing she’d yet felt in the presence of a supernatural being.
He motioned one more time, a sense of anger and urgency in the jagged motion of his hand. The voice she had heard before in the car came into her mind again. Come down to me, child, it growled. Come down or I’ll drag you down.
Sonja stood still, refusing to budge from the spot.
Lowering his hand, Tar Face grasped something at its waist and pulled it out. Eyes widening, the scared young woman realized it was a six shooter—just like the one from her nightmare—a misty, ghostly weapon, brandished wildly in one hand.
The image from the dream of the two bullets striking Frank flashed through her mind, the blood running from the wounds.
Raising the weapon, Tar Face fired a shot off toward the window. The sound was like thunder against the sky and a flash of light followed. Sonja squeaked in fright and dived back into the bed and wrapped herself up tightly in the blanket to await the rays of morning.
CHAPTER12
* * *
The next morning, Sonja listened while Frank moved around in the next room. Frank’s childhood bedroom was next door, and he was already up and getting dressed—most likely for the Turkey Bowl.
Light filtered through the curtains and into the room. Despite the comfort and warmth of her own bed, having finally been able to ge
t to sleep around one a.m., Sonja couldn’t bring herself to stay inside. She slid out from under the covers and quickly got dressed in a pair of comfortable denim jeans, a long sleeve t-shirt, and a hoodie.
Taking a moment, she examined the window where Tar Face had aimed his weapon the night before. As she had suspected, a small bullet hole sat in the glass—the edges seared as if caught momentarily on fire.
Pulling her knit cap over her ears she stepped out into the hallway to the aroma of fresh coffee and bacon.
At the same moment, Frank’s door swung open and he stepped out, clearly surprised to see his girlfriend already out of bed. “You’re up early,” he beamed, kissing her on the head. “Did you hear that strange crack of thunder last night?”
“Not really,” she lied. “What time does the Turkey Bowl start? We’re still having it, right?”
At this, Frank’s jaw dropped. “You want to play in the Turkey Bowl?”
Sonja nodded heartily. “It’s tradition?”
Frank hesitated, then smiled. Sonja never remembered her boyfriend smiling so wide as he did that morning.
“We better get some breakfast, can’t play on an empty stomach.”
As they stepped down the staircase and into the kitchen, Hannah was hanging up the phone. Sonja wondered who could be calling so early on a holiday.
Turning to the couple, Hannah had a strange hint of paleness to her cheeks. “Good morning,” she smiled, breaking the brief bleak expression. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Sonja replied with a smile.
“Morning, Mom,” Frank said as he stepped over and gave her a hug. “Breakfast smells great.”
The table was laid out again, this time with breakfast foods. Perfectly crisped hash browns, crunchy bacon strips, fluffy white biscuits, gravy, and more all made this seem like a Thanksgiving feast all its own. The only thing missing, Sonja noted inwardly, was waffles.
“You should have let me cook it,” Sonja chimed in. “I have a great new waffle recipe.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” the mother nodded. “I couldn’t have you cooking on Thanksgiving morning.”
The young cook didn’t argue with her on that point, and instead gratefully began filling a plate.
Frank took a seat at the table and instantly grabbed three thick slices of bacon. “Who was on the phone?”
“Your grandmother.” She took two fried eggs fresh out of the pan and placed them in front of her son. “How do you like your eggs, Sonja?”
“Over medium,” she replied. “What did she want?”
“Well, it seems that Larry never came back to the hotel last night.”
“But I thought they left together?” Sonja pressed, intrigued by this new development.
“No, Mom left on her own.” Hannah cracked two eggs into the cast iron skillet. “She had a local charity event she needed to get to, I think. I guess he told her before they even arrived that he wanted to stay behind and help out more in the barn or something.”
“Did anyone else know this?” Frank asked, slightly slipping into police mode.
“I don’t think so. I didn’t see him again.”
“Neither did we,” Sonja added, thinking about how she, Frank, and his father had walked the grounds together and found the body.
“Where would he have gone?” Frank asked. “Was he the kind of guy that would walk out, just go to a bar or something?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you, dear,” Hannah sighed. “I never really got to know the man.”
Sonja wasn’t surprised by that. However, something creeping inside of her stomach made her nervous. Something about the whole situation felt off.
“Just keep an eye out. If for some reason he’s still wandering somewhere on the ranch, then we’ll let her know.”
“Why would he wander the ranch?” Sonja asked. It had gotten chilly in the middle of the night and she doubted it could have been comfortable to just wander around in the dark and the cold.
“I doubt he is, but just in case, keep an eye out.” Hannah placed the eggs on Sonja’s plate.
“Thanks.”
“Eat up,” Frank said excitedly, dropping any semblance of his sheriff side. “We’ve got a big game ahead of us.”
* * *
The field behind the pasture was a ball of excitement as men, and even a few women, all bundled in coats, hats, and fleeces, picked their teams for the Turkey Bowl. Even Hank and Ray were there, joined up on the opposing team, along with a slightly older woman that Sonja was surprised would even play football. It seemed that citizens from all over Larabee were committed to this particular Thanksgiving tradition.
“Who is that?” Sonja asked her boyfriend, pointing at the older woman.
“Oh, that’s Sinful Emmy. She runs the historic saloon and chuck wagon in town.”
“And she likes to play football?”
“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it.”
“I guess I’m just surprised. She must be at least in her fifties.”
“Fifty-nine, actually. And at least half of the men here are that age or older.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“If you’ve got the energy and capability, no matter how old you are, why shouldn’t you stay active?”
Sonja smiled, glancing over again at the woman across the field. She hoped that she could be as fit as that when she got to be fifty-nine.
“Sonja, you’re on our team,” Franky called to her.
“She’s playing?” Ray exclaimed.
“Darn right, she is.”
After teams were picked, the players lined up in formation in the middle of the field. Frank had explained a little about how the game worked, but ultimately Sonja just understood that, like most other sports, the point was to get the ball to the other end of the field.
Frank kicked off and the ball went flying. The game was on.
Sonja had to admit, despite still not quite understanding the game, she was very much enjoying herself out on the field behind the pasture. Part of the enjoyment came from seeing father and son smiling and laughing together as the ball got passed back and forth.
Soon, their team was close to reaching the goal at the end of the field. Franky called for a huddle up. “Alright guys, we’re almost there. If we can score this first point I know we can stay ahead the entire game.”
“If you say so,” Sonja replied, not completely understanding the strategy involved.
“Alright, I’m going to throw the ball to Frank and then I want you,” he pointed a finger at Sonja, “to get near the end zone.”
“End zone?”
“The edge of the field,” her boyfriend instructed.
“Since you’re new to the game, no one will probably be too worried about guarding you. Frank is going to throw the ball to you and you’re going to run in for the touchdown. Got it?”
Sonja nodded, completely unsure of what she was about to do.
“Okay, let’s go.”
The teams lined up and prepared for the next play. After a few calls from Frank Senior, the teams split. Sonja bolted for the edge of the field. The crisp air brushed Sonja’s cheeks as she ran, and her lungs burned slightly from the mix of exercise, excitement, and cool air in her lungs.
She got into what she felt was a good position and waited, realizing that not a single player from the other team was near her. Frank got a hold of the ball and tossed it as soon as there was an opening.
Eagerly, Sonja held out her hands, prepared to catch the ball. She squeezed her eyes shut and then felt a thud as the ball landed into her open hands. Squealing with excitement she turned and ran to the goal at the edge of the trees.
She hit the line and held up the ball triumphantly. Shouts of praise and excitement came from everyone on her team.
Sonja threw down the ball as she had seen in sports movies before. Watching it hit the ground her mouth dropped open. Rolling down into a little ditch the ball bobbed against something laying in
the dirt. It was a body, face down with a cowboy hat sitting lopsided on his head, a large tomahawk sticking out of its back.
“Frank, Frank!” she shouted.
The excitement fading from his face, he instantly bolted for the edge of the field. “What, what is it?”
She pointed down at the figure in the ditch. Blood pooled under the body and appeared to have frozen to the ground and to the victim’s clothes.
“Oh, my gosh,” he muttered. Crouching down, he carefully lifted the hat. The bald head underneath was tilted slightly to one side, and the pale face poked out, the skin and muscles frozen in a strained look of pain. Its one visible eye was wide open and staring up at them. “It’s Larry,” he whispered.
CHAPTER 13
* * *
More than anything, Sonja felt sort of sick to her stomach when she thought about Tar Face standing outside her window the night before. She’d been so afraid of the ghost that she hadn’t even paid attention to what he wanted. Now, as she stood out in the cold weather with another murder victim nearby, she knew that perhaps she’d been wrong. Maybe the ghost she saw was ol’ Sinful, and maybe he’d been trying to get her help to find the body, or worse, get her to stop the crime from happening at all.
But if it really was Sinful, and he was trying to be helpful, why shoot at her through the window? Things were getting more confusing, and not understanding exactly what kind of supernatural powers or occult magic she was dealing with didn’t help.
Frank stood over the body, talking to the sheriff and the two deputies. After a moment, he trotted over toward his girlfriend.
“How ya’ going?” he leaned in, trying to get a good look at his girlfriend’s worried face.
She folded her arms a little defiantly. “Is he going to let you help with the investigation?”
“For now, he’s going to stick with his own men,” he confirmed. “He’s not sure if the murders are connected yet. Nothing between the two seems to match up. The type of murder, the weapon used, the crime scene. It’s all so different than with Deputy Baker.”
Turkey and Terror: Book 6 in The Diner of the Dead Series Page 5