“I really think he could use your help,” she nodded at the sheriff.
“Until he asks me, I really have no choice.”
“You’re one of the best investigators there is. You could really help him out here.”
Frank shrugged. “That’s debatable, and it’s his right as the sheriff of Larabee. I shouldn’t impose.” The words were clearly difficult for him to say, his nose scrunching up in frustration as he spoke. With both murders being so close to home, and with one of the victims being connected to the family, it was hard to just let a case like this go.
“I guess you’re right.” She sighed. “Did he tell you anything?”
“Briefly. Turns out Baker was doing some investigating of his own, off the record.”
“Investigating what?”
“Livestock theft from a nearby farm.”
Sonja thought about the cow tracks near the first crime scene. “What does that have to do with these two murders?”
“Not sure yet. Maybe Baker uncovered something he wasn’t supposed to. Got caught.”
Nodding, the amateur sleuth mulled over the facts. “Makes sense,” she agreed.
“Let’s head back to the house,” Frank suggested.
His girlfriend nodded and the two began walking back across the field.
In the background, Sonja could hear Sheriff Branson talking to his deputies, telling them to find any evidence that may link the two murders.
“Did you see the drag marks?” she commented when she was sure they were out of earshot of the sheriff. She didn’t want to get Frank in trouble if the officer overheard.
“Drag marks?”
“The body looked like it may have been dragged through the dirt, maybe while he was still alive.”
Frank’s eyebrow shot up inquisitively. “You are quite the little private eye, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “Just observant.”
“So you think the body was dragged?” He turned the topic back to the body itself, clearly humoring his girlfriend.
“I think he was probably still alive when he was dragged.”
“You mean the way the drag marks looked, not straight as if it were a dead weight, but sort of jagged as if he struggled a little along the way?”
“Exactly,” she nodded, clearly excited that Frank had noticed as well.
Glancing at him she let her mind wander a moment, away from the two fresh murders and instead admired her suitor. Sonja liked the shadow of a beard Frank had gotten over the last two days. She had noticed he hadn’t shaved before the car trip, and she deduced that he was taking a break from shaving over the weeklong vacation.
She liked it, thinking it made him look like a young western movie star, especially against the rural Wyoming backdrop.
“Did you notice anything else about the crime scene?” he asked, honestly interested in her observations.
“Now, you’re not thinking of investigating this murder behind the sheriff’s back, are you?” she teased, referring to all the times he had said something similar to her.
The handsome man visibly tensed. “Of course not,” he shot back at her. “I just want as much information as possible so I can give an accurate statement when it comes time—about both deaths.”
“I see,” she smiled and nodded.
“Well, as a matter-of-fact, I did notice that the hatchet—”
“Tomahawk,” Frank corrected.
“Sorry, tomahawk. The tomahawk wasn’t very deep in his back.”
“Hence, why he might have still been alive while he was being dragged.”
“Or, he died of something else, and not the tomahawk attack.”
Frank paused. “But why even use the tomahawk then?”
“Maybe for visual effect, to make a statement?” She grasped for any potential supernatural reason to use the tomahawk. So far, she was drawing a blank. “I wonder if maybe the murderer would be willing to use both a gun and a tomahawk, maybe to throw suspicion that the deaths were connected.”
“It’s possible.”
“Who even uses tomahawks, anyway?” Sonja wondered aloud.
She refrained from stating the fact that almost the entire family were technically suspects. She figured her boyfriend already knew this, but—seeing as it was his family—may have pushed it out of his mind.
Frank’s mother seemed to hate the guy, and so did the ranch hands. Additionally, Sonja was willing to bet that Larry had made other enemies as well. She just hoped to goodness that the murderer was not a family member or friend.
CHAPTER14
* * *
All the witnesses were instructed to go into the ranch house and wait there until each one of them could be interviewed.
“There is plenty of breakfast for everyone, and I can make more if need be,” Hannah announced, being the proper hostess even during a murder investigation.
Sonja would almost expect people to be upset, or at least grumpy, at the prospect of being detained for a murder case. Instead, however, everyone seemed thrilled to be in the warm ranch house with good company and good food.
Deciding to contribute in her own way, Sonja headed upstairs and grabbed her waffle iron.
“What are you doing, Sonj’?” Frank asked upon seeing his girlfriend descend the stairs, iron in hand.
“I’m sure everyone here would enjoy some waffles with their bacon and hash browns.”
“We’re on vacation. You aren’t supposed to be working.”
“And there isn’t supposed to be a dead body in your father’s field either. Didn’t stop the murderer from doing it.”
Knowing that arguing would do no good, Frank allowed her to step on through.
Finding a clear spot on the counter, Sonja plugged in the iron to warm.
“What are you doing, dear?” Hannah asked, approaching the young woman.
“Helping out by making some of my waffles.”
“Oh, well okay,” she replied, obviously grateful for a little help and company in the kitchen. “but I have a waffle iron. Why don’t you try mine instead of getting yours dirty?”
“Sure.” Sonja didn’t mind using one that they had.
Reaching up into the cabinet above the fridge, Hannah pulled down something that looked similar to a cast iron skillet. “Here you go, dear.”
“That’s a waffle iron?” Sonja asked, feeling a little foolish looking at the thing in her hand. It was square and made, as she thought, out of cast iron. It looked like it had the imprint of a waffle in it.
“Sure is.” Hannah pulled on the handle, showing that it opened like any other waffle iron with a hinge on the side. “You just put in the batter, close the iron, and then let it cook.”
“You mean over the stove?”
“That’s right. You flip the whole iron over when the second side of the waffle is ready to be cooked.”
Sonja smiled. “Well, I’ve never cooked with one like that before, but I’m willing to give it a try.”
Taking the pan, Sonja started to get things ready, asking Hannah occasionally where necessary ingredients were located. Mixing the eggs, flour, milk, and other components in a wooden bowl, Sonja began to feel right at home.
After finishing the base batter, she decided she’d make it a little more festive in honor of the holiday. Finding the spice cabinet, she pulled out the cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, ginger—and her personal favorite—ground cloves. Creating just the right combination of the different spices, she added them to the batter to give it a real autumnal flavor.
The cast iron was burning hot and ready for the batter when she poured it in. Listening to it sizzle she shut the iron and then waited.
Cooking waffles on a gas stove took a little getting used to, but upon pulling out the first one and tasting it, Sonja wondered if she’d ever be able to cook with an electric one again.
Soon the kitchen was filled with hungry friends and family looking for a serving of the waffles. Hannah whipped some fresh cream to go on top of
the dish.
“Make sure you hold onto this one,” Franky slapped his son on the back, his mouth still half full of waffle. “She’s on par with your mother for cooking.”
“Yeah, when are you two gonna get married?” Hank teased.
“Leave the poor kids alone, Hank,” Emmy said, hitting him in the chest.
To Sonja, Emmy was likely one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. Without her knit cap pulled over her head, she had reddish silver hair that caught the light perfectly. Her eyes were a pretty pale blue color and the age in her face only added to the complexity of the woman’s seemingly majestic nature. Somehow, however, she still maintained the strength and attitude of a true country woman.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Sonja,” she said, holding out a hand.
Emmy took her hand. “Emmy. Some people even call me Sinful Emmy if you prefer.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“You and Frank should come down for some steak and beans at the chuck wagon before you leave town.”
“We definitely will,” Frank cut in, putting his arm around Sonja.
In some way, things were very comfortable here. In others, she felt out of place, like everything was going too fast. Maybe coming out to see the family was a mistake. Heck, she and Frank hadn’t even really kissed yet. How could she face friends and family members who were talking about marriage?
The back door opened, interrupting Sonja’s train of thought, and Sheriff Branson stepped in with two deputies in tow. He had two evidence bags in his hands, one containing the cowboy hat and the other containing the tomahawk.
“Franky?” He stepped over to the man in question. “Is this your hat?”
Frank’s father nodded in reply. “It is. Larry . . . borrowed it yesterday.”
“You let him borrow it?” The sheriff raised an eyebrow knowingly.
“Not exactly.”
“I see.”
“You don’t think my father had anything to do with this,” Frank protested.
“Just hold your horses, Frank. I’m not making any accusations,” he paused as if he knew something serious already, “not yet anyway.”
Walking over to where Hank and Emmy stood, the sheriff held up the evidence bag with the tomahawk in it. Instantly, Hank’s face went pale.
“Is this your tomahawk, Hank?”
Hesitating, the ranch hand finally spoke. “Yes, it is, Sheriff.”
“I see.” He lowered the bag. “I’ll want to be talking to you first then. Come with me.”
Leading the tall man into the small office on the main floor, the sheriff shut the door behind them.
CHAPTER15
* * *
It was only a few minutes later when the sheriff led Hank out of the office in handcuffs.
“What is the meaning of this?” Emmy insisted.
“I’m holding Hank for the time being,” the sheriff replied.
“You can’t be serious, Bob. You’ve known Hank for years.”
“I’m very serious, Emmy, and I’m sorry to have to do this.” Continuing toward the door, Emmy pushed forward and stood in front of him. “What are you doing, Emmy?”
“You can’t take Hank in. What evidence do you have?”
“The tomahawk found on the body belongs to him, even has his name right on it.”
“Someone could have stolen it from his room, used it to frame him.”
The sheriff held up a hand to silence her. “I’m well aware. However, until I can get some tests done on the evidence to prove otherwise, I’m taking Hank in.”
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you, Bob.”
“Please, this isn’t easy for anyone,” the sheriff defended himself, trying to get through.
Frank finally stepped in, putting his arm around Emmy and leading her away. “Come on, you don’t want to be charged with impeding an investigation, do you?”
Emmy reluctantly moved with him. “Hank is a good man, Frank. He would never kill anyone.”
“Let the sheriff handle the case. If the sheriff can’t charge him by tomorrow, he’ll be released.” Glancing up, Frank gave Sonja a knowing look. She already knew that he had intentions of investigating this murder and that she was going to be along for the ride.
* * *
It wasn’t until around ten o’clock a.m. that everyone was finally interviewed by one of the deputies and cleared out of the ranch house. Sonja was the last one in the office with the deputy. She had not hesitated to mention all her observations—including the way the body had been dragged and the seeming impact of the tomahawk in the victim’s back.
She also didn’t refrain from sharing her observations about the tension every single person seemed to have around Larry Paulson, even Frank’s parents and the ranch hands. Sonja didn’t know Hank well enough to make any assumptions about his character or intentions. However, just because someone disliked the guy didn’t mean they had the motive to kill him.
She also answered questions and shared observations from the first murder, still wondering if the two crimes were connected.
“So you’re telling me,” Deputy Hays muttered, eyeing her from across the desk in the study, “that you think the cow was slaughtered there at the murder site?”
Sonja nodded. “Yes, slaughtered.” She had gone into detail about her observations of the animal tracks, and how the evidence indicated that the cow never left the scene. She refrained from mentioning the possibility of anything supernatural—but the more and more she thought about it, the more it looked like the cow was used as some sort of sacrifice.
“The cow tracks could have just been covered up,” the deputy reported.
“That’s true, but wouldn’t there be some hint of a trail?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. All of that is just speculation.”
Leaning back in her chair, Sonja folded her arms. “I still think that the cow was slaughtered at the site, and I also believe these two murders have some sort of connection. We’re just not seeing it yet.”
“If the cow was slaughtered at the site, wouldn’t we have found the carcass?”
“Maybe the killer took it with him?”
The deputy shook his head. “You sound just like Baker,” he mumbled.
“Baker?” Sonja perked up, leaning forward in her chair.
The officer turned a little pale, almost as if he’d said something he wasn’t meant to. “Thank you for your statement, ma’am.” He stood up, attempting to cut off the conversation before it went further.
“I heard that Baker was hung up on a missing cow case. Why?” she cut in.
“Thank you, ma’am,” the deputy insisted, his face only growing paler.
Sonja’s jaw dropped slightly. “Was Baker superstitious? Did he believe in the occult?”
Deputy Hays opened the door. “Goodbye, ma’am.”
Letting her shoulders slump, she stepped out of the study.
“Well, that seems to be about it for now,” the officer declared to the remaining family members sitting in the living room. “If we need anything else, we’ll let you know.” With that, he stepped outside.
Sonja was sure there was more to this investigation than the local police were willing to admit. If anything, she expected them to take the easy route and charge Hank for both murders based on the evidence of the tomahawk alone.
There was only one thing to do now, make some more food.
About ten minutes later, Sonja stepped out of the kitchen holding a plate of waffle sandwiches, each one made with two small cuts of freshly cooked waffle and stacked with delicious cheeses and meats from the ranch and other surrounding ranches.
Sonja had even grilled them, letting the combination of cheddar, smoked provolone, and muenster meltdown over the freshly sliced ham and turkey. If she knew one thing about life, it was that food could often bring a little happiness to a desperate situation.
Stepping into the dining room and setting the plate of sandwiches in the middle of th
e table, Sonja observed the somber faces of the entire family, including Ray who sat near Franky. Hannah was red-eyed and pale as she sat with her cellphone to her ear.
After a moment, shaking her head, Hannah sat the phone down. “She’s still not answering.” Ever since the body was found, and in between serving many hungry friends, Hannah had tried to get in contact with her mother. “I’ve tried her hotel room, her cell phone, even the police station. I can’t get ahold of her.”
“I’m sure she will be fine,” Frank mentioned, reaching over and squeezing his mother’s hand. “Most likely the cops have visited her to break the news.” He spoke from experience, having had to report multiple deaths to family members in Haunted Falls. “She may just want to be left alone for a while, which is why she's not answering any phones. We’ll see her when she’s ready, but for now, we should just take a breather.”
“Frank’s right,” his father added. “I think we need to be more worried about Hank than anyone else. He’s the one who’s been arrested.”
Hannah, still fighting back tears, nodded in agreement. “I just don’t know how she might be handling this.”
“You’re right,” Sonja offered. “I know you said they’ve only been seeing each other for a short time, but that doesn’t make it any less shocking or difficult.” She also spoke from some experience. She might not have worked as a deputy or even a sheriff like her boyfriend, but by that point, between her experiences with murder and ghosts, she had some idea about the emotional impact these kinds of events might have in a small community or a family.
Shaking her head, Hannah just let the tears pour out. “Thanksgiving is ruined. How can we expect to have a dinner now? Without my mother, without Hank, and with this murder hanging over our heads?” She let out a quiet sob. “When I think of how I spoke to her when she was here last,” Hannah’s voice trailed off without completing her sentence.
Sonja felt bad for the woman, hoping to goodness that she could reconcile with her mother, especially now after Larry was dead. “I have an idea,” she chimed in. “Why not have Thanksgiving a different day? After all of this has settled down a little?”
Turkey and Terror: Book 6 in The Diner of the Dead Series Page 6