The Wicked Waffle: Book 1 in The Diner of the Dead Series

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  She hurried in behind them. “Sheriff! Sheriff Thompson!” she implored, trying to get his attention, looking for answers.

  “Take him back to the holding cell,” Thompson instructed the deputies.

  They moved through the door, into the back of the station, and finally Thompson turned to face Sonja.

  “I’m very sorry about this,” he began, raising his hand to placate her.

  “What did he do? How can you possibly accuse him of murder, when he hasn’t been around for over four years? How could he, in any way, be connected to Ronda?” she demanded.

  “There appears to be evidence that places him at the scene of the crime, and that’s all I’m going to say about it,” he warned her.

  “Was the evidence at the diner?”

  Sheriff Thompson sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m not going to release that information while there’s still an investigation ongoing.”

  “You mean she didn’t die at the diner?” Sonja fished, testing.

  “Look, Sonja, you need to go on home and let us handle this, alright?” he said, briefly putting his hand on her shoulder in sympathy. “If your father is guilty, we have to find that out.”

  “But he hasn’t even been in town,” she protested, as he led her back toward the door.

  “Look, we have reason to believe he has been in Haunted Falls for at least two weeks,” Thompson said quietly, knowing the impact that his words would have on the abandoned daughter.

  “What?” Sonja was stunned. “How did you find that out?”

  “Look, we’re done talking about this, Sonja, okay? You need to just head on home and get some rest, I have a suspect to deal with.” Sheriff Thompson suggested mildly, disappearing into the back of the station.

  * * *

  Sonja sat in the waiting area of the police station, her stomach in knots. She just couldn’t believe that her dad would have done such a thing. But how well did she really know her father? After all, he had disappeared, without even a goodbye, four years ago…but something inside told her that it just couldn’t be her father.

  “Are you okay, dear?” someone spoke, their voice shaking Sonja from her daze.

  The police secretary, Marie—an older woman with pink hair, long nails, and a rambunctious personality—twiddled a pencil from behind the counter. She looked like she belonged in the 1970s but had somehow escaped to 2016.

  Sonja shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Marie?”

  “Do you need some help, hon?”

  “Umm…no, no thanks,” she replied numbly.

  “Alright, honey, well, just let me know if you change your mind. I don’t like seeing you just moping over there.”

  Sonja put her head in her hands and tried to think through the situation, finding herself suddenly struck by inspiration. Checking first to see if the Sheriff and his Deputies were anywhere near the door, she stood up and went to the desk where Marie sat, pretending to be busy.

  “Marie?”

  “Yeah, hon?”

  “Do you like waffles?”

  “Do I like waffles? That’s like asking if a bee likes pollen, dearie. Of course I like waffles,” she smiled.

  “Would you like me to bring you waffles sometime?”

  “Ooooh…you mean your mom’s waffles?”

  “Well, my mom’s recipe. I’d make them myself.”

  “Why, yes, that would be wonderful, hon. Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome,” Sonja smiled, looking rather intentionally forlorn.

  Marie went back to whatever it was she was doing, and Sonja lingered at the desk, staring into space. After a moment, the older woman looked up.

  “Uh, did you need something else, Sonja?”

  “Oh, I was wondering if maybe you knew anything about Ronda Smith. I’ve been away from Haunted Falls for a while now, so I never met her…and it was so awful finding her body,” she opened her eyes wide, hoping she looked pitiful.

  “Hmpf…I’m not one to speak ill of the dead, but it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person. Nobody ‘round here liked her,” Marie confided.

  “That’s what I’ve heard from just about everyone. But it’s just so crazy that someone was murdered right here in Haunted Falls. Do you have any idea about how she died?”

  Marie saw through Sonja’s ploy in an instant. “How she died, huh?” she raised her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I can’t even imagine,” Sonja kept up the wide-eyed innocent act, not realizing that she wasn’t fooling the sharp-eyed clerk.

  “You do realize that I can tell what you’re trying to do, right? Coming in here and talking about waffles to try and pump the timid little old lady at the front desk for information,” she accused with an amused smirk.

  “Marie, you are not timid and by no means little.”

  Marie chuckled. “You’ve got that right, girl. I probably don’t need those waffles,” she sighed.

  “Well, I guess if that’s true, I just won’t bother bringing them in,” Sonja shrugged, playing her trump card, and turned to leave.

  “Well now, you wait just a minute, hon,” the older woman called after her.

  Sonja smiled a secret smile. She knew she’d be able to rely on Marie. She turned back. Marie motioned for Sonja to come closer.

  “Look, don’t tell anyone you heard it from me,” she whispered. “But Ronda went missing days ago. Her car went over an embankment while she was on her way up the road to the mansion, but when rescue crews went to investigate the crash site she wasn’t in the car. No one knew what had happened to her, until you and Alison found her.”

  Sonja was confused. If Ronda had been in a car accident, how had her body end up in the diner’s freezer? Why would someone bother dragging her all the way there, and why did the Sheriff suspect that her father was the murderer?

  “Also, we got a tip today from Shelli Peterson out on Sandy Drive,” the clerk continued in a low voice. “She said that there was an abandoned car out in front of her house and she was getting tired of looking at it. It was only after the Sheriff investigated the abandoned car that they suddenly brought in your dad.”

  Sonja realized that, logically, it must have been her father’s car, but there was only one way to find out.

  “Thanks, Marie,” she murmured, more confused than ever.

  “No problem, dear. But let’s just keep that between you and me. I’ve had this job for longer than you’ve been alive and I’d like to keep it,” she warned.

  “No problem,” Sonja nodded absently. “See you tomorrow morning with some hot, fresh waffles?” she confirmed, a reward for a job well done.

  “You better believe it, hon.”

  Chapter 9

  The first thing Sonja did after leaving the police station, was head for Sandy Drive, where the abandoned car had been reported. Her mind raced as she tried think of a good excuse to visit Shelli Peterson, a woman she hardly knew. On one side of the winding street was a row of older homes that had probably once been gracious, but now just looked tired and faded. The other side of the street was lined with trees.

  Sonja parked under one of the trees just across from Shelli Peterson’s house, which appeared to be pretty unkempt. Weeds and plants grew in between clumps of straw-colored grass, and in between the cracks of the crooked sidewalk. The curtains were drawn, and she hoped that she hadn’t come all the way over here for nothing.

  Shifting from foot to foot, Sonja knocked on the door and waited, hearing a faint shuffle from inside. The door creaked, opening just a bit before a bright faux-brass chain lock kept it from opening any further. The heavy smell of stale cigarette smoke seeped out of the opening, tickling the back of her throat. Shelli stood on the other side of the door, her gray hair tied back in a tight bun.

  “Yes, what do you want?” she peered out suspiciously.

  “Hi, Mrs. Peterson. It’s me, Sonja Reed.”

  “Sonja? Hmm…aren’t you that girl who’s supposed to be in New York, or som
ething? What could you possibly want, that made me get out of my favorite recliner?”

  “Yes, I was in New York, that’s correct, but I moved back and I’m here to help Pastor Williams collect donations for the church’s annual charity sale,” she smiled sweetly, completely ignoring the old woman’s sour disposition.

  “The boys already came around once. I didn’t have anything to give them then and I don’t have anything to give you now,” Shelli frowned.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just told to make a second round, you know, to see if there might be anything you’d like to get rid of.”

  “Well, sorry, but it seems you’ve wasted your time, honey.” she started to close the door.

  “Wait,” Sonja stalled.

  “What is it now?”

  “I was actually wondering, wasn’t there a car out here earlier?” she had a sudden burst of inspiration.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Well, I didn’t know if you still had a use for it or anything, so I thought you might possibly want to donate it.”

  “To the charity sale?” she asked incredulously. “A car?”

  “Sure, lots of people do. It’s a great tax write-off,” Sonja opened her eyes wide, feigning innocence.

  The old woman gave her a skeptical look. “No, the tow truck came and got it earlier. I called the Sheriff and told him it was an abandoned car. It had been there for almost two weeks, and was turning into an eyesore. I was sick of looking at it.”

  “Oh, so the police took it away?”

  “No. Don’t you listen girl? The tow truck took it away. The police just came and looked it over earlier, even searched it. I think it was part of some sort of investigation.”

  “Did they find anything?”

  “How should I know?” Mrs. Peterson began to get visibly agitated.

  “Well, I just thought you might have seen something interesting. Something worth talking about,” Sonja shrugged.

  Shelli gave Sonja a sideways look, squinting out of one eye.

  “Well, now that you mention it, they did pull something odd out of the car.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, I saw them pull out a gun and then bag it. You know, in one of those plastic evidence bags or some such?”

  “Wow, really?” her expression was only half faked.

  “My guess is whoever parked that car there, was running from the law,” she nodded sagely, lips pursed.

  “I bet you probably even remember the license plate, don’t you?” Sonja asked, sounding awed.

  “Now why on earth would I care about that?” Shelli looked at her like she’d just grown horns.

  “I just thought maybe you wrote it down to give to the police.”

  “I did no such thing, wasn’t any of my business,” she sniffed.

  “Okay, then.” Sonja turned to go, having stumbled upon the information that she was looking for. “Thanks for your time.”

  “Wait,” the old woman said. “Hold on for just another minute.”

  She closed the door and disappeared into the house. After a few moments, the chain lock clinked from inside and the door opened wide.

  “Here,” Shelli said struggling with a small box. “It’s a bunch of old books I don’t need.”

  “Thank you,” Sonja smiled, barely remembering her original ruse. The box contained mostly old textbooks, which looked like they were probably from the 80s.

  “And by the way, I saw the guy who parked that car.”

  Sonja’s heart leapt in surprise. “You did? Who was it?”

  “I don’t know who he was exactly, but, he had whitish hair all combed back and a full dark beard. He was dressed like a teenager too, in a black t-shirt and jeans.”

  Sonja knew exactly who Shelli was describing, and if that really was her father’s car and the gun inside was linked to the murder somehow, Sonja didn’t know how she’d clear his name—or if she wouldn’t begin to believe he was the murderer herself. The only way to know for certain was to see if she could find a different suspect.

  As Sonja drove away it began to sprinkle - little tiny dots of rain danced on her windshield, and she leaned forward, looking at the sky. It had turned a deep gray in a matter of minutes, and it looked like a big rain storm was coming. She decided she would head over to the church to drop off the donation, because she wanted to ask Pastor Williams more about Belinda Smith. If anyone had a reason to kill Ronda, it sounded like Belinda certainly did.

  By the time Sonja pulled onto the street in front of the church, the wind had really picked up, and she suspected that the skies would open in a downpour at any moment. She parked on the road just outside the church, because the parking lot was blocked by orange cones. She got out of the car and checked out the construction zone. Huge chunks of asphalt, rock, and dirt were ripped up into pieces and sitting in piles all around. The parking lot itself was basically gone, and there was nothing more than an indentation in the earth where it once was. If they were redoing the parking lot, they were going all out.

  Grabbing the box of books, she headed around the construction zone and slipped quickly in the front door, before the rain started. The Pastor’s office door was cracked open and Sonja could hear him talking inside. At first, she thought he might be on the phone, then she realized his words sounded too rehearsed to be having a conversation.

  She leaned closer, peeking inside, and saw that Pastor Williams wasn’t talking at all, despite the fact that his voice echoed through the office. He was at his desk, rummaging through multiple piles of papers and listening to a recording that he’d made of one of his sermons. Sonja lightly knocked on the door. The rustle of papers seemed to increase, there was a clicking noise and then Pastor Williams said, “Yes?” sounding distracted and a bit annoyed.

  “Hi, Pastor Williams,” she greeted him, feeling more than a bit out of place.

  “Ah, Sonja. Come in.”

  The Pastor was in his normal suit and tie again, a much more natural look for him. He stood up and moved around to the front of his desk, turning his back to her, and began gathering up papers and stacking them neatly in a pile.

  “Let me just clean some of this up. It wouldn’t be fit for a man of the Lord to have an office in disarray,” he grinned sheepishly.

  “No worries,” Sonja said absently, looking at the many papers he had scattered about, and wondering if he’d had a windstorm, or if his office always looked like this. There were even a few littering the floor.

  “I was just reviewing my sermon,” he gestured toward a tape recorder on the desk.

  “I can see that.”

  The Pastor placed all the papers into a manila folder and tossed it into an open drawer of the filing cabinet. He closed the cabinet with a cheerful metallic bang, then pushed in the locking mechanism.

  “Afraid someone will steal your sermons?” Sonja teased.

  Pastor Williams smiled. “No, not at all, but I do keep some important paperwork in there.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just budgeting, receipts, the deed to the church,” he shrugged.

  “And building permits?”

  Pastor Williams’ smile dimmed momentarily, and he looked up, confused.

  “Building permits?”

  “Like, for your replacement of the church parking lot. The whole thing is ripped up. I assumed you would need a permit to do something like that,” she blinked at his change in demeanor.

  “Oh, right. Of course. Building permits.” He waved a hand dismissively and returned to his desk, easing into his well-worn leather chair.

  “Like the ones that were on the floor, those were permits, right?” Sonja knew they weren’t simply his sermon papers. They looked too official.

  He nodded and smiled, seeming himself again.

  “They surely were, you’ve got a sharp eye,” he complimented. “After the parking lot is finished, we’re planning on doing some renovations of the church itself. It’s an oldie, but a goodie, that’s in need of some long-overdue repai
rs.”

  Sonja set the box she’d been holding on the newly cleaned desk.

  “I brought more donations for the charity sale.”

  “Oh, well, that was very kind, thank you. Of course, you could have just taken it to the diner. After all, that is where we’re having the sale,” he chuckled.

  “Oh right, I should’ve thought of that,” Sonja picked the box back up.

  “Just go ahead and leave it here, I’ll be glad to take it when we bring everything else over.”

  “Okay, that works,” she smiled, setting the box back down.

  Feeling more than awkward, she continued standing in front of the Pastor’s desk, fidgeting a bit.

  Pastor Williams clasped his hands carefully, and rubbed his thumbs together.

  “Is there something else you need?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Sonja took a seat in the wooden chair across from the Pastor. “I was wondering if you would tell me anything else about Belinda Smith.”

  “Belinda Smith?” he raised his eyebrows. “I doubt I’d know much more than anyone else in town. The family kept to themselves…I think I’ve only seen Belinda a couple of times,” he shrugged, looking at her curiously.

  “Well, I just thought…since you interact with so many people in town, that you may have heard something about her.”

  “If you mean idle gossip, Sonja, I have none to give you,” the pastor admonished sternly.

  Sonja shook her head, her cheeks reddening.

  “That’s not it at all. I was thinking about visiting her. I mean, she just recently lost her father and her stepmother, she could probably use a friend right about now, don’t you think?”

  Pastor Williams paused and looked directly in Sonja’s eyes, nodding his approval.

  “I see what you mean. Well, as you know, she’s been living a life of solitude from a very young age. That was partially her father’s choice and partially hers—at least after she got older. I suppose when you’re used to never really seeing the outside world, you might prefer to stay wherever things are familiar and safe,” he guessed ruefully.