“Aren’t you glad to find out it’s not all of us?” she smirked.
Reaching over, he squeezed her leg affectionately. “I am. I’d mostly given up on dating or marriage until you moved back into town.”
Folding her arms, she narrowed her eyes at her fiancé. “Now wait a minute. What do you mean, until I moved back into town? How long were you planning to ask me out on a date?”
The corner of his mouth turned up into a half smile, looking like a timid boy. “Well, I considered it right away but discounted it based on my previous dating experiences. It wasn’t until you started putting your nose into every single murder case that came my way that I started to reconsider.”
Sonja burst out into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“So, the very thing you always told me was annoying was what made you decide to ask me out?”
He shrugged. “Hey, I guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“It’s got to be more than that.”
“I like a tenacious woman, okay?” he finally admitted.
Completely satisfied with revelation, Sonja settled comfortably back into her chair. “That is positively hilarious.”
“Hey, now. Don’t get any ideas. I still don’t want you inserting yourself in the middle of police work anymore,” his voice took on a stern and serious tone, vibrating in the small space of the truck.
“Okay, okay, I got it.”
“Now, are you going to tell me that address or am I going to be stuck just guessing?” he pressed, arriving at the ferry dock along the lakeside. Rolling down his window, he dropped a few coins into the automated slot and hit the button. A whirring sound echoed from the ferry’s motor as it begun to chug forward along the line that guided it across the lake. Frank at least knew that the house was across the lake, but after that, he didn’t have any specifics.
“Sorry, sorry. We got sidetracked.” Pulling up her pad again, Sonja looked at the listed numbers and names there. “It looks like it’s going to be six-six-six Sycamore Lane.”
Frank’s eyebrow shot up. “Six-six-six? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Come on, Frank. It’s just a house number, nothing special about it.”
“You’re not even a little put off by that?”
“Not in the least bit. Don’t be paranoid,” she teased him, reaching over and giving his shoulder a light push.
However, this time he was not amused by the playful banter. “You know, I used to not be superstitious in the least bit until you came along. Between your ability to talk to the dead and all the ghosts and witches we’ve dealt with, I’m a little bit more than wary of simple things like the number six-six-six.”
Sonja refrained from teasing him anymore and had to repress to urge to roll her eyes. “Honey, we haven’t dealt with anything like that in a while. Even when there has been a ghost or two, they’ve only helped us.”
“I don’t care, a ghost is a ghost,” he pointed out, tapping his finger on the steering wheel.
Not many people knew it, but Sonja was a natural born clairvoyant. She could both see and speak to the dead, and the talent had come in handy on several occasions to help solve a murder—despite Frank’s opposition to it.
Even now, Frank was extremely uncomfortable with anything paranormal. Sonja only hoped things would get easier after they got married because her abilities weren’t going away and neither were the ghosts.
They knew she could hear them and often sought her out.
“Well, don’t worry. You won’t even have to come up to the door with me. I’ll just run up, drop off the stuff, and leave.”
“Good,” he nodded firmly. “I’ll keep the truck running so we can turn right around and head back to Alison’s place for the party.”
The ferry shuddered underneath them, jolting as it bumped a piece of ice floating in the lake. Sonja had to admit, riding this thing during the winter months always freaked her out. She was always waiting for something to go wrong and plunge them into the icy depths of the water.
She’d never been a very good swimmer and didn’t feel like trying her luck.
“If this ferry goes any slower, we might not get back at all.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” she scolded him.
“Sorry,” he apologized as the ferry finally pulled up close to the dock on the opposite side and clicked automatically into place. “Looks like we made it.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove off the dock and onto the mountain road. “Sycamore Lane. I didn’t even think there were any houses up there,” he thought out loud.
“I think it’s a cabin and the only building that’s anywhere around out here.”
“The next town isn’t for at least forty-five minutes. Why would someone want to live out here like this?”
“Maybe they like their privacy?” she suggested, turning to watch as the trees whizzed on by the truck windows.
“Maybe they’re eccentric,” he joked.
“The woman who called on the phone sounded nice.”
“What’s the name?” he pressed, wondering if it may be someone he knew or recognized.
Lifting the pad, she read. “Devonworth, Corrine Devonworth.”
“Devonworth,” he mused, making a humming noise while he went over any sort of memory related to the name in his memory.
“You know them?”
“No, but something about it sounds familiar. I’m not sure why.”
Sonja shrugged, glancing out into the dark and snowy woods. That’s when she paused, her eye flicking over something hidden out in the trees. “Frank.”
“What?”
“Frank, stop the truck.”
“Wait, why?”
“There someone out there in the woods. I saw a woman walking out there,” she exclaimed.
CHAPTER 3
* * *
Without another moment’s hesitation, Frank pulled the truck to the side of the road. “A woman? You saw a woman?”
Sonja didn’t answer him and instead popped open her door and stepped out into the frigid cold of the chilly evening. Snow fell gently all around her as she made her way past the threshold of trees and into the thick of the forest.
Her eyes darted back and forth, searching high and low for any sign of the person she’d sworn she saw moving about in the trees. The further she pressed forward, the colder the air seemed to be. It was almost as if there was a force pressing down on her from above, boring its invisible cold fingers under her skin.
A chill ran up and down her spine as the goosebumps reached maximum height on her skin.
Something about this felt distinctly supernatural, but she had to be dead certain before she made any definitive assumptions. If there really was a young woman who’d gotten lost in the trees in this weather, Sonja wanted to find her and help her.
If she happened to be a ghost . . . well, Sonja was willing to help in that case as well.
“Sonja, where the devil are you going?” Frank called after her, still at least ten feet behind and trying to catch up.
She didn’t answer him, not wanting him to freak out if they were indeed in the presence of an otherworldly specter. Frank often did just fine in the face of a real-life murderer—a flesh and blood human being—but when it came to something he couldn’t see, hear, touch, or explain, he got a bit shaky.
“Hello?” Sonja called out, trying to get the attention of whoever, or whatever, it was that was hiding out there.
“Who are you talking to?”
“My name is Sonja Reed. I own the diner over across the lake. I’m here as a friend.”
Frank looked around, specifically over his shoulder, beginning to catch on to what might be happening.
A gust of wind hummed through the tree branches, sending a minor avalanche of snow down upon them. A piece of the slush found its way through Sonja’s scarf and down the back of her jacket. She let out an
excited squeal as the cold touched her back—feeling uncannily like a frozen dead hand creeping along her spine.
“You okay?” Frank gasped, running up and putting a hand on her arm.
“Y-Yeah, I just got a touch of snow down my back, is all.” She shivered again, shaking the remains of the chilly wet substance out of her jacket.
“Sonja, what the heck are we doing out here?” he scolded her, not too thrilled that they’d both gone traipsing off into the freezing mountain woods in the dark.
“I swear, Frank, I saw someone walking around in the trees. She looked young, and she was only wearing a little thin gown.” Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to find any sign of the woman. If it was a living breathing person and not a ghost, they had to be frozen stiff by now. She couldn’t imagine walking through the deep snow with nothing to protect her feet. Her toes already felt numb even wearing her boots and only being out there for a minute or two.
That was just how cold it got up in the Rockies that time of year.
“Are you sure about it? It wasn’t just a gust of snow or something?” he asked, hoping to be able to talk her out of the pointless search. They were already way behind schedule as it was. Alison was going to probably chew them out when they finally did arrive.
Sonja nodded, still glancing around for any sign of the woman hidden amongst the frosted shadows. “She’s out here. I know it. Just keep your eyes peeled.”
“Maybe . . .” Frank hesitated, not wanting to say it out loud, but knowing he didn’t have a choice. “Maybe it was one of your ghosts.”
Just as she had thought, Frank had caught on quickly. He was the town’s sheriff, after all. If anyone could deduce the clues, it was him. Sonja turned to look at him, considering what he said, and then turned back to face the trees. She knew he was absolutely right. There was no other explanation for it.
The woman she’d seen had to be a ghost.
However, she’d doubted her own senses this time around. Even with the strange chill along her spine and the odd appearance of the woman among the trees, she’d had an inkling that this was a real person.
Somehow, despite the number of spirits she’d seen in her life, Sonja couldn’t help but think this one looked a little more solid—like flesh and blood—than the others.
Her gaze passed over Frank’s face again. His lower lip stuck out in a stern, but unconscious, pout. He was not happy to be out here in the cold, ghost or no ghost.
Discounting her own thoughts about the person she saw being alive, she gave a nod. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure? If you really think there is someone lost out here, it’s my duty as the sheriff to make sure they are taken to somewhere warm and safe.”
“No, it’s okay. If it’s a ghost and she needs something, she’ll find me one way or another. For now, we have a party to get to.”
Frank nodded his agreement, all too happy to end this little charade, and led the way back to his truck.
CHAPTER 4
* * *
Only about five minutes later they came upon the turnoff to the cabin they were looking for. Sycamore Lane was a tiny dirt trail that wound its way up a steep incline amongst the trees and emerged into a clearing where the mighty cabin stood.
The building was two stories high with large lighted windows all strung with white Christmas lights. A tree, decked out in silver and gold, was prominently displayed in one of the front rooms, shining out into the night for all to see.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it rustic,” Frank noted, leaning forward to get a better look out the windshield. The circular attic window in the top corner of the arched eaves was the only one without any warmth or light shining through. “These people must be loaded to own this type of place.”
“And in this location. They probably own a good chunk of the land out here.”
“I wonder what they do for a living,” he mused.
“I bet this isn’t even their normal home. They’re probably those type of people who usually live on the coast, but then come out to the Rockies for a good old classic snowy Christmas.”
“I can’t imagine,” Frank laughed.
“I wouldn’t want that kind of money, honestly,” Sonja said, reaching down and grabbing the to-go boxes at her feet. Luckily, thanks to being right next to the floor heaters, the food seemed to still feel warm. With their little detour into the woods, she had worried that the waffles had frozen solid before she could make the delivery.
Frank was visibly eyeballing the three golden numbers along the front of the door. Six-six-six.
“Don’t you worry. I’m just running this up to the door and dropping it off. I’ll be right back, and then we can get back to our normal festive evening.”
“If Ally doesn’t kill us first,” he joked.
Sonja rolled her eyes and opened the passenger door. Climbing out into the blustering snowfall, she jogged up the front steps and onto the large wraparound porch. Grabbing the large brass knocker, that was in the shape of a goat’s head, she swung it, knocking three times.
“Coming,” a woman shouted from inside.
Moments later the doorway swung open.
“Hi, I’m Sonja from the Waffle Diner and Eatery. I have your order,” she said with a smile as she examined the elderly woman standing there in the entryway. She looked exactly like the picture-perfect granny who would bake delicious Christmas pies and spoil the children with sweets and toys. She even wore a frilly apron with little decorated aspen trees on it.
“Oh, my dear, come in for just a second will you.”
Sonja glanced back toward the car, knowing Frank wasn’t going to like this, but she stepped inside anyway. After all, it was only going to be for a second while she handed off the food and received payment—and hopefully a tip.
She had to admit, while she didn’t usually make deliveries or house calls, it was sort of exciting. She felt like a pizza delivery guy from an eighties movie.
The woman shut the door behind Sonja, cutting off the cold that was flowing inside.
“Are you Corrine Devonworth?”
“Oh, no dear. I’m Bethany Devonworth, her mother-in-law. She’s on the phone right now.” Bethany motioned toward the alcove behind the stairs, where a middle-aged woman with dyed blonde hair stood speaking into her phone.
Sonja couldn’t help but notice the angry if quiet, tone she was using. “Out? What do you mean, she’s out? As in, she escaped?”
Raising an eyebrow, she found the snippet of the conversation she’d caught to be a little odd. Then, remembering her conversation with Frank about how rich families often traveled for the holidays, she assumed Corrine must be talking with an animal kennel that they’d left one of their animals with.
If that were the case, Sonja could understand being angry. After all, if her little cat, Misty, got lost because a kennel screwed up, she’d be angry. (Of course, considering that Misty was a ghost, Sonja knew that would never be an issue.)
“What kind of facility are you running over there? For what we’re paying you, I’d expect better service.”
Shrugging her shoulders and wondering just how long she was going to be stuck waiting, Sonja turned to the older woman again. “Is she going to be a while?”
“She’s on with the institute, dear. It could be a moment.” She beamed like a child on Christmas morning. “My granddaughter is finally coming home tonight.”
“That’s very sweet, but I’m in a bit of a rush. Do you think someone could pay me so I could go?”
“Oh, I wish I could, but I don’t have any cash. You’ll have to ask Corrine when she’s done.”
“But—” Sonja went to protest.
The woman had already walked off into the living room where an elderly man, perhaps Bethany’s husband, sat smoking a pipe and reading a well-worn copy of A Christmas Carol. Glancing up from his book, he noticed the woman standing in the entryway for the first time. “Who is that, dear?”
“The
nice lady from the diner in town, that popular one everybody’s talking about. She’s brought us some Christmas treats.” Bethany then disappeared into a door, possibly the kitchen.
Standing up, the man walked toward Sonja.
She put on her best smile, hoping he was planning on paying her so she could go. Frank was more than likely growing antsy and anxious sitting outside wasting gas to keep the car warm.
However, instead of even making eye contact with her, the man waltzed past and opened a door on the other side of the entry hall. Sonja tried her best not to scowl or make any irritated noises, but she had to admit it was growing difficult to do so. “Pritchard, there’s a young woman out here with some food, son.”
A shuffling noise came from inside the room and a few seconds later, a young man appeared. The older gentleman disappeared into the self-same room, producing an envelope from his pocket, and shut the door behind him.
“Good evening. Sorry to keep you waiting,” the man beamed. He wore a comfy looking red velvet robe over a button-up shirt and slacks.
“I have eight mini Peppermint Waffles here, and I wouldn’t want them to get cold before you guys can eat them,” Sonja said, hoping to push the man into finally paying her.
“Yes, yes, of course. My wife ordered them.” He glanced over toward the woman in the alcove.
“You better darn well find her, otherwise you’re going to have the authorities to answer to,” she was threatening.
Sonja again had to refrain from rolling her eyes. She couldn’t stand entitled people making threats like that, especially since she dealt with that type on a regular basis at the diner.
“I bet you had a hard drive up here. That snow is really coming down,” he noted.
“Yes, it was a little crazy out there,” she admitted, holding up the boxes for him to see—and smell—the items. She just wanted to get paid.
Christmas Waffle Caper (The Wicked Waffle Series Book 4) Page 2