Hanging up, she slipped her phone back into her pocket, feeling like there was nothing else she could do at the moment. If Tabatha really was chomping at the bit, she was sure she’d call back in the next few minutes. Either that, or she’d just drive up.
Shivering from the cold, Sonja hurried along to the back terrace of the manor, slipping inside. She stood at the entrance for a second stomping her feet free of the fresh powder when a freezing cold sensation touched the back of her neck.
Letting out a light squeak, she jumped back slightly and clutched her neck where the sensation had hit her. Her hand felt wet as she brought it away.
It was water.
Glancing up, she noticed a pair of decorative snowshoes hung in a cross formation over the door. It appeared that some ice had collected on them, likely because they were so close to the exit to the outside.
Shrugging it off, Sonja headed down the hallway.
Tromping down the back steps into the kitchen, she was greeted by a glowing warmth. The large electric oven acted like a heater for the entire room. Her eye also fell on the cold brick oven, where she’d seen Agatha’s ghost the night before. She’d said for Sonja to help her, but how.
“Ms. Sonja. Happy Thanksgiving,” the butler greeted with a slight bow upon seeing her.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Gram,” she returned.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked while adding another dash of seasoning on top of the enormous turkey he had laid out in front of him. It lay in a deep pan surrounded by all manner of chopped vegetables including carrots, onions, potatoes, celery root, and parsley root.
“I just wanted to check to see how the turkey was coming along.”
“I’m getting ready to put it in now.”
“Smells delicious already.”
“I’ve always seasoned it the same way.”
“Wow. I’m sure it’s a lot of hard work.”
“It is a bit. Trust me. It will be worth it in the end.”
“Fantastic,” Sonja replied, leaning in on the counter. Glancing down, she noticed the cutting board and knife where the vegetables had been chopped. Raising an eyebrow, she noticed the little drop of red liquid on the tip of the knife.
Was that blood?
It couldn’t be. It had to be juices from one of the veggies. Sonja glanced over at the pan again. What veggie, though? None of the ones in the pan were remotely red.
Her mind instantly returned to the recurring nightmare she’d had, of how the maid had accidentally slashed the man’s arm.
Shaking her head, she looked down again, half expecting the drop of blood to have vanished. Much to her surprise, it was still there. “But how?” she whispered, narrowing her stream of vision at the little red dot.
“What, Ms. Sonja?” Gram asked, having overheard her.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Sorry.”
“Very well,” he replied, lifting the large pan with the turkey in it.
“Do you need any help?” Pushing the strange drop of blood aside in her memory, she walked around the kitchen island toward him.
“If you could just open the door on the oven, I would very much appreciate it.”
“No problem,” she agreed, stepped over and grabbing the steel handle. Opening the door, the entire way, she stepped aside to let the butler through.
Gram stepped forward and then slipped the dish inside. “Okay. Close it up.”
Sonja obeyed. “There we go,” she said, smiling as she brushed her hands back and forth together.
Just then, a loud thud caused both of them to jump, turning to look at the cold brick oven.
“What was that?” the butler asked.
“Maybe an animal got in?” Sonja offered. “We better check.”
“You’re probably right,” he agreed.
Sonja walked in front of him, reaching the oven first. Gripping the old handle, she took a breath, praying that it was, indeed, just an animal. Turning it, the metal squeaked, reminding her of the events from the previous evening. She shoved down that thought and tried to concentrate on the joy of the holiday.
Pausing, the butler’s eyes widening.
“Close the door. Close it this instant,” he demanded, stepping back.
Sonja felt her heart race and her skin prickle with familiar horrors. She stiffened as she realized that there was a woman’s body hidden away inside, a cord around her neck. It was Tabatha.
The butler swallowed hard and his lower lip trembled. For a man who showed so little emotion, this was a big deal. “Go, run and grab the sheriff right away.”
CHAPTER 7
* * *
“The ambulance is on its way,” Sonja told Frank just as he hung up his own phone. He was standing in the alcove by the backdoor of the cottage and his face was somber. All the rest of the party were sitting around in a depressed silence. The warm festivities of the holiday had completely dissolved into tragedy upon the revelation of the murder.
Frank had run like a wild man down to the kitchen to see for himself what Sonja had said was true. As soon as it was verified that there was, indeed, a body in the old oven, Frank ordered the butler to lock the whole room up and hand over the key.
Gram had gladly complied with this request.
The next step was to call in all the necessary emergency services. Frank had called in his two deputies and Sonja had called nine-one-one to get an ambulance. She’d also requested the coroner show up.
“My deputies should be here soon, as well,” he said, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Thanks for calling the paramedics.”
She shrugged. “No problem.” She didn’t want to be the one to say it, even though they were both thinking it, that the ambulance and emergency crew were useless at this point. If nothing else, they could at least remove the body and take it to the morgue.
The whole thing was horrible. Worst of all, Sonja felt like it was all her fault.
She just knew, by the deep knot in her gut, that this was all somehow connected to her nightmare. Perhaps it hadn’t been a vision of a murder from years ago. Instead, it could have been some strange premonition of the horrible things to come.
Between the knife with the blood on it and the body in the oven, it all seemed too familiar.
She found herself staring off out the small window on the backdoor, looking out across the large snow-covered garden. All the shrubs, hedges, and plants looked like little animals hiding under the bed covers.
“You’re sure there was no one else over there at the main house?”
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she looked up into her boyfriend’s eyes. “The front gate is locked. Gram has to go and push the button in the security room to let anyone in.”
“Was the butler the only one in the manor this morning?”
Sonja shifted her lips back and forth as she thought. Finally, she gave him a shrug. “As far as I know, yes.”
“No one else was planning on coming up for dinner today?”
“Tabatha Rondo was the only one. I invited her to come today,” she answered, ignoring his worrying.
Frank pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “The girl’s body we found?”
“Yeah, the one who paints all those pictures of the mountains.”
Frank’s eyebrows mushed together in a concerned gesture. “You don’t think. . .” his voice trailed off.
Sonja bit her lower lip. “What?” She had a feeling that she knew what he was thinking. He more than likely was wondering if Gram was the murderer.
“Nothing. Come on, you need to sit down.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“But besides her, there was no one?” he asked.
“That’s it. All of you were invited, of course, but you were all here the whole time.”
Frank snapped his fingers. “You said Gram had to let us all in, right?”
“That’s right. I told him who was coming and instructed him to open the gates for you guys when you arrived
.”
“Which means, only he had the ability to let people in,” Frank said, pointing thoughtfully.
Sonja’s jaw dropped. “Do you think he let someone else in?”
Frank took in a deep breath and then let it out in a frustrated whoosh. He clearly didn’t want to share what he was thinking. “I’ll need to talk to Gram. Where did he get off to?”
Sonja was no dummy. She knew this didn’t look good for the aged butler. Unless someone had somehow snuck onto the premises, he was literally the only suspect in this case. Every other single person among the many friends and family had been up at the house all day, as far as she knew. She was positive that everyone could alibi the others. They were either all in the kitchen cooking or at the table playing games.
“I think he’s sitting in the living room right now with the others,” she noted, knowing he’d remained in the cottage after handing over the key to the manor kitchen.
“Okay, I’ll talk to him. I want you to sit down and rest.”
She sighed, but agreed. She didn’t like where this Thanksgiving Day was headed, and she hoped to find some way to clear Gram’s name.
CHAPTER 8
* * *
Walking into the dining room, Sonja spotted her father sitting at the table with his hands folded neatly in front of himself. He was looking down and clearly deep in thought. Upon hearing someone come in, however, he looked up and smiled. “Hey, Sonj’.”
“Hi, Dad,” she sighed, walking over and taking a seat next to him. She had to admit, after the adrenaline rush of the past twenty minutes, it felt good to rest for a second.
“How you doing, hon?” Sam asked, reaching over and grabbing his daughter’s hand in his own strong grip.
“Not great,” she admitted, slumping down and putting her head on top of their clasped hands.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“It’s all starting up again, isn’t it? The murders, the ghosts?” she sighed heavily, drinking in the horrible reality of the situation. She remembered her father’s warning when she first discovered her paranormal abilities—that having such power tended to draw in criminals, murders, and unwanted spirits.
“Not necessarily. Just because a few more murders have occurred recently, doesn’t mean that we’re going to have another witch on our hands,” he comforted her.
Turning her head so her cheek rested on the table, she looked him in the eye. “I hope you’re right.” The horrible encounter with a witch from over a year ago seemed little more than a dream at this point. Sonja wasn’t looking for an encore showing of those harrowing events.
Lowering his voice to a whisper, he asked her the burning question at hand. “I take it there is something supernatural involved with this murder?”
Sitting up, Sonja managed a half-hearted shrug. “I can’t say for sure, but I’m thinking so.”
Shooting a glance toward the living room and making sure they were completely alone and out of earshot in at the dining table, he looked back into his daughter’s eyes. “You better tell me about it, I think.”
“It all started the other night with a nightmare,” she admitted. Making sure not to leave out any details, she gave her father the full outline of everything that had occurred including the dreams, the candle, the face in the ashes, the knife, and finally the body.
He listened attentively the entire time, only responding with nods and scratches of the chin the whole time.
“So, what I thought was just a reflection of the past was a warning about this murder, I think,” she informed him. It seemed like the only truly logical explanation.
“You may be right, but I think there is more to it than that,” he finally said, adding his thoughts to hers.
“What do you mean?” She grabbed one of the left-over waffle sticks, dipped it into the cream, and took a bite. The sweet taste was comforting.
“It could be both, a reflection of the past and a warning of the future, I mean,” he told her.
“Wait, how is that possible?”
“Sometimes, a horrible event leaves an imprint on a location—sort of like a fingerprint. Often times, hauntings are mistaken as a ghostly presence rather than an energy.”
“Are you saying there might not be any ghosts involved at all?” She ate the last bite of the waffle stick and munched down on it. It was still crunchy on the outside.
“That’s right. Hauntings occur for several reasons, as you know. Sometimes it is a ghost of a deceased person, sometimes it is the negative energy of someone living in the building—”
“Poltergeist,” she affirmed, aware of the concept of anger, stress, or fear creating such powerful energetic waves that items around a home will move.
“And other times, it is simply the imprint of a horrible event left on the building. It can even manifest as the image of a person moving about or voices calling out. It’s simply a repeated record of what has happened before.”
Sonja tapped her fingers on the tabletop, trying to understand exactly what this could all mean. “And how do you think that connects to the murder?”
“I can’t say for sure, but sometimes when a current event in the lives of the living is similar enough to the past horrors left behind, the two energies will intertwine and the situation repeats itself.”
“Like a murder?”
“Correct.”
Sonja grunted quietly as she thought. “But, my dream was about a man who was being rejected by a girl. I hardly think Gram would have made advances toward a young woman like Tabatha, especially since he has a history with her family.”
“He does?” Sam asked.
Realizing the situation was getting graver by the second, Sonja slumped down on the table again. “Darn it. That may mean that Gram had a motive. It doesn’t look good.”
“Do you think the butler did it?” he asked.
“No, honestly, I don’t see it.”
“Then someone else must have come onto the property.”
“Not by the front gate. It was closed the entire time.”
“It doesn’t mean someone couldn’t climb over the fence, you know.”
Standing up, she placed her palms down on the table.
“Where are you going? Did you think of something?”
“It snowed today, right?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“So, if someone snuck onto the estate, I’ll be able to find their footprints. I’m going outside to look.”
CHAPTER 9
* * *
Bundling up in her jacket, Sonja rushed outside to have a look around the premises. She wanted to be able to do a full sweep before the ambulance and the rest of the cops arrived, and they could show up at any second considering they’d been called already.
The wind had picked up slightly, brushing the collected snow off the tops of the trees and sending it down upon her. Shivering as the temperature noticeably dropped, she hoped that any footprints made in the snow by the killer wouldn’t also be blown away or covered over.
Rushing to the closest stretch of fence, she began her lengthy walk along the premises, her own footsteps sinking into the snow—which had reached nearly three inches overnight.
It was no real surprise to get snow as early as September or October in Haunted Falls, but Sonja preferred it to stay away until after Thanksgiving. This year, however, she was hoping the snow would provide her with some clue to help clear Gram of a murder rap.
The distant sound of sirens coming up the mountain road rang off in the chilly morning air.
She needed to be fast.
Deciding to cover the front half of the estate first, where any evidence of footprints was more likely to be disturbed by the emergency workers sooner, Sonja picked up her pace, heading around the front side of the cottage, keeping her eyes trained on the ground the entire time.
Coming toward the corner of the fence, she glanced up just as multiple emergency vehicles—an ambulance and two police cruisers—came through the gate. After
the discovery of the murder, Sonja had instructed Gram to make sure the gates remained open for the emergency workers to come through.
The vehicles quickly sped around the large driveway and found their way to the back part of the house where they would have the easiest access to the kitchen area and, therefore, the body.
Turning her attention back to the ground, she instantly spotted what she was looking for. Right at the point where the two fence pieces met were heavy footprints. The first two were deeper, indicating someone had, indeed, jumped over to gain access to the estate. The rest of the footprints were not nearly as defined and were slowly disappearing in the slow snowfall.
Following the trail with her eyes, she saw that it snuck up just past the cottage under the windows—where the culprit crouched down to keep hidden from sight—and eventually to the manor house itself.
Frank needed to see this now before they were gone for good.
About to run off to the cottage and grab him before he became preoccupied with the crime scene, she was forced to stop as an unfamiliar and unmarked car came up the path and into the gates. In any case, she had a strong feeling that this person had nothing to do with the investigation.
For a moment, Sonja wondered if maybe it was Tabatha Rondo, which would be a great relief. However, as the car drew closer, she saw a man behind the wheel.
Sonja stepped out, waving her arms for them to stop before they made a fool of themselves by interrupting all the emergency workers at their duties.
The young driver’s face scrunched up in irritation. “Hey, move outta the way, lady,” he snapped, rolling down the window just far enough for his voice to carry out. A cigarette between his lips bounced as he spoke.
“This is private property, my property, and you are trespassing.”
“This isn’t no private property. It’s a through road,” he argued with her, gripping his lips around the cigarette more tightly.
Clearly, this man was either new to Haunted Falls, was intoxicated, or was just plain oblivious—maybe a combination of the three.
Thanksgiving Waffle Murder Page 4