High Steaks Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 16)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  The kitchen door opened again and the cook from the previous night, Mr. Handy was his name if Sonja remembered correctly, came walking out. He walked sort of funny, as if his legs were stiff from a workout.

  Sonja noticed his eyes were sort of glazed over and wondered if he’d had a sleepless night over the young host, Jake Pitman, being fired.

  “Here is your breakfast,” he said with a monotone voice like he was still irritated about everything that had happened. Setting the plate in front of Tanner, he marched off back toward the kitchen.

  “Anyway,” Shakeman groaned, slicing into the thick juicy steak placed in front of him, “That was only the beginning.” He took a big bite and began to chew, holding the meat in the corner of his mouth while he spoke. “Then, it was voices in the middle of the night, some woman humming a tune.”

  “A woman humming?”

  He swallowed the chunk of meat like a lump down his throat. “Totally annoying. I can hardly stand a woman’s humming.”

  Sonja rolled her eyes and bit her lip to keep from saying something mean.

  “Then, when I’m working late, there’s all this knocking on the walls, like someone is trying to distract me.” His voice began to sound a little hoarse as if he had a tickle in his throat. “Heck,” he coughed, “someone even shook my desk last night.”

  “They shook your desk?” Sonja asked.

  “Yes,” he replied, his voice sounding even more cut off, and dry. “She was s-tanding over me while I worked,” he croaked as if he hadn’t had a drink in days.

  “Are you okay? You don’t look so good,” Maddy pressed.

  “J-Just f-fine,” he managed to choke out, shakily reaching for his glass. His hand never made it, and his face began to turn white, then slowly purple. Pounding the table with his fist, he gripped at his throat which was beginning to bulge unnaturally.

  “Oh my gosh. He’s choking,” Maddy exclaimed.

  “Dickson,” Sonja shouted, standing up. “Dickson, get out here, fast.”

  In a matter of seconds, the assistant had burst out of the kitchen and ran toward the table.

  “Quick, he’s choking on the steak.”

  “No,” Dickson shouted looking at his boss, running across toward the bar where a briefcase lay. “He’s going into anaphylactic shock.”

  “What?” Sonja blurted. Tanner pound the table repeatedly with his fists, waving frantically at his assistant to help him.

  “He’s having an allergic reaction,” Dickson informed her, fumbling to get the case open. “His emergency allergy pen is in here.”

  “Well, hurry,” Maddy exclaimed, rushing to Tanner’s side, frantic with worry.

  “I can’t get this darn thing open,” the assistant shouted, pulling on the lock with all his might.

  “Let me try,” Sonja cried, running over and gripping the handle. As her hand came in contact with the fake leather, the thing suddenly erupted, as if pressure had built up inside, and papers, pens, and other items scattered everywhere.

  With the chill in the air, she knew that the ghost or poltergeist was at work again.

  Dickson instantly dropped to his knees to dig through the contents, pulling the emergency allergy pen from a pile of pencils. “I got it,” he exclaimed.

  A sudden thud nearby stopped all of the commotion, casting an eerie silence over the room. Shakeman had fallen face first into his plate of food.

  “He passed out,” Maddy screamed.

  Dickson and Sonja dashed over to the table, stabbing the man with the pen in a last-minute attempt to quell the attack. He still didn’t move.

  Grabbing a hold of his wrist, Sonja felt for a pulse.

  Slowly, she looked at Dickson and shook her head. “He’s dead.”

  Far in the distance, up the stairs to the second and third floors of the building, a low chilling chuckle echoed on the air.

  CHAPTER 8

  * * *

  “You said we had nothing to worry about,” Frank scolded his girlfriend quietly as he met her in the outside parking lot.

  “I didn’t say that,” she protested.

  “And I told you that I was going to hold you responsible if anyone suddenly and mysteriously died.”

  Sonja twisted her lips to one side and put her hands on her hips. “How can you honestly blame me for this? I didn’t kill him.”

  “Of course, not,” he sighed, “but you sure benefit from him dying, don’t you?”

  “What are you implying?” she exclaimed.

  “Nothing,” he shot back. “But you’re the one who can sense ghosts. You should have known something was up last night when that glass flew across the room.”

  “And if I had told you there was a ghost out to kill Tanner Shakeman, what would you have done then? Locked him up? Put him into protective custody?”

  “Maybe, so. I would have done something to protect him,” he argued.

  Sonja shook her head. “Frank, you can’t predict or control ghosts. If this was the doing of an evil entity, and I’m not saying it was, it would have probably found a way to kill Shakeman no matter what we did.”

  Frank paused, looking down at his girlfriend with worry. “That isn’t very comforting.”

  “It’s not meant to be,” she informed him.

  His mouth twisted in frustration. “It’s my job to protect the people of this town, and if that means from ghosts, so be it.”

  “There is only so much you can do.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” He pointed at his girlfriend, a stern look wrinkling his brow. “I expect you to fill me in if there is anything potentially dangerous going on, just like any other citizen. That includes if you see a hazardous driver, a shoplifter, or even a ghost.”

  Smiling weakly, she nodded her agreement. “You’re right. I apologize. But I really didn’t know if there was a dangerous ghost or not last night. I might be able to sense spirits, but I don’t know everything about them.”

  “I understand. I guess I’m still not used to this whole paranormal ghost thing.”

  “You probably will never get used to it,” she admitted, following him into the building.

  * * *

  Entering the dining room of the Firehouse Grill, the sheriff and his girlfriend spotted Maddy and Dickson sitting at the bar together. The body remained in the same spot where it had fallen, but a white tablecloth had been draped over him.

  “Sheriff,” Dickson sighed, standing up. “Thank heaven you’re here.”

  “The ambulance and a coroner should be here soon as well,” he noted, moving toward the lumpy figure. Carefully lifting the sheet, he looked at the man. It wasn’t a pretty sight. His face was all purple from lack of oxygen, and the features were puffy and bloated.

  Sonja shivered and turned away. Even if she disliked the man, no one deserved to die that way.

  “Have you touched anything else? Moved anything?” Frank asked. “The body, the food, anything here on the table, anything in the kitchen?”

  “No, I just laid the sheet over him,” Dickson confirmed.

  “Good.” He glanced over at the briefcase with the broken lock, the papers, and pencils scattered everywhere. “And what happened there?”

  “His emergency allergy pen was in there. I was trying to get it out, but the lock was stuck. I guess I must have accidentally broken it trying to get it open, the whole thing just sort of scattered.”

  “I see.” Frank placed the cloth back over the body. “We better start at the beginning. First of all, what were you two girls doing here this morning?”

  “Oh, I asked them to accompany me,” Dickson offered.

  “Accompany you? What for?”

  “Mr. Shakeman, Tanner, was afraid he was being haunted.”

  Frank made a knowing side glance at Sonja.

  “Haunted?”

  Dickson turned slightly red with embarrassment. “Yes, sir. He asked me to find Maddy since she has experience with paranormal encounters as a result of being on that television sho
w.”

  “I remember,” Frank affirmed.

  “Maddy informed me that Sonja also is a medium, so she came along.”

  Frank looked at the girls. “Is that correct, ladies?”

  “Spot on,” Maddy said.

  “Okay, what happened after that?”

  “Well, we all came here.”

  “And we sat down with Shakeman,” Sonja said.

  “That’s right,” Dickson added.

  “We were just asking him some questions about why he believed he was being haunted,” Maddy noted, “basic procedure when beginning a paranormal investigation.”

  “And what did he say about this haunting?” Frank asked, trying to sound skeptical.

  “He mentioned how his paperwork got tossed everywhere around his office, and how he was hearing voices.”

  “Voices?” Frank mused.

  “A woman humming,” Sonja informed him.

  “And he even mentioned seeing a woman standing over his desk,” Maddy said.

  “When did he begin to show signs of distress? That he couldn’t breathe?”

  “After he started eating his breakfast,” Dickson answered, stepping forward.

  “And he was eating while he talked to you two?” He pointed to the women.

  They both nodded their agreement.

  “The cook, Mr. Handy, brought it out to him,” Dickson noted.

  “And what did he have to eat?”

  “It was a normal steak breakfast.”

  Frank glanced at the table. “And he eats this dish often, I assume?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What could have possibly caused this type of an allergic reaction?” Frank motioned toward the sheeted body.

  “The only thing he is allergic to, that I’m aware of anyways, is peanuts.”

  “And this dish doesn’t have any peanuts in it?”

  Dickson shook his head. “None at all.”

  Frank sighed. “I’ll have to have his food tested for any sign of peanut oils. That could take a few days.”

  The assistance’s face turned pale. “Y-you think that someone purposefully put peanuts into his food?”

  The sheriff’s face was serious as he examined Tanner’s assistant. “It’s possible. Unless someone who didn’t know he was allergic prepared the dish.”

  “Oh no,” Dickson insisted. “Mr. Handy cooks all of Tanner’s meals. He has strict instruction to make sure there is absolutely no cross contamination with any sort of peanuts.”

  “And where is Mr. Handy, now?”

  “Gone,” he stated flatly. “I went back to see if was still here, just before you arrived.”

  “But he wasn’t there?”

  “Not a sign of him.”

  “Did you see him at all this morning?”

  “We all did,” Maddy chimed in. “He brought out the food and then took off.”

  Suspicion glinted in Frank’s eyes as he thought over these new facts.

  “I saw him before that,” Dickson added. “I ran back to make sure the breakfast was ready when Tanner was starting to get irritable.”

  “And he was in there cooking?”

  “That’s right. He was just plating the dish when I came in.”

  “Did you notice anything odd about his behavior?”

  “He seemed distant like he was tired or distracted.” He shrugged. “But he did have someone else in there with him.”

  “Someone else?” Sonja asked, feeling surprised about this new news herself.

  “Well, Shakeman fired one of our hosts last night.”

  “I remember,” Frank replied. “We were here.”

  “Well, his name is Jake Pitman—a young guy who’s only about twenty or so years old. Thomas Handy took a liking to him, sort of took him under his wing. Jake was back there when I arrived and he seemed pretty upset still.”

  “No surprise there,” Sonja mumbled quietly.

  “If this young man was fired, why was he here this morning?”

  “I didn’t know he was here until I saw him in the kitchen. My guess is he was here to try and get his job back, but as soon as he saw me, he ran out the back door like a shot.”

  “Interesting,” Frank stroked his chin.

  “Do you think he could have added the peanuts to the dish?” Dickson asked.

  “I don’t know,” Frank replied. “But I intend to find out.”

  CHAPTER 9

  * * *

  After asking a few more questions, Frank decided to interview them one by one in the kitchen. The coroner and the paramedics arrived, and he wanted to allow them to do their work. He called Sonja to come back with him first—with strict instructions not to touch anything.

  More importantly, he wanted to get her and Maddy’s statements and get them out of there before they could become more involved in the case than they already were.

  Stepping into the kitchen, he made sure the door closed behind them. The room was dimly lit, with only a few fluorescent lights on, buzzing above the stove and griddle which still gave off some heat—indicating it had been on earlier that same morning.

  Rows of metal counters and hanging pots, pans, and utensils gave an eerie sensation to the room. With only a few lights on, it felt like they were in a forest of kitchen appliances. Worse yet, Sonja had a distinct feeling like they were being watched.

  She knew instinctively by the chills along her spine that there was a ghost present somewhere in the building—possibly in the room with them.

  She didn’t dare tell Frank for fear he would instruct her to leave prematurely.

  Coming to stand near the warm griddle, Frank turned to his girlfriend. “Looks like it’s an accident this time Sonj’. I don’t think you and Maddy need to stick around after I get your official statements.”

  “I wouldn’t count it out yet,” she replied with a shiver, turning her gaze back and forth in the dark corners and hiding places of the room around them.

  “It looks like an accidental allergic reaction. Pure and simple. These things happen.”

  She shook her head. “My gut feeling is this was murder.”

  “Well, I can’t use your gut feelings as evidence.” He folded his arms again, determined to get her out of there whether this was an act of a murder or not.

  “What about last night? The flying water glass and the whole room vibrating.”

  “I can’t use ghostly activity as evidence either, and you know that. Besides, we can’t even prove for sure that it was a ghost.”

  “I know it was,” Sonja argued. “And I think that this ghost helped move the murder along.”

  “How is that?” he asked, turning to examine the shelves of spices and ingredients just above the stove. It was clear, despite his previous encounters with the dead, that he wanted to rule out spiritual involvement right off the bat.

  “Dickson couldn’t get the suitcase open,” she informed him. “It was like it was sealed shut by an otherworldly force. Then, at the last minute, it burst open like some invisible hands had torn it from the hinges.”

  “It could have just been Dickson stalling,” he pointed out the obvious.

  “Maybe,” she agreed, “but I still think something paranormal was involved.”

  Frank looked down at her, a heavy line appearing between his eyebrows. “I hope you’re wrong,” he whispered. “I’m not sure I can handle another case like the last one at the Hinkley Farm.”

  “Maybe you won’t have to,” she confided in him. “This ghost might not be after us like that one.”

  He folded his arms and looked down at her. “As an officer of the law I can’t very well have a séance and call it police procedure.”

  Sonja shrugged. “Maybe we need more evidence first,” she shot back. “I need to know more about what we’re dealing with before I can make any assumptions, anyway. Once I have enough clues to at least get me started, I can begin research on the ghost.”

  “Okay, you can do all the research you want, but unti
l I have clearer evidence of a haunting I’m treating this as a normal investigation.”

  “Fine, but be careful, whatever you do.” She knew the spirit was there, very close now, and she didn’t want to take any chances.

  “Okay,” he agreed, glancing up at the shelf of spices again.

  Following his line of sight toward the spices, she noticed a thick layer of some sort of dust on the topmost shelf.

  It wasn’t anything too odd, but it did catch her eye. Everything else in the professional kitchen was spick and span—not a spot of grime or dust anywhere. So, why was this one shelf dirty? Reaching up, she touched the dust and brought her fingers back down. The color had a strange brownish tinge to it.

  This was not ordinary dust build up.

  “What are you doing?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “That shelf is just awful dusty.”

  “This is hardly the time for a cleaning inspection,” he said.

  “Well, don’t you think that’s odd?”

  “Not really. High shelves often collect dust like that.” Frank reached up and touched the powder with his own fingers. Bringing his hand down, he rubbed the dust between his fingers. His eyes narrowed as he examined it, also noticing the brownish color. “This isn’t dust.” Sniffing his fingers, his eyes widened.

  “What? What is it?”

  “It smells faintly of . . . peanuts,” he informed her.

  “Peanuts?” she exclaimed, looking up at the top shelf again. “Why would there be peanut powder everywhere up there?”

  “I have a hunch,” he noted, looking around for something to stand on. Spotting a few old milk crates, he pulled one out and flipped it over. Stepping up, he got a better look at the shelf.

  “Do you see anything?”

  Reaching in, he pulled out a small plastic container.

  “What is it?”

  He turned it toward her so she could read the label. “Ground peanuts?” she gasped.

  “It looks like it fell over.”

  “Getting peanut dust everywhere,” she added.

  He began to chuckle lightly, stepping down from the crate with the bottle still in his hand. “There you go, Sonja. This was an accident, just like I told you it was.”