Sinister Strawberry Waffle: Book 3 in The Diner of the Dead Series

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  His steadfast loyalty to Ally was an admirable quality, and Sonja hoped that it didn’t overwhelm him to a degree that it would get in the way of his work. She hoped that as she worked more shifts with Alex that he would mellow out, especially about being alone with her in the kitchen. After all, it would only happen once a week.

  Sonja quickly got to work whipping up the order of Strawberry Shooters. Opening the fridge, she pulled out five plump, perfectly red, strawberries and placed them on the cutting board. Then, with an efficiency that only came with hours of practice, she chopped the strawberries into little pieces and discarded the small green stems. With a small hand blender, she pulsed the strawberries into the creamy waffle batter until they were smooth. Adding a dash of whipping cream to the batter, she blended it a bit longer, until it reached the perfect color and consistency. The end result was a light fluffy texture, which had a pale pink tint—almost like strawberry milk.

  It never seemed to matter how many times she prepared waffles, or how long the days at the diner dragged on, the smell of a fresh waffle crisping in the iron was still as divine now as it had been on those rainy Sunday mornings when she was a little girl and her mom had made them.

  While the waffle lightly browned, Sonja took two more strawberries and cut them into thick slices. Once the light, crispy and fluffy waffle was removed from the iron and placed on a plate, she added a perfectly formed dollop of whipped cream, artfully placed the sliced strawberries, and topped it off with red and pink sprinkles. Placing the dish in the service window, she rang the bell and called out, “Order up.”

  Glancing out into the dining area, she noticed Sheriff Thompson coming in the front door.

  “I’ll be right back,” she called to Alex.

  “No prob, boss lady. Do you want me to take the waffle orders?” He nodded to her station at the counter where ingredients, bowls of chilled batter, and three waffle irons sat.

  Smiling, she thought about how much she appreciated his willingness to jump in and take over if he needed to. “No, I’ll only be gone for a minute.”

  “I got this,” he replied, using tongs to flip strips of crispy bacon.

  Sonja came out of the kitchen, absently wiping her hands of the skirt of her apron, and watched as the hostess seated Sheriff Thompson in a corner booth at the end of the diner.

  “I’ll take care of the Sheriff,” she whispered to the server.

  “Awesome. I’m a little swamped,” the busy server shrugged, heading for another table.

  Sonja walked over to his booth, pulled out her pad of blank order slips and—in her most formal voice—asked, “How are you today, sir? Can I start you out with something to drink?”

  “Sonja,” Sheriff Thompson greeted her with a grin. “Good to see you.”

  Over the past month, she and the Sheriff had developed quite the unusual friendship. Whenever there was murder or other mysterious mishap occurring around Haunted Falls, somehow Sonja always managed to be involved. Even though she was sure the sheriff mostly saw her as a nuisance, she had grown fond of seeing her uniformed friend on a pretty regular basis. It was nice to finally see him and talk to him when there wasn’t some sort of crazy crime going on.

  The odd friendship was one of the few positive things that had come out of her involvement as a witness in multiple murder cases. The Sheriff’s strong, steady presence had actually helped her to feel a bit less insane about her recent encounters with the supernatural.

  “So, anything happening this week?” he asked, half teasing and half actually inquiring. “Any dead bodies, demanding film crews, or ghosts to speak of?” Thompson didn’t believe in ghosts, but he liked to tease Sonja about it because—to him—she seemed to be a target for strange occurrences.

  “Nothing so far, thankfully,” she responded with a lopsided smile.

  “Good,” the officer nodded. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Oh, I do have some news though,” she remembered.

  “Don’t tell me,” he groaned, leaning back in the booth.

  “No, it’s nothing bad, for a change,” she interrupted. “I’m just having the landscaping redone.”

  A comical look of relief passed over his face. “Sounds thrilling,” he teased.

  It had been over a week since she’d seen the sheriff, and she sort of missed his snarky good ol’ boy attitude. It honestly surprised her that he wasn’t one of her most regular customers, but apparently even a small town Sheriff was kept busy with the constant goings on.

  If nothing else, Sheriff Thompson was comfortable, someone she could talk to and trust, although, she didn’t tell him everything. He didn’t know the truth or extent of her supernatural experience, and she preferred to keep it that way. There was no reason to openly label herself as the town nutcase.

  “What can I get you?” she asked, getting down to business. “Do you want the gouda waffles again?” She distinctly remembered him enjoying her specialty waffle the last time he was in.

  “No, not this time,” he mused, flipping the laminated menu over and perusing the choices.

  “Do you want me to come back?”

  “Nope, I know what I want,” he decided. “Give me a fried egg with bacon and an everything bagel, toasted, with cream cheese on the side.”

  She nodded, writing. “How do you want your egg?”

  “Well done, I’d say.”

  “You know eggs are better for you with softer middles, right?” she raised an eyebrow, trying to get a rise out of him.

  Giving her the same look he always did, and shaking his head at her sass, he repeated himself, taking the time to articulate each word. “Well done, please.”

  She grinned, enjoying the game.

  “Coming right up.”

  Turning on her heel she headed back into the kitchen with a bit of a spring in her step.

  “I’m back,” she announced.

  “No new waffle orders while you were gone,” Alex replied, flipping three pancakes in rapid succession with practiced ease.

  “Scoot over,” she said, squeezing in beside him.

  “Hey, I thought I was taking all the grill orders,” he protested.

  When Alex was assigned a responsibility, he took it very seriously. Like his father, he took pride in working hard and completing his tasks successfully—a rare thing in this day and age.

  “Breathe, I’m only doing one order,” she insisted playfully, slicing a pat of butter and placing it on the grill, where it instantly melted into a yellow puddle.

  “Sheriff Thompson’s order?” he inquired, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  “You got it.”

  Grabbing a fresh egg from the basket, she cracked it and plopped it in the butter.

  “Oh my,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Oh, stop it,” Sonja was only half paying attention to Alex. Grabbing two slices of bacon she slapped them on the grill, loving the meaty sizzle.

  “I just thought Ally was pulling my leg,” he commented with mock innocence.

  Turning toward him, hands on her hips, she stared him down. “What are you babbling about?”

  “She said that you liked Sheriff Thompson, and that you two might—you know—become a thing.”

  Sonja rolled her eyes. “Well, you just can tell little Miss Alison that she’s wrong about that.”

  The cook put up his hands defensively, wickedly enjoying her reaction. “Hey, sorry. I’m just repeating what I heard.” Grinning, he went back to scrambling the pile of eggs in front of him.

  “He’s almost seven years older than I am,” she protested, her cheeks tinged with just a touch of pink.

  Alex shrugged. “My dad’s ten years older than my mom.”

  Sonja’s jaw dropped. She had no idea that Vic was so much older than his wife.

  “Well, that’s great for them,” she smiled tightly, flipping the egg over and letting it cook on the other side. “But Sheriff Thompson and I are nothing more than friends.”
/>   Sonja shook her head, thinking that Ally just wanted to play matchmaker, but the busy diner owner didn’t have the time or inclination for such things. Besides, there was someone else who had captured her attention. Sighing inwardly, Sonja imagined Benjamin’s face in her mind’s eye. He had a stereotypically rugged look about him—short brown hair, a strong jawline, and a neatly trimmed reddish beard the color of autumn. She had only recently met him, and he had been the first man in over a year that she had even considered dating—she only hoped he felt the same way.

  Unfortunately, Benjamin was out of town and wouldn’t be back for a while. There hadn’t been enough time for Sonja to indicate her interest—not yet at least—so she was definitely looking forward to seeing him again.

  The reason he had come to Haunted Falls in the first place was to work as a part of a film crew for a popular television show, but when one of the crew members ended up dead, the rugged cameraman decided he was done with show business. He’d decided to move to Haunted Falls and accepted a position as a farmhand on the Hinkley farm, and had spent the last few weeks tying up loose ends back in California before making the official transition.

  Sonja could just imagine him lifting bales of hay and loading them into the back of a truck, his thick muscles bulging under the soft cloth of a plain white T-shirt. Her face grew warm at the thought and she even felt a little sick to her stomach.

  The sound of something sliding against the tile floor by the back door interrupted her train of thought.

  “Did you hear that?” she frowned.

  “Hear what?” Alex replied, making a pancake shaped like a bunny rabbit.

  Turning toward the source of the sound, Sonja saw that, near the back door on the red and white tile, lay a small envelope. More than a bit curious, she hurried over to it. A swirl of dust danced up and clouded the air just outside the door as a black truck, windows all blacked out, drove away at an unsafe speed.

  “What the heck?” she wondered aloud.

  Closing the door, she bent over and picked up the envelope. Her name was on the front in simple block letters. Grabbing a butter knife out of the tray, she tore open the envelope, finding a folded piece of paper inside.

  “What is it?” Alex asked, hitting the bell to send out his stack of bunny cakes to a hungry toddler in the diner.

  “I’m not sure,” she murmured, opening the letter to read it. There was only one typewritten line on the paper: Cancel your contract with Merrill and Macklin’s Landscaping and More OR ELSE!

  CHAPTER 3

  Quickly plating the Sheriff’s breakfast, Sonja carried it out to him—making sure she had the letter and envelope in her apron pocket.

  “Ah, thank you, Sonja,” he remarked, eagerly rubbing his hands together as she set the plate in front of him. “Hey, wait a minute. Where’s my bagel?”

  “Look at this.” She plopped the letter and envelope down on the table in front of him.

  “What about my bagel?” he blinked.

  Turning the envelope over she pushed it toward him so that he could read the scribbled name on the back. “This was just slid under the back door a minute ago.”

  Gingerly unfolding the paper, Thompson read its contents.

  “Well, that’s odd,” he turned it over in his hand. “Do you think it could be a practical joke?”

  Shrugging, she looked him in the eye. “I don’t know. That’s why I brought it out to you. I think someone’s threatening me.”

  The sheriff stroked his clean-shaven jaw and frowned. “Do you know of any reason why someone would want to stop your landscaping contract?”

  “I can’t think of even one. I saw a black truck that I didn’t recognize drive off really fast, just as after letter was dropped off.”

  “Did you get the license plate number?”

  Her shoulders slumped in embarrassment. “I didn’t even think to look.”

  The sheriff raised his eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem like you.”

  “Well, it’s not like I had a whole lot of time to memorize the license plate number before they took off. Anyway, what do you think it means?”

  The officer shrugged. “Maybe a rival landscaping company is getting desperate for customers?”

  “What company?” she persisted.

  As far as she knew Merrill and Macklin’s Landscaping and More was the only landscaping company in town.

  “Good question,” he admitted.

  The front door to the diner chimed. Sonja glanced over and saw Bill Merrill, one of the owners of Merrill and Macklin, walking in.

  “Well, speak of the devil,” Sheriff Thompson commented wryly. “Hey, Merrill.”

  The old gentleman perked up upon hearing his name. When he spotted Thompson he smiled. “Hey, Sheriff,” he replied, heading toward them.

  “Come on over here and have a seat,” he invited, gesturing to the empty bench across from him.

  “Well, thanks. Don’t mind if I do.”

  Merrill slipped into the booth across from the sheriff. “Hiya, Sonja.”

  “Hey Bill,” she replied.

  “I came by to talk to you about the landscaping schedule and thought I might as well grab some breakfast while I’m here.”

  He turned toward the Sheriff. “What are you having, Frank?”

  “Bill,” Sonja interrupted, thrusting the letter at him. “Take a look at this.”

  “What is it?” he asked, patting his shirt pocket. “Darn. I think I forgot my glasses again.”

  “It’s a threating letter, Merrill,” Sheriff Thompson responded gravely.

  “A threat?” Bill raised an eyebrow. “A threat ‘bout what?”

  Sonja read the singular line out loud.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered, taking the letter and squinting at the small print. “And this was sent to you?”

  She pushed the envelope toward Merrill. “It has my name on it.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” he repeated. “That’s the strangest coincidence I’ve ever seen.”

  “Coincidence?” the sheriff asked.

  “You betcha. Last night—just as I was getting ready to leave—someone left a message on my office phone saying exactly the same thing—well, almost exactly.”

  Sonja leaned on the table, intently focused. “What did they say?”

  “Well, they said I shouldn’t take the contract to work on The Waffle’s landscaping.”

  He shook his head. “Quite a strange coincidence.”

  “Merrill, I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all,” Sheriff Thompson observed.

  “You don’t?”

  “No, clearly someone is deliberately threatening you two.”

  “Humph,” the elderly gentleman sighed folding his arms. “Why would anyone do that?”

  “I’d certainly like to find out,” the Sheriff responded. “Sonja, do you mind if I hold onto this for a while?” He held up the letter.

  “Whatever you need to do,” she nodded. “Are you going to run some tests?”

  “Well, I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Can ya’ really get fingerprints off somethin’ like that?” Merrill asked, eyebrows raised.

  “I can try,” the sheriff replied. “Running a fingerprint test is a fairly easy process. You can even do it at home if you have the right equipment.”

  Sonja perked up at that thought. If she could really make her own fingerprint tests at home maybe she wouldn’t need to run to Sheriff Thompson every time there was a new crisis in her life.

  “The real issue is whether there are any fingerprints to find or not. Generally, fingerprints don’t get left behind willy-nilly like TV shows might lead you to believe.”

  “What about the handwriting on the front of the envelope,” Sonja asked. “Can we get anything from that?”

  “That’s a little more difficult,” he commented. The Sheriff paused and cocked an eyebrow at Sonja. It was that look again.

  She had a hunch about what he was thinking. “What?”


  “Let me take care of this, Sonja? Don’t get involved.”

  She didn’t respond. In the last two murder cases that came through Haunted Falls, Sonja had turned into a bit of an amateur sleuth, and found the thought of a new mystery to be sort of exciting, despite the threats, but Sheriff Thompson didn’t like it when townsfolk got too involved with police matters.

  “Look, this could easily just be someone’s idea of a practical joke—a jab at Merrill maybe, but if it turns out to be something more serious I don’t want you to be caught up in the middle of a police investigation again.”

  “I want to figure this out as much as you do,” she pointed out.

  “You might be putting yourself in danger . . . again, and ultimately creating more work for me. If you want to find out who is behind this,” he waved the letter in the air, “just let me and the deputies handle it.”

  “But, Sheriff…”

  Flushed, with both embarrassment and frustration, the diner owner put her hands on her hips.

  “No buts,” he ordered quietly. “I don’t want you getting involved.”

  “I already am involved. I’m the one being threatened, aren’t I?”

  The officer sighed. “Unless I ask for your assistance I want you to steer clear. If you happen to find any leads about who is behind this, or if you receive any more threats, don’t go after them yourself. You call me,” he instructed, his tone brooking no nonsense.

  Sonja breathed deeply, her chest puffing out like an angry cat, and then let it out with a whoosh. “Fine.”

  “Does this mean you want to cancel the contract?” Merrill asked, a hint of regret in his voice. “It’s one thing if someone’s threatenin’ me, but I can’t stand the thought of someone threatenin’ you. I’ll understand if you just want to call the whole thing off.”

  “Who else am I going to hire to fix up the landscaping?” she asked with a slight smile.

  He put his hands up in front of him. “I just wanna to make sure you feel comfortable. You could easily find a larger company—one outside Haunted Falls.”