“I’m afraid so,” she admitted.
He sighed. “His name is Howard Baskins. He owns a large summer estate down near the lake.”
“Oh? I’ve never heard of him.”
Sonja wasn’t surprised that his name hadn’t sounded familiar. While she knew most of the permanent residents in town, she paid very little attention to the vacationing families who spent their summers on the lake.
“You wouldn’t have,” Macklin confirmed. “He’s a new summer resident.”
“Makes sense.”
“Anyway, what can I do for you, Sonja?” He smiled and his entire face warmed up. She found it strangely comforting.
“Is Bill around?” she asked.
“You know, I think you’re the only person who calls Merrill by his first name.”
The diner owner shrugged and smiled. “I guess so. You go by your first name.”
“Well, yes, but Merrill has always gone by his last name.”
“Just a preference, I suppose. Anyway, is he here?” she repeated her original question.
“He’s not, at the moment. He’s out on a job.”
She nodded. “I understand. Do you know when he’ll be coming back?”
“Not sure.” The business partner shrugged. “I assume you’re here to get your deposit back? I can help you out with that myself.”
Sonja squinted, feeling a little confused. “My deposit?”
“Yes, for your contract. We were sad to hear that you had decided to cancel. We usually don’t return a deposit if the client cancels, but because there are extenuating circumstances I think we can make an exception.”
“Wait,” she held up a hand. “I didn’t cancel the contract.”
The young man’s eyes widened. “You didn’t?”
“And I don’t want to cancel it. That’s what I came to talk to Bill about.”
“Oh, well that changes things,” he remarked, raising his eyebrows. “Merrill told me yesterday that you were wanting to cancel.”
“Nothing of the sort,” she replied. “I’ll need to talk to him and get things cleared up.”
Almost as if he’d been listening for his name outside, Bill opened the door and stepped into the office. “Hiya, Sonja,” he beamed.
He wore a pair of blue workman’s overalls with grass stains on the knees. The room instantly smelled of fresh cut grass. “How are ya’ today? Any more secret letters?”
“No, none at all,” she smiled, pushing the memory of last night’s spooky encounter to the back of her mind.
Macklin raised an eyebrow. “Letters?”
“It’s nothing,” she waved dismissively.
“So what can we do for ya’ today?” Merrill took a seat behind his desk.
“Macklin says you're canceling my contract?”
The older partner sat up straight, his expression turned to stone seriousness. “I never said that.”
“Oh,” Macklin raised his eyebrows, looking baffled. “My mistake. I thought you told me yesterday morning that we were canceling.”
“No, I told ya’ she had requested we hold off on the work, at least for a little while.”
“My apologies,” Macklin turned to Sonja.
“No worries. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” she went on. “I’ve decided we should move forward right away with the work.”
“Right away?” the younger man was surprised.
She nodded. “Or at least on schedule.”
“Are ya’ sure you want to move forward?” Merrill asked. “Yesterday you were pretty dead set on waiting.”
“Well, I did some thinking last night,” she continued, “and I think I want to move forward.”
The older gentleman nodded. “Alright, then. We’ll get started as soon as possible. I think we can start later today. Does late afternoon work?”
“Sounds fine,” the diner owner confirmed, standing to go. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem,” the two men replied in unison.
“You two really do make a great team,” she commented with a grin.
On her way out, Sonja noticed a large plastic barrel in the corner that said Bronoum’s Industrial Weed Killer on the side.
“Wow, that’s a lot of weed killer,” she commented.
“We go through quite a bit of if,” Macklin responded.
“Is that Bronoum’s?” Merrill asked standing up to get a better look. “I told ya’ to get rid’a that stuff. It’s way too caustic.”
“That’s our last barrel of it.”
“Well, get rid of it,” Bill ordered making a face.
“Will do,” Macklin nodded.
“I’ll see you guys later,” Sonja waved on her way out the door.
CHAPTER 6
After Sonja drove away from Merrill and Macklin’s she decided to stop by the police station after all. There was no need to tell the Sheriff about the ghost in the diner the night before, but she was interested to see if he had found out anything new about the letter. This would be, oddly, her first time visiting the station when she wasn’t involved in a murder case or snooping around for clues when she wasn’t supposed to.
The inside of the police station’s walls were covered in thin, cheap, wood paneling, and it always made Sonja feel as if she’d just stepped back into the sixties. The quaint detail added that extra “small town” flavor to Haunted Falls.
“Hi, Marie,” Sonja greeted the elderly pink-haired receptionist.
“Hi, hon. How are ya’?”
“Doing pretty well, thanks.”
“Ya’ here to bother Sheriff Thompson again?” she asked with a wink.
Sonja rolled her eyes. “Is he in?”
“Yep, in his office. Go right in.”
“Thanks,” she smiled and turned to open the door. “Sheriff?”
“Oh, hey, Sonja,” he mumbled through a bite of doughnut. “Come on in.”
Sipping heavily from his coffee he washed down his stereotypical cop breakfast, almost as if he were embarrassed being caught eating it.
She sat down in the wooden chair across from the desk. “Were you able to find anything out about that letter?”
“Not much, unfortunately,” the officer admitted. “We were unable to lift any viable prints from the letter or envelope.”
“What about the handwriting?”
“It was intentionally written in blocky letters in a generic ballpoint pen. I don’t think we’re going to learn much from that. If things escalate we can bring in a handwriting expert, but they’re expensive, so it’s a last resort.”
“Darn,” she muttered.
“I only wish Merrill hadn’t deleted the message from his phone before we got to it,” the sheriff mused.
“What about the phone call itself?” Sonja asked. “Is there a way to track where the call came from?”
“I’m working on that next, but if the person sending these threats is smart, they probably made the call from either a pre-paid phone or a public phone.”
Slumping in the wooden chair, disappointed with the results, Sonja sighed.
“Don’t worry. I’ll let you know as soon as we have anything new,” Thompson assured her.
Sonja tapped her fingers on the desk top as she thought, worried that they were no closer to figuring out who sent the threats. “Can I see the letter again?”
“Sure,” he shrugged. “I’ll go get it.”
Sheriff Thompson appeared moments later, setting the letter and envelope—both enclosed in the same plastic evidence bag—in front of her.
“I’m not sure what you’re hoping to see.” He placed two latex gloves on the desk. “Put these on as well. I don’t think we’ll get anything else out of this letter, but just in case.”
Nodding agreement, she slipped the latex gloves over her fingers.
“I have a hunch,” the curious diner owner commented. “I just want to see if it's true.”
She gingerly opened the bag and pulled out the letter,
unfolding it and turned it over in her hands, examining the text. She ran her finger over the edges of the paper, observing its texture.
“It’s just like I thought.”
“What is it?” Sheriff Thompson asked.
“This letter was printed on an older ink ribbon printer.”
“What?” The Sheriff stood up to get a closer look. “How can you tell?”
She pointed at the lettering. “First of all, the ink. It has horizontal lines through it. It’s an indication that there was a break in the printing when the cartridge made its second pass.”
“Oh?”
“And then the edges of the paper.” She pointed, indicating the edge. “It’s serrated.”
He reached out and gently brushed it with his finger. “I see.”
“Whoever typed this had to tear off the dotted edges used to feed the paper through the printer.”
Sheriff Thompson sat back down. “I have to say, you have a keen eye for this type of work.”
“Why, thank you,” she replied, placing the letter back in the bag.
“Do you know anyone who has an old ink ribbon printer?”
She thought for a moment. “My mother?”
“You think your mother wrote the letter?” the officer remarked with amused sarcasm.
“No, not at all. Anyone could have a printer like this, at least anyone who hasn’t ever bother to upgrade to an ink jet or laser printer.”
“Well, we can’t very easily go into every house and business establishment in Haunted Falls and ask them what kind of printer they’re using.” He picked up his coffee and took swig.
“No, you’re right. I’m not saying we should do that. I’m just saying we have slightly more information than before.”
“Right,” he agreed, setting his mug down. The side of the mug said World’s Best Dad, despite the fact that Sheriff Thompson wasn’t a father and wasn’t even in a relationship. “I’m sorry. Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“Sure,” she replied.
Standing up he went to the door. “Marie, can you grab a cup of coffee for Sonja?”
“Sure thing, hon,” the elderly receptionist responded. To Marie, everyone was “hon.” Sonja supposed it came with old age, and Marie was the oldest member of the department by a long shot.
A minute later the receptionist walked into the office and set the coffee in front of Sonja.
“Thanks.”
“No problem, hon.” Marie headed back to the front desk.
Sonja picked up the cup of coffee and sipped it. It was black and gritty, probably instant coffee, but she needed the caffeine boost. She hadn’t slept well the night before thanks to the ghostly message in the diner. In fact, she hadn’t really had a good night’s rest for the past few weeks—too many nightmares. However, the memory of the ghost prompted a thought.
“Sheriff?”
“Hmm?”
“Is there any record of someone dying in the diner?”
CHAPTER 7
As expected, it turned out there were no reports of deaths or even assaults at the diner, except of course the discovery of Ronda Smith’s body in the walk-in freezer a few weeks ago, when Sonja first moved back into town. Somehow, however, she doubted that Ronda Smith and the ghostly presence in her diner were related—at least, not after seeing the face in the window. It wasn’t Ronda’s face. No, this ghost was someone else.
Sonja decided she would have to dig up some clues on her own. Driving her car to the Haunted Falls Public Library she parked in the back. The library was an old building, which had, at one time, been a church. The beautiful archways and woodwork were all still present and created an ideal environment for reading and quiet reflection.
Coming in through the back entrance, Sonja immediately found herself wonderfully adrift in a sea of books. Every hallway, room, nook and cranny of the building was used to shelve library books. She went up a small staircase into the main area of the library, and where church pews had once sat, now stood dozens of bookshelves with just enough space in between for patrons to browse the titles. A small open area near the front lobby housed a circular reception desk. Sonja headed there first.
“Hi,” she whispered to the woman behind the desk.
The ivory-skinned, black haired woman turned around and Sonja instantly recognized her as Belinda Smith. She had an unmistakably thin figure, nearly colorless skin, and wore a dress draped across her lithe form that was the exact color of a stormy sky. She looked like something straight out of a black and white chiller movie.
“Hi, Sonja,” she whispered back.
Belinda had been sort of the town nutcase for a while and was a full blown recluse up until just a few weeks ago. Sonja had inadvertently befriended her during a murder investigation. Now, thanks to Sonja’s friendship, Belinda decided she needed to get out more. She was also the richest woman in town, but you wouldn’t know it just by looking at her.
“What are you doing here?” Sonja was curious as to what had motivated the extreme introvert to leave her grand home on the hill.
“I volunteer here now,” Belinda replied with a slightly eerie smile. “This place is just filled with spirits.”
That was another thing about Belinda. She believed in the paranormal with all her heart and openly admitted that she could communicate with the dead. She was sweet and good-natured but odd.
“Do you like it? Working here?”
“Love it. I decided it was time to start being more a part of the community.”
Well, that was good. Maybe interacting with library patrons would help her become more grounded—but who was Sonja to pass judgement? At this point she easily believed in the supernatural just as much as Belinda did—she just wasn’t as comfortable with it as Belinda seemed to be. Sonja also wasn’t so open about her ghostly encounters.
“Are you here to do research on the local ghosts?” Belinda eagerly asked.
“Actually, I was wondering where you kept the old catalogs of newspapers.”
She pointed up. “Top floor, in the old bell tower.”
“Thanks,” Sonja remarked. “How do I get up there?”
Belinda pointed toward one of the side staircases. “You take those stairs up until you reach the level with the balconies. Then, you go to the very end near the children’s section and you’ll find an old wrought iron staircase, one that circles up until you reach the bell tower. It’s the only level that you can’t reach with the elevator.”
“Thanks.” Sonja smiled politely and headed for the staircase.
“And don’t mind the old man who lives up there. He’s harmless.”
“Old man?”
“The one who died, falling from the tower,” Belinda confided matter-of-factly.
* * *
Making her way up the first staircase until she reached the second floor with all the balconies, Sonja walked around the mezzanine until she came to the main balcony, the one that directly faced the front of the church. They had the children’s section set up with cute short shelves all along the edges of the balcony, and little chairs, pillows, and cushions for kids to get comfortable and read. Directly behind the children’s section at the back of the church there was a small alcove. Moving in through the archway, sure enough, there was the wrought iron stairway. It spun in a circular pattern up into the tower.
Mounting the steep steps, feeling her legs begin to burn and realizing how out of shape she really was, Sonja reached the top. The bell tower was a fairly large room. The bell itself had been removed years before when the city had converted the church into a library. The openings in the walls, which at one time had looked out and down over roofs and streets below, had been replaced with large and spacious windows.
Shelves lined the room and were loaded with oversized binders full of newspapers from the Haunted Falls archives. A row of microfiche readers sat along one side that overlooked the town and lake below. Looking out the tall church windows was a nice way to see one of the most beautiful
views in town. Finally, in the center of the room where the bell had once hung, was a thick planked wooden floor, on which sat a large oak table with chairs around it.
Starting in a random place, she pulled out a binder, took a seat at the table, and flipped idly through the pages. Old laminated copies of newspapers went by one-by-one. She only took enough time to scan each page, looking for words like missing, disappeared, killed, or murdered. At first, the task seemed easy, but as time wore on, all the yellowed news stories became a blur of paper and ink.
After two hours, and four fat binders packed with newspapers, Sonja was beginning to feel as if she was wasting her time. From a headline news standpoint, Haunted Falls seemed like a pretty boring place. Mostly the local paper contained stories about town picnics, local school play reviews, and renovations of old buildings, but there was nothing of any substance, at least not in the way of crime or foul play. Nope, Haunted Falls was turning out to be a real snore in the murder department. Sonja decided she would look through one last binder before calling it quits and trying her luck online.
Closing the binder she had just pored over, Sonja hauled it back to the shelf, and slid it into place. She grabbed the next one in line and pulled it halfway out. A loud bang resounded behind her and Sonja jumped, emitting a startled shriek. The noise pumped about a gallon of adrenalin through her veins, giving her a case of the jitters. Shivering and holding her hand to her heart, she breathed in deeply and blew out a breath in a quick whoosh, attempting to steady herself.
“What on earth was that?” she whispered glancing about.
On the floor, just down the row a bit, lay one of the heavy binders. Somehow, it had slipped off of the shelf and fallen to the floor.
“How did that happen?” she frowned.
Pushing the binder in her hand back into its slot on the shelf, Sonja picked up the one on the floor. It was dusty, just like the rest of them had been, but was from a more recent year. In fact, the label on the side read 2011. Intrigued, she carried the binder over to the desk and opened it. Starting on the first page, she scanned the print for stories linked to the diner, discouraged when she found nothing there, but continued to turn the fragile pages for at least fifteen minutes.
Sinister Strawberry Waffle: Book 3 in The Diner of the Dead Series Page 4