She had no doubt that the shop had at least some ghostly presences of its own, based on the tingling of her skin alone—a sign she’d come to associate with paranormal activity or presence. After all, with so many antiques it was only natural that one or two spirits may be hanging around.
Panelope’s shop was a family affair and had supposedly been in Haunted Falls from the very beginning.
Sonja’s mother had gone to school with Pan back in the day, and the two had been friends ever since.
Stepping up to the front door, the first thing she noted was the “Closed” sign hanging there. Sighing, she knocked on the glass, hoping Panelope—or one of her part-time employees—was inside.
When there was no immediate response, Sonja knocked again, harder this time. In her desperation, she was surprised to see the force of her hand pushed the door open a crack, indicating to her that it was open.
For a moment, she debated just turning around and heading back to the diner, but the thought of all the hungry customers who were looking forward to her newest waffle urged her forward.
Stepping into the dimly lit shop, which was festively adorned in all manner of green and brown decorations, Sonja called out to see if anyone was there.
Again, there was no response.
Walking among the beautifully crafted furniture, statues, and other Irish antiques and imports she couldn’t help but notice just how creepy the place was. With no one there and only the eyes of figurines staring at you, it was downright spooky. The tingle on her spine grew stronger, making her wonder if someone was watching her, and she hurried through the shop.
As she got near the back end of the store, she spotted a staircase just behind the checkout counter. The wood of the stairs and the banister was expertly carved to match the very items the shop sold.
These old buildings were built in such a way that the owners almost always had an apartment right above the shop. The Lucky Leprechaun was no exception. While Sonja had never personally gone up the stairs at the back of the store, she knew that was where Panelope lived.
Usually, she would never dream of trespassing in someone else’s home, but she was desperate. She justified her actions by reminding herself that Pan was a friend of the family.
Moving around the service counter, she stood at the bottom of the steps. “Hello? Panelope? Are you up there?”
The only answer was the howl of the wind through the cracks of the old building. It almost sounded as if the walls were whispering secrets. She called again, and when no answer came, she realized that the shop owner could easily be running errands before opening that day. Perhaps she had simply not latched the door well enough on her way out.
While that seemed like the most likely possibility, Sonja had to know for sure. After all, many people had come from out of town to try her latest recipe. How could she disappoint them?
“Pan? I’m coming up the stairs.” Taking each step one at a time, the old wood creaked and groaned a greeting as she made her ascent. Coming to the upstairs landing, Sonja was surprised to be standing in a large loft apartment spanning the entire size of the store below.
At the very top of the stairs was a cozy sitting area with two maroon chairs and a forest green couch, all of them fashioned in a Victorian style. A circular, wooden coffee table sat atop a large rug with a printing of a tree of life on it.
The walls around the sitting area were lined with shelf after shelf of books.
To the left of that was a kitchen area. The cabinets were stained a lovely shade of green and the dishes were bought to match. Another table sat in the kitchen with a Celtic style tablecloth draped over it.
Turning to face the rest of the apartment, Sonja was greeted with an array of hanging curtains, most likely separating sleeping and changing areas for privacy.
Finally, sitting against the far wall between the curtains, was something that caught her eye. A smaller set of purple curtains remained parted, showing the interior of what appeared to be a shrine or altar of sorts inside.
Incense, candles, and stones were laid out across an intricately decorated altar cloth.
Without realizing it, Sonja moved slowly closer. She had almost reached the entranceway with the parted curtains when the sound of a door opening startled her, making her jump.
A frightened shout came from behind her. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”
CHAPTER 4
* * *
The startled shout of surprise came from a young woman who had just emerged from the bathroom—the only real door in the apartment, and something Sonja had missed upon initial inspection.
“Who are you?” The white-haired teenager demanded, a mixture of curiosity and suspicious fear creating lines in her beautiful pale skin. “What are you doing in here?”
Sonja took in the girl before her, unable to shake the fact that she looked so familiar. The girl was gorgeous, there was no arguing that. She wore a gray, tight-fitting sweater with sleeves that were slightly too long, draping over her hands. Along with that, she had on a pair of pink sleep shorts and brown knee-high socks.
“I-I’m Sonja Reed, a friend of Panelope’s.”
The girl took a step back toward the kitchen, obviously eyeing the knife block on the counter. “My aunt? You hardly look like you’re old enough to be friends with her.”
Sonja sighed. “Alright, she’s friends with my mom, Diane.” She took a step closer. “In fact, she’s really just an old friend of the family.”
“Well, what the heck are you doing up here? My aunt isn’t here. And how did you get in?” She rattled off a slew of questions all at once, taking another nervous step toward the knife block.
Sonja put up her hands defensively, trying to show that she wasn’t dangerous. She inwardly scolded herself, knowing that she shouldn’t have come upstairs into the apartment at all. “Hey, I’m sorry. I just needed something from the shop.”
“Well, my aunt doesn’t open until ten.”
“I know that,” Sonja admitted, “But it was an emergency.”
The teenager took one more step toward the counter and stood right next to the wood block.
“What’s your name?” Sonja blurted out, trying to find any way to defuse the situation.
“C-Cassiopeia,” she muttered. “Why?”
“Well, you see, Cassiopeia,” she commented, realizing what a mouthful that name was, “I own the local diner here in town.”
For the first time since the two women had met, Cassiopeia seemed to relax a little. “The diner? You mean that waffle place?”
“That’s right,” Sonja beamed, happy the young woman finally seemed to be calming down.
“Don’t teens, like, hang out at your place on Fridays? That’s what my aunt said.” She looked down at the floor, a little hint of embarrassment and irritation showing all at once in the redness of her cheeks. “She’s trying to get me to make some new friends or something.”
Sonja nodded. “Sometimes kids get together to play games or just get a bite to eat.”
Cassiopeia mulled over this new fact for a minute. “So, what the heck are you doing here?” she insisted.
“I called out multiple times,” Sonja affirmed. “I announced I was coming up.”
“Whatever,” she shrugged. “I mean, what could you possibly need from an old, dusty place like this?”
“Actually,” the diner owner admitted, “this is the only place in town where I can get the dried clover leaves I need for my newest waffle recipe.”
“A clover waffle?” Cassiopeia repeated with a hint of disgust and interest mixed together in her tone.
“Yep, but I ran out of dried clover and have a lot of hungry customers who want to try it. It’s my current special, and with Saint Patrick’s being in two days, I would be sad if I couldn’t serve my spotlight menu item.”
“Saint Patrick’s is this Friday?” Cassiopeia asked.
“Yes,” Sonja beamed, trying to encourage the teen. “Actually, there is
going to be a special game night that evening. You should come.”
“I don’t know,” she hesitated. “I’m not really into games.”
“Oh, you’ll love it. I promise.”
Cassiopeia only shrugged.
“I’ll even give you a free clover waffle. On the house.”
“Really?” she rose one eyebrow, a clear assertion that she wasn’t sure she was going to like a waffle with clover in it.
“Oh, trust me,” Sonja declared. “They’re good.”
“And you’re just going to give me one? No strings attached?”
At this point, it started to seem clearer that this girl wasn’t used to people being nice, let alone offering her gifts. “I’ll definitely make you one,” Sonja paused, “if I can get the clover, that is.” She felt safe enough to take a step closer again. “Cassiopeia? You wouldn’t be willing to sell me some, would you?”
“I-I really don’t know anything about the shop,” she admitted nervously. “I’ve only been here since Sunday and I haven’t even enrolled in school yet.”
Sonja clasped her hands together, realizing that her chance of pleasing her customers that day laid in the hands of a teenager. “Please? I know exactly where the clover is in the shop, exactly how much it costs per container, and I can give you cash. You can just give it to your aunt when she gets back, and tell her that it’s from me.”
“I don’t know,” Cassiopeia hesitated, clearly still feeling awkward about this whole situation.
“I’ll add in a tip,” Sonja commented, “just for you.”
“A tip?” Pursing her lips to one side, Cassiopeia shrugged. “Why not? I’m sure Aunt Panelope won’t mind.”
“Great. Thanks a million, Cassiopeia.”
“Just call me Cass,” she noted. “No one really calls me by my full name,” she paused a moment, her eyes growing temporarily misty. “Except my dad.”
* * *
Heading down the stairs, Sonja quickly walked over to the large section of dried herbs and teas and picked up a few containers of clover. Placing them on the counter, she got out her wallet and counted out the exact change she needed.
“Okay, there you go,” Sonja mentioned, placing the money on the counter before the teenage girl. “And this is for you,” she noted, pulling another ten from her wallet.
“I-I really shouldn’t take your money,” Cass admitted. “I mean, you were in a bind and I just happened to be here, right?”
“I insist,” Sonja commented, setting the bill on the counter. “You’ve saved me today.”
Reluctantly, the wary teen took the bill and slipped it into the pocket of her sleep shorts. “Thanks, I guess.”
“No, thank you,” Sonja repeated, placing the clovers into a paper sack on the counter. “And tell your aunt thanks as well.”
“I’ll try to remember,” she commented.
Sonja was prepared to turn around and march right out the door, her mission accomplished, but the look on Cass’s face made her stop. The mist in her eyes hadn’t really fully gone away yet, and Sonja had a sinking feeling that some recent tragedy must have occurred.
The teenager looked so lost and alone, Sonja could hardly leave her standing there looking like that. After all, she had barged in unannounced and scared her.
More than that, however, Sonja’s curiosity was finally catching up with her. Now that she thought of it, she didn’t know Panelope had any living relatives.
“So,” she paused, “How long are you going to be staying with your aunt?”
Cass shrugged. “Indefinitely, as far as I know. Aunt Panelope is my only family now.”
Feeling her heart begin to sink, Sonja knew right away that there had probably been a recent death in the family—probably Cass’s father.
“I see,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. That’s just life I guess,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders and holding back the tears. “No one can live forever.”
The sympathetic and motherly attitude that pervaded so much of Sonja’s existence kicked in. Leaning in, she tried to add energetic support for the girl. “I’m so sorry.”
Cass nodded. “Y-yeah. My dad passed recently.”
Sonja thought of her own father. Up until just last month, she thought she’d lost him forever, as well. She’d spent years wondering if he’d ever play a bigger role in her life again. Then, just around Valentine’s Day, he had shown up again. At first, it had been difficult, almost too difficult, to accept.
Now, however, she was getting used to having him back in her life, and having his help.
She decided to try and add a positive spin to the conversation, trying to turn the situation away from the deceased father. “I bet your aunt Panelope will be a wonderful person to live with. She’s a real sweetheart.”
“I guess,” Cass replied, “if you can get past the weird stuff.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, thinking about the altar she saw upstairs.
“Aunt Panelope believes she’s a witch. Casts spells and stuff.”
This new information set Sonja’s heart thudding. “She does, huh?” She’d dealt with a witch once before and it had been one of the most unpleasant experiences she’d ever had. She hoped that Pan, if she truly was a witch, wasn’t evil and didn’t practice dark occult magic.
“Yeah. She even thinks that some of her statues come alive and run around on their own. You know, leprechauns and stuff.” Cass smiled for the first time that morning. “Pretty silly, huh?”
Sonja felt a deathly chill run up and down her spine, but nodded and forced a smile. “Pretty silly.”
CHAPTER 5
* * *
Cass’s comment brought forward a whole slew of questions. Sonja had rationalized away the green streak of a person or creature she had almost hit with the van earlier. However, now she was lending more credibility to it potentially being something supernatural.
The possibility that Panelope was a witch and that the statues in her shop had the power to come to life created a whole new curiosity in Sonja.
Up until this point she had only ever really encountered ghosts and had never considered that there might be more creatures out there that she didn’t understand.
Starting up the van, Sonja decided to take the back road through the woods to get to the diner. It wasn’t that much longer than the main roads and it also meant she wouldn’t need to make a U-turn in the narrow downtown streets.
Turning between two large old buildings, she quickly found herself driving among the tall Rocky Mountain aspen trees.
She thought more about Cass, only imagining how traumatizing it was for a teenage girl to lose her father.
She wondered how it had happened, how he had died.
Coming around the bend, Sonja was surprised to see a familiar white truck parked off along the side of the road.
It was the milk truck.
“All for the better,” she said to herself. If she could catch the milkman (what had Alison said his name was? Dobb?) she could get their milk for the week and bring it on back to the diner along with the clover.
That would wipe out all her worries about diner’s inventory, at least for another few days.
Pulling over on the side of the road opposite the truck, she spotted the delivery driver slumped over in the front seat. It looked like maybe he was taking a quick break, reading a book or something—or he was looking over the map to try and see where his next stop was.
Getting out of the van, Sonja looked both ways along the wooded mountain road and headed toward the truck.
“Excuse me,” she shouted, waving to get the truck driver’s attention. “Mr. Dobb?” She hoped she was getting his name right.
The driver didn’t move and just continued looking down.
Stepping up to the driver side door, she knocked on the glass. “Hello? I was wondering if I could just pick up my milk delivery now? It would mean one less stop for you.”
&nbs
p; This time, when the truck driver didn’t respond, Sonja got a familiar sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, which was accompanied by a strange bitter taste in her mouth. “Oh, no,” she muttered, noticing just how pale the man appeared to be. “Mr. Blake?” she asked again, gripping the door handle. “Are you okay?” Pulling the door open, she let out a scream as the driver toppled out onto the pavement like a rag doll. The front of his white uniform was soaked red with blood—a small black hole through the center of his chest.
He’d been shot.
CHAPTER 6
* * *
“Another one?” Frank Thompson asked as he got out of his police cruiser. Finding bodies in Haunted Falls had become uncomfortably commonplace for the Sheriff and his girlfriend and the couple was slowly beginning to create a routine for these situations.
Sonja stood across the street from the white milk truck, leaning against her van with her arms folded. “Yep, another dead body. Are you surprised?”
Standing next to her, he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Hardly, I’m afraid.”
“Do you kiss all your murder witnesses?” she teased, feeling a little bad for making a joke like that right after she’d found another dead body.
“Is that how you found him?” he asked, not answering her question. Putting on his most professional demeanor, he turned to begin his preliminary examination of the crime scene.
“No,” she admitted. “He was inside the truck when I found him. I opened the door to try and talk to him and,” she motioned with her hands indicating the body on the pavement.
“And he toppled out.”
“Right,” she nodded.
“Are you okay?” he asked finally. “He didn’t fall on you or anything?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, “as fine as any woman who finds a body every other week out of the year.”
Eerie Irish Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 10) Page 2