The Wayward Waffle: Book 4 in The Diner of the Dead Series
Page 2
“Got it.” Nodding, Ally opened the fridge and pulled out a stack of packaged bacon and an industrial sized carton of eggs.
Finishing his plug for the picnic, Tommy put on another song, a recent upbeat pop hit that sent a jazzy energy through the kitchen.
Taking another long sip from her coffee, Sonja let the morning fuzz melt away into pure caffeinated energy, and grabbed a large metal mixing bowl and a bag of flour. Beginning the therapeutic process of mixing up a new batch of waffles, Sonja began to feel all the tension from the night disappear into her own version of stress therapy.
For the first time in weeks, she felt truly blessed. She loved Haunted Falls and all of its nuances, she owned the perfect small town diner, had a best friend who worked by her side, had a wonderful place to live, and had a caring mother who looked out for her whenever possible. Life was good.
On top of it all, The Founder’s Day Picnic was one of her favorite celebrations of the year, only rivaled by Halloween, and she was going to make a boat load of money selling food to the many residents of Haunted Falls.
Humming along with the radio, Sonja cracked eggs into the batter and mixed them in by hand. For some reason, hand mixed always tasted better—more homemade. Using a hand whisk always took a little extra work, but it was well worth the effort, and it only added to the therapy of the process.
Pulling out two special Silver Dollar waffle irons she had yet to use, the talented chef plugged each of them in and flipped the switch to heat them up in preparation to make her new recipe—aptly named Picnic Waffles. If this dish went over well at the Founder’s Day Picnic she might just add it to her repertoire as a permanent menu item.
Opening the freezer, she pulled out the tray of small frozen balls of real maple syrup she had put in there the night before. Carefully, she put the balls into the batter and mixed it all together. One by one she filled each silver dollar sized slot in the waffle irons with the batter, and then closed the irons to wait for them to cook.
“So,” Sonja chimed in, “who do you think will win the Town Fathers award?”
Alison tapped her spatula on the griddle while she contemplated Sonja’s question. “I’m not sure. Who has done something significant this year?”
The pinnacle of the Founder’s Day Picnic was the announcement of the year’s town father (or mother in some cases). The award was bestowed upon someone who had contributed to the town or community in some significant way throughout the previous year. Most times the award was given to an elderly resident of the city who had contributed significantly over their lifetime.
For a brief moment, Sonja thought of her estranged father, wondering if he had only been truer to her mother if he might have someday won the award himself. Instead, he had marred his name in the community by up and leaving his family out of the blue.
She doubted he would have even cared about winning town father.
Watching the little orange lights on the irons, Sonja waited for them to turn off and let her know the waffles were done—although she was mostly gauging the doneness of the waffles by her sense of smell. “I thought maybe Lincoln Bidwell,” she commented. “He’s an old war veteran and has done a lot to help our current veterans as they’ve returned from overseas.”
“That’s true,” her friend agreed. “Doesn’t he run a community program to help rehabilitate men who return from Iraq?”
Sonja nodded. “Yep. If anyone deserves to win, it's him.”
Almost in unison, the waffle irons dinged. Performing one final sniff test to determine if the waffles were done, Sonja nodded and opened the irons. Before her lay an array of perfectly browned silver dollar sized waffles, each with small pockets of syrup layered throughout.
They were exactly how she had planned them, and perfect for the picnic. Patrons could buy the waffles and eat them without the need of a fork or plate. All you needed was a bit of deli tissue and you were on your way with delicious, warm waffles, ready to eat.
The song ended and Tommy’s voice came back on. “It’s a beautiful day out there, kiddies,” he announced, “So make sure to enjoy it while you can. I just received a weather prediction that we may get some rain and thunder later in the day and—if we’re really unlucky—some hail.”
“Some hail!” Alison protested, almost as if Tommy was in the room.
“So let’s just hope that today’s little weather forecast doesn’t rain on our parade during the Founder’s Day Picnic.”
After removing the waffles from the irons, Sonja placed them in the heated tray and turned on the heat lamp to keep them warm. “I sure hope he’s wrong,” she commented. “I wouldn’t want a hail storm to ruin our day.”
* * *
Around seven Sonja took a break to walk outside and get some fresh air. Sighing inwardly, she stared at the gray clouds sitting like a heavenly mountain range of textured shapes and colors across the western sky. If that wasn’t a thunderstorm, she didn’t know what was. She just hoped for the sake of the picnic that the clouds decided to disperse or travel around their little valley instead of pouring into it.
Unfortunately, based on the wind’s trajectory she highly doubted they wouldn’t get at least a little rain. For now, however, Haunted Falls remained sunny.
The wind was low and cool, a pleasant breeze at best. For a moment—as it whistled through the trees—Sonja could almost swear it had whispered her name.
Laughing to herself, she decided she was letting all of her nightmares and supernatural encounters get to her. It had been nearly two weeks since she had last encountered a ghost or other supernatural event, not counting the previous evening’s events, and she was getting quite used to life being fairly normal again.
Another breeze came, rustling the leaves in the trees of the woods nearby. High above her head, she heard it again—more distinct this time. “Sooooonjaaaa,” the wind whispered.
Now she was sure it had been her name.
It appeared normality wasn’t in the cards for her—at least when it came to ghosts.
Looking toward the woods she watched the trees shiver, almost as if they had a cognitive existence all their own.
“Who’s there?” the supernaturally sensitive woman cried to the wind. “What do you want?”
The leaves of the trees shivered and shifted, moving of their own accord. To her astonishment, Sonja found herself staring into a face among the treetops, a woman’s pale face outlined by pine cones, and bark.
“Saaaaave hiiiim,” the face whispered, the wind blowing through the hole that was its mouth.
“Who?” she whispered. “Save who?”
“The toooown faaather,” the voice echoed across the mountain air.
“But,” she protested, “I don’t know who the town father is going to be.”
The wind picked up, screaming her name again and creating a heavy gust of dry dirt through the air. Squinting through the gale, she shielded her face with her arm.
The wind slowly died down, and lowering her arm again, she saw that the face was gone—as if it had never been there at all.
CHAPTER 3
Stomping her feet, Sonja marched away from the tree line and back toward the diner, up the stairs, and into the kitchen. Why did these things always have to happen to her? Why did these spirits, ghosts, entities—or whatever the heck you wanted to call them—constantly seek her out?
She wasn’t the errand girl of the undead and had no desire to be.
“Are you okay?” Allison asked upon seeing her windblown friend. “That wind sounds pretty rough.”
“Just dandy,” Sonja spit.
“Sheesh, sorry I asked.” her friend raised her hands defensively. “You seemed fine a minute ago.”
Letting out a whoosh of air, Sonja slumped against the door. “I’m sorry, I’m fine,” she replied in a calmed voice. “The storm just seems to be blowing in faster than we expected.” Attempting to divert the conversation away from herself, and away from her most recent supernatural encounter,
she went back to work preparing an array of foods for the picnic.
Ally leaned over and peeked out the window. “It looks sunny for now,” she commented, “But those clouds don’t look so friendly.”
“We’ll play it by ear,” Sonja replied, putting on a smile. Inwardly allowing herself to let the stress of the last few moments go, she decided she was determined to enjoy her day—ghosts or no ghosts. “And I’m sorry for snapping. I just got hit by the wildest gust of wind.”
“No kidding. By the way, I’ve finished all the eggs, bacon, and sausage. All that’s left are the hash brown fries.”
The hash brown fries were another item Sonja had come up with just for the picnic. They were like waffle fries, but instead of being cut directly out of the potato they were molded out of shredded potatoes—that way the potatoes could trap in all the crispy deliciousness that made hash browns so good.
“Great, we’re right on schedule. We should be ready to load up the van soon.”
Sonja had recently lost her old clunker of a car in an accident that wound up with the vehicle in the lake. Needless to say, the car was totaled, so when it came time to buy a new vehicle, she ultimately decided to buy a van which could double as a catering bus for The Waffle.
She had even had The Waffle Diner and Eatery inscribed on the side of the van in pseudo-neon lettering.
It would take her a little while to pay off the expense, but in the long run, it would be worth it.
A loud knock came from the front of the diner, drawing both women’s attention. Peering through the service window, Sonja could see Corrie Bennett standing outside, her arms folded and one foot impatiently tapping on the concrete steps.
“It’s Corrie,” Sonja informed Alison.
“Ugh,” Alison uttered in disgust. “Spare me the theatrics.”
Sonja hated to agree with her friend, but the fact was neither one of them much cared for the town gossip. Corrie had a habit of finding something negative to say about everyone and everything, even when it seemed there was no possible way to look on the downside.
Unfortunately, working with Corrie was a necessity since she was in charge of organizing this year’s picnic.
“She’s probably just here to check up on our progress, to make sure we are ready to go when the whole thing starts at eight.”
“I think we’ve got it under control,” Alison snipped.
“Well, that’s what I’ll tell her.”
Wiping off her hands on a towel, Sonja walked toward the front of the diner and opened the door. “Hi, Corrie.”
“Sonja,” the older woman cut in with a calculated tone, “are all your preparations in order?”
Sonja bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she would regret. “Of course. We’re almost ready to load up the van.”
“Then you won’t mind if I come in and look for myself for a few moments, do you?” Walking pristinely on pink high heels the woman pushed into the diner past Sonja.
“No, of course not,” she replied trying her hardest not to let the frustration, simmering just below the surface, show on her face or in her voice. “Come right in.”
Corrie walked with an air of undue confidence, but also gave off an aura that she was trying too hard—her short pencil skirt and flashy low necked blouse obviously not fitting for her age. Her days of youth and beauty had come and gone, but she was the type of woman who refused to believe it.
“Oh, hello, Corrie,” Allison noted in a less-than-tactful tone when the town gossip entered the kitchen.
“The hash browns aren’t done?” the woman asked coldly, her brow furrowing in an I knew it sort of response.
“They’ll be done in just a few minutes,” Sonja replied in an overly sweet tone. “Meanwhile, I’ll begin loading up the van.” She picked up a heated tray of picnic waffles from the counter. “Do you mind grabbing the bacon tray?” she motioned toward Corrie.
Raising her hand near her face in a symbol of disgust, Corrie ignored the statement without even a word. “Well, then. It seems as if everything is on schedule.” The woman smiled, obviously planning on checking out before someone else asked her to do some menial task. Rolling her eyes, Sonja walked the picnic waffles out to the van and loaded them into the back.
When she walked back in, Corrie was discreetly sampling a piece of the bacon from the tray.
“Have a whole piece if you want,” Sonja commented warmly.
Like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, Corrie jumped and tossed what remained of the strip of bacon in the sink. She spun on her heel and faced Sonja with a sinister smile. “I just wanted to make sure it was up to par for the events today.”
“Well, I hope we have satisfied your worries,” Sonja replied in a slightly sarcastic, yet sweet sounding tone.
“Very,” Corrie nodded, hiding a hint of embarrassment. “I think everything you’ve made will work very well.”
“That’s a relief,” Allison interjected, openly rolling her eyes.
Corrie sneered at Ally before spinning back to face Sonja. “Thank you so much for taking the time out to do this,” she commented in the sincerest way possible for the woman. “I’m sorry if I come off a little harsh sometimes, but I just want to make sure everything is perfect.”
Sonja raised an eyebrow, amazed at the clear attempt to be civil. Just as she always said, there is always a little good in everyone. She just hoped that Corrie’s sincerity lasted, and that it wasn’t a cover up for some other manipulated intention.
“Well, I’m glad to help.”
Alison raised an eyebrow at her friend.
“We’re glad to help,” Sonja corrected. “I’m sure everything will be perfect.”
Corrie nodded, a sense of real stress appearing in her blue eyes. “Just so long as the mayor and council picked the right man for the Town Father Award.”
“Or woman,” Alison added in the background.
“I’m sure whoever they pick will be perfect,” Sonja added.
“Right. I’ll be fine with whatever they choose, just so long as it isn’t that Lincoln Bidwell. Anyone but him and I’ll be satisfied.”
Alison’s jaw dropped. “Who else do you think deserves the award?” she asked snidely.
Sonja instantly shot her friend a look. The last thing she needed was Ally creating bad blood with the event’s hostess before the picnic even began. She knew Corrie had the gossip power to drive customers away from The Waffle’s stand at the picnic.
Alison shrugged apologetically.
“Well, I’d prefer to see someone like Carl Perkins possibly win.”
Sonja nodded, surprised at the answer. Carl, too, was a veteran who had in fact lost one of his legs during the Vietnam War. He hadn’t done much for the community in Haunted Falls, having spent most of his time indoors watching television, but he attended the meetings and charity events when possible.
“I could see him winning,” Sonja admitted.
“Well, all my bets are on him,” Corrie nominated.
“We will just have to wait and see, won’t we,” Sonja commented. “But for right now we have to get everything loaded up and off to the park grounds.”
“Alright then,” Corrie added. “I’ll see you at the event.”
“See you there,” Sonja replied as Corrie swayed back and forth toward the front door.
Once she was gone Sonja turned to her friend and sighed.
“She’s a real peach, as always,” Ally commented.
“Just make me a promise,” Sonja replied. “Promise me you’ll be civil with her, at least for today.”
“Fine,” Alison shrugged. “I’ll try, but I won’t like it.”
CHAPTER 4
The van rocked back and forth along the bumpy road near the woods. “Are you sure this was the best route to take?” Allison asked, her voice warbling with each bump in the road.
“Sorry,” Sonja replied. “I just thought this would be a more direct route into town.”
“Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”
Gently stepping on the gas, Sonja urged the van forward. Perhaps taking this route to the park had been a mistake, but it was the only way to get around to the backside of the park where their booth would be situated. She figured it would be easier to park directly beside their booth instead of hauling loads of food and equipment back and forth from the paved parking lot at the front of the community center, and the only way to get to the backside of the buildings in town was to drive along the dirt road that ran behind them next to the woods.
The trees whizzed by on the right and the backside of the town buildings zoomed by on the left.
“Keep an eye on the food, will you?” Sonja implored. “I want to make sure we get there in one piece.”
“Sure thing,” Ally replied, unbuckling and climbing into the back. “But if I get splattered with food I’m holding you responsible.”
Sonja laughed, “No problem.”
Glancing over, she watched her friend climb through the opening and into the back of the van. Turning her concentration back to the road, a flash of white among the majestic trees caught her eye. Slowing the van, Sonja peered out into the thicket, attempting to make out exactly what it was she was looking at.
Her eyes widened. A pale, but unimaginably beautiful woman in white walked among the trees, a thin veil of soft pink roses gently braided through her hair.
Turning her head slowly, the woman in the wedding dress looked directly into Sonja’s eyes, sending an all too familiar shiver up and down her spine. The woman’s face creased and sagged, aging at an impossible rate until the skin was almost falling off the bones. The strange specter, now an old woman, hunched low, her skin becoming ashen and then flaking off into dust and blowing away in the wind.