Unfortunately, things had not gone according to plan, so instead she ended up back in her hometown of Haunted Falls—and by a simple stroke of fate, she was now the proud owner of The Waffle Diner and Eatery.
Sitting next to Benjamin, and reflecting on all the great benefits living in Haunted Falls offered, she was beginning to think her failure in New York had been a good thing after all.
She watched the man sitting in the chair next to her as he examined his equipment, wishing she had a different set of clothes and a fresh coat of makeup. Benjamin looked handsome, potentially more so, with his shirt soaked through and clinging to his chiseled chest, his hair matted against his head. Wet and tussled, Sonja was sure she looked like a hot mess.
“So, any damage?” she asked, partially wanting to keep Benjamin around longer and partially interested in the well-being of the equipment.
“Well,” he replied turning the camera over in his hand, “I think there might be a little water inside the lens.” He pointed at a few clear drops of moisture on the inside of the camera lens.
“Is that bad?” Sonja asked innocently, having no concept of camera equipment or how it worked.
He sighed. “It can be, but I think I can try and draw it out with some silica gel.”
“Silica gel?”
“You know those little packets you sometimes get in clothes, camping equipment, canned goods?”
She nodded, remembered the little white packets and the warning labels of “do not eat” plastered all over them.
“Well, they are used to absorb moisture. So, if I can use them to draw out the water, I’ll be in good shape. If not, well,” he paused and set the camera back on the table, “then I’m up a creek.”
“Is it an expensive camera?”
He laughed, “Only three thousand dollars.”
Sonja nearly fell over in her seat. She could never imagine spending that much on a piece of technology. Her laptop computer, which she had purchased for the sole purpose of writing, only cost around seven hundred. She had even splurged on the waffle irons for the diner, but they didn’t even match what his camera cost. “That’s a lot of money to lose from a rainy day.”
He nodded. “Well, I’m sure the other camera guy will be thrilled.”
“Why is that?” Sonja asked, leaning in, almost brushing her knee against his.
“I won’t be taking any more pictures today. I would usually bring a backup camera, but it’s still in the mail, shipping from my move.”
“I see.”
Alison, who had been working to reset the booth at this new location, cleared her throat. Looking up at her friend, Sonja finally realized she had been sitting and chatting when she should be helping to set up the booth.
“Oh, sorry,” she said hopping up from the chair. “Gotta get to work.” Walking back to the table Sonja began uncovering trays of food and turning on heat lamps.
“Well, I better tell Corrie that I won’t be able to take any more pictures.” Standing up, Benjamin loaded the camera back into the carrying case and slung it over his shoulder.
“At least you got a few in before the rain,” Sonja encouraged.
“I’m not sure that will matter much,” he replied.
“Not to Corrie Bennett, it won’t,” Alison commented.
Sonja knew her friend was probably right.
“I’m sorry you did all that work for nothing,” she confided.
“Well, I mainly came to help Samuel with his booth.”
Sonja suddenly felt her face go pale. “Oh no. You didn’t help us move our table instead of his, did you?”
Benjamin laughed again. “Of course not. A local family who was nearby jumped right in when it started to rain and hauled every single crate of produce in. They must have had five or six young boys in that family alone all helping out.”
“Caldwell’s most likely,” Alison noted. “Really nice people.”
“Either way,” Benjamin continued, “I decided since he was taken care of, I should help out some of the other booths.”
“You mean our booth?” Ally teased. Sonja shot her friend an embarrassed look.
“Of course,” Benjamin commented nonchalantly.
Sonja noticed Corrie marching over toward them and knew, if she made it over, that she would interrupt any kind of moment she might have with Benjamin.
“Ben,” she blurted out, accidentally shortening his name. She wasn’t about to let her moment pass again. “Did you want to go grab some dinner after the picnic today?”
Benjamin’s eyes widened, a sense of total surprise overwhelming his face. He paused a moment, almost as if he had cotton in his mouth and couldn’t speak. “Oh,” he finally managed to cough out. “I assumed you and the Sheriff...”
Sonja shook her head. “Just friends,” she replied. For now.
“Well, then,” he muttered.
“Is everything set to go over here?” Corrie stepped in, completely interrupting.
Sonja figured she was lucky to at least have gotten the question out, and still eagerly awaited an answer—hoping she hadn’t misread Benjamin’s advances.
“Everything’s fine,” Alison butted in, trying to draw Corrie’s attention away from the two.
Corrie didn’t blink for a second, eyeing her. “Sonja?”
“Everything’s good to go, Corrie.”
“Fantastic,” she replied. “Because I thought I saw a waffle iron sitting outside in the rain still.”
Her face suddenly going completely pale, Sonja looked Corrie in the eye. “A waffle iron?”
“Yes, on your table.”
“Oh, dang it,” Sonja muttered angrily. “I’ll be right back.” Bolting off toward the door, she left Benjamin with his mouth hanging open.
“I can get it,” Alison called, but Sonja was already outside.
* * *
The rain was coming down harder than before, flooding the park in places. Slogging through the rain and puddles, Sonja’s sandals began to fill with water, giving each step a squishy sensation. Only fate could dictate the largest rainstorm of the season fall on one of the biggest outdoor holidays of the year.
Almost reaching the table, her foot sank into the earth, in between blades of grass, and stuck into the mud. Reaching down, she pulled on her leg, trying to wiggle her foot free of its muddy prison.
With a yank, her foot released with a sucking noise and sent her toppling backward into a puddle. Her sandal stayed behind, sinking deeper into the hole. “Gosh dang it,” she muttered, as she lay there in the water. This was not how she saw her day going.
Standing up, she tried to brush off some of the mud stuck to her clothes. She knelt near the hole to look for her shoe, but it seemed to have disappeared into the muck. Dreading the next course of action, she plunged her hand into the muddy hole to feel around for her shoe.
Leaning down toward the ground, a flash of white caught the corner of her eye, moving between the trees in the nearby woods. Deciding she wasn’t getting the shoe back she stood up, shaking mud off her hand, and looked into the woods. The woman in the white wedding dress stood there again, skin, muscles, and all, beckoning to the wet and muddy woman.
“You want me to follow?” she whispered.
The woman nodded, despite being so far away she couldn’t have heard Sonja’s voice. For a brief moment, Sonja thought of all the ghost stories she had heard where a ghost led someone off into the woods only to fall off a cliff or into a hole and then left them to die.
Somehow, Sonja felt as if this wouldn’t be the case and followed along, one foot dragging barefoot through the grass and mud. By this point, Sonja had enough experience with ghosts that she knew, when one wanted something, you did everything in your power to help. She simply didn’t see any reason to invoke the anger of a force she didn’t and couldn’t understand, and being eternally haunted wasn’t her idea of fun.
Heading into the forest, the woman in white turned and—without walking—floated between the trees.
The further Sonja followed, the more transparent the ghost became. First, she could see the faint shadow of trees through her, then the details of the foliage, and eventually could see every raindrop through the ghostly body—until finally, the ghost seemed to vanish.
“Wait,” she called out, feeling only slightly ridiculous for talking to the air. She pushed through thick bushes, deep puddles, and sloppy mud until she reached the spot where the ghost had vanished.
At first, it seemed as if the whole event had been a pointless wild goose chase until, peering down, Sonja noticed the two feet sticking out from underneath a bush. Without getting closer she already knew it was a dead body.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered.
CHAPTER 7
Sonja burst into the community center, frantically searching for Sheriff Thompson. Even after being involved in multiple murder cases and finding her fair share of dead bodies, it was still always a shock to the system whenever it happened.
“Whoa,” Alison commented when Sonja stumbled toward the booth. “Are you okay?” She quickly came around the table and grabbed onto her friend who looked as if she might fall down. “What happened? Where is your shoe?”
“I’m o-okay,” she mumbled, shivering against her suddenly cold body. Her soaked clothes were heavy with mud and quickly growing more chilled by the minute. “I n-need to talk to Sheriff Thompson.”
“Sit down for a moment,” Alison instructed, pushing her friend into the chair.
“What’s going on?” Benjamin asked, having crossed the event room from Mr. Hinkley’s booth upon seeing the drenched Sonja enter the room.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Alison noted, brushing the mangled strands of red hair out of her friend’s face.
“I need to talk to Sheriff Thompson.”
“Stay here,” Benjamin ordered. “I’ll find him.”
“No,” Alison interrupted before Benjamin could sprint off. “I’ll find him. You stay with her.”
“Alright,” Benjamin replied without a single hesitation and taking a seat next to Sonja.
The next moment, Ally was running off across the event room, searching for the sheriff. Hesitantly, Benjamin reached over and clasped Sonja’s hand in his. “You okay?” he whispered.
Sonja nodded, giving a half smile to her suitor. “I am now,” she whispered back, lying a little bit through the shivers. A small crowd was gathering around the pale-faced woman, seeing if she was okay. Periodically, Benjamin asked people to take a step back to give her room.
Eventually, even Sonja’s mother showed up, pushing her way through the people until she reached her daughter. “Sonja? Sonja, honey, are you okay? What happened, dear?”
Sonja’s mother knelt at her daughter’s feet, suddenly noticing the man holding Sonja’s hand. Raising an eyebrow, she scowled at the man distastefully. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Benjamin, ma’am. I’m a friend of your daughter’s.”
A sneer of distrust in her lip, the skeptical mother eyed her daughter, looking for a confirmation.
Sonja nodded. “He’s a friend, Mom.”
Her sneer disappearing into a pleasant smile, her mother looked back up at Benjamin warmly, “A friend?”
“A friend,” he confirmed a third time.
“Well,” she said, clasping her hands and beaming at the two, “That’s very nice.” Her mother paused, her eyes searching them, examining the situation for any deeper meanings. “Just friends?”
“Mom, now is not the time,” Sonja reminded.
Her mother’s eyes dropped in a hint of shame before she moved in and placed her hand on her daughter’s knee. “I’m sorry, honey,” she apologized, having forgotten herself for a brief moment. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Corrie’s voice echoed over the loudspeaker. “Please gather round. It is time for the announcement of this year’s Town Father.”
Sonja jaw dropped. Could this woman have worse timing?
“Now, here to announce this year’s candidates is our very own mayor, Cyndi Law.”
Alison pushed through the crowd and came in to stand next to Sonja and her mother. “I couldn’t find him.”
“Find who?” Sonja’s mother inquired innocently.
“Sheriff Thompson, Mom,” Sonja interjected.
“Sheriff Thompson?” A confused look crossed the older woman’s face, looking from her daughter, to Alison, and back to her daughter again. “What’s going on?”
The mayor stood at the podium, listing off the candidates for the year. Standing up from her seat, Sonja tried to see through the crowd. “I bet he’s somewhere up there.”
“Is someone going to explain to me what is going on?” her mother impatiently insisted.
“I can’t see.” Sonja got up on the chair to look over the crowd.
“Be careful, sweetie,” her mother urged.
Peering out over the crowd, the jittery young woman spotted the sheriff—all decked out in his best uniform—standing near the stairs leading up to the old wooden stage.
“And this year’s honoree as Town Father is,” the mayor announced in a grand fashion, “Lincoln Bidwell.”
The crowd burst out in applause and the band played a joyous tune.
“Oh, oh no,” Sonja whispered.
Sheriff Thompson had visibly slumped, losing the proud posture from only moments before. Turning shamefully from the stand he worked his way back through the crowd while Alison—having just spotted the sheriff—pushed through to grab him.
“Lincoln Bidwell,” the mayor repeated. “Come up and accept your award. We eagerly await your words of wisdom.”
The crowd looked back and forth, all searching for Lincoln.
“Has anyone seen Lincoln?” the mayor inquired.
Just then, the Sheriff caught Sonja’s eye. At first, he looked at her with a red face of embarrassment for having lost the award, then his expression twisted into concern.
“Excuse me,” his voice boomed over the small crowd of people. “Please step aside.”
“Where is Lincoln Bidwell?” the mayor repeated in the background.
Sonja got down from the chair and instantly felt Benjamin’s hand grasp hers again.
Sheriff Thompson emerged from the people. “Sonja?” He asked, somewhat breathlessly. “What is it?”
“Lincoln,” she muttered. “He’s dead.”
* * *
“Once, just once, can I run into you without there being a dead body involved?” Sheriff Thompson demanded as he followed her out into the woods.
It had taken heaven and earth to keep the crowd from running out into the woods after them to get a glimpse of the action. Fortunately, the two deputies were on duty at the event and had gathered up a group of men—most of them war veterans and military men present to congratulate Lincoln if he won—to keep the crowd at bay.
Sonja could feel the eyes of the crowd, even deep in the trees, eagerly watching for any sign of news.
Benjamin, who held a firm grip on Sonja’s hand while Sheriff Thompson looked on, had tried to insist on coming along, but the sheriff would have none of it. He insisted that he wanted it to be just him and the witness for the moment—at least until he got the crime scene cordoned off.
“You act like it’s my fault that people keep dying,” Sonja argued, leading the way.
“I just don’t understand why you always need to be involved, have your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he rudely snipped. His tone was unusually harsh—even with a serious murder case on the table.
Sonja felt as if she could cry. Today had already been horrible between the rain, the mud, losing her shoe, seeing another ghost, and then finding a dead body. Alison had allowed Sonja to borrow her shoes while she took the sheriff out to see where the body was located.
“I didn’t have my nose where it didn’t belong,” she argued, desperately holding back a wave of tears hiding just beneath the surface.
&nbs
p; “Why were you snooping around the woods then, in the rain?” he demanded.
Sighing, Sonja knew she didn’t dare talk about being guided by a ghost—especially when the sheriff was already so angry. At the moment, she could only guess at what he was so furious about: losing the award, her not giving him a straight answer when he asked her on a date or the simple reason that this was the fourth murder in Haunted Falls in less than three months.
“I forgot a piece of equipment, a waffle iron,” she defended. “Then I thought I saw something out here in the woods.”
“That’s just like you. Next time,” he insisted, “Instead of going and investigating yourself—which is a bad habit of yours I might add—come and get me to check it out.”
Sonja didn’t bother retorting about how preoccupied the sheriff had been with the award, and how she couldn’t justify asking him to come out in the rain unless she had a good reason. In fact, he had tried to find the body by himself at first, telling Sonja to stay behind, but when he and the two deputies couldn’t locate the crime scene he was forced to have her show him the way. Now, dragged out of the event center back into the rainy, muddy woods, she simply began to cry—stopping dead in her tracks.
The sheriff paused, sighing, his face flooded with guilt. “Sonja, I’m sorry,” he confessed, visibly embarrassed by his own actions. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”
“You act like it’s my fault people are dying,” she retorted through her tears. “You act like it’s my fault that I’m the one who finds the bodies.”
“Sonja,” he whispered. “Look, I just don’t want to have to be worrying about you all the time, okay?” His expression changed, the scowl of guilt melting away into sincere worry. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. Not again.”
She briefly reflected on how she had been run off the road a few weeks earlier, attacked by a madman. Then, how that same madman had almost killed her again, deep in the woods, and if Frank hadn’t shown up, she would be dead for sure.
The Wayward Waffle: Book 4 in The Diner of the Dead Series Page 5