BUCKAROO WAFFLE MURDER (The Wicked Waffle Series Book 5)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “Not so fast,” Vaughn shouted in reply, standing up and drawing his own gun.

  Sonja couldn’t help but smile a little at the minor theatrics put on by the men. It wasn’t so different from a couple of kids playing cowboys and Indians.

  “You don’t scare me, lawman,” Robert threatened.

  “If you boys come quietly, I promise you a fair trial.”

  “Not likely,” the outlaw shouted. In the blink of an eye, he squeezed the trigger of his gun, sending a blast through the air.

  Sonja expected a shot from Vaughn in response, taking down the robber once and for all. Maybe even three shots all at once, taking out the whole gang, just like in some of the western films Frank had shown her.

  However, no such return shot came. Instead, Vaughn groaned painfully, gripping his belly before flopping down onto the hardwood floor of the car. As a trickle of red escaped his clutching hands, the car went silent.

  The gut punch feeling in Sonja’s stomach instantly told her that something had gone wrong, horribly wrong.

  Frank was on the same page, jumping to his feet like a man on fire and rushing to his old friend’s side.

  Robert pulled down his bandana, revealing the sick paleness of his face. “That’s not supposed to happen,” he uttered mournfully.

  Sonja stood up to see just what was happening. “Frank?”

  Looking up from the crumpled man on the floor, Frank’s eyes looked watery. “He’s been shot.”

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  “Oh, my gosh. How did this happen? I just don’t understand it.” Robert sat on the floor in the corner near the stove. With his knees pulled tight against his chest, he had been whispering to himself for the past ten minutes.

  Every patron on the train, as well as the employees, had been moved out of the dining car where the horrible accident had occurred and as far away from the scene as possible, leaving plates of breakfast food to sit and grow cold.

  Frank remained behind to finish securing the scene while multiple guests tried using their cell phones to reach nine-one-one. As luck would have it, the rural setting, the towering mountains, and continuing snowfall all prohibited any outside calls.

  The sound of the door opening alerted everyone to Frank’s presence. His eyes fell on Robert, who was now the one in charge of the train.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Robert gasped, standing up from his huddled position.

  Frank’s grim expression and straight mouth should have been answer enough. “I’m afraid he’s gone.”

  Robert’s eyes widened, and his lower lip quivered.

  The sheriff didn’t have time for any mourning and pushed right past the whimpering man. “Did anyone have any luck contacting the authorities?”

  Everyone silently shook their heads. “I’m afraid reception out here isn’t all that great,” Jake noted. “There is a land line at the station, however.”

  “Frank, you’re the sheriff,” Sonja pointed out. This wouldn’t be their first outing into a murder investigation by any means.

  Her fiancé tapped his head. “I’m afraid not, Sonj’. We’re in a different county and need to get in contact with the sheriff here as soon as possible.” Realizing he wasn’t going to get many answers from Robert, who had curled up on the floor again, he turned to the conductor. “Jake, we need to get back to the station as soon as possible. Can the train back up to where we started?”

  He nodded. “I’ll run and inform the drivers right away.”

  “Good. Come right back here when you’re done.”

  Giving a little salute, he headed off.

  “What about the weapon?” Sonja whispered, stepping close to her police officer fiancé.

  Frank instinctively pulled her closer to the door and away from the other patrons, so they could talk privately. “Robert dropped it, and I just made sure it got left there for when the authorities in the area arrive.”

  Sonja was impressed by his cool attitude in the face of the death and potential murder of an old friend. “Are you going to start interviews or anything? Get people’s statements?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not doing a thing until the local authorities get here. I’m out of my jurisdiction, not to mention I had a relationship with the deceased. That hardly makes me a good candidate to act as an investigator here.”

  “I suppose you’re right. How are you feeling?”

  He hesitated, his eyes glancing back toward the doorway. “Honestly, I’m a little shaken, but surprisingly okay.”

  Sonja wondered if the shock of the situation just hadn’t settled in yet and if it would hit him later.

  Another concern that was lingering in the back of her mind, provoking her, was the ghostly prospector who had boarded the train. While there was no apparent connection yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was somehow involved.

  She searched Frank’s eyes, wondering if he too had thought the same thing. It was him, after all, who had expressed his concern about a spirit on board in the first place.

  “So, what do you think?” she pressed, wondering just how he was honestly feeling about the whole fiasco. She didn’t want to ask about the specter directly but thought she could get at it in a roundabout way. “Is it murder?”

  Breathing out heavily through his nose, Frank clasped his hands tightly. “At the very least, it’s manslaughter. Somehow, someone loaded that gun with live ammunition.” Sonja felt his gaze passing by her and looking across the car at the man hunched in the corner.

  It wasn’t necessarily an accusatory stare, more of an inquisitive one.

  In any case, Sonja had to agree. It was true. If there was one person who was likely responsible for the death, it was Robert, Vaughn’s business partner. He was the one who had fired the gun, and likely the one who had loaded it.

  “Either by accident or on purpose. In any case, those bullets were real,” Frank noted.

  Sonja bit her lower lip, all too eager to ask about his thoughts on the ghost. However, she didn’t want to provoke him into a frustrated thought process. If he wasn’t mentioning the prospector, then he likely wasn’t thinking about him. If he wasn’t thinking about him, she wouldn’t bother bringing up the subject.

  With a surprising jolt, the train began to slow down. Sonja leaned into Frank, holding onto the lapel of his sleek western style jacket for support.

  “Good. Seems like we are stopping,” he noted, stepping away from Sonja and leaning down for a look out the window.

  The car door opened, and Jake reentered. “We’re getting ready to pull back toward the station now, Sheriff,” the conductor announced.

  “Good work,” Frank commended him.

  Sonja glanced around at the other guests to see how they were reacting, but they all seemed unfazed. Seeing as most of them were either columnists or reporters, this was probably nothing too strange for them. If anything, it was an interesting scoop that they were chomping at the bit to get back to the office.

  Glancing down at Robert sitting in the corner, she wondered if he was really capable of committing cold-blooded murder in front of a whole group of people. She knew little to nothing about the man except for the fact that he seemed to be in disagreement with his business partner.

  She supposed that he could potentially benefit from Vaughn’s death, collecting on his partner’s share of the museum and train station—but why kill him out in the open in front of witnesses if he wanted money or control of the business? Certainly, he would not be allowed to collect if he was found guilty.

  No, that explanation just didn’t make much sense.

  She felt honestly silly speculating in her head since she knew hardly anything about the people involved. Not to mention, this was Frank’s childhood friend that was killed. Somehow, because of that, she felt a distinct need for justice—if nothing else for her fiancé’s sake.

  Sonja glanced back at him just to double check that he was still in okay spirits. He seemed fine.

  Walk
ing further down the car, she racked her brain to try and remember any details about the few short hours she’d spent with these people that day.

  The argument was just one thing. She still had no idea exactly what they’d argued about, but she could speculate.

  Nathan, Vaughn’s brother, had randomly shown up just before the train left the station. It had been another catalyst that bothered Robert.

  Sonja let out a little gasp of realization. Nathan, of course. Perhaps there could be some legality that allowed Vaughn’s brother to inherit his share of the business instead. Considering he had already taken money from the museum effort and wasted it on drugs, she knew that would rub Robert the wrong way.

  Could that mean Nathan was a suspect in this case?

  Sonja tapped her fingers on her forearm. She’d seen Vaughn guide his brother into the back room and leave him there. As far as she knew, he’d never even left the station, which meant he couldn’t possibly be on the train.

  Groaning with irritation that she didn’t have enough facts on this case, she leaned on the glass of one of the gun displays.

  Her eyes fell upon the plaque and read it instinctively. Colt Paterson Point Thirty-Six Revolver. The gun was clearly authentic, a real antique. The spinning cylinder was smooth and cold looking, and the barrel was long. A scratched wooden handle set a nice contrast to the tarnished gray body.

  Then she noticed the bullets.

  As with all the other guns on display, there were indentations for three bullets to be displayed.

  The only difference here was that the middle indentation was empty.

  One of the bullets was missing.

  CHAPTER 7

  * * *

  By the time Frank had finished his visual investigation of the gun display, without actually touching the case, the train had begun to maneuver backward down the canyon. Sonja was all too eager to get back to the station, call the local police, and hand it over to them.

  This was hardly turning out to be an ideal birthday outing and she was already wishing she had insisted on a normal night in with German chocolate cake, vanilla bean ice cream, a couple small presents, and maybe an old black and white movie.

  At the moment, however, it seemed as if Frank was finally itching for some answers.

  “What kind of gun were you using in the dining car?” he asked, walking with determination in his step toward Robert. The man was still huddled like a frightened child in the corner and the sheriff’s advance only caused his face to grow paler.

  Sonja hadn’t hesitated for a single second in showing her police officer fiancé the missing bullet from the case, which had sent him directly into investigation mode—despite his insistence that he remain apart from this particular death.

  Somehow, as Sonja well knew, it was difficult to not get involved when a family member or friend was connected to a homicide.

  Even a professional like Frank couldn’t totally resist.

  “T-The gun?” Robert asked.

  “Yes, what kind of gun was it you used?” he pressed. His voice was demanding, but firm. There was no inkling of unnecessary anger. He was just trying to get information.

  “I-It was a replica.”

  “A replica of what?” Sonja asked from where she stood behind her fiancé.

  “Sonja, stay out of this,” Frank insisted.

  “It was a replica of a Colt Paterson thirty-six,” he managed to whisper, the first semblance of evenness appearing in his voice.

  Turning on his heel, Frank looked directly at the glass case which Sonja had pointed out to him. “The same one that’s in this display?”

  “Not exactly the same, no. The one in there isn’t functional. It’s an original, an antique. It couldn’t fire a shot.”

  “But yours did,” Frank pointed out, looking back at the man in the corner and folding his arms.

  “Of course, it did. It’s a replica made specifically for reenactments, film sets, that sort of thing.”

  Frank pointed at the glass. “Does the museum or train keep any kind of live ammo for these guns on hand?”

  Robert shook his head. “No. Why would we need real bullets? This isn’t a firing range.”

  “What about the bullets in these cases?”

  Robert, for the first time since the horrible incident, stood up from the corner of his own accord. “I know how this probably looks, okay? I’m not stupid.”

  “Nobody said that,” Sonja added.

  “But, yes, all the bullets in this car are real. They’re authentic shells from the time period, just like the guns are.”

  “Could they be used?” Sonja asked, keeping a much calmer and smoother tone than her fiancé.

  Robert’s eyes darted toward the cases around him. “In theory, yes, but it’s a long shot. There is no telling if they could actually work or not.”

  Frank huffed, letting air out through flared nostrils. Eyeballing the empty slot, he shook his head. “Well, it looks like one of these bullets did work.”

  Moving to stand next to Frank, Robert realized just what the sheriff was talking about. “One of the point thirty-six bullets is missing.”

  “Exactly,” Frank said.

  “That means only one thing,” Sonja chimed in. “Someone purposefully loaded that gun with a real bullet. It couldn’t have been by accident.”

  The first real hints of distress and anger were flowing through Frank. The reality of the murder was settling in. Still, he managed to keep his cool and take a mental step back. “She’s right. At first, I’d hoped this was just carelessness, a simple accident.” He cocked his head to one side, his eyes staring at his dead friend’s business partner. “That isn’t the case. This was murder.”

  Robert, still visibly shaking, put both hands out in front of his body. “It wasn’t me. I swear it.”

  “Do you load your own guns?” Sonja asked, trying to ask as many of the questions herself to keep Frank from getting too involved and boiling over.

  Frank, on the other hand, had a hint of irritation in the corner of his eye at Sonja’s inquiry.

  “Yes. All the actor’s load their own weapons before getting on the train. They’re inspected by Vaughn himself before the show gets going. We’ve rehearsed this a hundred times.”

  “You loaded the gun?”

  “Yes, from the box of blanks we have in the back room of the museum.”

  “Is it possible someone could have placed a real bullet in there that you didn’t notice?” Sonja cut in. Even though Robert was easily a prime suspect, she didn’t want him to feel accused.

  “Sonja, please, just take a seat and let me handle this,” Frank finally requested.

  Not wanting any unwarranted outbursts, she slid back a few steps to show her compliance. Even though he wasn’t the technical authority for the area, he had more authority than anyone else on board at the moment.

  “Is it possible?” Frank asked, continuing with Sonja’s line of questions.

  “It’s very unlikely.” Jake cut in, seeing the perspiration growing on his coworker’s forehead. “All of the blank rounds have crimped endings with blue paint on the tip to distinguish them. It would be nearly impossible for someone to get them mixed up.”

  “What was your name again?” Frank asked.

  “Jake Rierson, Sheriff. I play the conductor on these trips, as well as doing odd jobs for the museum.”

  “And you know about bullets?”

  The mustached man looked around the room at all the other employees. “We all do. For the safety of the staff, as well as for the historical benefit if anyone asks, we all take training about the guns. And it isn’t only guns, Sheriff, Vaughn preferred all of us to know as much as possible about every element of the train, the museum, everything.”

  “I see.”

  “See? Like I told you, I wasn’t the one to put a real bullet in that gun. I would never kill anyone,” Robert interjected, speaking a little too loudly and nearly stumbling over his own words.

 
; “Sheriff, I can vouch for Robert. He isn’t the kind of man to resort to violence, and there is no possible way he could have accidentally loaded a real bullet into his gun without knowing,” Jake reiterated.

  Looking down at his feet, Frank placed two fists on his hips. “Then how did the bullet find its way into the gun? It didn’t just happen on its own,” he pointed out.

  “The gun was loaded with all blanks when I brought it on board and hung it in the employee car.”

  This last comment caused Frank’s eyebrow to turn up at an angle. “You hung it in the car?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You see, Sheriff, the guns are hung on designated hooks in the caboose until it’s time for the train robbery scene. That way, no one is running around with them.”

  Sonja played her fingers along her belt in thought. “So, that means that the real bullet was most likely loaded into the chamber after everyone was on board.”

  “That’s the only way I can see it happening,” Jake agreed.

  “And the only live ammunition is here on board.” Sonja pointed at the case again with the empty slot.

  The corner of Frank’s lip twitched with agitation. He looked from Sonja, to Jake, and finally to Robert. “Okay, then. If that’s the case, who had access to the gun as well as the bullet here?” he demanded.

  Robert cleared his throat, clasping his hands and wringing his fingers. “All of the gun cases have locks on them and only myself, Vaughn, and Jake have keys.”

  “Had,” Jake corrected him.

  “Excuse me?” Frank asked, looking for clarification.

  “I had a key, but I turned it into Vaughn last week once we finished up the displays. I have experience properly handling antiques, so I was available to set things up. After that, I no longer needed a key.”

  Robert made a deep grumbling sound with his throat, showing his irritation with this last comment. She supposed it was because this newest fact pointed the finger solely at the living business partner as the only person with access to the ammunition.