Murderous Mocha Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 14)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

The special for that day was the Cocoa Coffee Waffle, a Mother’s Day exclusive, and already the orders were pouring in for the delightful dish.

  Heating up all the irons, Sonja pulled out the bag of pre-ground coffee. She had made the fresh ground coffee for her mother’s waffle as a special item, but would never have enough time if she tried to grind coffee for every single order that was filtering in.

  Also, it was a slightly cheaper blend to keep the cost of the dish down. There was a certain range of cost that most diner patrons were willing to pay for a specialty waffle, and Sonja worked very hard to keep each of her delicious dishes in that range.

  Around an hour later, the reviews were all coming back positive—overwhelmingly positive.

  In fact, she wasn’t sure there was a waffle yet that had received this type of reaction.

  “I guess women just love their chocolate and coffee,” Alison exclaimed as she stood up from her paperwork to help out with the overwhelming amount of orders suddenly coming in all at once.

  “And who knew so many people went out for Mother’s Day?” Sonja added, keeping her eye on the front door of the diner through the service window. They had quite a crowd of people waiting to be seated, and each time she heard the little bell ding, she knew someone else had just come in.

  “We need more coffee cream,” Alison noted.

  “On it,” Sonja agreed, pulling the mixing bowl close and combining the necessary ingredients in the bowl and beating it with a whisk.

  The sound of the bell ringing drew her attention again. She briefly glanced up, intending to go right back into mixing when she spotted Belinda standing there. The look of distress on her face showed that she wanted to talk.

  “Bathroom break,” Sonja announced, pushing the bowl of whisked cream toward her friend.

  “Hurry back,” Ally urged her.

  Stepping through the kitchen doors and into the dining area, Sonja nodded toward her friend to follow her to the bathroom.

  Once inside, Sonja latched the door shut. “Hopefully no one really needs to go right away.”

  “I know who the next murder victim is going to be,” Belinda blurted, skipping the social niceties.

  “You do?” Sonja asked, wondering if her friend was at all aware of Tylor’s recent death.

  Belinda nodded. “There was a package delivered to my door.”

  “A package?”

  Reaching into her oversized, black purse, she pulled out a heavy looking parcel wrapped in paper.

  “What is that?”

  “Have a look,” Belinda encouraged, unwrapping the brown covering and revealing the contents inside.

  Sonja instantly gasped. It was a stone death mask, just like Belinda had described, and it was carved into the likeness of Tylor Mason. “It just showed up on your doorstep?”

  “It did. We have to find this guy before it’s too late.”

  Sonja swallowed hard. “It is too late,” she admitted uncomfortably. “It’s Tylor Mason, and he was murdered earlier this morning.”

  Belinda’s jaw dropped in shock.

  Before she could go into detail, however, the two women were interrupted by a violent knocking on the bathroom door.

  “I guess someone has to go pretty badly,” Sonja muttered.

  “Sonja,” someone shouted from outside. “Sonja, if you’re in there, hurry.”

  Unlatching the door, Sonja opened it to reveal her father standing just outside. Much to her surprise, he looked sick with worry—a heavy sweat running down his forehead. Something was seriously wrong.

  “Dad?” Sonja gasped, opening the door wide. “What’s happening? Is mom okay?”

  Sam shook his head. “No. Frank was just at the house a little bit ago. He’s taken your mother into custody.”

  “Into custody?” Sonja exclaimed. “What for?”

  “She has been arrested for the murder of Tylor Mason.”

  CHAPTER 12

  * * *

  Things were just getting worse and worse, spiraling downward into an abyss of insanity. Belinda received a mysterious package containing a death mask of the victim who had been killed that morning, and now Sonja’s own mother was being accused of murder.

  How could Frank do this? He knew Sonja’s mother was innocent. In fact, she was probably the least likely person in all of Haunted Falls to commit a murder.

  After telling Alison that there was a family emergency, Sonja threw on her coat and followed her dad to the police station. Both of them got out of their respective cars at the same time and charged inside.

  As the stepped in the front doorway, Sonja spotted her mother still standing at the front desk as she was being booked. Frank stood beside her. Luckily, he hadn’t handcuffed Diane. At least he had that much decency.

  “Mom,” she exclaimed, wrapping her mother in a tight hug.

  “T-They think I did it,” she muttered nervously. “They think I killed Tylor.”

  “I know, I know.” She turned her eyes to the sheriff. “Frank, seriously? How can you bring in my mother like this? You know better than anyone in town that she couldn’t have possibly committed this murder.”

  “Sonja, I’m just doing my job,” he defended.

  “Doing your job? Arresting innocent people?”

  “It’s police procedure.”

  “Because that’s worked out so well for you in the past,” she snapped.

  “Please, Sonj’,” he pleaded. “We’ll discuss this as soon as I’m done here.”

  “We’re discussing it now,” she exclaimed.

  “Honey,” Sam gently grabbed his daughter’s arm. “He is just doing his job. He probably has a good reason for this,” he looked at Frank, “even if he’s wrong.”

  “No, no way,” Sonja blurted out. “How can he arrest his own girlfriend’s mother?”

  “You’re being unreasonable,” Frank defended himself. “If you just wait a few minutes, I can talk this through with both of you.”

  “Come on,” Sam urged, leading Sonja away to sit in the chairs across from the main desk.

  Begrudgingly taking a seat, she began having flashbacks to a year earlier when her own father had been accused of murder and stood in that very same spot being booked for a crime he didn’t commit.

  “I’m sure we can get this all worked out,” Sam whispered to her.

  “He’s wrong,” Sonja replied.

  “I know,” her father nodded. “And I think Frank knows that. Let’s just give him a chance to explain.”

  Slumping back in her chair, Sonja folded her arms. “Fine, I’ll wait.”

  * * *

  Belinda arrived while they waited, having followed them to the station. She seemed determined to talk about the mask, but Sonja wasn’t interested at the moment.

  “Later,” she insisted.

  “How much later?” Belinda urged, obviously feeling anxious about the whole situation.

  Frank stepped out from the back room. “Okay, if you and your father want to step into my office.”

  “Wait for me here,” she instructed Belinda. “We’ll talk about the mask as soon as I get things cleared up with Frank.”

  “Okay,” she nodded, clutching the large purse anxiously. “Be fast.”

  “I can only hope,” Sonja groaned, stepping into the sheriff’s office and taking a seat. Her father took the chair next to her.

  Closing the door behind them, Frank moved around to his usual spot behind the desk.

  “What the heck is going on?” Sonja demanded.

  “Give me a few minutes to explain before asking any questions, please.”

  “Alright,” Sonja agreed. “But you better have a good explanation.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Unfortunately, I do.” Sitting down and clasping his hands on the top of his desk, he looked his girlfriend right in the eye. “I didn’t want to arrest your mom. In fact, I still am not convinced she’s the person we’re after.”

  “Then why?” Sonja insisted. “Why arrest her if you know
she’s innocent.”

  “Sonja, you of all people should know I have to follow police procedure, no matter how much you dislike it.”

  “But what does this have to do with police procedure?”

  “Let me explain it this way,” he pointed with both fingers as he thought, “I have significant evidence that points to your mother as the murderer. Based on that, I have to bring her in, at least for the time being.”

  “Evidence? What evidence?”

  Frank sighed. “Multiple witnesses saw your mother argue with the victim and then leave the gym at the same time as he did. The statue, which was the source of the argument, was used at the murder weapon.”

  “That all seems like pure circumstance,” Sonja argued.

  Frank nodded. “You’re right. It is.”

  “Is that statue really enough to murder someone over?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. However, there was something more substantial that clinched it.”

  “Which is?” Sonja urged, putting both hands insistently on the desk.

  He sighed, shaking his head and realizing his girlfriend wouldn’t be satisfied unless he told her the truth. “The only fingerprints found on the murder weapon belonged to the victim and to your mother.”

  “My mom?” Sonja gasped.

  “Well, maybe someone else used gloves?” Sam added.

  “I’m well aware that there are multiple other possibilities here, Sam,” Frank admitted. “However, for the time being, I have to bring in Diane, at least until I have evidence that proves otherwise.”

  “Proves otherwise?” Sonja demanded. “It could have been anyone at that party.”

  “I know,” Frank nodded. “I’m going to do everything I can to prove your mother’s innocence, but I also can’t turn my head away from facts.”

  Sonja stood up. “And so am I.”

  “Considering this murder involved your mother, I have to insist you stay out of it completely this time. I shouldn’t have even told you about the fingerprints, but felt I owed it to both of you to know.”

  “How do you expect me to just stay out of it?”

  Frank shrugged. “Please, Sonj’. Trust me. Let me handle this and I promise things will work out.”

  “How can you make that promise when you already arrested my own mother?”

  Frank shook his head, realizing there was no way to fix this at the moment. “I’m sorry.”

  “Fine,” Sonja shot back. “I’ll let you handle it. I will. But if you don’t come up with something soon, I will not just sit by and watch my mom go to jail.”

  “Sonja,” Frank sighed.

  Pushing her chair back, Sonja turned, threw the door open and stomped out of the office.

  CHAPTER 13

  * * *

  “Some Mother’s Day,” Sonja complained as she and her father stepped out of the police station, Belinda following closely behind. “My own mom arrested.”

  “I don’t like it anymore than you do, honey,” Sam confided with his daughter, “but Frank says he’s going to do everything he can to figure out who the real murderer is. And he was willing to confide in us about elements of the case. Don’t you think that counts for something?”

  “I’m not so sure,” Sonja admitted.

  “He’s your boyfriend,” her father pointed out. “Doesn’t your history with him instill even a little trust?”

  “I mean, I do trust Frank, but this is just too much.” She shrugged. “I can’t simply stand by and hope he figures things out, not when Mom is involved.”

  Sam reached out and firmly grabbed Sonja by the shoulders. “You do what you need to. I won’t stop you. You have more capabilities to solve these murders than Frank could ever hope for.”

  Sonja nodded, “But Frank has a lot of investigative ability I don’t have,” she said, finally giving the sheriff the benefit of the doubt.

  “Between the two of you, I’m sure you’ll figure this out. Just you wait, Mom will be home in no time.”

  “I hope so,” Sonja agreed.

  Sam glanced out of the corner of his eye at Belinda, who looked like anxious and impatient waiting for someone to listen to her. “All right. I’m going back to the house.” Walking over to his car, he opened the door. “I’m going to wish you two good luck in your efforts.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Sonja nodded.

  Nodding, Sam got in, shut the door and drove off.

  Sonja turned to Belinda. “All right, let’s figure out how that darn mask fits into all of this.”

  * * *

  Together, the two women drove to the library to look for answers. Belinda Smith, while the richest woman in town, also offered most of her free time as a volunteer librarian. It was her way of giving back to the community.

  More importantly, she was in charge of maintaining and cataloging the occult books—a section that was locked to the general public.

  Belinda had said on many occasions how the books were too dangerous for normal people to be looking through and using. However, she and Sonja had used the books multiple times to help figure out the more supernatural elements of murder cases.

  The locked section was in the basement of the library, in a small room that looked like a medieval dungeon.

  “I just can’t figure what this all means,” Belinda admitted, opening the basement door.

  “Or what it has to do with the murder. Did the killer carve the face and then kill Tylor?” Sonja wondered out loud as they made their way down the twisting stone steps.

  “I think I remember reading about something like this years ago, but I can’t remember the exact details now,” she admitted.

  “Well, I talked to my father about it earlier, and he’s afraid that there may be another witch in Haunted Falls.”

  “Another witch,” Belinda exclaimed. “I was afraid of something like that.” Shaking her head, she opened the door to the small room of occult books. The walls were lined with old shelves filled with dusty tomes. The center of the room held a table and chairs for easy study.

  “You thought it was a witch too?”

  “Not exactly. I didn’t tell you this earlier today because I was afraid it might actually be true,” Belinda paused, a little embarrassed for hiding it. “I think someone, or something, is here in Haunted Falls and is somehow feeding off these murders.”

  Sonja sat in one of the chairs. “How is that?”

  Belinda perused the books on the shelf. “Let me see if I can find the book I was thinking of. If I remember correctly, we could be in for some serious trouble.” After a few minutes of scanning the titles, she pulled a large tome down and set it on the table.

  “Is this it?”

  “The very one.” Opening the book, she flipped through the pages, seeking the old memory of what she’d read before. “There,” she pointed at the page.

  Leaning in, Sonja looked at the horrific picture drawn there. Black and white depictions of violence were in a circle around a central figure—a crone-like witch who seemed to be absorbing squiggly waves representing either energy or magic.

  “A witch, or another person with dark powers, needs the energy to cast their spells.”

  “My dad was right,” Sonja gasped.

  “Each time a violent crime is committed—especially murder—the person draws some more energy from it. It’s the hatred and anger from this kind of crime that really makes it special.”

  Sonja shrugged. “Okay, we’ve figured out that much, but what does it have to do with the mask or your vision?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure yet,” she noted, flipping through a few more pages.

  “Is the person who made the mask the murderer?”

  Belinda shook her head. “I don’t think so. If the person who carved this,” she motioned toward the bag, “is the witch, then most likely they don’t commit murders themselves. They only draw the energy from other people’s crimes.”

  “That puts me at a dead end for getting my mom out of jail,” Sonja comp
lained.

  “Ah-ha,” Belinda exclaimed, excitedly pointing at the page. “I knew it. I knew I remembered reading something about this years ago.”

  “What, what is it?” Sonja asked.

  “In order for the witch to absorb the energy, it requires a mana drawing spell.”

  “Mana?”

  “Just another fancy word for energy or magical power.”

  “Ah,” Sonja nodded.

  “The witch has to carve a death mask of the person who was murdered, thus capturing the last moments of agony and pain within the face of the mask. Then, by putting on the mask, they absorb the energy.”

  “Whoa.”

  “But get this,” she pointed at the small image of a witch wearing a mask. She was kneeling down, her arms out, hands clutching in agony. It looked like the witch was in pain. “When wearing the mask, they relive the last moments of the victim’s life. They literally feel the pain of dying over and over.”

  Sonja’s jaw dropped. “That’s morbid. Who would put themselves through that?”

  Belinda’s face looked pale as she looked up at her friend. “Only someone who is saving up magic for some really evil spell work.” Taking a seat, she sighed. “Someone who is truly evil themselves.”

  The two women sat in silence for a few seconds, taking in what they’d just learned.

  Suddenly, a lightbulb turned on in Sonja’s mind. “I have an idea about how I can find Tylor’s real murderer.”

  “What is it?” Belinda asked.

  “Is there a way to tell if this mask has been used?”

  CHAPTER 14

  * * *

  “Sonja, you can’t be serious,” Belinda exclaimed, standing up. “You have no idea what that might do to you. How that might feel?”

  “This is about saving my mother,” Sonja argued. “If I can get a good look at the murderer then it’s all the easier for me to find the evidence to convict them.”

  “I’m telling you,” Belinda insisted, pointing to the picture in the book of the witch, the one wearing the mask and writhing in agony. “You don’t want to do this.”