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

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “I don’t think I have a choice,” Sonja stood up.

  “This is black magic, Sonja. Very dark magic.”

  “I don’t care,” she shot back, moving toward the bag and opening it.

  “Sonja, please,” Belinda begged. “I’m scared, really scared.”

  “That’s why I need you here. I need you to pull the mask off if it seems like things are getting too intense.”

  Belinda turned a little green and looked like she might just hurl. “I-I’m not sure.”

  “Please,” Sonja leaned in, grabbing her friend’s arm and squeezing it. “I need you. My mom needs you.”

  Hesitating, Belinda finally nodded. “Okay, but if I think it looks like you’re in trouble, I’m pulling the mask off.”

  “Thanks,” Sonja sighed. “Besides, maybe the mask has already been used and won’t even work.”

  “We can only hope,” Belinda whispered.

  Reaching into the bag, she pulled out the parcel and unwrapped it, revealing the agonizing looking mask inside. It was Tylor’s face all right, and he looked like he was in serious pain.

  Belinda handed the mask over.

  “It’s really heavy,” Sonja noted, flipping it over so the inside was facing her. It didn’t look like much, but she knew it could be one of the most horrific experiences of her life.

  “Are you sure about this?” Belinda worried.

  “Positive,” Sonja nodded, letting out a breath. “Okay. On the count of three.”

  Her friend nodded.

  “Ready? One . . . two . . . three.” In one motion, Sonja brought the mask up and over her face, closing her eyes and awaiting what might come next.

  * * *

  Sonja had been inside someone else’s memory before, one time during a séance when a ghost had possessed her. That time, it felt like she was simply reliving the memory verbatim. Nothing so special.

  This, however, was much worse.

  It was if the world around her were drawn in blotchy ink, and penned by the shaky hand of a dying artist. The edges of her vision were smudged with blackness, and her hearing sounded garbled.

  It was like being in the worst nightmare she could ever imagine, only so much more real.

  As the blurry ink strewn image became clearer, she noticed she was in a room, an office. The shelves were stacked high with junk of all assortments, but she couldn’t make any of it out.

  “This’ll need epoxy,” came the grumbled voice, her own voice from her own body. Now Sonja was positive she was inside Tylor’s memory—seeing through his own eyes. Setting down what looked like a bottle of superglue, he headed out of the office, forgetting to close the door behind himself.

  Walking down the hall, he finally stopped in front of the janitor’s closet. The scene of the crime.

  Sonja felt both nervous and excited at the same time, realizing she had all of her own emotions and feelings combined with those of the memory as well. It was an odd sensation.

  Tylor opened the closet door and turned on the light. Reaching up, he picked up a bottle of epoxy from a shelf with other blurry looking repair tools and bottles of what Sonja could only guess were cleaning products.

  “You,” came a garbled voice from behind. “Give me the money you stole. I want it back.”

  Spinning around, Tylor let out a startled gasp and dropped the head of the statue. Sonja saw the culprit straight on, but was disappointed that the blotchy vision made it difficult to determine the identity.

  “Y-you a-again? W-what d-do you want?” came the stutter from Tylor, his heart rate rising as the level of irritation and anger pumped through his veins at an accelerated pace. “I-I t-told you. I-I won that money fair and s-square. N-now leave m-me alone.”

  “Give me that money? Where is it?”

  “I-In my s-safe, where you can’t g-get at it.”

  The murderer, still all in a blur, looked back toward the gym and then at Tylor again.

  “N-now, l-leave me be. Y-you have n-no right to k-keep bothering me l-like this.” The heart rate increased again, indicating that Tylor was severely agitated by this person. “I-it isn’t m-my fault I’m better at p-pool.”

  Sonja felt her own heart rate pick up speed right alongside with the victim’s. Two heartbeats at once. It was truly unnerving.

  “W-what are you d-doing?”

  The figure bent over and picked up the head of the statue, hefted it in one hand.

  “W-wait. S-stop.”

  But it was too late. With one angry swing, the stone connected.

  Sonja instantly cried out as she experienced the most severe pain she’d ever felt. Her skull felt as if it were on fire inside, and instantly she tumbled to the floor of the closet.

  “That . . . money . . . is . . . mine,” was the angry chant the murderer announced, punctuating each word with another vicious blow to the head—each on more severe and painful than the rest.

  “No, no, no,” Sonja screamed, wishing she could put up her hands to defend herself, to stop the violence from happening, but it wasn’t any good.

  Slowly, as her entire head felt like it was disconnected from her body, she blacked out.

  * * *

  Gasping for breath and letting out one final blood-curdling scream, Sonja sat up in the chair, the mask finally coming off—feeling like a band-aid pulled from her skin.

  Belinda was standing over her breathing heavily herself, sweat dripping over her face. The stone mask was in her hands. “You were screaming and screaming,” she sighed, “but I just couldn’t get it off of you.”

  “I-It’s okay,” Sonja replied, realizing just how shaky she was herself. “Y-you did what you could.”

  “Thank goodness you’re okay,” Belinda sighed. “You are okay, right?”

  “Physically, I’m fine,” Sonja nodded. “Mentally, I’m not so sure.” Slipping from her chair, Sonja laid on the hard, cold floor, drinking in the sensation of being in her own body—with a single heartbeat.

  “Did it work?” she asked. “Did you see the murderer?”

  “No,” Sonja admitted. “The memory was too fuzzy.”

  “So, it was a waste,” Belinda moaned. “You went through that for nothing.”

  “Maybe not,” Sonja agreed, taking a deep breath and feeling herself stabilize a little more. “I think I need to see inside Tylor’s office.”

  CHAPTER 15

  * * *

  Arriving at the community center, it was already dark outside. All the activity which had been around the building earlier that day had vanished, leaving nothing behind but memories of what had once been there.

  “Won’t there be a police officer still here?” Belinda asked, sitting in the passenger seat of the van.

  “If they still have the crime scene cordoned off, yes,” Sonja informed her. “But if they’ve finished going over everything, then no. My guess is that it’ll be all cleaned up. I’m not sure the mayor or city council would stand for one of their buildings being cordoned off for too long.”

  “Should we wait until morning? Just in case?”

  “No,” Sonja shook her head. “This best time is now. No one will see us.”

  “What if we get caught?”

  “Let’s just hope we don’t,” Sonja nodded. “Besides, it’s a public building, isn’t it?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Belinda agreed. “But won’t it be locked at this time of night?”

  “I think I have a solution to that problem,” she smiled.

  Stepping out of the vehicle, the two women walked around to the back door which led into a kitchen. Both women glanced around, seeing if there was any sign of one of the deputies hanging around. Thankfully it appeared as if there wasn’t a squad car or uniformed officer in sight.

  “Okay, how do we get in?”

  “This way,” Sonja wiggled a finger, indicating her friend to follow.

  Sonja had used the kitchen in the back of the building before and knew the rest of the building fairly well. This w
as the same community center she’d been going to her entire life for events. She’d been to Halloween parties, Christmas galas, bake sales, craft shows, thrift markets, and even after school programs.

  She remembered, as a kid, sneaking in at night to go “ghost hunting” with Alison. They had rented some VHS documentary on haunted places and thought it would be fun to find a ghost of their own. It seemed ironic now, since Sonja communicated with ghosts every day.

  Thanks to her many childhood escapades she knew the layout of the building, and all the tricks to get in, like the back of her hand.

  “When I was a kid,” Sonja indicated, “this back door into the kitchen had a faulty lock. Every kid knew you just had to jostle it the right way and the door opened.”

  “I think I remember hearing that,” Belinda exclaimed. “Unfortunately, being homeschooled also meant I rarely hung out with other kids.”

  Reaching the door, Sonja grabbed the handle and jostled it, trying to remember exactly how she’d done it before. Unfortunately, the handle didn’t budge. “Darn,” she muttered. “It looks like they’ve finally replaced the lock since I was a kid.”

  “So, we can’t get in?” Belinda asked, not at all disappointed by this news.

  “Unfortunately, not,” Sonja shook her head. “We’ll have to wait for morning, I guess.”

  She was about to turn and head back to the van, not willing to actually break any locks or windows to get in, when a low clicking noise drew her attention.

  “Did you hear that?” Belinda asked.

  “I did,” Sonja agreed. “What was it.”

  “It sounded like something unlocking.”

  Stepping back up to the door, Sonja pulled on the handle. The door easily opened.

  “How did that happen?” Belinda exclaimed.

  “Is someone in there?” Sonja called, half-expecting one of the deputies to pop out and scold Sonja for snooping. It would mean trouble with Frank again.

  However, there was no answer.

  “I guess it was nothing,” Sonja shrugged.

  “Maybe you did jostle it right,” Belinda offered, “but it took a second to open?”

  “That’s probably it,” Sonja agreed. “Let’s go.”

  Stepping into the darkness of the kitchen, a single emergency light cast eerie yellow shadows along the walls. The women crept carefully to the door and out into the hallway where they knew the janitor’s closet would be.

  Using their cell phones as flashlights, they tiptoed down the hall.

  “Looks like they’ve cleaned up the crime scene,” Sonja noted. “None of the caution tape is up anymore.”

  “Thankfully,” Belinda agreed.

  Walking down the hallway, they passed the closet and Sonja felt her blood run cold. She shivered and rushed passed the door, thankful that she didn’t need to go in there.

  Soon, the two women reached the door to the janitor’s office. Sonja figured that Tylor had been in charge of ordering toilet paper, paper towels, cleaning supplies, and other inventory. So, it was important for him to have an office with a computer.

  Belinda tried the handle and sighed. “It’s locked,” she groaned.

  “Let me try,” Sonja whispered. As she touched the handle she felt something click. The door swung open easily.

  “But I could have sworn . . .”

  The two women looked at each other. Clearly, there was something supernatural happening here. They just couldn’t explain what, yet.

  “Maybe Tylor’s ghost?” Sonja shrugged.

  Belinda shook her head. “I’m not so sure.”

  “Either way, let’s check this out.” Stepping into the room, Sonja used her phone to find the light switch and flipped it on.

  The fluorescent fixture on the ceiling flickered on, revealing the office before them. The room was small and cramped. A rickety metal desk sat against one wall with an ancient looking computer on it. The other walls had metal shelves filled to the brim with a random assortment of stuff. Old fast food toys, a broken clock, stacks of books, old electronics, and much more.

  “What a pack rat,” Belinda commented.

  “Look at this,” Sonja noted, pointing to the only clear space on the shelf. It appeared as if something relatively large and square shaped had been removed.

  “What do you make of it?” Belinda asked. “An old TV maybe?”

  “No,” Sonja gasped, having a realization. “I think the murderer took a safe off the shelf.”

  “An entire safe?”

  Sonja nodded. “When I was wearing the mask, Tylor mentioned hiding the money in a safe. The killer probably took the whole thing since they didn’t know the code.”

  “Wouldn’t that be heavy?”

  “Maybe, but small enough to haul outside.”

  “Hey, check this out,” Belinda pointed to a space in the corner between the two shelves. There was a pillow and rolled up blanket there. “Do you think Tylor was sleeping here?”

  Sonja took another look around and realized that there were random food and snacks on the shelves. “I’d bet on it,” she nodded. “Look at this food. He probably was having money troubles.”

  “Was being the key word,” Belinda noted. “If he really came into a small sum, it would mean the world to him.”

  “You’ve got that right. It explains why he was so reluctant to give up the money to whoever it was that killed him.”

  Sonja was about ready to leave, satisfied with everything she’d learned, until she spotted something odd sitting on the desk. Walking over and sitting in the chair, she picked up the picture frame and examined the black and white picture.

  “What is it?”

  “The plaque on the bottom says Haunted Falls Pool Club.”

  “Pool club? Tylor was part of a pool club?”

  Sonja nodded. “He is standing in the center here.” She pointed at the picture. “This looks pretty old. After all, it’s a black and white photo. I’m not even sure we have a pool club anymore.”

  “Huh, is there a date?”

  Sonja looked it over. “Yeah. It says nineteen seventy-six in the corner.”

  “That looks like it was taken at the Macamery Pool Hall before it became so seedy.”

  “Charles Flannery’s place?” Sonja asked, having only been to the pool hall one time.

  “Yeah,” Belinda confirmed.

  “Maybe he’ll know a little more about Tylor or the club.”

  “Do you think that’s important?”

  “It may be. Tylor mentioned something about pool in the vision. I didn’t understand what that meant at first, but it looks like he was a pool player.” Sonja shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to ask Charles, I guess.”

  “I guess not.”

  Looking closer at the image, Sonja’s jaw dropped. “Hey,” she pointed at one of the women standing near Tylor with her hand on his shoulder. “I can’t believe this, but isn’t that Patricia?”

  Belinda leaned in and squinted. “I think it is.”

  “She looks awfully friendly with Tylor there. I wonder what kind of history they have.”

  There was a sudden loud thunk and Sonja stood straight up from the chair and turned off the light instinctively, plunging the room into darkness. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know,” Belinda whispered.

  They both listened, realizing that the sound of footsteps could be heard on linoleum.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Agreed,” Sonja nodded.

  Poking their heads out the door, they realized that the way they came in was blocked by a dark figure walking toward them.

  They were trapped.

  CHAPTER 16

  * * *

  “Is someone in here?” came a voice from the pudgy silhouette.

  “Dang,” Sonja whispered. “I forgot. They got a security guard a few years back because too many kids were playing around after dark.”

  “What do we do?” Belinda frantically mumbled.

  “
The only way out is through the gym at this point.”

  “Hello? It’s after hours. The community center is closed for the evening,” the security guard called again.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Belinda urged her friend.

  “Okay, on the count of three, run for the gym.”

  “Okay.”

  “One . . . two . . . three.”

  Bursting from the office door, the two women darted into the gym through the stage door.

  “Hey, come back here,” shouted the guard.

  Dashing across the stage, they jumped off and onto the basketball court, sending vibrations through the old wood, and made a b-line for the far door.

  Glancing back to see if they were being followed, Sonja caught a glimpse of the large wall clock above the stage. It looked slightly askew as if it were hanging from a loose screw. As she stared at it, it began to fall toward the ground.

  “Oh, no,” Sonja shouted. She was almost certain that the vibrations from them running and jumping off the stage had shaken it loose.

  The guard came bursting in on the stage just as the clock came zooming toward him.

  “Look out,” Sonja screamed, not wanting someone to get hurt on her account.

  The guard let out a surprised shout and put his hands over his head to protect his face from the falling item.

  Suddenly, as if pushed by some unseen force, the clock moved horizontally through the air and then landed softly in a pile of old dusty stage curtains.

  “W-what was that?” Sonja gasped.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Belinda yelled, grabbing her friend by the arm and pulling her. “Come on.”

  Seconds later the women emerged into the parking lot and jumped into the van.

  “Drive, drive,” Belinda shouted.

  Sonja turned on the ignition and guided the vehicle down Main Street.

  * * *

  “That was close,” Belinda sighed as they pulled into the library parking lot. “Too close.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Sonja nodded. “I thought for sure that clock was going to hit the security guard right on the head.”

  “Me too.”

  “I would have felt awful,” Sonja admitted. “Luckily it landed in that pile of curtains instead.”