“Who was it?”
“Some lady name Kara Bran. Frank called me up last night and told me. He wanted to see if I recognized the name.”
“Did you?”
“No. Frank already got in contact with the woman’s family, her mother I think, and got permission for the autopsy.”
“That’s good.” Alison agreed, picking up the full carafe and pouring herself a cup of coffee. Sipping from the mug, she let out a sigh. “Gosh, I needed this.” She tapped the side of the mug.
“You’re in luck. I made a double batch.”
“Fantastic.”
“Did you have anything to eat yet?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Cynthia was up early this morning and wanting attention. You know I can’t resist her.”
“I swear. Your little girl just gets cuter and cuter the older she gets,” Sonja admitted.
“She’s a handful, that’s for sure. Ever since she started walking around on her own I can’t keep her out of things.” She laughed quietly to herself and took another drink.
“What was it this time?” Sonja asked, knowing a story was coming on.
“Oh, she’s found out how to open the cabinet to the pots and pans. She thinks they’re drums and bangs on them.”
“Is that how you woke up?” Sonja asked with a knowing smile.
Alison laughed. “She is my little alarm clock.”
Walking over, Sonja grabbed her own mug, the one with an orange jack-o’-lantern on the side, from the high shelf and poured herself another cup of coffee. It would be her second one that morning, including the cup she’d drank at home. “We have a few minutes before we open the door. Want me to whip you up a quick waffle from the fresh batter?”
“Would you? That would be amazing?” Alison sighed in relief.
“Coming right up,” Sonja announced, heading to the mixer. Unlocking the hinge, Sonja lifted the mixer arm and pulled the large bowl off.
“Give me a Belgian one, this time.”
“Is there any other kind?” Sonja teased, knowing it was her friend’s favorite. She opened the hot iron, sprayed on the cooking oil, and poured in a ladleful of batter.
“I saw you put our friend out front,” Alison commented, walking over to the griddle and turning it on to heat so it would be ready for the line-up of sausage, eggs, and bacon.
“Yep, I did it the other night before I finished locking up.”
“It’s a little early, don’t you think? It’s not even Autumn yet.”
“I know that, but I want to be prepared.”
Ally laughed quietly. “Sonja, my autumn obsessed friend. You’d probably put up the Halloween decorations if you thought you could get away with it.”
“You’re darn right I would,” Sonja said, watching as the steam died down from the waffle iron. A ding indicated the waffle was done and Sonja opened the lid. The outside had cooked to a light golden color. Sonja slid it out onto a plate and added a square of butter, directly from the foil. It melted on contact, creating pools in the squares. A little syrup or strawberry preserves and you had the perfect morning meal. “Here it is,” she announced.
“Oh, thank you, Sonj’,” Ally gushed, taking it and digging in.
Sonja enjoyed eating waffles with just plain butter sometimes, too. “I’ll go and open the front door,” she said.
“And say hi to your friend for me,” Alison teased again.
“I’m glad I did put him out. He can help guard the place at night.” She only wished she could really get that straw filled dummy to talk. Maybe if he did, he could quell Sonja’s fears and tell her this wasn’t a murder after all.
Sonja wasn’t holding her breath.
CHAPTER 5
* * *
Sonja worked through the morning breakfast and brunch rushes, cooking fresh, delicious waffles with butter and serving them to many happy patrons. As she had suspected, there had been several customers who had asked where some of their favorite items had gone. Why had the menu suddenly become a single laminated sheet, front-and-back, instead of the elaborate collection of gourmet waffles there used to be?
Sonja informed them that the new, simplified menu was an experiment, and assured them that many of their favorites would still be featured on a frequent basis.
Her plan was, once the new menu was a little more established, that she’d keep a chalkboard informing everyone of that week’s special. Each week, there would be one gourmet waffle available.
She planned on rotating through her vast collection of recipes as well as coming up with new ones.
Many of the patrons thought this was a fantastic idea while others who liked routine and familiarity in their week had a few minor complaints. Still, Sonja knew she couldn’t please everyone, and she personally was in love with the new business plan.
Once twelve o’clock hit, Sonja ended her shift early, leaving Alison in charge for the rest of the afternoon until one of the relief managers could be there. Sonja took the catering van and headed back up the hill to her mother’s home.
Pulling around the side of the Victorian home, Sonja was surprised to see Frank standing under the awning of the guest house.
“I thought you’d be too busy with work to come and help me this afternoon,” she called to him as she climbed out of the van.
Frank half-smiled. “I made a promise to come and help you with this move, and here I am.”
“I can see that,” she said, giving him a peck on the lips before unlocking the door.
The somewhat pained expression on his face, hidden behind his attempted look of gladness, indicated to Sonja that there was something serious going on—and Sonja had a good idea what it was about.
She didn’t ask right off the bat, instead leading the way into the room. “Everything is mostly all packed. There are just one or two little things I still have to put away.”
“What about all the furniture?” he asked, motioning to the couch in front of the TV and the bed on the other side of the room.
“All of it stays. It’s the same furnishings that were here when I moved in.”
The guest house had, at one time, been a three-car garage. When Sonja was young, her parents had decided to convert it into livable space. Luckily for Sonja, it meant she had somewhere to stay when she’d returned to Haunted Falls after quitting her job at the publishing house in New York. She’d only taken that position in hopes to become a successful mystery writer, but had gotten overlooked again and again as nothing more than a coffee girl and paper pusher.
In the past year, however, Sonja had finally had a little time to work on her book. She was finally getting close to finishing a first draft.
Presently, however, she had other things to worry about. Lifting two of the lighter boxes, mostly with clothes and pillows in them, she headed for the door.
“I’m assuming you won’t need to buy any furniture for the new place,” he said, a slight hint of judgment in his voice.
She glanced back at him, clearly aware of his opinion on the move. “That’s right,” she confirmed.
“I see.” He bent down and picked up a heavy box full of books.
Once outside she set the boxes on the pavement and opened both doors on the back of the van. She placed the clothes inside and then turned to face Frank. “You’re still weirded out by all of this, aren’t you?” she pressed.
Hesitating a moment as he formulated his answer, he put the heavy box in the van with the others. “I’m not sure weirded out is the right way of putting it.”
“What is it then?”
“Nothing, really,” he shrugged.
“Sure, there is. You think it’s odd that I’m moving up to the Smith Estate.”
Frank placed his hands on his belt and huffed nervously.
“Come on. Talk to me,” she begged.
“Okay, I admit it. It’s a little strange.” He began to pace, looking at the ground and kicking bits of rock.
Sonja walked past him and into the house t
o grab more boxes. Misty appeared from behind the desk and meowed for attention. “Not now,” Sonja whispered to the little ghost, knowing Frank couldn’t see him.
“I guess, I don’t like the idea of you staying up at that huge mansion by yourself,” he said, appearing at the doorway.
Sonja rolled her eyes, lifting a box with DVDs in it—mostly old black and white mystery movies. “First of all, I won’t be all alone up there. Mr. Thompson and Miss Hyatt will be there for the next few weeks.”
“That’s what I mean. It is weird that you’re going to have hired help staying there with you. I mean, a butler and a maid?”
“It’s only until they find employment elsewhere. Belinda isn’t keeping them on, not with me living there now.” She walked out past him as he picked up another box.
“Still,” he argued, hot on her tail.
“Second of all, I won’t be staying in that big old manor. I’m staying in the old servant’s house and renting out the manor for weddings, parties, and events.”
Frank grunted in an unsatisfied voice, “I don’t think I could stand living in that huge place all alone.”
Sonja slid the box into the van.
“It’ll be weird picking you up for dates, so weird,” he admitted, giving a sheepish shrug.
Even with all his complaints and worries, Sonja knew none of these were the real issue. “Okay, spill,” she ordered, putting a hand on her hip as she leaned on the box she had just loaded.
Frank paused, a large plastic tote in his hands. “Can I at least load this first?”
She stepped aside and motioned for him to do his thing. Frank put the large item inside, paused a moment, and finally turned to face Sonja. “You’re sure that Belinda doesn’t have any ulterior motives here?”
“That’s what this is about?” Sonja gasped.
“I’m serious, Sonj’. What kind of friend just gives someone an entire estate?”
“A good friend, that’s who,” she snapped, defending Belinda. The dark-haired woman was a strange cookie, to say the least. She also happened to be a real-life witch—the good kind. Belinda only used her powers for good, to help other people. “Besides. She isn’t just giving me the estate. She kept all of her bonds and savings accounts in her own name.”
“Oh, she just gave you a multi-million-dollar home.”
“And a historical landmark,” Sonja added.
“Like that makes it better,” he groaned.
“Like I said. The house may be mine to live in, but according to the contract I signed with her, I can’t ever sell it to anyone else. If ever I decide I don’t want it anymore, it automatically reverts back to her. Additionally, I’m just the official caretaker and manager of the property. She still holds the official deeds. The tax payments will be coming from her because she knows I’d never be able to afford that, and she can.”
“That’s what I mean. You went off and signed a bunch of paperwork without ever consulting me,” he complained.
“Why would I need to consult you?”
“Because . . .” his voice trailed off.
“What?”
“I don’t like it, okay? It’s just a little odd.”
“That’s it?” she raised both arms, waiting for whatever other hidden concerns he might have. He’d clearly been bottling all of this up since the day she’d told him she was moving into the Smith Estate as its sole resident and caretaker.
Sonja knew that one of the main reasons that Belinda had chosen her to take over the estate was the simple fact that the manor had some paranormal history. Since the original resident’s death back in nineteen-twenty-five, the place was a known haunting ground. In fact, Belinda had informed Sonja that the manor may have many hidden secrets she didn’t even know about.
Frank sighed and looked at his feet. “Sonj’, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to overreact like this.”
“Then, why are you?”
“I guess, I don’t really know Belinda that well. I never have.”
Sonja shrugged. “You didn’t really take the opportunity to get to know her.”
“I know, I know,” he put up both hands in a defensive gesture.
“But?”
“The thing is, I still have no idea why a woman of her wealth and means would just up and leave, giving her house away.”
“It may be because I was her only friend in this town,” Sonja admitted. Belinda often came off as a nutcase, due to the fact that she had such a close relationship with the hidden supernatural world. Sonja, upon learning of her own ability to see ghosts, became fast friends with the wealthy witch.
Sonja considered explaining the rest of the situation, that Belinda wanted to travel around using her magic to help those who needed it. In a way, she was like a volunteer demon hunter, helping to rid people’s lives of unwanted entities.
But she knew she couldn’t explain that to Frank. If he had his way, ghosts and hauntings wouldn’t play a role in his girlfriend’s life ever again.
“Ghosts,” Sonja muttered, suddenly having a lightbulb turn on in her mind.
“What?”
“That note we found on the woman’s body this morning. Do you still have it?”
Frank looked uncomfortable. “It’s at the station.”
“I need to see it again,” Sonja demanded.
“You can’t,” Frank spat out.
Sonja’s jaw dropped. “Wait. You filed it away as evidence,” she deduced. “Which means.”
“Sonja, there is something else I need to tell you,” he cut in.
Sighing, she shook her head. “It was murder, wasn’t it? Someone poisoned her?”
Frank looked Sonja in the eyes for a moment. “Yes, it was murder,” he confirmed.
CHAPTER 6
* * *
Sonja’s mother and father both were out of town, and weren’t there to help with the last-minute move. Her mother had even tried to talk her father into changing their trip around so they could stay behind and help. However, it was an Alaskan cruise and the dates weren’t negotiable.
“What was she poisoned with?” Sonja asked as they drove away from her parent’s home.
“That’s confidential, Sonja. I can’t share that information.”
“Confidential? You came out here to tell me she was murdered, right?”
“No, I came to help you move.”
“But it was poison?” she asked for confirmation.
“I can’t say,” Frank stated.
They came to a red light on Main Street. Shooting a look over at him, she knew there was more going on in his head than he was admitting. “Come on, Frank. Why did you tell me about the murder? You know you didn’t need to do it.”
Frank finally looked back at her. “The light is green,” he said.
Sonja touched the gas and they headed straight across Main Street, turning onto the private mountain road that led up to the highest peak of town—where the Smith Estate was located.
After another minute of driving, Frank broke the silence. “Okay, so the truth is, after everything that happened last year, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I had hoped that,” he stopped, trying to form the words.
“What?”
“I’d hoped you hadn’t started having visits from unwanted guests again.”
“Ghosts?”
“Yes, ghosts,” he exclaimed. “Back when all those murders were going on, you were almost always mixed up in some sort of paranormal activity. It scared me half-to-death when I realized all of it was true, and you weren’t just making it up.”
“I know you were scared. How do you think I felt?” she shot back.
“When Taylor told me the facts of the autopsy this morning . . . I started to get scared all over again. I realized it was murder. Then it occurred to me, maybe all that stuff with the ghosts, witches, demons, murderers . . . maybe it would start up again.”
“You were afraid?”
“I thought the curse was coming back all over again.”
“You seeing ghosts. It’s a natural concern, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Sonja agreed.
“So, have you?”
Sonja shook her head. “Frank, my clairvoyance isn’t a curse.”
“So, you admit you still have it?” he pressed, missing the point of what she’d just said.
“My dad has had the same spiritual sensitivity since he was my age. It isn’t going anywhere.”
By the growing scowl on Frank’s face, it was clear he wasn’t satisfied with that answer.
“However, if it makes you feel better, you’ll be happy to know I haven’t seen or talked to any spirits for the last year.” It was mostly the truth. Her more recent supernatural experiences had consisted of mostly tingling sensations, gut feelings, and the knowledge that someone was in the room with her. She hadn’t seen any fully materialized spirits—except for Misty.
For the first time that day, Frank visibly relaxed a little, sliding down in his seat slightly. “Thank goodness for that.”
“Anyway, I’m glad there haven’t been any murders since last summer, but sometimes these things just happen. Crime didn’t just stop happening in Haunted Falls, did it?”
“Of course not,” he stated in a matter-of-fact way. The color was coming back to his cheeks and his usual professional policeman attitude seemed to be resurfacing. Sonja always knew Frank was spooked by her abilities but never truly realized just how frightened he was about the whole situation. “As soon as I’m done helping you unload the van, I’ll need to get straight back to the station and see what my deputies have dug up on Kara Bran. With a murderer on the loose, I have my work cut out for me.”
“Understood,” Sonja agreed. They pulled up to the large wrought iron gate that marked the edge of the estate.
“By the way, why did you want to see that notecard again?” he asked, referring to her earlier request.
“I had a thought, but it doesn’t matter now,” Sonja admitted, hoping she wouldn’t potentially say something she regretted. Reaching out, she used an old brass key and slid it into the electrical box. A buzzing sound echoed and the gates began to open, allowing them to drive through.
Hot Buttered Murder Page 3
