Hole-In-One Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 17)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “I understand.”

  “By the way, did Paxton head back to the course without me?”

  Sonja looked around, suddenly realizing Manning was nowhere to be seen. “I have no idea. Last I saw, he was heading this way with you.”

  “Well, his golf cart is gone, so he must have left.”

  Sonja instantly thought of how she was almost run down by a golf cart and wondered for a moment if it had been Manning.

  Sam let out a quiet laugh. “Who would ever think that a man like that would decide he liked me?”

  “It’s not so odd, Dad. You’re a likable guy.”

  “I guess so,” he mused. “I wonder if he left because Dustin followed him over here to argue more.”

  “What do you mean?” Sonja asked.

  “While I was in the bathroom, I heard two voices arguing out here, mostly Paxton’s though. I just assumed he was having it out with Dustin again.”

  Again, the speeding cart flashed in her mind. Had it been Dustin? Was he in a blind rage as he zoomed across the course?

  “Well, I better get back to the tables. Good luck out there.”

  “Thanks,” he smiled. “You know, Sonja, I had my doubts about coming, but you were right. I’m really enjoying this whole event. Manning even mentioned how he and I should get together and play one-on-one golf sometime.”

  “That’s awesome, Dad.”

  “You were right. This is a wonderful Father’s Day gift.” Leaning down, he kissed his daughter on the head. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she beamed.

  CHAPTER 7

  * * *

  About to head back to the tables, Sonja wondered who really had been driving the renegade golf cart that had nearly run her over. Whoever it was, driving madly around without bothering to look where they were headed, was liable to hurt someone. She didn’t want that to happen.

  Instead of heading back toward the table, she decided she’d go and tell Greg what was going on. Maybe he could do something about it.

  For a moment, she wondered if the deputy had been right all along and Dustin really was the vandal. Perhaps he was the one driving the cart as well. He seemed aggressive enough and short tempered enough to do it. Additionally, he had admitted to practicing his golf techniques late at night, which gave him the perfect opportunity to commit the minor crimes.

  The other solution, in Sonja’s mind, was that the ghost was the vandal.

  Heading in the direction of the golf tournament, she kept her eyes peeled for any sign of the golf cart. As she neared the trees where she was nearly run down, a strange sound echoed on the breeze. Pausing, she listened carefully. Had that been a giggle?

  Turning carefully in a circle, she looked behind herself.

  There was nothing there.

  Over here, came the echo of a whisper somewhere within the trees.

  A familiar tingle ran up and down her spine.

  Sonja peered between the trunks into the dimness of the manmade grove.

  Suddenly, she felt something brush her leg, causing her to jump slightly. “I hate it when they do that,” she muttered. Stepping into the trees, she listened hard for any other sign of the entity which seemed intent on bothering her.

  Over here, the voice came again, this time from behind her. Turning, she faced back out of the trees and saw nothing.

  Another giggle.

  For some reason, Sonja was beginning to get the feeling that this spirit was playing with her.

  “Where are you?” she said.

  Over here, the voice called, closer than before and right behind her ear. Spinning on a dime she faced back into the dim trees. What she spotted wasn’t a person, it was a small water feature at the center of the grove.

  The squish of footsteps in the wet grass drew her attention and glancing down, she watched as invisible feet created imprints in the green blades and dirt.

  “What are you trying to show me?” Sonja asked quietly and respectfully, not wanting to scare the ghost off.

  Carefully, step by step, she followed the imprints until she came to the small clearing. She stopped in place, her skin prickling and her blood running cold when she spotted the figure crouched along the waterside.

  A young woman, likely no older than eighteen, dressed in only a pair of tattered looking shorts and a button up shirt, peered intently at the water. Her skin was so white and translucent that Sonja could see through to her bones. It was an eerie sight, those two eyeballs looking out from the skull, the white teeth smiling permanently in the face.

  “Hello?”

  “Shhhh,” the young woman ordered, placing a finger over her lips.

  “What is it?”

  With a single gesture of her macabre hand, she pointed at the water. “Uh oh,” she whispered.

  Sonja looked at the shallow water and gasped.

  Lying face down, hair tousled and wet, was the body of a man. Based on the clothing, she knew it was Paxton Manning.

  He appeared to be dead.

  CHAPTER 8

  * * *

  Sonja’s first instinct was to turn and run, to get Deputy Wilkins, but she stopped herself. What if Manning was still alive? If she left him face down in the water he would certainly be dead by the time she got back with the deputy.

  Worse yet, the young-looking ghost had begun to skip around the pool near the body, humming a strange and harmonious tune.

  Stepping cautiously forward, she moved to the water’s edge. Reaching down, she turned the body over so that it’s pale and bloated face looked up toward the trees. He certainly looked dead, but as soon as she touched his skin, she knew he was gone. Just to be one hundred percent sure, she grabbed a hold of his arm and pressed her fingers into his wrist.

  There was no pulse.

  Shaking her head in disappointment, she stood up to leave. Then she paused. “What’s that around his neck?” Sonja whispered to herself, noticing the bit of red offsetting the dark clothing.

  She leaned in close. It looked like a scarf or bandana, something she didn’t remember him having on earlier. She thought for a minute, trying to remember where she’d seen it before. Then she remembered. It had been tied to one of the clubs in his golf bag.

  Maybe to clean the golf clubs, she wondered. Her dad used a similar bandana to polish his clubs to get ready for the tournament.

  Suddenly, Sonja had a thought. Maybe he was choked with the cloth first and then left here afterward. The red bandanna could easily have been the murder weapon. Maybe the killer tried to hide the body and didn’t think anyone would look in here.

  “Choked, choked, choked to death,” the ghost sang as she skipped past Sonja.

  “I see that,” she mused, his eyes narrowing at the body. “Did you see who did this?” she asked the ghost.

  “Dead, dead, dead. Choked to death,” she continued to sing.

  “I said, did you see who did this?” she asked again more urgently.

  The ghost didn’t seem to hear or care. Sonja wasn’t going to get anything out of her, she decided. Leaning down to get a closer look at the bandana, Sonja noticed bruise marks around his neck. This proved it, she thought. He was choked first and then hidden here in the water afterward.

  “Footprints,” the ghost sing-songed.

  “Footprints?” Sonja asked, glancing toward the woman who had stopped skipping and stood staring at the wet earth. Immediately, Sonja noticed the large footprints, larger than her own or the ghost’s, imprinted in the grass and dirt.

  “Look,” the woman pointed with a bony translucent finger.

  Sonja carefully moved over to the prints, trying not to step on any evidence. They looked like they were made by the sole of a man’s shoe. Next to the footprints, there was a long imprint in the grass—like a body had been dragged there. All the blades of grass were flattened and facing one direction.

  Sighing, Sonja took a step back from the clearing. She needed to find Greg and tell him about all of this. She wished Frank was
here instead.

  As Sonja made her way through the trees, she traced the direction of the drag marks with her eyes. Following the path, she came to where the trail ended at the outside edge of the thicket.

  Pausing, she spotted a new set of tracks on the ground. Cut into the grass and dirt were the tire marks of a golf cart.

  Suddenly, Sonja gasped loudly.

  The tracks appeared to have come in from the clubhouse, stopped, then it took off toward the golf tournament.

  She realized what this meant. The murderer nearly ran her over doing their getaway. Without another second’s hesitation, she darted toward the tournament to get the deputy.

  * * *

  “Okay, everyone, please head back to the clubhouse for the moment,” Deputy Wilkins shouted to the crowd of people quickly gathering around the grove of trees.

  Sonja had tried to be discreet in grabbing Greg to come and see the body, not wanting to cause a stir, but someone had noticed them walking off and their cover was blown.

  “This is an official police investigation,” he commanded, stepping into the role of the lead investigator as if he’d been doing it his whole life. “I need everyone to cooperate by heading back to the clubhouse.” Thanks to his booming voice and professional police presence, people started trickling over toward the club.

  Sonja started to follow the crowd, expecting that she too would be sent off to await further instructions.

  “Not you, Sonja,” Greg insisted, waving for her to come back.

  She paused. She’d already filled him in on everything she had learned upon finding the body—the bandana, the footprints, the drag marks, and even the golf cart. Maybe he had another question. “Yes, Deputy Wilkins?”

  Greg looked over her shoulder to make sure everyone was doing as they were told, and when he saw that they were, he looked her in the eye. “I don’t want you to be alarmed, but I’m worried about your safety.”

  “My safety?” she gasped. Greg was beginning to sound like Frank. “Why?”

  “You told me you didn’t see who was driving the golf cart, correct?” Greg asked for verification.

  Sonja nodded. “I was too busy jumping out of the way, so I wouldn’t get run over. The only thing I can tell you is that they were wearing a gray hoodie with the hood pulled up.”

  “That isn’t much to go on,” he admitted with an unhappy groan.

  “No, it’s not,” she agreed.

  “Look, it’s possible that the murderer knows who you are. If they saw your face while trying to make a getaway,” he paused uncomfortably, “they may try and come after you,”

  Sonja shivered. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You’ll need to be extra careful.”

  “I know,” she whispered, glancing over her own shoulder as if she expected someone to be watching her from afar.

  Greg placed his hands on his hips. “I think it’s best you leave the golf course. Go back to the diner, go be with a friend, your mother, but don’t be left alone.

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll call to check up on you later.”

  “Got it.”

  “If you’re in danger, or if anything suspicious happens at all, you call me first thing,” he ordered her. “I can’t have my boss’s girlfriend dying on my watch.”

  “Got it,” she said, turning to leave.

  “Oh, one more thing Sonja,” he called after her.

  Pausing, Sonja turned to face the deputy.

  “Do you mind giving Frank a call and telling him what’s happening? I’d do it myself, but since I’m the only one here, I have to cordon off the crime scene and tag all the evidence while it’s fresh.”

  “Sure, I’ll call him.”

  “Great, thanks,” Greg smiled.

  CHAPTER 9

  * * *

  Once she’d finished up with Greg, she walked apprehensively back toward the clubhouse with a million questions flying through her head. What did the ghost have to do with all of this? Why was she haunting the golf course? Was she the one playing pranks on Dustin Port?

  She just didn’t know if there was any connection at all. It could be the murder occurred and the ghost simply appeared because of it.

  Pulling out her phone she dialed Frank’s number. She wished he was here in town.

  It made her nervous knowing a killer may be looking for her and Frank wasn’t around to help. He had guarded and protected her from harm on many similar occasions in the past.

  The line rang a few times and then he answered, “Hiya, Sonj’.”

  “Hi, Frank.”

  “Missed me already?” he teased her.

  “I do miss you, but that’s not why I’m calling,” she answered truthfully.

  He chuckled quietly. “Just couldn’t go a few days without at least hearing my voice, huh?”

  She was quiet, not wanting to ruin his good mood. “Frank, listen to me.”

  There was a pause. Based on her tone he knew something was wrong. “What is it? What happened?”

  “There’s been another murder,” she said straight out.

  Another moment of silence passed.

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  Sonja shook her head and then remembered he couldn’t see her. “I’m not kidding. The president of the Haunted Falls Society Club is dead.”

  An audible sigh echoed over the line. “And only Greg is there? Right?”

  “I told him where the body is and he’s handling it, but things will be a lot easier if you’re here. Greg specifically asked me to call you.”

  “Okay, I’ll see if I can get away,” he promised. “Greg shouldn’t have to handle a full homicide case on his own.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “He’ll understand, I’m sure. If all goes well, I’ll be there tomorrow evening at the latest.”

  “Okay, see you then.”

  “See you.”

  The phone line went silent. Jamming the phone back into her pocket, Sonja headed for the parking lot.

  Sonja was determined to get to the library as soon as possible to do some research on the golf course, it’s history, and the potential ghost living there. She still wasn’t sure if there was a connection between the spirit and the murder, but in the case of Haunted Falls, it was always a possibility.

  Stepping out into the parking lot, she headed for the catering van. Ally had driven herself and the girls, so Sonja wasn’t worried about them having a ride home. Additionally, she’d have to come back later to pick up all her equipment. It would be a good excuse to do some investigating on the local ghost.

  As she approached her vehicle, which was discretely parked off behind a tree, the low rumble of a golf cart made her heart speed up again.

  Glancing off, she noticed Dustin come riding into the lot. Her first instinct was to run and hide, to get into her van as quickly as possible. After all, he was the most likely suspect for the murder. He was seen leaving the second hole at the same time as the victim and he had shown open hostility toward Manning.

  Sonja, however, let her curiosity get the better of her.

  Instead of hiding, she stepped right out into the open where she knew he would see her, and where she hoped to be able to talk with him. If she tried to speak to him (and he truly was the murderer) she could find out if he had seen her face.

  Openly, she waved the man down.

  A curious look came over his face as he noticed her, clearly trying to figure out who she was.

  That was a good sign. Of course, maybe once he got up close and personal, he’d realize she was the woman he’d nearly ran down earlier. What would he do? Would he try to attack her in open daylight?

  Pulling up beside her, he stopped the cart and quieted the engine. “Can I help you?” He raised an eyebrow as he examined her up and down.

  “You’re Dustin Port, right?” she asked, not sure exactly what reason she could give for waving him down. She’d never talked to the man one-on-one before, and s
he had no history of a relationship with him.

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh, well, I just wanted to say that I loved your form out there on the golf course.”

  “You did?” he asked, clearly shocked.

  “I’m no expert, but it was enjoyable to watch a pro at work.”

  This made him smile, stoking the fire of his pride and ego. Her charade seemed to be working. “Well, thank you for that. I’m really out of practice.”

  “You looked good to me. I was sorry to see you run off like that.”

  “Well,” he groaned, looking a red in the cheeks from embarrassment, “I did overreact a little, I suppose, but Paxton Manning and his cronies really know how to rub me the wrong way.”

  “Where did you go after you left?” Sonja pressed, wondering if she could get a few answers.

  “Oh, I just drove around in my golf cart here.” He patted the steering wheel

  “Did you happen to go near the locker rooms?” she asked.

  He paused, finding the question odd. This time as he looked at her face, his eyes began to twist slowly downward together, his smile disappearing as he recognized her.

  Sonja felt a sick feeling in her gut and wondered if she should make a run for it.

  “Hey, didn’t I see you yesterday? Outside of Manning’s office?” he accused.

  “Why, yes,” she replied, trying to sound like she was just remembering this fact now. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

  “What is this?” he barked, surprising her. “Some sort of game? Did Manning put you up to this?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “He did, didn’t he?” Dustin’s face was growing redder by the minute, and Sonja’s heart rate was growing faster. “First, you eavesdrop on my private conversation in the president’s office, then he told you to come out here and pretend to praise me, just to mock me more.”

  “No,” she insisted, shaking her head. “I didn’t. I’m just the caterer.”

  “I don’t need this. Manning or all his little friends,” he snapped.