Birthday Cake Waffle: Book 8 in the Diner of the Dead Series

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “Oh, no, no,” he laughed. “It’s our message machine.”

  “Like an answering machine?”

  Balton continued to laugh. “It’s a real relic. I think it’s from the late seventies, one of those ones that records everything you say. If you pick up the phone it starts recording. It’s a miracle the two tapes in it still even work.”

  “Wow,” she smiled back, laughing a little herself for the first time in what seemed like forever (even though it had only probably been a few hours).

  “Yeah. I had an angry customer on the line earlier. I was just rewinding the tape so I could find a spot to record over it.”

  “Makes sense.” Sonja nodded.

  “Well, what can I do for you? Do you need more gas? Just looking for a snack?”

  “No, nothing like that,” she admitted. “I was just wondering if it was all right if I stayed in here for a while, just until someone arrives.”

  “Expecting company?”

  “The police actually,” she admitted.

  At this, the clerk looked worried. “The police? Is there something wrong?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” she lied. “I think there may have been a crime, so we called them. They won’t be able to make it through the pass until morning. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d wait for them down here, get a chance to maybe talk to them before they go check things out.”

  “Oh,” he muttered. “I see. Well, I hope it isn’t anything too serious.”

  Sonja shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “Well, there is a chair there next to the door if you care to sit while you wait,” he motioned.

  “Thanks,” she replied, walking toward the plastic chair and sitting down.

  “If you need anything, get hungry, need a drink, let me know,” he commented.

  “For sure.”

  Balton turned and headed into the back room again, this time actually closing the wooden door in the doorframe instead of just closing the curtain.

  CHAPTER 16

  * * *

  As soon as Frank had picked the ring up out of the snow, he knew it had to be the one Wilson was looking for, and he had to admit it looked very similar to the one Mr. Connelly had been wearing earlier when he had helped shovel them out.

  Perhaps Sonja was right, at least about the affair part of things. However, most men wore similar rings, and it could belong to anyone.

  Pocketing the ring, Frank continued along the path. He decided he would put the ring in the mailbox of Wilson’s house and then head back to the cabin.

  Passing behind the cabin at the bottom of the hill, Frank couldn’t help but look in again. To his astonishment, despite the late hour, Harriet was still sitting in the same spot on the couch, in the very same position.

  Pausing, he thought about walking up to the window and trying to get a clearer look inside. It did seem odd that she hadn’t moved, but perhaps she was just engrossed in a good book. It was possible after all.

  Continuing down the path, however, Sonja’s words began to nag at him. He was usually inclined to believe his girlfriend, and maybe he had been foolish to cast her assertions off simply because he didn’t have visual or physical proof himself that a crime had occurred.

  He decided that, after returning the ring, he would take a closer look at the house.

  * * *

  To Frank’s surprise, the lights were on inside Wilson’s home. He considered just doing as he originally planned and dropping the ring into the mailbox, but ultimately decided he would at least knock lightly and see if anyone answered.

  Tapping on the door, he heard someone shuffling about inside. Soon, the door opened and Mr. Bartley stood there. “Oh, hello. I didn’t expect anyone at this time of night.”

  “Sorry to disturb you at this late hour.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, son.”

  “Frank,” he reminded the man.

  “Frank, we’ve been up all night just shooting the bull,” Wilson laughed heartily. “Burning the midnight oil, I guess.”

  “I see,” Frank nodded. “I think I found that ring you were looking for.” Holding out the piece of jewelry, Frank watched the old man’s eyes widen.

  “You found it. Hey, Don. This guy found your ring.”

  Instantly, Frank’s interest was piqued.

  Another man came quickly scuffling for the door. It was, just as Sonja had deduced, Don Connelly.

  “You found my ring?” Don eagerly took it from Frank’s hand. “Oh, thank you. I was so worried I’d lost it forever.”

  Frank couldn’t help but cock one eyebrow. After seeing Mrs. Connelly just sitting there in that odd position for so long, and after everything Sonja had been saying all night, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to all of this. Thinking quickly on his feet, Frank came up with a roundabout way to get some answers.

  “I’m sure both you and your wife will be very relieved.”

  At the mention of his wife, Don’s face went a little pale. “M-My wife?”

  “Yes, I just saw her sitting in your living room when I walked by your cabin.”

  Don examined Frank’s face more closely. “Oh, you’re the guy from earlier.”

  “Yeah, it’s Frank. You and your wife helped dig us out, remember?”

  Don nodded, a look of shame overcoming him.

  “Is something wrong?” Frank continued to press the topic.

  “I suppose, in a way, I should be thanking you for more than just the ring, Frank.”

  Folding his arms, Frank prepared for some hint into the madness that had been his entire evening. “What do you mean?”

  “Hey,” Wilson interjected, much to Frank’s irritation. “Why don’t you come in. I’ve got some fresh coffee on the stove, and we can all sit down and have a chat.”

  Frank shrugged. “Sure, why not.” It wasn’t like he had to get back to Sonja or anything.

  CHAPTER 17

  * * *

  After he was handed a mug full of hot coffee, he sat down in a chair near the roaring fireplace. For a brief moment, he thought about how he’d have much preferred to be sitting in the cabin he had rented, with Sonja, cuddling in front of the fireplace. Instead, he was stuck here with two men, one middle age, and one elderly, trying to figure out why his night had been degraded into chaos.

  “Frank,” Don began, “my wife has been cheating on me.”

  Leaning in, Frank took a sip of his coffee. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “You see, I didn’t know about it until today. I had my suspicions of course. Harriet had been cold to me on and off over the past year, often took off randomly.” Sighing heavily, it was apparent it pained him to go over all of this again.

  Most likely, Frank figured, Don had already gone over all of this Wilson already.

  “Well,” Don continued, “I found out because of you and your wife.”

  “Girlfriend,” Frank corrected.

  “When you two mentioned how my wife’s ring was at the gas station, I knew something strange was up. As far as I knew, she hadn’t left our cabin since we arrived. I’d ask her to take walks with me and she would decline every time. I just thought she had been feeling tired these last few weeks.”

  “So, you think she was having an affair with the gas station attendant?”

  “I know she was,” he confirmed. “After we went back inside, I confronted her about it. After some arguing, she broke down and told me the truth. She had been going down to see him but claimed she had cut it off a few days ago. That’s when she left her ring there.” He shrugged. “She just had told me she lost it. Turns out she left it behind during her final fling with the guy.”

  Don began to get a little choked up. “I was furious, of course. She told me everything. She’d been having multiple affairs with young men over the past year. She told me she was lonely, felt her needs weren’t being met. Turns out that attendant was just the last of a long line of lovers.” He sighed, letting a few tears drop into his m
ug. “Then she said she promised never to do it again. She told me she knew she loved me and only me and had made some serious mistakes. It’s why she broke it off.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  Mr. Connelly paused, staring into the fire. “Well, seeing as I’ve loved her for the past twenty-five years, I am inclined to, yes.”

  Frank thought of Sonja, and how he had tried to fight against everything she had said that day. Deep down, he knew he wanted to believe her, maybe even did believe her. So why had he fought it so hard?

  “In that moment, however, I was angry. I didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to hear excuses or apologies. I stormed out and tossed my wedding ring aside. I knew my old friend, Wilson, wouldn’t turn me away.”

  “But you regretted tossing the ring,” Frank responded.

  Don nodded. “As soon as I got to talking to Wilson, I knew I had been stupid. I knew I would forgive Harriet and take her back. So, Wilson went out to look for the ring for me.”

  Frank mulled over all of these facts in his mind. None of this pointed to Don being a murderer. Sure, a cheating spouse would be motive enough, but something just seemed off. “What time did you leave Harriet and come here?”

  “Well, almost right after you and your girlfriend left. We went inside, argued for probably half-an-hour or so, and then I left.”

  “I see,” Frank muttered. He tried to remember what time Sonja claimed to have seen the murder. It had to be around six or six thirty. If Don was telling the truth, and why wouldn’t he when Wilson was right there to disprove any discrepancies in the story, then he would have left around four-thirty or five.

  That meant, if Harriet really had been murdered, it couldn’t be Don—not unless both men were lying to cover it up. Frank just felt like that seemed unlikely. That only left one person who could potentially be a murderer.

  * * *

  Running down the path, Frank quickly reached the backside of the Connelly’s cabin. He needed to know for sure, just to satisfy the police officer in himself, before taking any drastic action. His heart was thudding in his chest, scared of what he might find inside this house.

  Stepping through the deep drifts of snow, he walked off the normal river path and up toward the large window on the back of the cabin.

  The back of Mrs. Connelly’s head stared back at him, in the same stationary pose he had seen it in twice already.

  “How could I have been so stupid?” he muttered. “Why didn’t I just listen to her?”

  Stepping right up to the window, he placed two hands on the glass to brace himself as he looked in. At first glance, it seemed as if nothing were out of the ordinary, nothing to indicate foul play.

  Then, squinting just past the couch, Frank could just make out the hints of red smeared into the carpet. It looked like blood, but it was still too dark to tell.

  He had to know for sure.

  Running around to the side of the house, he looked into one of the kitchen windows. Pulling out his phone, he turned on the flashlight app.

  Shining it into the house, he gasped.

  The tile floor was covered in splotches of dark red blood.

  CHAPTER 18

  * * *

  Sonja felt a little strange sitting there in the quiet of the gas station. There wasn’t even any music playing over the speaker system and it gave the musty smelling building an ominous overtone. For a brief moment, Sonja thought of a horror movie she had once seen where a teenage girl had hidden out at a gas station while a hook-wielding maniac stalked the premises.

  Shivering, Sonja wished that Frank was with her, and regretted the way she had left him back at the cabin. She had been in the station for about a half of an hour already, and she was getting anxious—even considering that coming down here at all had been a poor decision.

  “What am I doing?” she muttered to herself. She could just as easily wait for the police in the warmth and safety of the cabin, with Frank by her side, as she could here at the station. She realized, it was only in the rush of frustration and anxiety, that she had decided to wait out the night at the station that night. Sighing, she let go of her pride.

  “I’m out of here,” she told herself, standing up to leave.

  Then something made her pause. The only sound was the wind outside and the low hum of voices arguing on the recording in the back room.

  Something seemed a little off. If the attendant was just trying to record over old conversations and messages, why was he still listening? Why wouldn’t he just rewind to the beginning of the tape?

  She stood and listened a few seconds more, staring out the glass door into the darkness as she did.

  That’s when her eye caught something, something parked among the trees across the street. It was the red truck from earlier—the one she had seen parked outside of the Connelly’s cabin.

  Turning back toward the interior of the store, she scanned the room. Her eyes fell on the spot where the ring had been sitting, and then up to the camera in the corner of the room. The noise from the recording continued its muffled arguing from behind the door.

  Something was wrong here, very wrong.

  Sitting back down in the chair, Sonja decided that she needed to see what was going on in the back room, and pulled out the necklace.

  * * *

  The sense of disorientation was shorter during the second trial run, and Sonja quickly found her bearings. As before, it was an odd sensation looking at her own body slumped there in the chair, her chest rising and falling as if in a deep slumber.

  Turning, she quickly found herself floating through the door, through the curtain, and into the back room.

  The place was a pigsty. Bits of chips, crackers, and candy littered the desk and the floor. Wrappers from long gone snacks created piles here and there. Stacks of adult magazines, which made her stomach turn at just the thought of them, sat on the desk next to the television and old message recorder.

  Sitting in a computer chair, cleaning what appeared to be a hunting knife with an old rag, Balton leaned over admiring the screen on the TV.

  Sonja moved around to the other side of the room behind Balton in order to see. Her jaw dropped. On the screen was some old security footage of Harriet and Balton kissing. Even more surprising was the recording on the message machine.

  Two voices, now clearly distinct as Harriet and Balton argued back and forth. The female voice was explaining that she didn’t want to see him anymore, that she truly loved her husband and had made a mistake.

  Balton’s voice was angry, demanding. He insisted that he was in love with her and that she couldn’t just come and sleep with him and then expect to get out of it scot-free. Sonja watched in horror as Balton mouthed the words along with the recording. “If I can’t have you, no one will.”

  The gas station attendant rewound both the message machine and the silent video recording. Hitting play, he eagerly watched and listened again.

  He was insane, completely obsessed.

  “I’ll kill you a thousand times if it means I can keep you for myself,” he whispered, stroking the screen. “I just need to take care of one minor distraction first.” Standing up, he brandished the glimmering knife and walked toward the door.

  CHAPTER 19

  * * *

  Frank rushed on foot down the hillside through the dark trees. Without a car, he could only hope to reach the gas station in time. If the gas station attendant they had met earlier that day really was the murderer, Sonja could be in serious trouble—especially if she mentioned the police were coming.

  “Oh, please just let me get there in time,” he whispered.

  His chest already burned from the exertion and the frigid air in his lungs stifled his breathing. His legs, too, were on fire as he ran through heavy drifts of snow.

  At this moment, he wished he had brought his police issue pistol with him. He had assumed he wouldn’t need it, but he knew now that he should never be left unprepared.

  Bursting through the
trees at the bottom of the hill, he emerged onto the parking lot across the street from the gas station.

  Seeing into the well-lit building, his eyes widened. The clerk emerged from the back room brandishing a glimmering hunting knife.

  Sonja sat in a chair near the door. She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. “Sonja,” Frank screamed, “Move. Get out of there.”

  She didn’t budge. Why wouldn’t she move?

  * * *

  Rushing to try and get back in her body, Sonja realized, in her lack of practice with astral projection, she just didn’t have the skill or momentum yet to move quickly.

  Balton burst through the door, wielding the knife with a smile on his face.

  “No,” Sonja screamed. “Nooo.” She realized she wasn’t going to make it back to her body in time. She was about to watch herself be murdered and be stuck as a ghost forever.

  A muffled voice caught her attention and she looked up. Frank was shouting from across the street and running toward the building.

  “Oh, Frank,” Sonja cried. “Please get over here.”

  Balton rose the blade high above his head, preparing to strike.

  Suddenly, to Sonja’s surprise, she felt cold—almost frozen. She instantly knew something was behind her, coming towards her. Turning, she screamed as she watched a bloody-faced Harriet come screaming towards her, knife in hand.

  Shutting her eyes, Sonja waited for the pain to hit her, either from Harriet’s blade or from Balton’s.

  Instead, there was a scream from Balton.

  Opening her eyes, she looked in surprise as Harriet’s blade sunk deep into Balton’s chest. Gasping, the gas station attendant groped where the blade had hit him.

  “D-Dooon,” Harriet spoke, the usual croak of her voice melting into a soft cry. “I cheeeated. I’m sooory,” she moaned. Falling to her knees, she began to fade and disappear.

  Blood oozed from the open wound in Balton’s chest, and he too fell to his knees. “How?” he gasped through the pain before collapsing on the floor.