TABLE OF CONTENTS
RED VELVET WAFFLE
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
Red Velvet
Waffle
Book Fifteen
in
The Diner of the Dead Series
By
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books
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RED VELVET
WAFFLE
Book Fifteen in The Diner of the Dead Series
PROLOGUE
* * *
The knocking sound was there again, for the third time that week, echoing through the hollow hallways of the old farmhouse. It was clear it was coming from the front door of the house, but Benjamin Simon knew that if he went and answered it, there would be no one out there.
Either it was a persistent prankster who was very dedicated to coming out every other night to “ding and ditch” (a practical joke which involved ringing the doorbell or knocking on the door and then running away before anyone answered) or the farmhouse was haunted.
Of course, the rumor that the Hinkley Farm was haunted was hardly new news. The legend of a man who had been lynched in the barn was a story that went back almost fifty years. Many of the kids in town really believed his ghost still lurked between the animal stalls and in the hay loft.
In fact, Benjamin Simon had only come to Haunted Falls, Colorado, as a cameraman for a crew of ghost hunters seeking to film an episode of The Spook Show on the farm. Unfortunately, after one of the crew members died mysteriously in the same fashion as the ghost from years prior, (hung from his neck from one of the barn’s rafters) the whole operation fell apart.
Benjamin ended up staying in Haunted Falls as a farm hand, realizing he had nowhere else to go once his gig as a cameraman ended. In the year since those events, when he had moved in at the Hinkley Farm, he had hardly experienced a peep from the house, the barn, or any other part of the land.
Even after working with The Spook Show ghost hunters, the mysterious death of one of the partners, and the following deaths surrounding the farmland, Benjamin was still a skeptic about the existence of paranormal entities—at least he had been until the last few months.
It was after Samuel Hinkley—Benjamin’s former employer—passed on, leaving the farmhouse, the barn, and all the land to Benjamin that strange things had begun occurring. At first, it was only once every two or three weeks, with the knocking on the front door. Usually, the sound only lasted about ten to fifteen minutes.
Recently, however, it had grown to multiple times in a single week, and the knocking lasted for hours.
The incessant sound from downstairs was getting to be a proper irritation, and while he hadn’t ruled out the possibility of a persistent prankster, he was beginning to believe more and more that this was a true haunting.
Little did he know as he lay in bed that night, his eyes wide and staring at the ceiling, that he would soon learn the truth—ghosts were real and often malicious.
It was around three a.m. when he finally started to drift back off to sleep again. The knocking had begun around twelve and hadn’t stopped for almost three hours. He’d tried plugging his ears, putting the pillow over his head, even turning on the radio to drown out the noise.
Nothing had helped.
But around two forty, the knocking finally stopped.
Sighing gratefully, exhaustion gripped him and dragged him into its slumbering depths. His eyes fluttered gently closed. He was just in the beginning stages of sleep when a sudden slam rang through the house.
Sitting straight up, he let out a frightened yelp.
He remained still and listened very hard. What was that sound? Had it been the front door swinging open and hitting the wall?
He shivered under the covers as he considered the possibility and knew he would need to go and check downstairs. If it was really open, he’d want to close it. However, how had it opened? Who had opened it?
He distinctly remembered locking it and had been doing so every night since the haunting began.
Nervously, he threw the covers aside and prepared to get out and head downstairs. Before he could move from his spot, he heard the creak of floorboards in the room below.
Footsteps moved through the house, through the entryway and back into the kitchen.
Had someone broken in? Should he call the police?
Reaching across the bed to the nightstand, he grabbed his phone and turned it on. Punching in the numbers nine-one-one, he held the phone up to his ear. Instead of a ringing, he heard the garbled confusion of electronic static.
He dialed a second time, and again he was answered with the sound of static.
“What is going on?” he grumbled quietly to himself, preparing to punch in the number again.
This time, however, the sound of a creak upon the stairs caused him to stop and listen.
For a few seconds, there was only silence.
He began to wonder if he’d imagined the entire thing. After all, he was exhausted, and a little spooked from all the knocking. It could have easily just been a trick of the senses. Old houses creaked, it was just a fact.
Sighing, he tried to convince himself that he was overreacting. He was about to lay back down and relax when another creak sent his heart pounding again.
This time, the creaking didn’t stop. Someone was coming up. Wishing he had a gun nearby, he paid close
attention to each and every noise.
The footsteps reached the top, stopping on the upstairs landing for a second, but only a second. They were on the move down the hallway, approaching Benjamin’s bedroom. The frightened man kept his eyes trained on the closed door, now one hundred percent sure that someone was there.
The footsteps came closer, finally stopping outside.
Listening intently, he could just make out the low sound of someone breathing.
“W-who is there?” he managed to say, but only above a whisper.
His heart thumped in his chest as the doorknob slowly began to turn. They were coming inside.
Unable to watch, Benjamin shut his eyes tight just as the door clicked and swung open. Instantly the room felt chilly as if someone had turned on a silent air conditioner.
Slowly opening his eyes, he realized that no one was there. The doorway stood empty.
“Hello?” he called out.
At first, there was no response, and Benjamin was already thinking of logical answers to explain away what had happened—but then he heard it.
Someone was breathing next to his bed, right into his ear.
He wanted to scream, to jump up and run from the room. For every time he had been on a ghost hunt, and for all the dead bodies that he’d seen, he was never as scared as he was right then, at that moment.
Someone whispered in the dark, dispelling a secret into his ear.
“I’m going to kill you.”
Screaming, Benjamin jumped straight out of bed, ran down the stairs, got into his car, and drove off toward town.
CHAPTER 1
* * *
“Morning, Frank,” Sonja greeted, getting out of her van and kissing her boyfriend as she met him in the middle of The Waffle Diner and Eatery parking lot.
“Morning,” he replied, holding her in his arms. He wasn’t in his usual sheriff’s uniform and instead wore a pair of blue jeans and a well fitted black t-shirt which did an excellent job of showing off his muscle definition.
“What are you doing here so bright and early” she asked, walking toward the front door of the diner, “and where is your uniform?”
“For once, work is pretty quiet today,” he confessed. “No murders, no robberies, no missing children, nothing.” He smiled broadly. “I left Danny on call at the station and decided to take a personal day.”
“Oh?” she replied, raising her eyebrows mischievously. “So, instead you thought you’d come and bother your girlfriend at her job?”
“Well, if you didn’t mind,” he smiled sideways, “I thought it could be fun to see what you do back in that kitchen all day. You know, see your process,” he shrugged. “Unless I’m going to be a bother. Then I’ll probably just go out on the town . . . by myself.”
Slipping her key into the door and opening it, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on in, you goofball,” she held out her arm, ushering him into the quiet diner.
“Thanks,” he nodded.
Heading past the booths and tables, behind the counter, and into the kitchen, Frank followed his girlfriend closely.
“So, this is the kitchen,” he asserted.
“It is,” she nodded, pulling the apron off the hook and slipping it on.
“Is that Frank?” came a friendly voice from the office. Sonja’s best friend and business partner poked her head out.
“In the flesh,” he announced. “How are you this morning, Alison?”
“I’m fine,” she nodded.
“I thought you weren’t coming in today,” Sonja pointed out to her friend as she started pulling cooking supplies from the cabinet. “Do you spend time with your husband and daughter anymore?” she teased.
“Of course, I do,” she defended herself, “I’m taking them to the amusement park in Grand Mountain this afternoon, but I know you aren’t going to finish all this paperwork,” she held up a manila folder, “so I came in early.”
“I thought you were done with all that?” Sonja opened the walk-in fridge and pulled out a fresh bag of flour.
“Just about, only a few more forms. I’ll be out of your hair before the morning rush hits.”
Sonja nodded. “Alright then. I expect you to have fun at the amusement park.”
“I always do,” she smiled broadly. “Alex is even willing to watch Cynthia while I go on some of the big kid rides.” Shuffling the folder closer, she slid it into one of the file drawers. “You and Frank should come with us sometime.”
“Yeah,” Frank interjected, “that could be a blast. Maybe sometime this summer?”
“I don’t know,” Sonja admitted, scooping flour out into a mixing bowl. “I’m sort of a wimp when it comes to rides. I don’t like going fast and I don’t like being turned upside down.”
“Come on, Sonj’, live a little,” Ally urged her.
“Yeah,” her boyfriend added, “besides, you’ll have me to hold your hand through the whole ordeal.”
“Isn’t constantly being dragged into your homicide investigations excitement enough?” she asked. Ever since she’d moved back home to Haunted Falls, she’d helped Frank in one murder case after another—and not always because she wanted to.
“Hey, no one asked you to butt in,” Frank pointed out. “I could have handled all of those cases without you constantly under foot.”
Sonja raised a knowing eyebrow at him, causing him to shrug sheepishly. Both of them knew how she’d been a vital witness in many of those cases. She refrained from telling him that she was always being asked to help out—especially since the people asking just happened to be dead most of the time.
Neither Frank nor Alison were aware of it, but Sonja was a natural born medium. She could see and talk to ghosts. The main downside of it was that spirits were always bothering her to do things for them—like solve murders.
“The point is,” Ally added, “finding bodies and solving murders doesn’t constitute fun or relaxation. Going to an amusement park does.”
“Debatable,” Sonja shot back.
“Come on, it’ll be a good time,” Alison begged.
“I’ll consider it, but I’m not making any promises.” Pouring milk into the mixture of sugar and flour, she hoped that ended the topic of conversation. “And what about you?” she asked Frank in a joking voice, “are you going to be under foot all day, or are you going to lend me a hand?”
“Do I get an apron?”
“He can wear mine,” Ally noted, pointing at the pink one with white polka dots and lace.
“Lovely,” he beamed, grabbing it off the hook and slipping it over his head. Putting his hands on his hips proudly, he smirked sarcastically, “how do I look?”
“Ridiculous,” Ally noted.
“Adorable,” Sonja added. “but really, you can wear one of Vic’s instead.”
“Great,” he replied, “because pink really isn’t my color.”
Once he had switched to a plain black apron, they got to work. “What are we making today?” he asked.
“I’m testing a new waffle recipe,” she informed him, “to see if it's safe for public consumption.”
“Well then,” he spoke in a serious, deep tone, “as the sheriff of Haunted Falls, it is my duty to test the safety of this dish before it goes out to anyone else.”
“I thought you’d say that.” She nodded at the large wooden pantry, “now grab me some red food coloring.”
CHAPTER 2
* * *
While Sonja worked on the waffle batter, she assigned Frank the duty of cooking in the cast iron skillet. Handing him a bag of pre-sliced almonds and a stick of butter, she told him to get to work.
“What am I doing exactly?” he asked, looking at the two ingredients in his hands.
“Heat up the skillet on the burner, and then add the butter,” she instructed him. “Let it melt until it begins to turn brown. Once that happens, add in the almonds and saute them.”
“Got it,” he acknowledged, heading for the stove. “If I mess this up,
does it come out of my pay?” he joked.
“Yes,” she confirmed, “no kisses for a week.”
“A week?” he exclaimed, turning up the heat on the stove. “That seems a bit harsh.”
“That’s the punishment,” she proclaimed, watching him carefully unwrap the foil from the butter and plop it in the pan.
“Okay, okay,” he nodded. “I’ll try not to screw up.”
Sonja laughed quietly to herself, enjoying having him around. It was so nice to spend time together when they weren’t forced to work on a murder investigation or deal with ghosts. She crossed her fingers, hoping their good luck held out.
Once the base waffle batter was all well mixed together, she got out the cocoa powder and added a scoop. Next, she added a helping of red food coloring and began to stir. The ingredients swirled from a nutmeg color, to light brown, to pink, and finally to a deep hue of red—exactly what she wanted. She added some colored sugar, red, to make it sparkle.
“How are those almonds coming along?” she asked.
“They’re turning brown,” he informed her.
“Good, sounds like they’re about done. Bring them over here.”
Following orders, he hefted the pan over to the bowl.
“Pour it in,” she instructed.
Obediently, he poured it into the mix. It sizzled slightly, but Sonja quickly mixed it in.
“That smells great,” he praised her.
“Hopefully it tastes great too,” she nodded. “Open one of the waffle irons,” she instructed.
He opened the closest hot iron, and she poured some of the batter in. Closing the lid, the sides began to steam.
“Okay,” she said. “Now the frosting.”
Pulling the second bowl close, she asked Frank to hand her the softened cream cheese.
“Check,” he replied, picking it up.
“Thank you,” taking it from him she plopped it into the bowl. “Now the white sugar.”
Red Velvet Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 15) Page 1
