“You’ll have to excuse our lack of furniture. We’re only renting this place monthly and didn’t bring any with us. We needed space for our equipment that a hotel doesn’t provide.”
“That makes sense,” Sonja agreed.
“Now, what do you do exactly?”
“We’re studying how pollution and smog affect the way we view astrological movements,” the dark-haired woman said. “It’s a part of the grant from our grad program.”
“You’re all college students?” she asked.
Randall chuckled. “Not all of us. I’m the professor who is overseeing the study.” He motioned for her to step further into the room. “Please, sit with us.”
Sonja complied, taking a seat on the rug. “If you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you tell more people what you’re doing?”
Randall took a seat near her, picking up one of the waffles and taking a bite. “This is delicious,” he praised. “But to answer your question, we’ve gotten some backlash in smaller communities. Mostly people who don’t like strangers or don’t understand what kind of studies we’re doing. I guess science still scares some people today, even amid the twenty-first century.”
“Doesn’t that cause more problems? I mean, some of the people here have been spreading wild rumors.”
“We find it easier to just stick to ourselves. Even if rumors circulate, we don’t meet as much open backlash,” the blonde-haired man commented.
“It is only a very small group of people we’ve ever had trouble with, and even then, it wasn’t too much trouble,” Randall admitted. “Most people, like yourself, are very kind. I guess that’s the way in small towns like this one.”
Sonja saw an opening for her next question, the one that she was eager to ask. “Have you had any trouble in Haunted Falls? Anyone in particular who seems to have it out for you?”
Randall laughed again, finding this funny. “Thankfully, no.”
“What about that one older guy?” the dark-haired woman asked.
“Who?” the blonde man chimed in.
“The guy who was calling us a cult and whatnot? He seemed a little off his rocker.”
Randall furrowed his brow and then realized who she was talking about. “Oh, the man at the bar? I think he was just a bit tipsy.”
“At the bar?” Sonja asked.
“Yes. We took a night off last week and went to a bar at the edge of town.”
“Charles’ Place,” Sonja noted.
“That sounds right.”
“He did threaten us,” the woman chimed in again. “He said he’d expose us or drive us out of town or both.”
“That sounds very dire.” Sonja tried to sound sympathetic to keep the info coming.
Randall shrugged. “I doubt it. He had just had a bit too much to drink.”
“Do you remember his name?” Sonja asked.
“I think the bartender mentioned it, apologized for his behavior. Richard? Raymond?”
“Rick,” the girl shot in.
“Yes, of course. His name was Rick.”
Chapter 13
* * *
Sonja still couldn’t bring herself to believe that Rick Williams killed his own daughter. Drinking problem or not, he simply wouldn’t harm a hair on her head. Still, maybe there was something there. Maybe it was all an elaborate ploy to frame Rick in the end?
Who would do that, though? Who was angry enough to kill the man’s daughter and try to set him up as the fall guy?
This case wasn’t getting any easier, but at least Sonja knew where her next stop would be—the bar.
Walking down the stone steps from the townhome, her breath caught in her throat as a police cruiser pulled up behind her van. “Shoot,” she whispered, realizing she was caught.
“Sonja? What are you doing here?” Frank called up to her as he climbed out of the driver’s seat.
“Uh . . . I was just dropping off some leftover waffles for Randall and his crew. I realized I’d never welcomed them to town before.”
Frank put one foot up on the bottom step and looked up at her with skeptic tilt to his head. “Sonja? Did you not hear me earlier?”
Blowing out a heavy breath of air, she walked down toward her fiancé. Embracing him with her arms around his neck, she gave him a kiss of apology. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stand the thought of Amanda’s murder.”
“I know, but you’ve got to listen to me in situations like these.”
“I know that. I’m just angry that we had to postpone our wedding for all of this,” she blurted out.
A look of pleasant surprise came over Frank. “I guess I should have been more conscientious about that. I knew this would be hard for you, but I haven’t asked if you’re okay or offered any support.”
“It’s okay. My parents both wanted to stay behind and comfort me, so did Alison, but I told them to do whatever they could to help find Amanda and Chance. I felt like someone’s life was more important than having to reschedule a wedding.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t be sad or upset about it.”
“I just wish we were in New Mexico right now, soaking in a fancy private hot tub. Not stuck here in Haunted Falls facing down the barrel of another murder.”
“Believe me. I’m with you there,” he offered, giving her a long and passionate kiss. “Now, please head home. Soak in the tub.”
“It’s not a hot tub,” she shot back.
“I know, but I want you to relax. I’ll help the state police clear this up soon, and then we can finally get married.”
“You promise?” she asked, pouting her lips.
“I promise.”
* * *
Sonja didn’t head home like Frank suggested. She had to at least talk to Charles at the bar first. She promised herself that it was the last thing she’d do connected to the case and then would leave it to the authorities.
With how confusing this whole chain of events was, it was hard to pin down any real facts.
As she drove down the dark road toward the edge of town, she went through what Chance had told her about the assailant who he’d seen. There wasn’t much to go on since he was wearing a ski mask. Chance hadn’t even said whether the guy was tall, short, fat, skinny, what color his eyes were, anything.
She was sure the police sketch artist would get a better description from the young man. For now, however, Sonja had to go on what she had.
Was there anything in what Chance said that stuck out? Anything that could be a clue?
She ran over the words in her head.
As she considered the crime scene, she remembered there hadn’t been a shovel anywhere nearby. That didn’t mean it wasn’t hidden in a bush or something, but how had the murderer dug the hole where he would hide the bodies?
So, where was that shovel?
Obviously, the killer still had it, but it didn’t help her narrow down the suspects.
What else could there be? There had to be something more concrete to go off of.
Then she remembered the engagement ring. Chance had mentioned that the killer had stolen it.
Had Amanda known he was planning on proposing again? She had told Sonja and Alison on multiple occasions that she wasn’t interested in tying the knot until they both had their feet under them.
Maybe Chance hoped that a tried and true engagement ring would change her mind.
Arriving at the bar, she pulled into the parking lot and looked for an empty spot among the many cars there for the weekend round of drinking. Finally, she spotted one in the far back corner where there was only dirt next to trees. It would have to do.
Turning off the engine, she climbed out—wondering just how Chance had afforded an engagement ring. As far as she knew, he hadn’t had a job for the past year.
She started walking toward the building when she paused cold, noticing something that stood out among the parked cars. Crowded in among the vehicles was a little red convertible—just like the one she’d seen Chance pick up Amanda in
when she used to waitress at the diner.
“Hiya, Sonja. Surprised to see you out here,” came a familiar voice.
She turned to see Charles taking out the garbage from the bar.
“Charles, do you know whose car that is?” she pointed at the convertible, wondering if she was being crazy. It could just be the same model of car driven by an out-of-towner.
“I haven’t the foggiest. Why?”
“It looks like Chance Manx’s car.”
He shook his head. “Sorry news about him and his girlfriend.”
“How long has it been parked here?” she asked.
“Don’t know. It’s been here every night for the past few nights.” Tossing the bag into the dumpster, he turned back and scratched his head. “Now that you mention it, it’s been parked in that same spot. In fact, it may have even been here before opening time. I just assumed it was some bum taking a rest or waiting for the place to open.”
Sonja slowly moved toward the vehicle with apprehension.
“Do you really think it is Chance’s car?” he asked again, wiping his hands on his apron.
“I think it might be.”
“Are you serious?” he said, his eyes bugging out. “I’ll call Frank.” He rushed back into the bar.
Walking up to the back of the car, Sonja visually inspected it to see if any tell-tale signs could prove that it was Chance’s.
Bending down slightly, she noticed that the trunk wasn’t properly shut. It looked like the latch was caught on something that got in the way. She remembered Chance complaining about the trunk latch before.
That proved it was his, in her mind.
Sonja didn’t want to touch it with her fingers, in case there were prints, but her curiosity was running wild.
Maybe if it wasn’t latched all the way, it would pop open on its own. With a twist of her hips, she bumped the trunk and it clicked open, swinging wide.
Upon seeing a pair of pale legs sticking out from the darkness, Sonja screamed.
Chapter 14
* * *
“What happened? Are you okay, Sonja?” Charles called, lumbering out from the back door, the phone still to his ear. “Frank says he’s on his way.”
“I-I’m fine,” she admitted, feeling a little shaken. “I accidentally bumped the trunk and it popped open. When I saw legs sticking out I screamed.”
“Legs? Good heavens,” he shouted, coming to stand next to her.
“Don’t worry. It’s just a mannequin’s legs,” she comforted him. It had only taken her a second look to notice how wooden they looked.
The rest of the trunk was cluttered with a random assortment of items. A spool of rope, loose bandanas, a baseball bat, a box of white chalkboard chalk, a few thick tip sharpies, and . . . a shovel.
Leaning down and having a closer look without touching it, she saw that it had the initials P.M. written on the handle in ink. “Pete Manx,” she whispered.
“Kind of a mess, huh?” Charles pointed out. “Hope Frank gets here fast.”
Walking around to the side of the car, she peered through the window to see if there was anything else inside. Sure enough, sitting in the passenger seat was a small jewelry box.
And Sonja had a good idea what was inside.
* * *
“Do you recognize this?” Frank asked, tossing the plastic wrapped jewelry box onto Chance’s hospital bed table.
While he’d appeared in good physical condition, the doctors had decided to keep him overnight for observation, just in case. In the morning light, he looked as alive and chipper as could be.
Sitting up from his slouched position in the bed, he looked over at it. “No. I have no idea what it even is.”
“Are you sure about that?” Sonja asked, folding her arms in front of her chest. “Because I remember you telling me you had an engagement ring to propose to Amanda this weekend.”
The young man’s face tensed up. “Yeah? So, what?” he said defensively.
“So, we found this is your car,” Frank told him. “Sitting outside the bar?”
He gave a shrug. “That crazy guy who kidnapped us must have moved it there.”
“Are you sure you didn’t move it?” the sheriff demanded.
“No. How could I? I was wandering the woods, totally lost.”
“Were you really lost? Because according to your father, you’ve been hunting and hiking in these woods countless times since you were a little boy. That leads me to believe you just might know your way around the woods.”
“So, I got disoriented. So, what?”
“And what about the shovel in your trunk, the one with dirt on it that matches the dirt at the crime scene?”
Sonja could tell Chance was starting to get flustered. “The killer must have stolen it.”
“From your father’s property or your car?”
“I-I don’t know.”
Frank returned to the jewelry. “Did you know this ring was reported stolen from Luke’s pawn shop yesterday morning?”
“Who cares?” he grunted, sliding down in the bed.
“And did you know that there was also a stolen mannequin in your trunk as well? That was taken from Pippi’s dress boutique.”
“I have no idea what this has to do with anything,” he snapped back. “And I don’t like the way you’re treating me.”
Frank leaned down close. “Your fingerprints were all over both the shovel and the mannequin.”
“This is harassment,” he barked.
“Chance Manx, I’m placing you under arrest for the abduction and murder of Amanda Williams,” he said, unclipping his handcuffs from his belt.
At this declaration, the young man’s eyes filled with tears. It only took a second before he was sobbing. “I-I didn’t mean to kill her. I just wanted her to marry me.”
“So, you kidnapped her?”
He nodded mournfully. “I thought if we both went through a traumatic experience together, she would finally agree—see that we were meant to be together. When she refused again and told me she didn’t want to ever marry me, I sort of lost it. I was holding the knife and I stabbed her.”
“You stabbed her,” Frank sighed, saddened by hearing the truth from the young man’s own mouth.
“That was all on the first night, you see. I’d already built the whole scene out in the woods and even put the bottle with the note at the cabin. I spent the whole next day moving anything incriminating to my car and then parking it over at the bar where it would just blend in with the other cars. I thought if I could just stick with my original plan, that everyone would really believe a cult did it.”
“What was the mannequin for?” Sonja pressed.
“When I changed to the black outfit with the ski mask, I dressed the dummy in my clothes so that Amanda would see it in the dark and think it was me.” He broke down into another wave of sobs. “I loved her. I just wanted her to be mine forever, but she wouldn’t let me. I didn’t mean to kill her. You’ve got to believe me.”
Frank cuffed Chance’s wrist. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
Chapter 15
* * *
As the sound of the wedding march swelled from The Waffle Diner and Eatery’s parking lot, Sonja felt the butterflies coming back full force. This was round two, a few days later than expected, but just as real as the first time.
It was really going to happen.
Stepping outside, she had a bout of Déjà vu as her father took her arm and said, “Are you ready, kiddo?”
She gave a tearful nod, not worrying about holding them back this time. In time with the music, they headed down the aisle toward Frank and the priest at the altar. Just as before, she was handed off to Frank who took her arm in his and gave it a little squeeze as if to say “yes, we are actually doing this. No interruptions.”
No missing persons, no abductions, no ghosts . . . and no murder.
Just her, Frank
, and the vow to love each other forever.
Sonja’s head was spinning, but in a good way, and she could hardly concentrate on the words the priest was saying until it was time for her to slip the gold ring on Frank’s finger and say, “I do.”
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you, Sonja Reed and Frank Thompson, husband and wife.” The priest beamed from ear to ear. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Standing on her toes, Sonja embraced her husband’s kiss with a new-found vigor. Never again would she have to be alone to face the ghosts haunting her life.
As their lips parted, the crowded parking lot erupted into applause.
The music roared from the sound system and they came down from the altar and among their friends and family to receive hugs, kisses, and congratulations.
“Here comes the cake,” Alison declared, rolling out from the diner doors with the multi-tier waffle wedding cake on a metal service cart. “It wouldn’t be Sonja’s wedding without waffles,” she laughed.
Sonja, never letting her grip loosen on Frank’s hand, marched over to the cake with pride on her face.
“Here you go,” Alison said, handing them the knife with all the grandeur of a king knighting someone.
Hands clasped together, Frank and Sonja cut into the delicate dish, retrieving a tasty slice of the one-of-a-kind cake and setting it on a plate. Using a fork, she cut out a hearty slice and offered it to Frank who willingly ate. “Mmm, Sonja. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“You always say that,” she laughed.
“This may be the best wedding cake ever created.”
Accepting a bite of her own, provided by Frank, she decided she had to agree with him.
There was more applause from the crowd.
“Okay, we can’t be the only ones to eat this. Come on, everyone. Dig in.”
“Save room for the rest of the food inside,” Ally said, motioning to the diner where the rest of the day’s celebration would take place.
Wedding Waffle Murder Page 7
