“Ah, of course,” Frank nodded his understanding.
“There were the footprints and the large spot where it looked like someone had laid down.”
Frank squinted up, looking at the blue sky through the trees. “A patch in the dirt?”
“Yeah. Now I’m wondering if maybe whoever the victim is was actually killed in the kiva first and then thrown over the edge to cover it up.”
“So, you think it was murder. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Well, ghosts don’t just appear to me for the fun of it most of the time,” she pointed out. Usually, a supernatural occurrence only cropped up when there had been some sort of crime committed.
“Maybe. That doesn’t explain the scuffle of footprints near the edge, though.”
“I think it does. Maybe it was the killer struggling to throw the body over?”
“A dead body wouldn’t leave prints. It would leave drag marks.”
Sonja snapped her fingers as a new idea popped into her head. “Maybe there were two killers and they worked together to throw the body over.”
“I don’t know, Sonja. Let’s stop talking about it and try to enjoy our day,” he suggested, getting tired of police work on his vacation.
“You’ve got it,” she agreed, noticing a park ranger and a police officer standing to the side of the trail talking.
“You said you worked the late shift last night?” the officer asked.
“That’s correct. I saw someone running from the alcove around twelve-thirty or so. I didn’t get a second look at him, but I’m pretty sure it’s that Abooksigun fellow who owns the shop just outside the park.”
Chapter 7
* * *
On the way back to the hotel, Sonja and Frank stopped at a small roadside Mexican restaurant and ordered an assortment of tacos to share as well as a plate of nachos. As Sonja took a ravenous bite from a carne asada taco, she realized just how hungry she’d gotten from the hike—as well as the excitement of seeing a ghost and finding a body.
“Mmm, this really hits the spot,” she said, picking up her cool glass of horchata, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, and taking a sip.
“You know, we did bring granola bars in the backpack on the trail.”
Sonja took another bite, savoring the spicy flavors of green and red salsa mingling together. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she admired the small restaurant’s ambiance. Tan adobe walls displayed sombreros, maracas, and elaborately decorated shawls. “I know we brought granola bars, I just forgot about them. I mean, I did see an old spirit and find someone’s body.”
“True,” Frank agreed, scooping up a chip from the nacho plate that had refried beans, pepper jack cheese, and a jalapeno slice on it.
Sonja smiled, happy that things were starting to feel like a normal honeymoon again. Maybe Frank was right. If there were no more random ghost sightings, they could simply enjoy the trip without ever once thinking of the murder at the alcove.
“I wonder if carne asada would be good on a waffle,” she wondered out loud, feeling inspired.
“You’re always thinking of work, aren’t you?” Frank teased.
“Hey, I can’t control when good ideas come my way. In fact, since last night I’ve had a lot of new concepts of recipes pop into my head. I mean, I’ve been ignoring a whole range of options by not thinking southwestern.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a mini tape recorder and set it on the table.
“What’s that for. Are you planning on taping this conversation?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. I bought this on sale right before the trip, so I could record any new waffle recipe ideas I have on the fly. I thought it would be easier than writing them down or trying to remember them.”
“Sound good to me.”
“I just like to be prepared.”
“I’m sure whatever you come up with will be delicious as always,” he praised her, toasting the air with the chip in his hands. He crunched down on the bite, enjoying it. “What do you want to do after this?” he asked, grabbing a napkin for himself.
“I don’t know. I’m honestly pretty pooped after the hike.”
“So, you want to just go back to the hotel and binge watch the classic movie channel while we sit in the jacuzzi tub?”
Sonja raised an eyebrow and beamed as brightly as she ever did. “Frank, marrying you was the right choice.”
* * *
Finishing up their meal and leaving a big tip for the waitress, they finished the drive back into town and headed for the hotel. Closing the hotel door behind them, Sonja felt a wave of relief wash over her. Finally, she was going to be able to relax.
“I’ll start running the water if you get the channel pulled up,” Frank said.
“You got it, dude,” she joked, grabbing the remote and turning on the television. Flipping through channels, she finally found the one she was looking for. A black and white film came up. There was something so comforting about older movies that Sonja couldn’t rightly explain.
“Looks like an old western,” Sonja sing-songed, knowing that they were Frank’s favorite.
“Awesome. I guess it wouldn’t be a vacation to New Mexico without at least one or two western movies.” He put his hand into the water, testing its temperature. When he was satisfied, he got up and headed for the bathroom. “Go ahead and get in. I’m just going to use the restroom really quick.”
“You got it, partner,” she said in a western accent. Peeling off her clothes and putting them into an empty trash bag she’d brought just for that purpose, she couldn’t help but notice the caked on red dirt all over them. It had a thick and claylike quality and she could only assume that it came from the hike.
If she remembered correctly, it was only the dirt in the alcove itself that had the reddish hue.
“You know, Frank. This red dirt sticks to everything,” she said, slipping into the bubbling hot water of the jacuzzi before Frank could come back in the room.
“Yeah, I saw that. I think it was only in the alcove,” he said from inside the bathroom, thinking along the same lines.
Sonja let the bubbles run over her skin, relaxing back into one of the built-in seats. A moment later, Frank came back and quickly also got in the water. Sliding over to his wife, he put his arm around her waist under the water and pulled her close in a comfortable cuddle.
“I bet whoever the killer is got that red dirt all over their clothes, too,” she thought out loud, her eyes watching the movie but not paying a whole lot of attention.
“Most likely. If the killer was smart, though, they would have cleaned their clothes, ditched em, or burned them,” he added, having worked with his fair share of criminals.
“I suppose that’s true,” Sonja said.
Frank pulled her even closer. “Besides, I thought we agreed not to talk about the murder anymore.”
She nodded. “We did. It was just a passing thought.”
He smiled. “Good.” Leaning in, he kissed her on the lips.
After another second, she half-smiled.
“I know that look. You’ve got something on your mind.”
“Maybe I should call that state police and tell him about the red dirt?” she suggested, remembering the card she’d received with the local station’s number on it.
“You could do that, I guess, but I’m pretty sure they’ve already got that covered.”
She paused, looking into her husband’s eyes, and then shrugged. “I think I’ll call them anyway.”
Frank let out a humorous sigh as his wife reached out and grabbed her phone from the side of the tub to make the call.
Chapter 8
* * *
After giving him the information, the officer on the phone thanked her for the tip and hung up. Sonja knew that Frank was right and that they’d probably already known about the red dirt. After all, they lived here and probably knew more about the geology than she did.
Following that, she felt like she’d done her par
t to assist the officers in the investigation and allowed herself to completely forget about the murder. She and Frank enjoyed the rest of the day relaxing at the hotel. They soaked in the tub, watched TV, went down to the spa and got a couple’s massage, and ordered room service for dinner.
Finally going to bed later that night, Sonja almost instantly fell asleep.
Her dreams were filled with images of the man from the kiva. Just as she’d felt his presence—his hot breath even—at the alcove, she felt it in her dream.
Standing in the middle of a field, the star-studded sky was like an all-encompassing mural around him, looking down at her. Each time he filled his lungs, the exhale came out in plumes of steam like a man on fire inside.
The eyes of the wolf skin took on a reddish glow, also steaming as if the bowels of hell could see right through them and into Sonja’s soul.
Sonja, who realized she was only in a little white slip, felt vulnerable and cold. The bristle of the dry grass cut into the bottoms of her feet and the wind seemed to make her skin tingle. She looked up at the spirit, realizing he was nearly ten feet tall, much taller than she remembered, she whispered a name. “Skin Walker.”
The spirit only nodded, releasing another steaming breath that engulfed Sonja in its cloud. The temperature in the air changed to a blistering heat, making her skin feel as if it had gotten a burn from the summer sun.
Gradually, the fiery eyes drew closer and closer until the wolf was practically on top of her. Its lips parted revealing sharp rows of glittering teeth. The jaw opened and the spirit—now completely transformed into an animal—went for her throat.
The next second, she was sitting bolt upright in the hotel bed, gasping as if she’d stopped breathing.
“Hey, are you okay?” Frank asked, sitting up and holding her right away.
The warmth of his arms brought her out of her dream quickly. Blinking a few times just to make sure she was, in fact, back to reality she looked over at Frank.
“You okay?”
Falling into him and clutching him close, she was grateful more than ever that she had married this man. She’d had many a night waking up from nightmares and premonitions alone. Waking up to someone who loved you, cared about you, and held you made a huge difference.
“I’m okay,” she finally answered.
“Did you have a nightmare?” he asked.
She pulled back and looked him in the eye. “That spirit visited me again. He calls himself a skinwalker.”
* * *
Waking up the next morning, both Sonja and Frank knew that they weren’t done with this new murder case. It was just a matter of when they would end up being dragged back in, willingly or unwillingly, to help solve it.
Sonja told Frank the night before and reiterated it in the morning that when a ghost wanted her help, they made sure she didn’t forget it.
Still, they tried to push it aside until that time came, they were going to enjoy their honeymoon—and their newly wedded bliss—as much as possible.
The news spread like wildfire through the hotel. The televisions in the restaurant, tuned to the local news channel, confirmed Sonja’s earlier theory while they sat and ate their continental breakfast of waffles with raspberry jam, scrambled eggs, and hash browns. Savile Denningsworth had died under mysterious circumstances after falling or being pushed from the famous alcove in Alcove National Park.
“I knew it,” Sonja whispered.
Frank clicked his tongue. “Of course, you knew it, Sonj’. Sometimes I think you should be a private eye. That sixth sense of yours gives you a leg up on the competition. It would have been much harder to solve some of those cases in Haunted Falls if it weren’t for your ghosts,” he admitted.
She smiled at his compliment but shook her head. “When it comes to murder, it isn’t a competition. All that matters, is that the killer is caught and brought to justice.” She cut into her waffle with a fork and happily ate a bite. “Besides, I like making waffles a little too much to have a second job.”
After they finished their meal, they went out to wander around the historic downtown area and look at shops that were converted from the classical adobe buildings that were the beginnings of the city.
Sonja was wowed by much of the turquoise jewelry, made by hand, that many of the shops offered. Frank, of course, loved stopping in every single western wear store. Sonja never knew a man could try on so many hats and pairs of boots, admiring every single one in the mirror.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were the female counterpart in this marriage,” she joked, playing off stereotypes as she sat on a wooden bench watching him model the latest hat and boot pairing he’d picked out.
“Now, that’s not fair,” he said.
“Isn’t it, though?” she smirked, unable to hold back her laughter. “Maybe just when it comes to cowboy attire.”
Ignoring her, he looked in the mirror one more time. “Yes. I think I’ll get these.” He turned back to his wife and held out his hands. “What do you think?”
Admiring how handsome he looked in the rich brown cowboy hat and boots, she stood up. “I think they’re the right choice.” In fact, he looked downright rugged against the wooden flooring and log walls of the store’s interior.
“Good.”
“Are you going to wear them when you work?”
Frank raised a curious eyebrow at this suggestion. “At work?”
“They are a complementary shade to your uniform, aren’t they?” she pointed out.
Looking back at the mirror, he smiled. “You’re right. Maybe I should wear them to work.”
“A classical western sheriff in the making.”
Frank sat on the bench to remove the boots and place them back in the box he’d taken them from. Sonja knew he usually wouldn’t spend that kind of money, especially not on clothes, but splurging on something you loved during a special occasion like a honeymoon was different.
As she patiently waited for him to put his regular shoes back on, the sound of someone’s voice caught her attention.
“I’m telling you. I saw a skinwalker. A real one. He tried to kill me.”
Sonja instantly felt her heart begin to speed up at the mention of the name skinwalker. She was aware that it was a classic legend in these parts but after her dream the night before she couldn’t believe that this was just a coincidence.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Frank as she stood up and turned the corner into the dressing room. At the counter where she noticed a younger man with exquisitely long black hair talking to a sales clerk.
“You didn’t see a skinwalker. You probably just saw a bum or vagrant who’d gotten lost on his way home,” the young woman pointed out, poking him in the chest like they were old friends.
“I’m telling you, I saw him. He had a little fire built in the field across from Abook’s shop.”
Now Sonja’s ears really perked up.
“He had a drum and was beating it like crazy.” The young man shook his head. “I didn’t stick around to see what he wanted.”
The clerk rolled her eyes. “Okay, maybe you really did see someone, but it wasn’t a skinwalker. It was probably someone just trying to scare you.”
“It wasn’t a prank,” he insisted, pounding his fist on the counter.
Just then, the clerk noticed Sonja was standing there. “Yes, ma’am? Can I help you?” the lady asked.
The young man turned beet red with embarrassment.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just overheard your conversation was all.”
The clerk rolled her eyes again, getting a pinched look at the corners of her mouth. “My apologies, ma’am. He doesn’t work here.”
“I-I’ll just be going,” he said, going to leave.
“No, wait a minute,” Sonja called, stopping him. “I heard you say something about a skinwalker.”
The young man’s body went completely tense. Slowly, he turned to face her. “What about it?”
“I’m just interested, that’s all. You don’t happen to work for Abook, do you?”
Again, a look of shock came over the young man. “Not anymore,” he defended. “That place is cursed. I wouldn’t set my pinky toe on that land.”
Sonja folded her arms. “Why not?”
“The skinwalker comes to take away sinners.”
“He does?” Sonja asked, sincerely interested in the legend.
“Abook is a sinner and invites spirits around him.”
“Sinner? What do you mean?” she pressed.
He hesitated, his eyes darting around uncomfortably. “I don’t know, but the skinwalker only comes for sinners.” He waved his hand at her. “I’m not talking about this anymore. I shouldn’t be. It invites evil spirits.” The next second, he stormed off out the store.
Frank came around the corner. “Who was that?”
“He was talking about seeing a skinwalker outside of that little souvenir shop, the one we visited yesterday.”
“Is that so?”
“Don’t listen to anything he says,” the young clerk commented, leaning on the counter and chewing on some gum. “He’s always been afraid of everything. Ever since we were kids growing up together, he had some crazy story to tell about the latest demon, or spirit, or creature that had come after him.”
“I see,” Sonja replied. “He said he believes Abook is a sinner?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. Abooksigun is one of the kindest and most well-respected men in our community. He’s like a father to quite a few of us. The only thing he could do to make people mad would be to sell his shop to that pushy businessman who always shows up in town. He would never do that, though.”
“Oh?”
“He loves that shop too much and doesn’t want to see it knocked down for some sort of new hotel or anything.”
“That makes sense to me.”
“Besides, I doubt he did anything that could warrant the wrath of an evil spirit.”
“Is that what a skinwalker is?”
She shrugged. “Depends on which version of the story you’re talking about. In ancient days, skinwalkers were warriors. Other versions say they are living witches who can transform into an animal, like a wolf or coyote. Another version says they are vengeful spirits. I think it’s all a bunch of storytelling,” she admitted.
Cactus Waffle Murder Page 4
