Cactus Waffle Murder

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “What if a spirit like that came to protect someone like Abook?” Sonja asked, taking a shot in the dark.

  “I guess that’s just as believable as any of the other stories I’ve heard told. With that guy breathing down Abook’s neck to sell, I’d say that a spirit might come and protect him.”

  “I see, thank you,” she said, feeling like she had learned some important information.

  “If you ask me, though, there is no such thing as a skinwalker. It’s all in Hahnee’s wild imagination.”

  Chapter 9

  * * *

  Arriving back at the hotel with their bags of purchases in tow, Sonja paused when she spotted the officer they’d talked to at the alcove standing at the front desk. “What’s going on here?” she wondered out loud, walking up to the uniformed man.

  Frank did nothing to protest, knowing his wife had a mind of her own. Not to mention, he wanted this “skinwalker” ghost to stop bothering her. If that meant helping out by checking in with the police on the investigation now and then, so be it.

  “Hello,” she greeted, “officer?”

  “Culpepper,” he answered, shaking her hand. “I guess I never told you my name at the alcove.”

  “No, you didn’t. I suppose I could have read your nametag, but I was too focused on the body we’d found,” she admitted, pointing at his shiny badge with his name printed on it. “Were you here at the hotel to see us?” she asked, remembering that she gave the officer their room number before leaving the state park.

  He chuckled. “No, no. I’m just tying up some loose ends for the chief. I’m here to tell Hayden Magnate that we’ve caught the killer.”

  Sonja’s jaw dropped. “You caught the killer? Already?”

  “Yes, ma’am. This was a pretty open and shut case.”

  “How is that?” Frank asked, his own curiosity piqued. As a sheriff, he was often interested in the way other divisions of law enforcement went about investigations.

  “Well, we had an eyewitness who saw the suspect fleeing the scene around the time of the murder. Then, we found a pair of boots in the trash can outside the suspect's place of business. They had the same type of dirt on them as at the crime scene.” He held out his hands as if that explained it all.

  “Then the case is closed?” Sonja pressed.

  “That’s right. The suspect had a motive for the murder as well.”

  Frank put a hand on Sonja’s shoulder. The weight of it was comforting and she could tell her husband was glad to be done with the murder case. “Well, then. We are glad to hear it.”

  “Yep. Usually, our turn around isn’t this fast, but all the pieces fell right into place, it seems.”

  Sonja twisted her lips to one side. “Maybe a little too easily,” she whispered to herself.

  “What was that, ma’am?” Culpepper asked, honestly thinking he was meant to hear the comment.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just trying to put everything together in my head.”

  “Don’t you worry about that, ma’am. The professionals have got it covered.”

  She tried not to physically cringe at this statement, seeing as it was one she’d heard on far too many occasions from various lawmen—including her own husband. Let the professionals handle it had become an insult, almost.

  Suddenly, she had a thought. “What about that flashlight I handed you?” she pressed, wondering if it had played into the investigation as well.

  “The chief took it into evidence, but there weren’t any fingerprints on it or anything if that’s what you’re asking. Like I said, those things are a dime a dozen in this area. Our killer could have dropped it, but so could have any number of hikers or tourists who came through.”

  “I see,” she said, disappointment settling in her stomach.

  While she was happy the case was closed, she had a gut feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Why would the skinwalker appear to her a second time if there was nothing else for her to do? Of course, she knew, the spirit had pointed her toward the original clues that led her to find the body. That was obvious.

  But why appear to her in a dream—a vision—if the case was basically already wrapped up with a neat little bow?

  Something about this case still seemed off.

  “Were there no other suspects?” she asked, thinking out loud more than anything.

  Frank got a pained look in the corners of his eyes, not wanting his wife to go prying too much into a case that the local police felt was a one-and-done job.

  “Not really, ma’am. Like I said, this was a pretty straightforward arrest. The chief and the detective in charge of the investigation are both fairly sure they have their man. I’m just doing some last-minute errands on their behalf.” He smirked. “That’s the benefit of being the first responder, I suppose. I guess it shines pretty well on me as an officer. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get a small promotion thanks to the two of you.”

  Sonja felt a little sick to her stomach over this whole thing. If Officer Culpepper got a promotion, it wouldn’t be because of Sonja and Frank. It would be as a result of a murder. While she sympathized that it took good lawmen to solve crimes, and those who did well at the job got promoted, she couldn’t help feeling a little sad by the fact that those promotions came after violent crimes had been committed.

  Culpepper looked down at his silver wristwatch. “Ah, yes. I should be going. I’m sure you’ll hear more details on the news tomorrow about the case. The chief is doing a press conference and is going to share details about the case, including letting everyone know who the culprit is.”

  Sonja’s mouth felt dry and her hands cold. Why did she feel this rush to do something, to intervene in the case when it was clearly all done? Based on the few things that Officer Culpepper had said, she had a decent idea who the suspect they’d arrested was—Abook, the shop owner.

  She didn’t know the man, but he’d seemed kind-hearted. Not to mention, the young woman at the western wear store claimed he was like a father figure in the community. On the other side of the coin, Hahnee claimed his boss at the shop was a sinner. It was the reason the skinwalker was after him.

  What did that mean, exactly? Did it infer that Abook was capable of murder?

  Sonja wanted to bonk her head against a wall as the thoughts flew through her mind. She didn’t know the people involved in this case well enough to make any kind of proper judgments.

  “I’ll be seeing you,” Culpepper said. The officer gave a genial nod and began walking off.

  Finally, as if she’d just dug out a clue hidden deep inside of her brain, Sonja remembered something else. “Wait, what about that woman?” she called after him before he could leave.

  “What woman?” he asked, looking over his shoulder toward her.

  Sonja licked her lips, wondering if she was beginning to irritate the man. “The other evening there was this woman here. She accused Mr. Denningsworth and his lawyer of killing her husband.”

  The police officer’s face scrunched up in confusion, serious lines forming on either side of his mouth. “Did you overhear this as well?” he directed the question at Frank.

  “I did, officer. She was very threatening.”

  “Do you know the woman’s name?”

  “No. I have no idea who she is, but she is staying on the third floor, I think.”

  Culpepper paused, looking from Frank to Sonja. “Okay. I’ll drop a note to the chief and the detective in charge, but it may come to nothing.”

  “Thank you,” Sonja said.

  “If you remember anything else like this that might pertain to the case, or if you remember what the woman’s name might be, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Trust me, we won’t,” Frank responded, holding back a smile.

  With that, the officer disappeared out the front door.

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  Taking their shopping bags up to the room, Sonja sat on the end of the bed to think for a moment.

  “You d
on’t think the shop owner is the killer, do you?” Frank asked, framing it more as a statement than a question. He’s seen that look on his wife’s face before.

  “Honestly, Frank, I can’t say. I don’t know the people involved in this murder case.”

  Taking a seat next to her, he held her hand in her lap. “Officer Culpepper said that the case was closed. They have their man.”

  She was silent for a moment, holding her husband’s hand more tightly. “I don’t know what to think.”

  Frank squeezed in closer. “What’s bothering you about the case?”

  She looked into his eyes. “The skinwalker.”

  “The ghost?”

  “Yes. Why did he appear to me last night in my dream if the case was finished? If they have the right man, why would he come to me again? Most of the time when I encounter spirits, it’s because they want me to do something.”

  Frank shrugged. “Perhaps it was just a dream and that’s it. Even you can have nightmares.”

  She shook her head. “No, this is different. I’ve had nightmares throughout my life. I can always tell when I’m having a vision or premonition. They feel different. They feel real.”

  Frank sighed, trying to figure out the right words to say next. Navigating this world of spirits—and how his wife reacted to them—was going to be a constant learning experience, he was realizing. It was a challenge he was willing to take head-on because he loved Sonja. “Okay. What do you think you need to do? What does this ghost want?”

  After a moment’s contemplation, she answered. “I need to talk to the woman down the hall.”

  * * *

  Sonja wasn’t much one for lying but figured that it would look odd if a stranger randomly showed up at someone’s hotel room and started asking personal questions. So, to sidestep any awkwardness, she decided that she was a blogger—someone who wrote about conspiracy theories, corruption, and scandal.

  She even took the notepad and pen from the desk in the hotel room to attempt and make it look more authentic.

  Frank, of course, had shared his opposition to the idea but knew he couldn’t talk Sonja out of it. Not to mention, he didn’t want any more late-night visits from the skinwalker. He had only seen a handful of supernatural occurrences himself while dating Sonja.

  Honestly, they’d scared the living daylights out of him.

  So, he allowed her to go down to the room and attempt to talk to the woman. Worst case scenario, she slammed the door in Sonja’s face. Even if the woman was unhinged, it was doubtful she would try to do anything dangerous in a fancy hotel room.

  Frank had wanted to come along, but Sonja felt it would be too much. Frank relented to her going alone.

  Walking down the hall and taking deep breaths, Sonja stood in front of the hotel room door she’d seen the woman disappear through their first night there. Standing up straight and trying to look official, she knocked.

  “Just a minute, please,” a voice came from inside. A moment later, the door opened revealing a woman in a bathrobe and a towel on her head. “Oh, you’re not room service.”

  “No, I’m sorry. It looks like I caught you at a bad time,” she admitted, eyeing the plush sandstone pink robe and towel that the hotel provided for each room. “I’m so sorry to have bothered you.” Sonja turned to leave but was stopped by the woman’s voice calling after her.

  “Wait, wait. Who are you?” the woman pressed.

  Turning back, Sonja put on her best smile. “My name is Sonja and I run a blog where I try to uncover the truth and corruption behind big businesses.”

  The woman raised a confused eyebrow.

  “You see, I received an anonymous tip that you might have some insight into Mr. Savile Denningsworth and his dealings leading up to his murder.” Sonja tapped her makeshift notepad. “This is big news, you know.”

  The woman stalled for a moment, squinting at Sonja and trying to read her. “Okay. Come on in,” she said, opening the door and allowing Sonja to enter.

  “Thank you,” she said, walking further in.

  “You’ll have to excuse my appearance. I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “It’s completely understandable, and my fault for showing up unannounced.”

  “Have a seat,” the woman offered, motioning to the round table in the corner with two chairs.

  Sonja did so. The woman took the other seat.

  “Now, what do you want to know?” she asked, clasping her hands on the tabletop.

  “Well, first, what is your name? My anonymous tipper didn’t give me one.”

  “Of course. My name is Daisy Pitman.”

  Sonja scribbled the name down on the paper. “Great. Now, what is your connection with Savile Denningsworth?”

  Daisy’s lips tightened until they were nearly white, perhaps holding back unnecessary expletives, while she formed an answer. “I’m not connected to them, but my husband was. Savile and that pushy lawyer of his were trying to get my husband to sell his farmland to them so they could build a new strip mall.”

  Sonja scribbled down some notes, trying to look professional. “And is your husband here with you on this trip?”

  The woman’s cheeks reddened, and her eyes grew glassy. “No, my husband is dead. They killed him.”

  Sonja looked directly at the woman with wide eyes. “Savile and his lawyer?”

  “That’s right. They’re murderers.”

  “That’s a pretty hefty claim, Mrs. Pitman.”

  Tightening her clasped hands until her knuckles turned white, Daisy licked her lips while trying to formulate the next answer. “You see, they drove my husband to suicide, which in my estimation is as good as murder.”

  Sonja wrote something down. “I would agree with you there,” she said, trying to encourage the woman.

  “The first time they came out to the farm to make an offer to buy the land, my husband turned them down flat.”

  “Naturally. What happened then?”

  Daisy swallowed hard. “They came back two more times with higher offers, but nothing that could convince my Hardy to sell.”

  “I see.”

  “After that, it seemed like we wouldn’t hear from them again. Then the accidents started happening?”

  “Accidents?” Sonja pressed.

  “Oh, little things at first. Farm equipment breaking down. Animals getting killed in the middle of the night. Things of that nature.” She waved a finger in the air. “But I knew, deep down somehow, it was those men who were behind it all, trying to make us desperate enough to sell.”

  “And did you?”

  Daisy swallowed again, holding back tears. “After the field caught on fire and we lost the crop... we sold it to them.”

  Sonja shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We tried to move on with our lives, find someplace else to go, but it was never the same. A month later, I found my husband hanging in the closet of a motel room.”

  Sonja shivered at the image. “That’s very hard.”

  “Anyway, I’ve made it my mission ever since then to make sure they pay for what they did. I could never prove that they were causing trouble on the farm, but somehow I swore I was going to make them pay.”

  Sonja wondered how exactly the woman had intended to make them pay. If so, did that mean Hayden was next up on the chopping block? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  Daisy shrugged. “I don’t have to worry about it anymore, though. According to the news, someone beat me to the punch.”

  Chapter 11

  * * *

  “I want to go back out to the souvenir shop,” Sonja told Frank once she was back in the hotel room with him. She’d filled him in on all the info she’d learned from Daisy.

  “What for?” he asked.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed again, she pointed to a note on the paper. “The accidents on the farm. Remember how Savile mentioned other tactics for getting what they wanted? Maybe this is what he meant?”

  “And you thi
nk they might have tried to pull some of this at the shop?”

  She nodded. “Absolutely. Remember that ashy fire pit across the road?”

  Frank tilted his head. “You think it’s related?”

  “There is only one way to find out,” she said, popping up from her seat and grabbing her jacket.

  Frank put up both hands to slow her down. “Hold on. First things first. We need to call the police and tell them about Daisy, give them her name. Officer Culpepper asked us to do just that if we got any more information and we have.”

  Sonja thought for a second, kicking her legs back and forth on the bed. “You’re right. I’ll give them a call and tell them everything I learned first. Maybe they can do some digging and see if Daisy is more involved in all of this than she lets on.” She picked up her cell phone and hit redial. “After that, we’re heading back to the park.”

  * * *

  Parking in the lot of the little souvenir shop, the first thing Sonja and Frank noticed was that the place was closed. It was just one more confirmation that Abook, the owner, had been the one arrested for the murder of Savile Denningsworth.

  “Well, looks like the place is closed,” Frank stated the obvious.

  “Let’s have a look at the field across the street,” Sonja suggested, opening the passenger door and getting out. Frank followed her as she reached the blackened spot of earth he’d pointed out the day before.

  “It looks like someone had a fire here, but I’m not sure if it helps to prove anything,” Frank noted, squatting down and looking at the ashes.

  “I realize that,” she admitted, touching the ashes, “but Abook’s employee said something about a fire across the street when he saw the skinwalker.”

  Frank hummed quietly and folded his arms, thinking over what this could mean. “So, basically, what you’re getting at is the skinwalker the employee saw that night might not have been a ghost at all.”