Cactus Waffle Murder

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “Exactly,” she proclaimed, smiling at Frank. Lifting her fingers from the ashes, she produced a partially burnt feather. “Would a ghost’s headdress leave behind a feather?” she asked.

  “No, I suppose it wouldn’t,” he agreed.

  Letting her eyes scan the ground, she noticed something else in the dirt. “Look. A ghost wouldn’t leave behind boot prints, would he?” Sonja declared, pointing at the marks.

  Bending down for a closer look, Frank smiled. “I think you’ve got something here, Sonja. They’re a little faded, but these boot marks look the same as the ones we saw in the alcove.”

  Standing up, she put the feather in her pocket and brushed off her hands. “Officer Culpepper specifically said they found boots in the trash can outside the store, correct?”

  “I believe so, yes,” he confirmed, also standing up.

  “Then I can only assume they matched the boot prints at the alcove.”

  Frank scrunched his eyebrows together. “If that’s true, and they really do belong to Abook, then why would he do this?” he motioned to the campfire site. “Why would he scare his own employee? What would he gain from that?”

  “It couldn’t have been Abook,” she deduced.

  “We can’t know that for sure.”

  “No, you’re right, but it just doesn’t add up.” Staring off toward the national park, Sonja walked across the street.

  “Maybe the skinwalker, the one that appeared to you, was upset that someone was imitating him,” Frank said, trying to reason with Sonja. “And maybe Abook really was the one imitating him, which would explain why this spirit would go after him.”

  “But the spirit didn’t go after Abook, he came to me. No, I think someone else imitated the skinwalker, trying to scare Hahnee, Abook or both. Then, that same person murdered Savile Denningsworth and framed Abook by putting the boots in the trash can behind the store.” She reached the car and opened the door.

  “Or, Savile dressed up as the skinwalker, scared Hahnee, and then someone killed him after that.”

  Sonja snapped her fingers. “Maybe Hahnee got so scared that he killed Savile by accident. It would explain him randomly not showing up for work.”

  “And then what? He dragged the body up all those ladders just to throw him off the alcove ledge?” Frank pointed out.

  Sonja pursed her lips. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know you are looking for another possible culprit, but keep in mind that the park ranger on duty in this area saw Abook running from the murder site. You can’t argue with that,” Frank pointed out.

  Sonja sighed quietly. “There is something else going on here, I just haven’t figured out what yet. Somehow, all of this is connected.” She climbed into her seat and closed the door.

  “And you still don’t believe it was Abook?” he said, sitting in the driver’s seat.

  “Not yet. I’m not saying it wasn’t him, but until I’m certain I know what the skinwalker wants—or wanted—I can’t accept it.”

  Starting up the car, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the city. “Okay, let’s look at the facts. Abook had a motive for the killing since Savile wanted to buy the land and was even potentially harassing him. Additionally, there is evidence and a witness that places him at the scene of the crime.”

  “Right,” Sonja agreed.

  “On the other hand, Daisy Pitman had a much stronger motive. Her own husband committed suicide because of business dealings with Savile. However, currently, there seems to be little to no evidence to indicate she was anywhere near the alcove.”

  “Also right.”

  “Are we missing anyone?”

  “Those seem to be our two main suspects. Unless Hahnee or the lawyer are somehow involved, which we don’t have evidence for at the moment. The question is, do the cops have the right person and the skinwalker feels that there is justice? Or do they have the wrong man, which may account for my vision last night?”

  Frank sighed, settling into his seat. “I’m not sure there is much else we can do now but ask the cops to check out that campfire site. Even if we call them and tell them about it, they may not even look into it.”

  “That’s true. If they’ve got this solved, they won’t bother.”

  “And they may just be getting tired of hearing from us. I know firsthand how much cops dislike people meddling in police business.”

  Sonja scoffed. “We haven’t meddled in anything. We’re just two concerned citizens who want to see justice properly served.”

  “And it helps that my wife communicates with dead people,” Frank chuckled.

  Sonja couldn’t help but laugh a little too. He was right, if it weren’t for ghosts, she may never have been involved in most of the murder cases she’d helped to solve.

  Chapter 12

  * * *

  “I’m just wiped out. I think I’m ready to soak in the hot tub again,” Frank complained as they arrived back at the hotel room. “This just isn’t the honeymoon I quite imagined.”

  “I hope it’s still been good,” Sonja chimed in, feeling a little hurt by his comment. She knew it wasn’t completely her fault, but she couldn’t help but feel responsible for mixing them up in this murder business. After all, it was only because she could see ghosts that she even found the body in the first place, let alone dragged her husband back into the investigation simply because something felt off.

  Frank smiled down at her. “No, it’s good. I'm really enjoying parts of. I loved the hike, climbing up to the alcove, shopping in town today, eating out. It’s all been wonderful. I assume we’ll be going to museums, seeing the local hot springs, and more the rest of the time we are here.”

  “Good,” she smiled, putting her hands on his chest and leaning into him.

  “I just wish we could go through the rest of this trip without one more ghost or tidbit of murder investigating.”

  Sonja nodded and sighed. “I understand.” She paused, wondering if she’d been inconsiderate to put her gut feelings, inklings, and paranormal intuition before Frank—especially during their honeymoon. It wasn’t much of a way to start a marriage. “Look, I’m sorry. I haven’t been thinking about your feelings here. This is our honeymoon and I should only be thinking of having a good time with you. I should have ignored that ghost the instant I saw him.”

  Frank smiled. “You know that isn’t how it works. That darn ghost wanted your attention. You can’t just ignore that.”

  “But I should have,” she told him.

  Taking a seat on the bed, he nodded. “I understand. I do, Sonja. Just like you have to think of my feelings I have to think of yours. I also have to be open to ghosts popping up at any time. I accepted that well before we got married. It’s a part of our lives.”

  “I guess,” she sighed.

  “Anyway, we can give the cops whatever information we have and clean our hands of it, if that’s what you want.”

  “That is what I want,” she confirmed, sitting in his lap.

  “Good. Me too.”

  They kissed, grateful to be putting this behind them.

  “How about I go down to the spa and see if they have openings for those mud baths we wanted to try?” Sonja suggested, thinking of some way she could help her husband relax.

  “Sounds good to me,” he said.

  * * *

  Leaving the room, Sonja was just heading down the hall when she saw another door open. Stepping out of the room Savile had been staying in was Hayden. He seemed to be dragging his luggage behind himself while also trying to lock the door.

  Sonja rushed forward. “Let me help you,” she offered, trying her best to be genial despite the rude way he’d treated her and Frank before.

  “Oh, thanks a ton.” He smiled at her as she took one of the bags, so he could lock up.

  “Are you checking out?” she asked, making conversation.

  “Well, without my boss around anymore, there isn’t much reason for me to stay
,” he admitted.

  “I guess not, huh?” she laughed.

  “Hey, you’re the couple in the suite, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “That’s right. It’s our honeymoon.”

  “Well, let me offer my congratulations and apologies,” he said.

  “Apologies?”

  “Yes, I think it’s due you. My boss is recently deceased in case you didn’t hear.”

  “I heard. My condolences.”

  He held up a hand. “That’s not necessary. He wasn’t the kindest man, and I’m sure no one is really sorry to see him go.”

  “That’s too bad,” Sonja replied truthfully. It was always sad when someone died and very few people cared—no matter how rotten they’d been in life.

  “You see, when I was around him I tended to be on edge as well. I became rude, angry, and irritable, which I was toward you. For that, I apologize.”

  “Apology accepted,” she said back, handing the bag back to him. As she did so, she noticed a faint red residue that had come off on her clothes. How had it gotten there? Did her jeans from the hike touch this shirt somehow?

  No, she had put those clothes in the plastic bag to prevent that sort of thing.

  Then she saw it. There was red dirt smeared along the zipper of the bag she’d been holding. Instantly, her heart picked up the pace in her chest, pounding its way up into her head. For a moment . . . it almost sounded like a war drum.

  “In any case, I’m stuck clearing out all his old things and you can bet I have my hands full over the next few months as I handle whose hands his business and money fall into,” he continued talking in a nonchalant manner.

  “That sounds like a big task,” Sonja agreed, trying to hide the tension she felt just below the surface. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. “Now, do you at least get some sort of compensation out of taking care of all this?” she asked, already predicting the answer.

  “As a matter-of-fact, I do. Believe it or not, Mr. Denningsworth and I used to be very close friends. I became his business lawyer when he was still young in the real estate market. As a result, I get a portion of the business in his death. Sort of a friendship and loyalty thing, even if we’d grown apart over the years.”

  That was exactly what Sonja had suspected to hear. “Even if you’d grown apart, surely it must be difficult to lose him in such a violent manner,” she pressed, hoping to pump some more information out of him.

  “Not really. He’d become pretty hardened,” he replied flatly and with little feeling.

  “You know, I was there at the park the day his body was found,” she admitted, hoping to get a rise out of him.

  His eyes widened. “Were you now?”

  “That’s right. In fact, I found this little flashlight in the kiva up there. Now that I’m talking to you about it again, I think that maybe it has some connection to the murder. Maybe it has fingerprints or DNA evidence on it.”

  Hayden licked his lips, his face slightly paler. “I’m sure it’s nothing at all.”

  “No. Cops always say that no detail is too insignificant. I think I’ll grab it and take it down to the lobby right now. Maybe the hotel security can help me get it to them,” she said, turning and heading off to her room—acting absent-minded as she did.

  Going into the suite and closing the door behind her, she looked directly at Frank who was laying on the bed watching TV. “We need to call the police right now.”

  Frank sat bolt upright. “Why? What happened?”

  “I think the real killer is going to be waiting for me in the elevator.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because he thinks I still have the flashlight from the kiva.”

  * * *

  Once the phone call came up to the suite that the cops were in the lobby, Sonja left the room with a small canister of pepper spray in her pocket to be a replacement for the flashlight as well as a protection if things got out of hand before they reached the lobby. She called the elevator and as the doors opened, she was not surprised to see Hayden still standing there.

  “Oh! Hello. I thought you would have already been gone.”

  “Nope, I just thought I forgot something,” he said with a hint of malice in his voice.

  Pretending to be oblivious, she got in the elevator with him.

  The doors closed, and they started the descent, but just before they reached the main floor, Hayden reached out and hit the emergency stop button. The elevator shook as it halted in the shaft.

  “Whoa, what’s going on?” she asked, still playing it up.

  “That flashlight. Give it to me, now,” he demanded, dropping the red dusted bag and holding his hand out.

  “Why is that?” she asked.

  “Don’t ask questions. Just give it to me if you don’t want to get hurt.”

  “Is it because your clothes from the other night have red dirt on them? Is that why it’s on your bag?” she asked, motioning to the zipper.

  “Hey, what is this?” he snarled.

  “What were you and your boss doing up there that night?” she continued with her questions.

  “Give me the blasted flashlight.”

  “Did you want the fortune he was going to leave you? Was that it? Or were you so distraught over that farmer killing himself that you took it out on your boss?”

  “He made me do those things. Made me break the equipment, kill the animals, burn the field. All of it.”

  “I assume he paid you well,” Sonja pointed out. “But not well enough to pay off that guilt.”

  “He wanted me to do things like that again.”

  “Like dressing up as a skinwalker to scare off the owner?”

  Hayden’s jaw dropped. “How do you know all this? What are you a private eye for that Daisy woman?”

  “No, just a concerned citizen.”

  His face turned beat red, scrunching up in anger. “Give me the flashlight before I do something else I’ll regret.” His hand was shaking as he held it out.

  “I know you don’t want a third death on your conscience. What were you doing up there that night, anyway?”

  He clenched his teeth, breathing through them. “I was trying to do the right thing and warn Abooksigun about the shady things my boss was planning. Only, my boss followed me. I fought with him and he fell. It was an accident.”

  “And that’s why Abook fled the scene. He saw you push your boss and he ran.”

  “Give me that flashlight,” he screamed.

  The whir of the elevator started up again, shaking the whole thing. Hayden looked around in shocked surprise.

  A second later the elevator dinged and the doors opened. A crew of cops waited outside. Without thinking twice, Hayden made a run for it, trying to barrel through them. His flight was answer enough.

  Officer Culpepper was the first to grab ahold of the assailant and throw him to the ground, handcuffing him. Looking up at Sonja, Culpepper gave a big smile and a thumbs up.

  Sonja handed over the mini tape recorder she sometimes used to record new recipe ideas on the go to the closest cop.

  Chapter 13

  * * *

  Laying back in the warmth of the mud bath, Sonja breathed in the earthy aroma of the room. “This feels way better than it should,” she told Frank, leaning her head on the pillow provided.

  “It does,” he agreed, soaking in the experience with a smile on his face. “Do you know what else feels good?”

  “Being done with that whole murder mess?” she replied.

  “Absolutely,” he agreed with a quiet laugh. “No more ghosts, skinwalkers, or anything else like it for the rest of this trip, I hope.”

  “I promise you, if I even see the hint of a ghost, I’m going the opposite direction.” She wiggled her toes, feeling the thick liquid squishing between them. She had to admit, because of the consistency, she felt like she was floating.

  “Well, ghosts or no ghosts, I’m so glad I married you. It was the best decision I’ve ever ma
de,” he told her, opening his eyes and glancing over at his wife. Even with her red hair tied up in a bun and the mud crawling up her neck, she looked divine.

  “Me too,” she replied, looking back at him. She could still hardly believe that this was the start of the rest of her life.

  She realized, with everything that had happened over the past few days, that the wedding hadn’t really sunk in yet. Now it had, and she was glad for it.

  “So, have you gotten any more good waffle ideas this trip?” he asked.

  “My favorite thing I’ve eaten since we’ve been here is that Navajo taco. I think it would make a great waffle idea.”

  “How so?” Frank asked.

  “I think that making a waffle and then deep frying it could make a good base. Next, I would top it with the green chili, Mexican cheese, guacamole, and freshly fried corn crisps on top.” She could practically taste it already.

  “You’re making me hungry again.”

  “You better get used to it, bub. You’re going to be eating a lot more of my waffles from now on.”

  “I can’t wait,” he exclaimed, lifting one hand to look how the mud slid over it.

  “It’s just too bad I’ll have to get another mini tape player for my inspirations.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get you one.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  “And maybe you can use it to record ghostly clues about your next case,” he joked.

  “Let’s just pray there isn’t a next case,” she shot back.

  Frank laughed, secretly knowing that it was impossible that there wouldn’t be another ghost coming to ask them for help, or another strange murder with a paranormal twist. For now, however, he lived in the moment with his wife. No ghosts, no murder, just the two of them together.

  “You know, we make a pretty good team,” she admitted.

  “That’s why we got married, isn’t it?” he asked with a wry smile on his lips.