Scary Sausage Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 13)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  Sonja pried the pepper spray from her pocket and stood over the young man lying among the debris. In one hand he held the wolf skull with the rabbit fur draped over it—the “face” Sonja and Brenda had seen in the generator shed.

  “Don’t move a muscle or I’ll spray you,” she ordered.

  “Okay, okay,” he put up his hands defensively. “You’ve got me, just don’t hurt me.”

  Everyone came running into the room to see what the commotion was.

  “We’ve got him,” Brenda announced with a wave.

  “I knew it had to be him,” Byron noted, shaking his head.

  CHAPTER 18

  * * *

  “Okay, I admit that I was the one hiding out in the shed, but I didn’t kill her,” Harvey argued as he sat tied to a chair in the restaurant’s office. It was the only room in the building where they could lock him inside until the police came.

  Sonja sat across from him while Brenda stood in the doorway.

  Doctor Wallaby had tried to force his way into the situation as well, claiming he was the fittest to “interrogate the suspect.” Luckily, another round of beratement, specifically from Ally in Sonja’s favor, shut him down.

  It was clear that if there was one thing that the good doctor didn’t like, it was being singled out and ridiculed in public.

  While Sonja didn’t agree the doctor deserved such treatment, she was glad her friend was getting her spunk back and using it to their benefit.

  “But we all saw you arguing with her, nearly dragging her along. On top of that, I heard you two outside arguing when I was in the bathroom. You were one of only two people who were outside during the time of the murder, and you were hiding out there with that ridiculous skull and fur,” Sonja pointed at the two items sitting on the desk, “trying to scare people off.”

  Leaning in, Sonja examined the skull. “It looks like the teeth of this wolf skull have blood on them. Did you strangle her and then try to cover it up with this?”

  “I’m telling you, lady,” he barked, “I didn’t kill her. I found that skull and fur out back near the dumpster.”

  “By the dumpster? Are you sure you didn’t take it from the store?”

  “No, I didn’t,” he argued. “I didn’t steal that stuff, I found it outside, and I didn’t kill my girlfriend.”

  “It didn’t really sound like she wanted to be your girlfriend anymore,” Brenda commented.

  “Okay, okay,” he admitted, “you’re right. She didn’t. That’s not new news.”

  “So, what were you two arguing about?”

  “Look, lady. I know you want to pin this whole thing on me, but I’m telling you, I didn’t do it.” He shook his head wearily. “I was scared, okay? I was scared when I found her like I did. I knew everyone would blame me for what had happened, so I found the skull and fur and hid in the shed. I couldn’t very well run off into the woods. I’d have drowned or something,” he shrugged. “I hoped I could use the skull to scare anyone off who found me.”

  “Are you trying to tell us you just found Dillon that way?” Brenda cut in. “Why wouldn’t you come in and tell us she was hurt?”

  “I told you, I was scared!” he sighed, his eyes growing slightly misty for the first time that evening. “I just wanted to bring her home,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have hurt her, I swear.”

  “Bring her home?”

  “Yeah, her dad’s business was failing, and I knew that would really upset her. She had her family problems, but she still loved him.” He shrugged. “She and I were going out about a year ago or so. I asked her dad if we could get married, but he said no.”

  “Did Dillon know you were asking about marriage?”

  He shook his head. “No, I was trying to go about it the old-fashioned way because I thought her dad would like that. It didn’t go as I had hoped. He sort of snapped, taking it out on Dillon. She was pretty tired of being under his roof and under his rules already, and that was the breaking point. You know how it is.”

  Sonja nodded.

  “She freaked out and ran off in the middle of the night. She didn’t tell her dad where she was going, and she sure as heck didn’t tell me.”

  “Why would she leave without telling her father?”

  “He was very old fashioned, lots of rules if you were living under his roof.” He shrugged. “She always told me she wanted to be free, and not under the control of anyone.”

  “So where did she run off to?”

  “At first I had no idea,” he admitted. “I spent most of this last year tracking her down.”

  “And you just recently found her?”

  He nodded. “In Salt Lake, working as a bar maid,” he whispered, clearly ashamed. “At first, when I showed up at the club where she worked, she was happy to see me. I was like a breath of fresh air, a reminder of the good things about home.”

  “And where is home?”

  “Pueblo, Colorado. I always try to keep tabs on what’s going on back home. Recently her father’s business, a dairy co-op that delivers milk and cheese and stuff to people’s doors, started really struggling. It was getting so bad that her dad was on his way out to Utah today to talk to potential investors.”

  A flash of the glass milk bottle, filled with coffee, flashed in her mind—quickly followed by the blazing wreck. She wondered if it was the girl’s father who had died in that accident and who had visited them as the hitchhiker.

  At least, that would explain why his ghost seemed to be drawn to the Roadside Gas and Restaurant. Maybe he instinctively knew his daughter was there.

  “So, what happened then?” she pressed

  “At first when I asked her to come back, she told me to forget about it, that she didn’t want to go home,” he half smirked. “Then I told her about the troubles with her father’s business, and she agreed to come back with me. I waited for her at the motel where I was staying. She told me she had some last-minute errands to run, go to the bank or something before we left.”

  “How did all this go sour?” Brenda asked. “She clearly was trying to hitchhike when she arrived here.”

  “Well, at one of the gas stations down the road she got all spooked. She said she was being followed and that she was afraid this was going to happen. Then, she just took off.”

  Sonja raised an eyebrow. “Who was following her?”

  He shrugged, “I don’t know. One of her old clients, maybe? A boss?”

  “Do you think that this person is the real killer?” Sonja asked.

  “I have no idea, lady, but it’s possible. Maybe she was just using it as an excuse to ditch me.”

  “But now she’s dead. If someone else really was following her, don’t you think that would be an important detail?”

  He nodded his head.

  “But right now,” she admitted, “all the evidence points to you.”

  “Hey,” he exclaimed, suddenly remembering, “That the dude in the fishing outfit and that stuffy suit were both there when Dillon freaked.”

  Sonja stopped cold, her mouth dropping open. “They were.”

  “Yeah, those other two guys,” he insisted. “Check them out before you book me.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Check them out before you book me?”

  “Book,” she whispered.

  “Ya’ know? That phrase police use?”

  “Book, of course,” Sonja gasped. “Why didn’t I think of that before?”

  CHAPTER 19

  * * *

  “We need to search outside,” Sonja insisted, walking out of the office and locking the door behind them.

  “Outside?” Brenda asked, her eyebrows twisting down in confusion.

  “That book,” Sonja insisted. “Dillon had a book with her when she came in right?”

  The restaurant owner took a moment to think. “You’re right, she did.”

  “And I didn’t find it in her bag when I went through it. So, where is it?”

  “She took it outsi
de with her,” Brenda exclaimed.

  “Exactly.”

  “But why take it outside with her? A nice book like that, you’d think she’d worry about ruining it in this rain.”

  “That’s what I thought at first, too,” Sonja admitted. “Why risk it getting ruined?” Sonja held up a finger, “But then I got to thinking, maybe there was more to that book than we originally thought.”

  “Like what?”

  Sonja shrugged. “I think I might have an idea.”

  * * *

  Stepping outside through the back door, Sonja was surprised to see the rain wasn’t coming down nearly as hard—more of a constant drizzle than a downpour.

  “Where should we start?” Brenda asked, pointing the flashlight around the side of the building.

  “Let’s try the dumpster first.”

  “Why the dumpster?”

  “That’s where Harvey claims he found the skull and the fur, right?”

  Brenda nodded. “But he was lying, right? He really stole them from the store.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. If he was telling the truth, why wouldn’t the killer dump the book there?”

  Standing next to the dumpster, the older woman hefted the lid open and shined the light over the piles of garbage inside. “Sonja,” she gasped. “You hit it right on the nose.”

  Peeking inside, Sonja instantly saw the leather-bound book laying near the top, the gold lettering of the name Poe glinting up at them.

  “Okay, help me up,” she asked, gripping the side of the wet trash receptacle and pulling herself in. Brenda pushed from behind, and soon Sonja leaned in far enough to grab the book and pull it out. To her surprise, it was fairly dry thanks to the closed lid of the dumpster. However, something else surprised her even more.

  The weight of the volume.

  “What is it?”

  “This is extremely light,” she noted. Opening the book, both women gasped. A large rectangular hole was cut out of the pages.

  “Why does it have a hole in it?”

  “It’s a hideaway,” Sonja informed her. “A place to hide something so other people wouldn’t know what she was carrying.”

  “But it’s empty now.”

  “Exactly. The killer took it.”

  Brenda shrugged. “What could it have been?”

  “I have a hunch,” Sonja commented, flipping the cut pages. A small white bookmark fell out of the book, the same one she remembered seeing Dillon playing with earlier.

  “What is that?”

  Bending down, Sonja picked it up, realizing it wasn’t just a bookmark—but a business card as well. It had black embossed lettering on the front as well as some scribbles from an ink pen on the back. Reading the information, she looked at Brenda. “I think I know who the real murderer is.”

  CHAPTER 20

  * * *

  Sonja and Brenda were about to walk back into the building since they’d propped open the door this time, when they spotted flickering blue and red lights pulling into the parking lot.

  Glancing up, Sonja squeaked with excitement. “It’s Frank!”

  The man in his full-length waterproof trench coat, wearing his hat with a plastic cover over it, stepped out of his police cruiser.

  She ran across the lot and gave him a hug, “you made it.”

  “Sonja,” he exclaimed in surprise. “I came as fast as I could after I got your message, but the torrential rain made it nearly impossible to get through, and we were still working on that car crash.”

  “I’m glad you made it,” she admitted. “It’s been terrible dealing with all of this without you.”

  “You said someone was killed?”

  Sonja nodded. “Another murder,” she informed him. “A young woman this time.”

  He sighed. “You were right about something else as well,” Frank told her, his expression growing grim. “The car accident up the road wasn’t an accident it all. I’ve got my deputies and the state trooper taking care of it as we speak.”

  Sonja gasped. “It wasn’t an accident?”

  “Seems your intuition was spot on, again,” he nodded. “After we got the fire put out, we checked out the engine. Even with the burn damage, we could make out that the brake lines had been cut, looked like with pliers or something.” He shook his head.

  Sonja’s eyes darted back and forth as she thought through everything that had happened that night. “I may know who committed both murders,” she admitted. “I’ll tell you about it while you look over the body.”

  Frank didn’t bother arguing with her this time.

  * * *

  “Thank goodness the police are finally here,” Byron sighed when he saw the sheriff walking in.

  “Yes, it’s about time,” Doctor Wallaby complained. “These two women of completely commandeered this situation. You should have them charged with obstructing justice and tampering with evidence.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” Sheriff Thompson insisted. “Not until I get a clearer picture of what is going on here.”

  “We have the murderer tied up in the back room,” Byron announced. “Take him away.”

  “Speaking of Harvey,” Sonja added, “He should be here for this.”

  “I’ll get him,” Frank offered.

  “This way, Sheriff,” Brenda nodded, leading the way to the back room.

  A moment later they brought Harvey out, completely untied, and sat him down with everyone else.

  “What the devil are you thinking?” the anchor stood up. “He’s a murderer. Why isn’t he in handcuffs?”

  “This is highly irregular,” the doctor complained.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” the news anchor spouted. “We all know who the murderer is, so what are we all waiting around for?”

  “Do we know who the murderer is?” Sonja asked, raising an eyebrow at Byron.

  “Of course, we do,” he argued. “You yourself said it was him.”

  Sonja shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she asserted. “I said it was possibly him, but I’ve noticed all evening that you were willing to point the finger and blame anyone else for the murder.”

  “I didn’t do it if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Sonja shook her head.

  “I didn’t even have an opportunity,” he insisted. “Heck, that friend of yours can vouch for me.”

  “Actually,” Sonja noted, “You two weren’t together the entire time.” She shook her head and turned to Alison. “How long were you in the store by yourself before the power went out?”

  “That’s right,” Ally remembered. “I was in there for ten, maybe fifteen minutes?”

  She turned back to Byron. “Plenty of time for you to sneak out, kill Dillon, and sneak back in.”

  “How could I?” he protested, putting his hands on his hips. “The front door rings when you go in and out. Someone would have heard me.”

  “You didn’t. You took the back door. P.J. was asleep in the break room and Brenda and I were cooking in the kitchen. You could have easily gone down that hallway and out the door without anyone knowing.”

  “But that door locks from the inside,” he argued. “I would have gotten stuck out there.”

  “Exactly,” Sonja pointed out. “Only someone who had gone out those doors would know that they lock.”

  “That’s true,” Doctor Wallaby commented. “When I left to go to my car and get my glasses earlier, I used the back door closest to the men’s bathroom. It was locked when I finally got back to the building.”

  At this, Byron choked a little, obviously grasping at what to say next. “That doesn’t prove anything. Maybe I went out that way earlier, just like the doctor.”

  Sonja nodded. “Maybe you did. That’s the only way you’d know to prop it open tonight when you went to kill Dillon. That’s why there was that bag of flour next to the door, am I right?”

  “This is ridiculous,” he barked. “You can’t prove I did anything.”

 
That’s when Sonja reached under her poncho and pulled out the book of stories by Edgar Alan Poe.

  The man’s eyes widened.

  “Did you think no one would find this?” she opened the book and flipped through the pages, showing the hole inside. Sonja pulled a dollar bill from her pocket, unfolded it, and held it up to the hole for size. “A perfect fit.”

  “So what?” he barked. “The girl was smuggling money or something? Probably stolen.”

  “No,” Sonja shook her head. “Not stolen. Your money that you gave her.”

  “I can’t believe this,” he shouted. “She’s completely insane.” He looked at the other faces in the room, seeking anyone to side with him. “Doesn’t anyone believe me?”

  That’s when Sonja held up the card. “This business card has your name on it. A card you gave to Dillon on one of the nights you were investigating the bar she was working at? You were doing a series on crime in bars and night clubs, correct?”

  “So what? What does my news story have to do with any of this?”

  “On the back of the card it says: If you don’t pay me $10,000, I’ll send the pictures to the police station.

  “You can’t prove anything,” she snapped. “Not a thing.”

  “What happened, Byron? Did she catch you participating in one of the crime rings at her bar? Did she use her phone to take pictures of you? Something like that? Either way, somehow this young woman ended up with incriminating photos of you.”

  “You can’t prove anything without those photos.”

  “So they exist?” Frank asked, folding his arms.

  “Of course not,” Byron argued.

  “Are you sure that if we searched your bag right now, that we wouldn’t find the money and the pictures? Both of which were probably in this book?”

  “You can’t search me without a warrant.”

  “Unless I have probable cause,” Frank announced, “Which I do.” Stepping forward, Frank was prepared to take the man’s bag which he had sitting next to him.