Sonja nodded, her eyes sad. “Makes sense.”
“Anyway, being alone for so long probably means that she hasn’t had the chance to develop an extensive skill set, poor thing.”
“So you think it might be tough for her to get a job?”
“Precisely,” the pastor nodded.
“And that’s why it’s so sad that her inheritance went to someone else,” Sonja deduced.
“Indeed. I would imagine that the estate reverts back to Belinda, now that Ronda has passed away.”
Passed away. That was such a understated way of speaking about someone who had been murdered.
“That’s what I assumed.”
Sonja felt more certain of her course at this point. If there was a suspect worth pursuing it would certainly be Belinda Smith. Another question, a question that had been turning over and over in her mind since her last conversation with Pastor Williams, popped into her mind once more.
“Did you say that Belinda can see ghosts?”
“No, I said that she thinks she can see ghosts. As a man of the Lord, I am well aware that there are both positive and negative entities in the spiritual realm that we don’t fully understand, but ghosts? No, definitely not. Not in the “BOO” haunted house style that Belinda seems to believe in.”
“Oh?”
“Belinda is unstable,” he admitted reluctantly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up in an institution someday.”
“Unstable?”
“She has a habit of taking her spiritualism too far, sometimes. She truly believes it, but I fear that her sense of reality gets mixed up. She had even forgotten her own father at times. She just didn’t recognize him,” he explained, compassion coloring his gaze.
“Wow.”
Sonja had only known Belinda for a short time, during their first year of elementary school. After that, Belinda had disappeared into the mansion on top of the mountain. Thinking back, she realized that the pastor was correct - Belinda had always seemed a little bit “off.”
“However, it is my hope that we—as a community—can prevent her from ending up being institutionalized.”
“How could we do that?”
“We should be reaching out to her, showing her that she has friends who care and will help her transition into an entirely new life.”
“I don’t want to sound pessimistic or anything, Pastor, but if she never interacted with or contributed to the community, do you honestly think that the community would bother trying to help her out?” Sonja asked, a little embarrassed at her bold honesty.
Pastor Williams pursed his lips. “Young lady, I’m disheartened to hear that you think so little of your fellow citizens. Helping those in need is the work of the Lord,” he chided, making her feel about an inch tall.
“I’m sorry, Pastor, I was just suggesting that there might be some in the community who are opposed to helping out,” she shrugged. “After all, that is why I’m visiting Belinda. I want to offer my support.”
He looked at her carefully for a moment, then nodded.
Sonja stood, feeling guilty.
“I’d better get going. I still have some errands to run,” she said, forcing a smile.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning to move items out to the diner?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ll be here.” Sonja turned to go and felt something slip slightly under her shoe. It was a document of some sort. “Looks like you missed one,” she said, bending to pick it up.
Pastor Williams darted around the desk, moving faster than she’d thought he could, and scooped up the paper.
“Thank you,” he folded it and tucked it quickly into his pocket, but, even with just a tiny glimpse, Sonja thought she might have an idea what the paper might be.
Chapter 10
Once Sonja was back in her car, she pulled out her phone and dialed the police station. The phone rang three times before Marie answered. “Haunted Falls Police Department. How can I help you?”
“Marie, it’s Sonja.”
“Hi, Sonja, whatcha need, hon?”
“I was just wondering, is Sheriff Thompson in?”
“Yup, just a moment.” The line clicked, and went quiet. A moment later, Sheriff Thompson picked up.
“Sheriff Thompson here.”
“Sheriff, it’s Sonja.”
The Sheriff paused, sounding annoyed when he replied.
“What can I do for you?”
“Did you know that Belinda Smith stands to inherit the entire estate now that Ronda is dead?”
Sheriff Thompson sighed. “I can’t see how any of this is any of your business, young lady, but I can assure you that whatever information that you think you may have, we had it long before you did.”
“Well, have you checked out Belinda Smith at all? She should be your number one suspect,” Sonja insisted, frustrated that she wasn’t being taken seriously.
Another heavy sigh preceded the Sheriff’s response.
“Sonja, look. I know you’re upset about your father’s arrest,” he began, losing his patience.
“Have you looked into Belinda Smith?” Sonja demanded again.
“We’ve questioned several folks in the course of this investigation, and we’ll question several more, and you’re not entitled to any information about any of it,” the Sheriff declared firmly. “Now, I already know you tried to get information out of Marie. If this were any other police station, and if she hadn’t worked with me my entire career as Sheriff, she could have been fired.”
Sonja felt a pang of guilt about getting Marie involved, but she had needed some information.
“My father is innocent,” she said, hoping that it was true.
“We have evidence that suggests otherwise,” was the grim reply.
“You mean the gun that was used to kill Ronda?”
“Who told you about that?” he demanded, clearly angry now.
Sonja smiled. Her tactic had worked. “You just did, Sheriff.”
There was a long pause. “I need you to stop. If your father is innocent, we will find that out. In the meantime, you need to stop poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Don’t call me again, Sonja,” he warned.
Sonja sighed, frustrated. Alison was a possible suspect. She didn’t even want to think about that but, her friend definitely had a motive, after Ronda tried to blackmail her. Thankfully, the police didn’t know about that, and Sonja certainly didn’t see Alison as a killer either.
But, if Alison she was being blackmailed…maybe other people in town were also being blackmailed. Maybe even Belinda.
“Okay, but just one more thing,” she said quickly, so that the Sheriff didn’t hang up on her. “Do you know of any blackmail cases involving Belinda Smith?”
“No, I don’t. And even if we had them on file I wouldn’t have the liberty to share them with you.”
“Maybe you could double check your files?”
“Sonja, let me make this crystal clear…I have real evidence to consider at the moment, and more investigating to do. I don’t have time for your speculation.” Sheriff Thompson said sternly. “And if I find out that you are still snooping around, after I’ve told you more than once to stop, I’ll have to arrest you on charges of impeding an investigation. Do you understand that?”
Sonja paused, her heart pumping angrily in her chest. She took a few breaths. “Alright. I understand.”
“Good.”
“I just have one more question.”
Sheriff Thompson sighed. “What?” he barked.
“Do churches usually keep birth certificates on file?”
* * *
Sonja drove toward Smith Manor, just as the storm that had been threatening made its appearance. She wondered if she could potentially find the crash site where Ronda went off the road. After scoping out the site of the crash, assuming she found it, she then wanted to talk to Belinda and maybe some of the household staff. She just hoped to get to the crash site before everything was completely washed
away by the awful weather.
Parking near the bottom of the incline where the road to Smith Manor started, Sonja pulled out her mother’s emergency poncho from the glove box and headed out into the rainy woods on foot. If the car had gone over the embankment it could have landed in the wild area just off the road. A small stream ran through the area, winding in between trees, grass, and bushes. As the rain came down harder, the little stream began to swell.
Sonja thought of her father sitting in jail, and thought about Alison being blackmailed by Ronda Smith. Was her father also being blackmailed? Her father had left town many years before Ronda had even come on the scene though, so that theory didn’t even begin to make sense. Things just weren’t adding up.
As Sonja made her way through some thick brush, she saw something that made her heart skip a beat. The car was on its side crumpled against a tree. The sunroof was shattered, jagged shards of glass surrounding the gaping hole. If Ronda had been alive after the accident, that was probably how she got out of the car…or how the killer had gotten in.
Suddenly, she realized that Ronda couldn’t have been killed in the crash. If she had died in the accident, her murderer wouldn’t have needed to use a gun. Sonja stepped closer to the car and looked at the broken sunroof. There were dark stains on the glass. Ronda must have cut herself getting out of the car. Maybe there were also blood stains on the ground that would allow her to track the woman’s progress after the accident. Sonja turned, scanning the ground around the car.
Everything was wet. Any evidence that was here was probably long gone. Sonja clenched her teeth in frustration as she stood in the pouring rain, then, something caught her eye. As the stream began to swell something seemed to float to the top. Sonja headed over and noticed it was a dirty piece of brown cloth. She reached down into the water and grabbed it. It was stuck on something. She tugged and pulled, giving it everything she had, and the next thing she knew she was getting splashed with a face full of water and falling backward into the mud, as whatever had been holding the cloth in place became unsnagged. Fortunately, the poncho kept her mostly clean and dry, despite her tumble. Sonja held up the cloth and realized there was a lot more than just a single piece of cloth there. It was a long brown trench coat, and it had been buried underneath the dirt beside the stream. The rain had washed away the soil covering it.
Chapter 11
Sonja put the trench coat in the back of her car and then headed up towards the Smith mansion. She would take the coat to the Sheriff in the morning, and if he arrested her, so be it. She at least had a piece of evidence that he and his two deputies hadn’t found, and if it happened to be the one piece of evidence that cleared her father, it would be well worth enduring his wrath. She didn’t even want to consider the alternative. Peeling off the muddy poncho before diving back into her car, she threw it in the trunk with the trench coat.
The road to the mansion was wet and treacherous. It was no surprise that Ronda ended up accidently going off the edge if she had been driving in weather like this. Sonja finally crested the hill and saw the main house, huge, black and looming from the top of the mountain, its darkened windows like soulless eyes. She drove through the open gate, up the long driveway, past bushes, trees, and ornately sculpted gardens, to the front steps.
She rang the doorbell, and after a moment, a member of the staff appeared, dressed in the most stereotypical maid outfit Sonja had ever seen. Black dress, white apron, sensible shoes—the works. She stared in amazement wondering why the Smiths made her dress that way.
“Yes, may I help you, ma’am?” the woman asked tonelessly, apparently choosing to overlook the visitor’s bedraggled state.
“Uh, yes. I was wondering if Belinda was home?”
“She is, but she is otherwise engaged at the moment,” was the formal answer.
“Would it be okay if I just waited here until she’s available?” Sonja had not worked up the courage to get this far, only to be turned away now.
“Well, you’ll have to wait until she’s done with her meeting,” the woman opened the door to let her pass and gestured to a small wooden bench in the grand foyer.
“Alright,” Sonja said, stepping in and taking a seat. She wondered who Belinda might be meeting with.
“So, you do séances with Belinda?” Sonja asked the maid, grinning.
The maid stopped and raised an eyebrow, her mouth quirking a bit in the corner as she tried not to smile. “I humor her sometimes, yes.”
“You don’t believe in ghosts?”
“No, but it seems to make Miss Belinda happy,” she shrugged, seeming to relax.
“Ah, I see. That’s sweet of you to do that. She and everyone around here must be so upset about her stepmom’s death. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be.”
“You certainly feel free to ask personal questions, don’t you?” the maid inquired, with seemingly equal parts of disdain and admiration.
“I’m just naturally curious and conversational, I guess.”
“Well, the house is a lot quieter since she’s been gone. Miss Belinda is a much kinder mistress than her stepmother was,” the woman confided in a low voice.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” she nodded emphatically. “The late Mrs. Smith was…a difficult woman to live with, but she paid us fairly at least, though it’s not much of a sacrifice to spend someone else’s money,” she pursed her lips in disapproval.
“And the night she died?”
“I was having a séance with Belinda in the study.”
“Why did she want to have the séance?”
“She was trying to talk to her dead father, poor dear.”
* * *
After the maid realized that she had probably said far more than she should have, and scurried away, Sonja sat in the hall for about ten minutes before the door to the study opened and a tall man with an obvious toupee stepped out.
“Thank you, Miss Smith,” the man said. A woman, Sonja assumed was Belinda, sat in a chair near the fire inside the study.
“Take care, Mr. Daniels,” Belinda replied softly.
“Mr. Daniels?” Sonja repeated, standing up.
She recognized the name and disliked him immediately. This man was Ronda Smith’s personal assistant, the one who had helped his boss blackmail Alison and Alex by pumping Alex for information.
“Yes?” Mr. Daniels closed the door on the study. Sonja caught a glimpse of Belinda staring at her just before the door shut. She felt a sudden shiver up and down her spine.
“I’m Sonja Reed,” she said, holding out a hand.
Mr. Daniels shook her hand. “What can I do for you,” he asked, peering at her closely from behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“I heard you were Ronda Smith’s assistant.”
“I was, yes. Did you know Ronda?”
“Not personally, no. I was just wondering, how long did you work for Ronda before she died?”
“You mean before she was murdered,” he said matter-of-factly. “Why on earth would you think to ask me something like that at a time like this?”
“I’m just hoping that everything can be resolved quickly…for the family’s sake. This must be so tough on Belinda.”
“Well, I don’t see why it matters, or what business it is of yours, but I actually quit working for Mrs. Smith a week before she died.”
“Quit? Why?” she employed the doe-eyed innocence tactic, and he wasn’t fooled for a second.
“Personal reasons,” he said sharply.
Sonja blinked mildly. “I get it,” she nodded. “Did you find a better opportunity?”
“What are you, some sort of junior investigator? You seem fairly interested in me, for never having met me or Mrs. Smith,” his eyes narrowed.
“I’m actually working for an independent news journal online,” Sonja lied. “I’ve been asked to gather information for an upcoming article. Sort of a tribute to the Smith family,” she shrugged.
“Well, this family—or what’s le
ft of it,” he motioned towards the study, “doesn’t need your publicity.”
“Or perhaps it’s you who doesn’t need publicity?”
“Just precisely what is that supposed to mean?” Mr. Daniels demanded, nostrils flaring.
“I’m just saying that I’d be pretty nervous if I were in your shoes. You quit, and then a week later Mrs. Smith dies? Sounds pretty suspicious to me,” Sonja dropped the innocent act, going for the jugular, but smiling sweetly while doing so.
“How dare you? You’re not half as smart as you think you are, you sniveling upstart. I happen to have a rock-solid alibi, not that I need one. I was in Denver that night, getting sloppy drunk.”
“Trying to forget your guilt?” Sonja challenged, raising an eyebrow.
“What are you talking about?” he hissed, glancing around as if hoping that no one had heard her.
“You had to feel guilty for digging up dirt on everyone in town, and assisting in blackmail. Unless of course you’re as evil as she was.” Sonja was hoping that if this man was indeed capable of murder, that he wouldn’t employ his murderous tendencies at this precise moment.
Daniels’ face flushed red with fury. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t have to stand here and listen to this.”
He pushed past her, swung the front door open, and stepped out into the storm.
* * *
The maid opened the door to the study and let Sonja in after Daniels stormed out.
“A reporter from the online journal is here to see you,” she announced.
The maid must have overheard her talking to Mr. Daniels, and as she closed the door, Sonja noticed that she was giving her a strange look—what Sonja’s mother would call “the evil eye.” Was that some sort of warning? Don’t get too nosy? Don’t ask too many questions? Perhaps she was just overly protective of the last remaining Smith heir.
The Wicked Waffle: Book 1 in The Diner of the Dead Series Page 6
