Hot Buttered Murder (Wicked Waffle Paranormal Cozy Mysteries Book 1)
Page 6
Sitting up from her relaxed position, she looked Frank in the eye. “You think he didn’t leave?”
“I don’t know for sure. I just wanted to double check. If I remember correctly, Kirk Daniels is a bit of a firecracker.”
“You can say that again. He was in here yelling his head off and making threats.”
Frank raised an eyebrow and placed his hands on her arms. “He threatened you?”
“Yeah, he was claiming he had some sort of right to this estate, or at least part of it.”
This made Frank pause. He leaned back in thought. “What in the world makes him think that?”
Sonja shrugged. “I’m not completely sure. At dinner, Grendel said something about forgiving Belinda for changing her mind. Before she could say anything else, Gram sort of silenced her. It was a total hush hush situation.”
Frank hummed inquisitively, stroking his scruffy chin. “That is strange.”
“It seems like there is some secret Belinda decided not to clue me in on.”
“Do you have any idea what it could mean?”
Sonja glanced toward the door to double check nobody was listening. “When Daniels was here, something about a clause in the will came up,” Sonja whispered.
“Are you serious? The will?”
“That’s what Grendel said, but again she tried to keep the fact that she’d slipped up hidden.”
Frank was tapping his index finger against his lips thoughtfully.
“What is it?”
“Earlier when I got a ride back to town with Mr. Hanratty, he mentioned needing to file some paperwork. I wonder if he was updating Belinda’s will.”
“That was my thought, too,” she agreed.
“But the question is, what was the will before, and what did she change it to now?”
“I’m sure she had to change it, seeing as I was taking over the estate here and she was keeping her bank accounts, you know?”
“She’d have to. There is no way she could leave it the way it was.”
Sonja shifted forward until her face was close to his, dropping her voice to an even lower whisper. “When Belinda became the sole heir to the estate and family fortune, after her step-mother died, she really didn’t have any friends at the time.”
“And you think she wrote up her will just leaving everything to her house employees?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Until something else came up, they were as close as she had to a family. I mean, Gram used to tell her stories to put her to sleep and Grendel participated in all of Belinda’s seances and parlor games. I bet she added them to the will, at least in part.”
“But why write them out, then?
Sonja pursed her lips. “Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she just cut down on their share.”
“And Daniels?”
“I’ll bet while Belinda was doing all this work to shift things over to me, that she realized that he had been included in the will she’d drawn up.”
“She told you he was in the will?”
“I’m only speculating.”
“I see.”
“However, he got fired not that long after Belinda inherited the estate.”
“I thought he quit.”
“Either way, it’s the same. And it doesn’t matter if he’s in the will or not now. The point is, maybe he was in the will. However, Belinda gives up the manor house to me and he shows up and starts making problems, thinking he can weasel his way back in somehow.”
“Who would call him and tell him that you were taking over?” he asked.
Sonja paused as she considered this. “I have no idea.”
Standing up, Frank adjusted his jacket. “If I get an extra second, maybe I’ll have a look at that will.”
Sonja looked up at him. “I admit, I’m probably more curious than you, but why? You have a murder case on your hands. That’s more important than a family squabble.”
“I know, but I don’t like anyone making threats against you. If Daniels is going to be a potential danger, I want to know what’s going on. I can’t have another murder on my hands because some entitled and hot-headed guy came into town.”
“You don’t think—”
Frank put up his hands to silence her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t think you’re in any real danger, but I do want you to be careful. Daniels may not be a murderer, but he does have a temper like a volcano.”
Sonja put her hand on her chest. “Don’t spook me like that. It’s strange enough sleeping in a new place without thinking there is someone stalking me.” She didn’t even want to mention the potential ghost in the cottage attic.
“Sorry. If it makes you feel better, I’m going to be on call tonight. If something does happen, don’t hesitate to dial me.”
“Trust me. I won’t.”
“Good to hear,” he replied, leaning down and kissing her. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll give you a call in the morning. Hopefully I’m a little further on this case by then.”
“Speaking of, do you have any new leads?”
“Not really, no. Kara Bran’s mother is flying into Denver tomorrow and driving up, but even when I interviewed her over the phone, the woman couldn’t think up a single person who might want her daughter dead. I’m seriously at a loss.”
“I hope you come up with something soon.”
Frank tilted his head, remembering something. “Well, I may actually have a lead pretty soon.” He folded his arms and looked down at her. “Earlier you mentioned that you had an idea about who wrote that note.”
Sonja couldn’t help but swallow nervously. She knew it was the right thing to tell him.
“Well,” he asked with an expectant tone.
Sonja hesitated. “Belinda. I think Belinda Smith wrote it.”
CHAPTER 13
* * *
Once Frank left, Sonja got to thinking. Maybe Belinda’s will and Kara Bran’s murder were somehow connected.
It was probably a long shot, but it was worth considering. After all, if Belinda really did send Kara to find Sonja, what could the possible reason be? Was Kara an old staff member looking to collect money? Was she an old friend of the family?
Honestly, Sonja didn’t know much about the victim.
Frank hadn’t said much in response to Sonja’s revelation, and that only led her to believe even harder that there might be a connection between this recent murder and the estate.
More than ever, she was curious what the old and new will said—if in fact the will had been changed. All she had at the moment was hearsay and speculation. She needed something more concrete.
Unfortunately, she was so worn out from the move, she knew she wasn’t going to get a whole lot done, at least that night. She wanted nothing more than to relax with a book for a few minutes and fall asleep.
Standing up from the settee, Sonja glanced around at the library. As with all the other rooms she’d seen in the manor, this one was lavishly decorated in deep woods and rich colors. Old relics adorned the walls where shelves of books didn’t reside, most likely some personal collection of the late Mr. Smith. There were old looking tribal masks, decorative spears, bows, arrows, and a long thin flute of some kind. She looked over the plethora of books, wondering if there might be anything in there that would interest her.
The first thing her keen eye noticed was that most of the books were non-fiction covering the topics of the natural sciences, history, and warfare. In some ways, it was a true man’s library. There didn’t appear to be one title she wanted to read among the many hundreds of volumes along the walls.
The second thing she noticed was a hole. As far as she could tell, every single one of the shelves were filled to capacity with books, all except for this one slot.
Walking across the room past a sitting table, she looked at the absent space where a book probably had been. A quick study of the titles as on shelves above and below revealed that everything was arranged in alphabetical order.
Turning to scan the room, she wondered if the title in question had been left out somewhere. Sure enough, she spotted an old book sitting on a glass coffee table. That had to be it.
Moving over, she picked it up and read the title. Aboriginal Tribes from Around the World.
“What the heck?” she muttered. This wasn’t the right book. It couldn’t be. The title started with an A, not a P.
A ribbon was set on one of the pages and Sonja opened it. The chapter marked was all about ancient hunting techniques used by tribes in various parts of the world. Nothing that she had a personal interest in.
Shaking her head, she glanced over toward where the “A” section should be. Where she hadn’t noticed it before, there was a second empty slot. Walking over, she slipped the book into place and heard a light clicking noise.
Turning around, she expected someone to be standing there, but was surprised to see just an empty room staring back at her. “Oh, well,” she whispered to herself.
She was even more exhausted than before and decided to forgo finding a book to read and instead just headed back to the cottage to catch some sleep. It was her day off from the diner the next morning, but she still had a ton of unpacking to do.
Walking out of the room, she turned off the lights, plunging the assortment of books into darkness.
* * *
Crossing the small garden which separated the main house from the cottage, Sonja spotted the black and white dressed figure coming out of the side door, duffle bag in hand. “Grendel,” she called.
“Oh, hello Miss Sonja,” the elderly woman returned the greeting.
As Sonja got closer, she glanced down at the bag. “One more thing you forgot?”
“Yes, a few clothes I left behind in my closet. I suppose I’m not near as neat or organized as Gram seems to be.”
Sonja smiled. “I’m sure you are. Thanks for all your help tonight.”
“You are quite welcome, Miss.”
“Well, I’m off to bed. I hope you’ll be comfortable in the downstairs of the manor.”
She smiled and nodded. “Quite. I also just finished turning down your bed in the master bedroom for you. I left a chocolate and a fresh flower on the pillow.”
Sonja still was getting used to all this. “You didn’t have to do that. This isn’t a hotel.”
“I did it for Miss Belinda every night of her life.”
“Seriously?” she asked, having a hard time imagining that kind of service all the time.
“She liked it, and my chocolates are homemade—the absolute best,” she waved a proud finger.
“Then I can’t wait to taste it.”
“I think you’ll be impressed. I can be quite the wiz in that kitchen when I want to be.”
“I don’t doubt it after that dinner.”
“Well, enjoy. Goodnight,” Grendel waved a goodbye, heading back to the manor.
“Goodnight,” Sonja said, walking to the side door and into the cottage.
Except for one soft table lamp in the living room, the house was dark. Sonja wished she had done more unpacking so she wouldn’t have the chance of tripping on a box or stray item she’d overlooked.
Fumbling along the wall, she finally found the overhead light and switched it on, illuminating the cluttered room.
At almost the same instance, the meowing started up again. It was Misty yowling, and Sonja bet she knew where it was coming from. Shifting carefully across the house, she came to the stairway and headed up.
Just as she had suspected, her ghost of a cat was in front of the attic door meowing its head off. “What is it?” she groaned.
The cat glanced at her and then back at the door, never once stopping in his music.
“I’m way too exhausted to go nosing around up there tonight.”
As if he understood Sonja, he only yelled louder. She had a feeling he wasn’t going to let up all night until she did what he wanted.
“Alright, I’ll do it, but I’ll need some coffee first,” she informed the little ghost. Heading downstairs, she hoped she could find her French press.
CHAPTER 14
* * *
After having two cups of triple scoop coffee, Sonja was buzzing. It was a strange feeling of weariness mixed with alertness. It wasn’t perfect but would have to do. Picking up her tarot deck off the side table in the living room, she headed back upstairs.
Misty was waiting expectantly in front of the door, almost as if she were alive and couldn’t get through.
Sonja hesitated for a second, wondering just what she was getting into. The last time she had actively been pursuing ghosts was when all those murders had happened. She hoped she wasn’t about to walk into that kind of situation again. By opening that door to the attic, what sort of other dark portals might she be opening?
Sonja bore down, finding her confidence. She knew she couldn’t worry about it. If she spent her entire life frightened of her own powers as a clairvoyant, she would never be able to do anything without having to always stop.
It had been a year since her last significant encounter with the paranormal world, and she’d mostly been hiding from those things, partially for Frank’s sake. Now was the time to put fear aside and use her abilities as they were intended.
Reaching out, her hand trembling slightly, she opened the door.
Misty meowed and bounded off in the opposite direction, vanishing down the staircase. “Oh, sure. Leave me alone, why don’t you?” she complained.
The stairway inside was skinny and had a middle landing, turning at a right angle up into the musty smelling storage area. Much to Sonja’s relief, there was a light switch on the wall nearby. Flipping it to the on position, she glanced up the lengthy stairway. The dim yellow light fixture on the wall, fashioned to look like an old oil lamp, came on.
Clutching her tarot deck to her chest, almost as if it would protect her, she started up the creaking steps into the attic. Once at the top, she surveyed the room before her. There were two additional lamps, identical to the one in the stairwell, on opposite walls.
Sonja had assumed the light would make her feel more comfortable being in the dusty old room, but it made her feel worse. The dim bulbs created shadows among the stacked boxes and covered furniture. The dust and cobwebs were so thick, and some of the items so old, she wondered if anyone had even been up here in the last ten years or more.
“Okay,” she whispered, stepping in between the stored items and finally finding a spot on the floor that was open enough for what she wanted to do. Pulling over an old moth-eaten pillow from the top of a box, she took a seat on the floorboards and brushed the dust aside.
Now, she just needed to remember how to do this. According to accounts online, some people liked to light a candle or ring a bell before beginning a reading. Others liked to use a decorative square cloth to place the cards on.
Sonja didn’t have the items for that, so she was working with what she had.
Slipping the still new cards out of the box, she began to shuffle them back and forth, trying to transfer some of her “spiritual energy” into the cards, the way that the little manual in the box had said.
She would be lying if she said she didn’t feel silly. Still, a few years ago and she would have said anyone who believed in ghosts was silly. Now, she had a firm conviction that they existed.
When it felt right, she stopped shuffling and held the deck in one hand. She was going to try a three card draw, or as the book called it—a three card spread.
The first card would represent the current problem at hand. The second was an offered suggestion of how to deal with the problem. The final card was the outcome if she followed the advice.
“Okay, let’s do this,” she whispered, looking around herself. “If there really is any sort of energy or spirit up here, please guide my answers so I can know better
what it is you want.”
Closing her eyes, she concentrated, drawing the first card and setting it face-up in front of herself. Gasping, she looked down at the image of a grim reaper. It was only the first card and she already had come up with the Death card.
“Alright,” she muttered in an uncomfortable tone. “So, whoever you are, you died here—I’m assuming in the attic.” She waited a moment to see if there was any response.
Nothing.
This was her more recent experience with the supernatural. Ghosts only spoke in subtle whispers and hints.
Next card, then. Sonja drew and flipped the card face-up next to the other one. On it was the picture of a wizard decked out in oranges and browns—the magician. Sonja tried to remember what the card meant. If she was correct, one of the interpretations for the magician was awareness.
“Awareness, so I’m supposed to be more aware of my surroundings?” she looked around at all the boxes. Perhaps it meant there was a clue right here in the attic. She tried to become more present in her surroundings. The distinct smell of must and rot was apparent and coming from somewhere.
“One more card,” she said, drawing the third card. It was the Four of Pentacles. The image had four autumn leaves coming out of a chest, each with a pentacle drawn on them. This was where Sonja got a little stumped. It was hard for her to remember the numbered suits and their meanings.
One of the suggestions from the book said, when you were stumped on a meaning, try to interpret the reading by the image. She paused, looking closer at the picture—at the chest. “Something in this attic, and maybe it’s in a chest?” she wondered out loud. That was the closest answer she could come up with.
Standing up, she looked around the room, but didn’t readily see any chests. Sighing, she realized she felt ridiculous. Why in the world would some random cards tell her that a chest in the attic was related to someone’s death?
Sitting back down, she felt something catch on her shirt and scrape her back. “Ow,” she complained, turning to see what it was.
Pausing in shock, she held her breath. Directly behind her was a large red travel chest. The latch had snagged her shirt.