Sonja’s jaw dropped. “He refused to take you? He told us you and the kids chose not to come along.”
“Nothing of the sort. He marched out the door leaving us behind. The kids cried for hours.” Scooping out a ladle full of hot chocolate, she poured a mug for Sonja and set it in front of her. “I thought about calling your mother, asking for a ride over, but I just couldn’t bare it at the time.”
“Oh, you should have. We would have loved to have you there,” Sonja responded.
“Well, either way. Your mother called me to say that my father wasn’t feeling well and would be staying the night thanks to the storm. In some way, I was relieved. I assumed that his temper was just a result of whatever winter bug he came down with.”
“I sure hope so too.”
“But now,” Shauna paused, her eyes reddening with tears, “he hasn’t come home. If he isn’t at your house, and he isn’t here, where is he?”
“I’m not sure,” Sonja muttered. More than ever, she felt worried about what could possibly be happening.
“Mommy?” a quiet voice came from the hall.
“Oh dear, Sandy’s awake.” Standing up, she approached the small blonde haired child standing in the doorway. “What is it, sweetie?”
“Is grandpa here?” she asked.
“No sweetie, he’s not.”
The amateur sleuth felt somewhat bad for coming to the home, under slightly false pretenses, to get information.
“Wait, what is this?” Shauna’s tone turned serious, removing something from her daughter’s hand.
“Nothing,” the four-year-old lied.
Leaning over, Sonja noticed a small bottle of red nail polish. “You know you’re not supposed to have this. You know you’re not supposed to go into mommy’s things.”
“I-I’m sorry,” the girl muttered.
“Get back to bed. We’ll talk about this later.”
The girl slinked shamefully down the hall and back into the bedroom. Shauna set the bottle on the table and took a seat. “Sorry about that. Ever since she spilled polish on the carpet back home last month, we’ve had to keep her out of my makeup.”
“Last month?” Sonja raised one eyebrow.
“Yeah, we’ve banned her from all makeup until she’s older.”
“But,” Sonja wondered aloud, “Your father told me that she did his nails.”
Shauna shook her head. “Not on this trip.”
Multiple thoughts snapped together in her mind at once. “I’m sorry, I really must be going,” she insisted. “Thanks for the hot chocolate.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“Nothing at all, Shauna. I’m getting Frank and were going to go out and look for your father.”
CHAPTER 16
* * *
On her way to the car, Sonja called her boyfriend and insisted he meet her at her mother’s place as soon as possible. Reluctantly, Frank agreed, saying he just needed to tie a few things up at the crime scene first.
Thanking him profusely, Sonja hung up and rushed to get home. The snow had really picked up again, and Sonja wondered if they might have another storm like the night before. She was grateful to make it to her mother’s house just as the snow seemed to be hitting hardest again. Running inside, she quickly asked her mother for help, getting out a punch bowl, and a few ingredients.
Just as Frank stepped into the room, she and Diane had completed making a fresh batch of punch—just like the kind they had at the party the previous evening.
“This better be good, Sonj’,” Frank pointed as he stepped into the dining room. “If it weren’t for your good track record, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Put your hands in the punch,” she insisted without explanation.
“What?” he muttered.
“Just do it,” she pleaded.
Shrugging his shoulder, Frank obeyed. “All right. But this better be good.” Slipping his hand into the icy cold liquid, he waited for further instruction.
“Just keep them there for a minute, k’?”
“Sonja, what does this have to do with the murders? And it’s cold, by the way.”
“Just hold on,” she raised one hand, forcing him to stop talking.
After about sixty seconds she nodded her head. “Okay, take them out and dry them on the towel.”
He did as she asked, whipping his hands.
“Now show me.”
Raising one hand for her to examine, she looked closely at his fingernails. “I knew it,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Your fingernails are stained orange, just like Dick’s.”
Frank quickly raised his own hand up and looked at it. “Sonja, you’re right. Just like his nails looked last night when we helped him upstairs.”
“I think he’s the murderer, Frank.”
The uniformed man shrugged. “I think we’d need a little more evidence than colored nails to bring him in.”
“I have more,” she asserted herself. “First, we thought it couldn’t be him because he was in the bathroom at the time of the murder, but someone came in and mentioned it was freezing cold in the bathroom after we took Richard up to bed.”
“It’s true,” Diane chimed in. “I realized I’d accidently left the window cracked open.”
“No, you didn’t mom,” Sonja corrected. “Dick opened it. I realized it when I noticed the back window of the Hinkley farmhouse was also left cracked. I believe, in both cases, that he opened them to climb through. During the party, he climbed out the bathroom window and ran up to the next house, found Sam there getting ready in his Santa suit, and drowned him in the punch.”
Frank took a seat at the table. “This is all great speculation, Sonja. However, none of it’s enough to make an arrest. Heck, Dick doesn’t even have a motive.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Sonja pulled out her cell phone and held it up triumphantly.
“Your cell phone?”
“Dick used it to make two phone calls the day of the murder. The first was to his remote voicemail box. The second was to his lawyer. When he stomped angrily out of the dinner that morning was right after those two calls.”
“I hope you have more than that,” Frank noted.
“I do,” she replied triumphantly. “I listened to his voicemail he received that day.” Pushing the dial button, she put the phone on speaker mode.
Soon, a voice came on. “Hey, Dick. It’s James, your lawyer. I need you to call me as soon as possible. Sam’s changed his will. The NPSW isn’t getting a cent. Without that money, I’m afraid the local sector will be dissolved indefinitely.” The message ended and Sonja hung up.
“Without the inheritance, Dick would be out of a job, and all the hard work he’s put in over the years for the NPSW would be wasted. He was furious. This gives him motive, he had the means, and the orange nails place him at the scene of the crime.”
A sudden loud bang made everyone jump, and a huge gust of snowy wind blew into the house. Turning, everyone looked at a strange and skeletal looking figure standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Very astute, Sonja,” a bitter and cold voice echoed. “You’ve figured me out.”
Stepping into the room, the dimness of the Christmas lights hung around the doorframe illuminated his face. If Sonja hadn’t looked twice, she wouldn’t have recognized it as Dick. More than ever, it looked as if he was just wasting away. His cheeks appeared sunken in, his eyes were like two black holes, and his skin was so pale that you might almost miss him against the snowy backdrop. In his right hand was a strange moon shaped knife.
“Richard,” Frank replied, going to stand up. “I think you need to go to a hospital.”
“Don’t bother, Sheriff,” he nodded with the blade, stepping farther into the room. “If you go for your gun I’m going to try and kill somebody. It’s just up to whether it’s your girlfriend or your girlfriend’s mother. I could care less if I die in the process.”
“Oh,
my,” Diane muttered nervously.
Frank reluctantly sank back into his seat.
“Richard,” Diane sputtered. “This isn’t you. I’ve know you since we were kids. You’ve never been a violent man.”
“You know, Diane? You’re right. But something seems to have come over me, lately.” He twisted the knife around in one hand. “It’s almost like I have a thirst for it. Just like eating, drinking, or breathing, I feel like I have to kill.”
“So, you’re confessing to committing murder?” Frank asked.
“I did kill them. Sam ruined my last chance to save the organization. For that, he deserved to die. Then that greedy nephew of his got it next.”
“He wasn’t the new inheritor,” Sonja added.
Richard’s face twisted in anger. “What?” He barked. “Of course, he was.”
“No,” Frank added. “I was the notary on the new will. Dillion didn’t get a cent.”
The skeleton of a man squeezed his hand more tightly around the blade handle.
“And what about the third man? Why’d you kill him?”
“What?” Dick spat.
“Is that the knife you used to kill that him?” Frank pressed. “What happened? Did the poor homeless man looking for shelter in the storm get in your way last night? Did you hide him in the cave?”
Wrinkles appeared between Dick’s eyes as he squinted in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sheriff. I’ve only killed two people,” he smiled at Sonja, exposing rows of yellowed teeth, “so far.”
“Wait,” Sonja shivered. “You didn’t kill the third person?”
“No, and I found this knife outside in the snow just a few minutes ago, just outside the guesthouse. However,” he held up a single bony index finger on his left hand, “I’m not afraid to use it today on one of you.” Excitedly, like a child about to steal a cookie, he shifted the blade between his hands.
As he did this, Sonja’s eyes widened, recognizing a strange symbol on his right palm. “What’s that there?” She pointed.
Pausing, Dick looked down, opening his hand and examining the symbol burned into his flesh. “That, I have no idea where it came from.” He began to shiver and closed his eyes tightly. “I-I think,” he stuttered, his voice turning toward a more familiar tone they all recognized. “It appeared yesterday morning,” he muttered. “T-that’s when I started to feel funny, sort of sick, sort of angry, all at the same time.”
“And that’s when the urge to kill came up?”
Nodding, the frail man began to cry. “I-I didn’t want to do any of it,” he blubbered. “B-but something inside me made me do it. Ever since this thing appeared, I’ve wanted to kill anyone I was mad at.”
Frank took the opportunity to take out his handcuffs and stand up. “Dick,” he asked, “are you willing to surrender yourself and come into the station with me?”
Breaking into sobs, Richard fell to the ground, dropping the strange knife as he did. “Y-yes,” he cried. “Take me in before I kill anyone else.”
CHAPTER 17
* * *
Just like a child on Christmas morning, Sonja woke up around four a.m. and tried to go back to sleep. She managed to sleep until five thirty and finally popped out of bed, unable to wait anymore. It was officially Christmas day, one of the best days of the year, and she wasn’t about to waste any more of it in bed.
She was ready to dash right inside her childhood home, turn on the lights on the tree, and bask in its glow until her mother woke up and Belinda and Frank arrived. However, something stopped her before she could get her boots on. A strange cold draft brushed her skin and she glanced over at her desk.
The window appeared to be just slightly ajar, causing Sonja’s mouth to go dry with fear. Was someone in her house? Had Richard escaped in the night?
Spotting an all too familiar velvet box on her desk, she became more curious than scared. She distinctly remembered leaving it in her purse. Moving over toward the desk, she carefully, and slowly, opened the box.
To her surprise, the stone wasn’t inside. Instead, a small envelope replaced it. Reaching in, she opened it and pulled out a letter.
Sonja,
I hope your experience with the Arwassa Stone was as exciting for you as it was for me to watch. Now you know intimately what it’s like to ruin people’s lives, something that you’ve been far too comfortably unaware of up to this point. How does it feel?
Sonja stopped reading for a second and looked outside at the snow. So, it really was the Arwassa Stone, and she really had inadvertently marked people for death and violence.
In one part, Sonja realized she truly couldn’t blame herself for the deaths. After all, whoever had sent the stone in the first place had purposefully set her up. In another part, however, she couldn’t help but feel a little sick to her stomach for everything that had transpired.
She continued reading.
I hope that your soul feels slightly more crushed, more drained, as you realize the horror of your supernatural power. I hope our future games will continue to be just as interesting.
Sonja did not like the sound of that.
You haven’t heard the last of me.
After that, there was nothing else. The letter wasn’t signed.
* * *
By six a.m. everyone had arrived and they all sat around the Christmas tree opening presents. The tree was all aglow, illuminating the dim room with its light, and a warm fireplace blazed in the hearth. As they finished opening each present, they placed the wrapping paper into the fire to let it burn up.
Belinda, being the sweetheart that she was, had gone out and bought expensive presents for everyone. She’d gotten Diane a rare and out-of-print signed copy of a romance novel, Frank an expensive tie clip for his uniform, and for Sonja an antique cast iron waffle maker.
Sonja felt sort of bad since she didn’t really have anything to give her friend, but Belinda hardly seemed to mind. “Your friendship is gift enough,” she beamed.
Frank eagerly handed his girlfriend another present. “Here, this one’s been a long time coming,” he smiled with a hint of embarrassment in his cheeks. “I hope you like it.”
“I can’t wait to see what it is,” Sonja exclaimed, tearing into the Christmas tree patterned wrapping paper. Under the paper was a plain brown box tied with a string. Pulling on the string, she opened the flap and saw mistletoe inside.
“Mistletoe?” she asked, her heart fluttering as she realized what was finally happening.
She glanced up at her boyfriend of the last four months as he moved his face in closer to her own. His breath smelled of the candy canes they had all gotten in their stockings. Finally, after a moment’s hesitation, he kissed her gently on the lips—a warm and welcoming sensation on that Christmas morning.
When they broke the kiss, Sonja could see her mother out of the corner of her eye, crying happily.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” she muttered. Quickly diverting the situation away from herself, Diane grabbed another package from under the tree. “Looks like this one’s for you, honey,” she said, handing the small gift to her daughter.
“Is it from you, mom?”
“No, I’m not sure who it’s from.”
Sonja glanced at the tag and realized it said, From Dad on it.
Eagerly, she pulled the paper off and opened the box. Inside was a small cat collar. A small little medallion on it said, Lucky. A quiet meow came from behind and Sonja glanced over to see the little transparent kitty leap up into her lap and cuddle up there.
Along with the collar was a note.
Dear Sweet Daughter,
I realize how strange the last few months have probably been. It was hard for me when I began to learn about my abilities as well. However, I wanted to help ease your stress a little this holiday season. I’ve sent you a cat, a cute little thing. As you probably already know, he’s dead. His name is Lucky, and he was my cat when I was a little boy. Inside I’ve included his collar. I k
now he can’t wear it now, but I wanted you to know the cat was from me.
He will protect you and be by your side when you need it most.
I hope you can someday understand and forgive me for everything I’ve done.
I love you.
-Dad
“I am,” she whispered to herself. “I am beginning to understand, dad.”
“What is it, dear?” Diane chimed in.
“Yeah, what is it?” Frank repeated.
“A cat collar.”
Everyone looked at her with confused eyes.
“I’m getting a cat,” she announced happily.
Creepy Christmas Waffle: Book 7 in the Diner of the Dead Series Page 8
