Pumpkin Pie Waffle: Book 5 in The Diner of the Dead Series

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  Pacing back and forth she whispered into the phone. “He’s here.”

  “Who?”

  “The man in the skull mask is at the diner.”

  There was a slight hesitation. “Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”

  With that, the line went quiet. Sonja looked down the road again.

  The man was gone.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Where? Where is he?” Stepping out of the cruiser almost before it had stopped moving, Sheriff Thompson walked up toward the trick-or-treat table the women had set up in front of the diner.

  “He’s gone already,” Sonja replied. “But he was standing just down there.” She pointed with one finger at the end of the parking lot.

  “You didn’t see which direction he went?”

  She shook her head.

  “Where was he?”

  Shrugging, Sonja nodded toward the place down the road. “Down there.”

  Walking down to the end of the road where the man in the skull mask had stood only ten minutes earlier, Frank looked around and then headed back up to the diner. “Sonja, I want you to come with me to Marissa’s home.”

  “M-me?” she stuttered. The comment earlier that Frank trusted her intuition was one thing, but asking her to actually come along for part of the investigation was something she never expected. “Of course, but isn’t this a police investigation? I thought you said you didn’t want me interfering again—and I promised to keep my nose out of it.”

  Frank placed both hands on his girlfriend’s shoulders. “You were the last person to see Marissa before she went missing. I want you to be there to give the parents the full account. No one else has the eye for detail that you do.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll come along, but I’m not sure what I can really do to help.”

  “I realize that, but this one is different. This isn’t just a murder case, Sonja. This is a potential kidnapping and murder waiting to happen. If having you on board means we can prevent it from happening, I want you on my side.”

  Sonja had never seen him so frustrated with a case, and the fact that he was considering bringing her with him to the parents’ house meant he really needed her help. His usual attitude was to keep her as far out of an investigation, and as far away from danger, as possible.

  In this instance, however, she could hardly blame him. It was difficult enough with the string of local murders in the last seven months since her return to the small town, but a missing child was a whole new level of fear and worry.

  “If I can’t even protect the children of this community, how can anyone look to me with any respect?”

  He was visibly sweating, and Sonja could feel the moisture from his palms. “All right, then,” Sonja instructed. “Let's go. I don’t think we’ll have much time if she was really taken. And if that was the Halloween Kidnapper I just saw a few moments ago—then he has to be close.”

  “Halloween Kidnapper,” Alison squeaked.

  “Okay then,” Frank responded. “Can Alison manage while we’re gone?”

  “You’re leaving me here alone?” Alison asked, a hint of worry in her voice. The thought of leaving her alone, when the kidnapper may be so close by, was frightening.

  “Go home,” Sonja instructed. “Close up the diner early tonight. Take the candy at least and hand it out from your house.”

  “Okay,” Ally nodded, grabbing the bowl. “What about the rest of the food. The waffles?”

  “We’ll have to clean up later. Leave a sign saying anyone who comes by can have one.”

  Nodding, her best friend quickly got to work writing up the sign and taped it to the table. With a brief goodbye, she ran for her car and got in.

  “Alright,” Sheriff Thompson said, as he began to process everything that needed to be done. “I have the deputies out patrolling the streets, keeping an eye out for stray kids by themselves. The state police and the guys from Hickey are searching the woods. We need to head over and talk to Marissa’s parents in person—see if we can find anything out of the ordinary, just in case.”

  “All right, chief,” Sonja replied. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Pulling up in front of Marissa’s home, Sonja couldn’t help but notice how typically cozy the little house looked. A white picket fence around a perfect lawn—even for autumn—accompanied by the whitewashed New England style home made it seem so perfect. Lit jack-o-lanterns sat along the front porch railing, and black cutouts of witches and ghosts adorned the windows. The light from inside was surprisingly warm and welcoming, a strange contrast to the current situation.

  Stepping out of the cruiser, they had barely reached the patio when the door swung open and a man and a woman, Marissa’s parents, stood nervously waiting. The father stood straight, trying to retain a sense of composure and confidence in a crisis situation. The mother was wringing her hands and holding back tears behind red eyes.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton?”

  “Please, come right in,” Mr. Hamilton offered, stepping aside to let the two in.

  Stepping into the entry hall, the sheriff introduced her. “I assume you know Sonja Reed,” Frank offered.

  Holding out a hand, Sonja smiled. Mr. Hamilton shook it before inquiring. “You own the diner, right?”

  “That’s right,” Sonja affirmed. A hint of confusion appeared in the corners of the father’s eyes.

  “She’s going to be helping us find your daughter,” Frank added, answering the unasked question. “She may have been the last person to see her.”

  “I see,” the father responded. “Please come in and sit down.”

  Moments later, Sonja and Frank were sitting on the cream-colored couch across from the Hamiltons. A warm fire was going in their fireplace, a source of comfort against the frightening circumstances they were facing.

  “You’re sure you don’t need anything to drink?” Mrs. Hamilton offered, her voice hoarse and strained from crying. “I have coffee, tea, and hot chocolate.”

  “No thank you, Mrs. Hamilton,” Sheriff Thompson replied, putting a hand up to indicate he was fine. “If you don’t mind, we’d just like to ask a few questions.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Hamilton agreed.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, when was the last time you saw your daughter?”

  “Well, this morning of course,” the father responded calmly. “She was getting ready for the school party. Martha was helping her with her vampire costume.”

  “I,” the woman’s voice broke, “I think I’ll make some coffee.” Standing up, the woman rushed into the kitchen to hide her tears.

  Mr. Hamilton watched his wife go and then, shaking his head, turned back toward Sonja and the sheriff. “I’m sorry about that. She’s taking it pretty hard.”

  “Well,” the sheriff said, “we don’t know for sure what is happening yet. She could easily be lost in the woods or even hiding somewhere.”

  “That isn’t exactly comforting,” the father cut in. “Why would she be hiding?”

  “For any number of reasons, Mr. Hamilton. We have to consider all the possibilities.”

  “I see,” the man replied.

  “What time was that, this morning?”

  “Well, probably just a little before eight. Once Marissa’s costume was ready, her mother drove her to school.”

  “Does Mrs. Hamilton usually drive Marissa to school?”

  The father shook his head. “No, but Marissa didn’t want to mess up her costume walking in the wind. It was pretty chilly after all.”

  “So Mrs. Hamilton was the last of you two to see her?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you know of anyone who might have any reason to take her?” Sonja jumped in, glancing out the side of her eye at Frank. He had his usual expression of frustration upon being interrupted, but this time—unlike during previous investigations—he simply stayed quiet and let her ask her question. “Any friends or family members?”

  “Well, I can’t i
magine any of our friends or family taking her, not without discussing it with us first.”

  Sonja thought of the locket and a lightbulb went on in her head. “Any boyfriends?”

  “Boyfriends?” The man’s face twisted about. “She’s too young for a boyfriend,” he stated flatly.

  “No, Mr. Hamilton,” Frank inserted, trying to be tactful. “Just because you don’t know she has a boyfriend, doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one.”

  “I’d know,” he asserted. “She’s my daughter after all.”

  “Don, you don’t know,” the voice came from the kitchen doorway. Mrs. Hamilton stood there with a tray of coffee mugs filled to their fullest. “Sheriff, Marissa has a boyfriend.”

  “What,” Mr. Hamilton shouted, his face suddenly turning a shade of red. “She has a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react this way,” she retorted.

  Standing up, Mr. Hamilton marched toward his wife. “I’m her father. I have a right to know.”

  Frank was quickly on his feet. “Mr. Hamilton, we are trying to explore every angle. If Marissa did have a boyfriend we need to know about it.”

  “She’s my daughter,” he shouted again, this time at the sheriff.

  “I’m well aware of that, but we need to take this in a logical direction. Now, please take your seat.”

  Sonja felt a small flutter of excitement in her chest as she watched her boyfriend command the room. When he was in full cop mode, he really gave off an aura of confidence.

  Reluctantly, the angry father took his seat. “We’ll talk about this later,” he muttered to his wife.

  “Please, tell us more,” Sheriff Thompson asked the worried mother.

  “Well, she doesn’t know that I know,” Mrs. Hamilton continued, setting the tray on the coffee table. Sonja eagerly reached for a cup and began to sip it. “I’ve just noticed little things. Her behavior, her newfound excitement for life, her constant need for privacy and secrets. She even asked to have a lock installed on her door.”

  “Did you have it installed?” Sonja pressed.

  The mother nodded. “She’s a growing woman, and I felt she deserved a little more privacy.”

  Mr. Hamilton’s face was turning a bright shade of red and his lips were pursed in anger.

  “Mrs. Hamilton, do you have any hard evidence that she has a boyfriend?” Frank asked.

  Sonja knew, if there really was a boyfriend involved, that Marissa could easily be off somewhere with him.

  The mother nodded. “There’s more. She is always chatting with someone online, and I’ve noticed a new locket around her neck, with some strange Celtic shape—maybe a love knot or something.”

  Sonja shook her head. Even she knew what was on the locket wasn’t a Celtic knot. It was a pentagram.

  Sheriff Thompson raised an eyebrow at Sonja. She took the cue, knowing exactly what he wanted. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out the locket that she had left there earlier. “Is this the locket?”

  The mother’s eyes widened. “Yes. Where did you get it?”

  “The last place I saw her, in the haunted house at the school.”

  Without warning, the woman broke down into sobs. “Th . . . that means she was really taken,” she wailed. “She was so attached to that locket.”

  “We will find her Mrs. Hamilton,” Sheriff Thompson noted. “But I would like to see your daughter’s room, specifically her personal computer, if she has one.”

  “Right this way,” Mr. Hamilton said, standing up.

  CHAPTER 17

  Marissa’s bedroom door was closed, and upon testing the doorknob Sheriff Thompson confirmed that it was locked.

  “Locked?” Mr. Hamilton said pushing through. He gripped the door handle and jiggled it. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t let her get her doorknob changed,” he accused his wife.

  “Sometimes, when kids are trying to hide something, they will either find a secret location to lock something away or simply take precautions to make sure their room can’t be searched,” Frank added.

  “I didn’t know,” Mrs. Hamilton whispered.

  “We need to get in there,” her father said, a new sense of fear and strain appearing in a line of sweat across his forehead.

  It was clear to Sonja that this man had no idea his daughter was doing anything strange or devious—if that was in fact what the locked door indicated. He only saw his perfect little girl and was blind to everything else, but at least he cared. Sonja’s own father had shown how much he cared by taking off, leaving his wife and daughter, four and a half years earlier, and despite the fact that she was already in her twenties by that point, it didn’t hurt any less.

  Sheriff Thompson placed his hands on his hips. “I’ll go get my lock-picking tools from the cruiser.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sonja said, pushing forward to the door. “Excuse me.” Running her fingers along the top of the door there was a distinct metallic clink and she pulled down a small key. “Thought so.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a very sneaky place to hide a key,” Frank commented.

  “This is a middle schooler, Frank. They don’t always think that far ahead,” Sonja informed him, slipping the key into the lock and opening the door to the room.

  The dull scent of burnt incense filled her nostrils, and she breathed deeply.

  Mrs. Hamilton began to cough. “What is that smell,” she complained, covering her nose with the used tissue she had been crying into.

  “Incense,” Sonja mentioned. “Burnt maybe a few hours ago.”

  Stepping into the room she felt something strange and uneven under her foot, like stepping in the sand of a beach. Lifting up her foot, she noticed a thick line of something white on the floor.

  “What is it?” Frank asked.

  Leaning down, Sonja touched it. “Salt.”

  “Salt? Why would she dump salt on the clean carpet?” Mrs. Hamilton mumbled.

  “I’m not sure,” Sonja wondered aloud.

  Standing up, she headed further into the room and found the source of the smell. A wooden tower with all kinds of carvings in it sat on the desk next to the computer. Opening a small hinged door on the front, Sonja revealed the remnants of a burnt stick of incense.

  “You didn’t smell this earlier?” the diner owner asked.

  The mother shook her head. “Don was at work until six and I don’t have a strong sense of smell, a birth defect.”

  “I see,” Sonja whispered. Sitting down at the computer, Sonja moved the mouse. The black screen came to life, illuminating the room a little more. The screen had a strange background, a circle with an eye in the middle of it. “It says I need a password to log in,” she mentioned.

  “Well, we don’t know of any password,” her father replied.

  “I do,” her mother said, leaning in and typing something out.

  Without another hesitation, the screen opened up revealing an open browser window.

  “How did you know that?” Frank asked.

  “It’s just her birthday,” she replied. “A few years back when I helped her set up her first e-mail account that’s the password she picked. It was just a lucky guess that it's what she used for her computer log in.”

  “Lucky,” Frank added, nodding and obviously keeping something to himself.

  The browser window housed an e-mail account. Scrolling through, Sonja noticed multiple e-mails from someone with the initials SS. The most recent e-mail had the subject line “Tonight.”

  “Click on that,” Frank instructed pointing at the e-mail.

  “Okay,” Sonja agreed.

  Opening the e-mail, they were faced with a single paragraph of content:

  C,

  Tonight is the night. I want to talk with you face to face, show you the real me. Meet me in the woods after darkness falls.

  SS

  “I think I know what’s going on,” Sonja noted. Standing up, she spotted a ripped open c
ardboard box on the bed. Peeking inside she noted that it was empty.

  “That was a package for Marissa,” her mother noted. “It arrived today. It was downstairs on the table last time I saw it.”

  Glancing at the label, she noticed there was no return address, just SS up in the corner.

  “Sonja, look,” Frank pointed. There was more salt on the window sill and the window sat slightly ajar.

  “What is it?” Marissa’s mother pleaded. “Tell me what’s happening?”

  Leaning over, Sonja spotted something between the bed and the window. Reaching down she pulled out a rope ladder. “I don’t think Marissa was kidnapped. She didn’t disappear between school and coming home,” Sonja commented, putting the clues of the burnt incense and window ladder together. “She came home first.”

  “Then where is she now?”

  “She’s outing meeting SS.” Sonja smiled. “And I think I know who SS is.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Standing outside the Sanders residence, Sonja rang the doorbell.

  “I hope you’re right, Sonja,” Frank confided.

  The doorway opened and a plump woman with a witch hat, a green face, and a fake wart on her nose stood there with a smile—a smile which quickly faded. “Sheriff? Sonja? I thought you were trick-or-treaters.”

  “Mrs. Sander, do you know where your son is?”

  “Sammy?” she muttered, “Why, out trick or treating.” Her face suddenly went pale. “Did something happen to him?”

  His brow furrowing in frustration, Frank shook his head. “Is he accompanied by an adult, Mrs. Sander?”

  “Well,” she muttered. “No. He was going to be with his friends.”

  “Did you not hear the announcement on the TV or radio stating that all children under eighteen needed to be accompanied by an adult tonight?”

  The plump woman was turning a bright shade of red and looked like she might just burst into tears. “I . . . I’m sorry, Sheriff. I didn’t.”

  Sonja couldn’t help but think that Sam probably also kept this information from his mother, that way he could continue with whatever he had planned for that evening. He had most likely lied about spending time with his two friends as well.