Sinister Strawberry Waffle: Book 3 in The Diner of the Dead Series

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “I think the contract we have is fine. The investigation shouldn’t last at the diner for more than a day or so. After that, if you’re still okay with it, you can get right to work.”

  “Alright then,” he replied with a strange smile, closing the folder. “We’ll just keep everything the way it is.”

  “Good,” she nodded, wanting to pat his hand to comfort him, but not feeling quite familiar enough to do that.

  “I’m sure it’s the way Bill would have wanted it anyway,” the landscaper sighed, his shoulders visibly drooping.

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “Macklin Sprouts,” a voice boomed across the dining room.

  Sonja turned in her seat. At a table near theirs sat Howard Baskins.

  “Oh, no,” Macklin whispered, his face growing alarmingly pale.

  The large angry man stood up from his seat at a nearby table where he sat with a blonde woman, who appeared to be much younger than he was. Sonja hoped it was his daughter—but highly doubted it. Baskins stomped over to the table, either unaware, or unconcerned about the curious stares that he was drawing from his fellow diners.

  “Sprouts,” he growled at Macklin, towering over him. “I’ll have you know all those Heritage trees are completely dead. Now, I’m going to give you one last chance to rectify that situation.”

  Sonja leaned forward. “Mr. Baskins. I really don’t think that this is the appropriate time to be addressing your business issues.”

  “This isn’t your concern,” he snapped dismissively.

  “Baskins,” Macklin intervened, attempting to sound confident but appearing clearly uncomfortable. “Do you mind if we discuss this back at my office? We can head there right now if you’d like.” Macklin moved to stand.

  “No. I will not come down to your office. I came to you when I first realized those trees were sick, and you informed me you intended to do nothing about the situation. Now, all of those trees are completely dead. I expect someone to pay for that loss,” the disgruntled man thundered, oblivious to the reproachful stares around him.

  “I’m sorry, that’s truly unfortunate, but I’ve already shown you that the contract states that we are not liable for any damages at this point,” Macklin replied in a low voice, trying to assert himself with at least some degree of grace.

  “Look, Sprouts. There is no reason to drag you, your partner, and your well established company through a lengthy court case. I am giving you one last chance to pay for the damages you and your partner did to my property before I officially sue.”

  “His partner died last night,” Sonja said quietly, desperately trying to control her temper.

  The red-faced man turned to her and glared. Baskins paused for a moment, surprised yet wary, and clearly unyielding in his anger. Sonja assumed that he would apologize—just as any polite person should.

  “Well, I’m afraid that doesn’t change the situation,” he shrugged off the news of Bill Merrill’s death as though it were a mere comment on the weather. “Sprouts is the remaining owner of the company, which means that now, all responsibility falls to him, partner or no partner.”

  By this point, most of the patrons had stopped to listen to the conversation, which was being played out at full volume on Baskins’ side of it. Many of the hard-working folks present, who had been trying to enjoy a quiet evening, either knew or had been friends with Bill Merrill. Bill had been one of the most well respected men in Haunted Falls. Baskins was going to quickly make some enemies if he continued with his tasteless and very public tirade against Macklin and his company.

  For a brief moment, the infuriated Baskins seemed to have a tinge of remorse over speaking ill of the dead, but it quickly dissolved into an even more virulent anger. He puffed out his chest, towering over Sonja, obviously trying to get a rise out of Macklin. “If you are looking for landscaping work, I suggest you don’t get involved with him or his company.” Baskins waved a finger at Macklin.

  Sonja felt her face grow hot. While she loved Haunted Falls, its one drawback was the yearly appearance of an overly entitled class of snobbish folks who kept summer homes on Black Lake. While most of them were civil, there were always the few who looked down their noses at the hard-working citizens who kept Haunted Falls thriving year round.

  The proud, small town diner owner stood to her full height and glared at Baskins, not flinching a bit. “I’ve had just about enough of you,” she spat, her voice laced with contempt.

  He was clearly taken aback, astounded that his wealth and social standing hadn’t cowed Sonja into agreement.

  “We’re in public, in a nice restaurant, where hard-working people from this town come to relax and have a nice evening. You’re not only interrupting my evening with your rude and inappropriate outburst, but you’re making every other patron in here uncomfortable as well.”

  His face turned a deep shade of red. Whether from fury or embarrassment, she couldn’t say.

  “You’ve also just insulted one of the finest men that this community has ever known, a man who passed away this morning. Look around you…these people either knew Bill Merrill, worked with him, or were friends with him. You should be utterly ashamed of yourself.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he blustered, clearly thrown off after being chastised by the spunky young woman. “You and the rest of these rubes were blinded by Merrill’s ‘good ole boy’ act. It’s those falsely nice kind of people who know how to take advantage of trust. He, and this man here,” he pointed at Macklin, who was sitting at the table, open mouthed, watching the exchange. “Took advantage of me with their fake kindness. I trusted them, trusted the fact that they were what seemed to be an honest local business, and all I have to show for my trust is a bunch of irreplaceable dead trees,” Baskins fumed, refusing to back down.

  Macklin stood up, but kept his cool. “Mr. Baskins, I’ve told you several times, our business had nothing to do with the death of those trees.”

  Baskins ignored the firm but polite landscaper and turned his gaze back to Sonja, apparently gauging her to be a better target for his anger.

  “If you’re ignorant enough to engage in business with this dishonest yokel then you deserve whatever you get.”

  Sonja had heard more than enough. If this pretentious jerk wanted a battle, she’d certainly rise to the occasion.

  “Bill Merrill ran one of the most trusted businesses in Haunted Falls. His reputation was spotless, and I’m sure his surviving business partner intends to carry on that legacy of hard work and honesty. We’re done listening to you try to attack the name of a darn good man,” Sonja’s eyes were like burning coals, and she glanced around at the townsfolk nodding their agreement and glaring at Baskins. “You need to take your bad attitude and false accusations out of here while we’re still inclined to be polite.”

  The restaurant burst out into applause, with several of the men standing to their feet and crossing their arms in solidarity.

  Baskins' face tightened, its flush deepening. “You’re going to regret this,” he snarled. “Both of you. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into.” In a fit of anger, he threw down his napkin and stomped out into the night.

  The blonde who had been at his table silently picked up her fork and took a bite of her food, not looking at anyone.

  CHAPTER 12

  After the ugly confrontation with Baskins, Sonja entirely lost her appetite. While everyone had applauded her, she was still horribly embarrassed and thought that the best thing that she could do at this point was to leave. She apologized to Macklin, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door, smiling and nodding bravely to well-wishers as she strode by. Stepping out into the night she saw a black truck driving away from the restaurant in a hurry. It was too far away for her to read the license plate, but she had an inkling of who the truck might belong to.

  Sonja decided to drive to the police station and see if Sheriff Thompson was still there. If not, she could always report what she
saw to one of the deputies.

  Hopping into her rickety car, she started it up, and drove out of the parking lot, along Lake Drive. Firehouse Grill sat at the top of an incline above the lake, and Lake Drive wound back and forth along the hill until it finally turned into the sandy beachside road along Black Lake. A tall stone storm wall, installed to protect buildings, structures, and the road in case the lake ever flooded, held up Lake Drive on one side, while a simple metal guard rail graced the lake side, so as not to obstruct the view.

  Cruising along the winding road, getting past the screen of the trees, Sonja passed by a lighthouse, used more for decoration than its actual purpose. The tower’s lights spun in a circle flashing into her car and then away, into her car, and then away. Winding around the next curve, she was surprised to see that when the light entered her car, it didn’t disappear again. Bright light flooded the interior and reflected off of the rear view mirror into her eyes.

  Adjusting the mirror, she realized that the light wasn’t coming from the lighthouse. There was a vehicle behind, following way too closely, with its high beams blazing.

  “What’s the big idea, dude?” she spoke out loud. “Turn off your brights.”

  She covered the rearview briefly with her hand, hoping that the inconsiderate driver would take a hint. The engine behind her revved, whatever was back there sounded big and ominous, and the vehicle moved in closer.

  “Come on. Back off,” she frowned.

  Her car jolted when the vehicle tapped her bumper.

  “Are you crazy?” she yelled, gripping the steering wheel to maintain control of the car.

  Pulling into the left lane Sonja tried to let the vehicle pass her, but it stayed right on her tail. Her heart began to pound in her chest. She pushed down hard on the gas pedal and the jerk behind her followed suit, moving in close and bumping her again.

  “Hey,” she shrieked, terrified.

  She changed lanes again, holding on to the steering wheel like a lifeline. This time, the vehicle didn’t follow her, it began to edge up next to her to pass.

  “Thank goodness. Just get past me and leave me alone,” she sighed shakily, her shoulders tight.

  When the vehicle came alongside, her stomach lurched with fear. Her tormentor was driving a black truck with darkly tinted windows.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered, her heart in her throat.

  It was clear the driver had no intention of passing, and there wasn’t another turn off from Lake Drive until she reached the beach. Sonja could’ve just kicked herself for not following Sheriff Thompson’s advice and staying home.

  She hit the gas again, trying to pull ahead of the menacing vehicle, but the driver mimicked her actions. The truck swerved into her lane and she over-corrected, trying to avoid the collision. The side of her car scraped along the guard rail overlooking the lake, the sound of shrieking metal grating on her psyche.

  “Shoot,” she gasped, teeth clenched.

  The truck pulled over to the left and swung back in again, this time making contact. Sonja’s car jolted and scraped against the guard rail again, creating a shower of sparks. She corrected her lane position as well as she could with the truck bearing down on her. She jerked the wheel slightly, trying to push back, but couldn’t even begin to budge the massive vehicle. Her old clunker didn’t stand a chance against the truck.

  More sparks flew as the truck pushed her farther into the guardrail, the whine of metal screaming in her ears. Sonja hoped against hope that the guardrail would hold the weight of her car, so that she wouldn’t go tumbling over into the lake.

  The beach came into view and she tried to think of a way she could get over to the left and off of Lake Drive before she was pushed over the edge. She hit the gas again, and the truck pulled away, swinging back in for one last attack. Sonja saw her chance and floored it, pushing forward just far enough so that when the truck hit her she didn’t smash into the guardrail. Instead, she came out where the metal rail ended and went careening at full speed down the steep incline that led to the beach. Grasping wildly at the wheel, her foot slamming down on the brakes, Sonja tried to regain control as her vehicle darted over rocks, dirt, and sand. She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting the car to flip over at any moment. A splash jolted through the air as the car slammed into the water.

  Finally, the car stopped and Sonja realized that her feet were wet. Lake water was seeping into the interior, and it felt as though the poor old car was sinking into the wet sand. She turned to look up at Lake Drive, breathing hard and making a soft mewling sound as she cried. The black truck revved up, appearing to gloat over its accomplishment. The heavenly sound of sirens blared in the distance, cutting through the growl of the truck’s engine, and the truck spun around and drove off into the distance. Sonja stared after it until it disappeared.

  * * *

  Once it seemed the coast was clear, and the black truck wasn’t returning to finish the job, Sonja tried valiantly to calm down, taking in a deep breath and checking to make sure that everything was okay. She didn’t feel like she had any broken bones or serious cuts, so she got out, wading through shallow water, to check on her car.

  Both sides of her sad, little vehicle had major scratches and dents, the left mirror was completely gone, and the back bumper was only halfway attached. Sonja could only imagine what the underside of the car looked like. The front end of the car was buried in the wet sand and was sinking deeper by the second. She sighed as she looked at the mess, knowing she would definitely need to have a tow truck pull it out, the sooner the better, and wondered if it would be beyond saving once the damages were assessed.

  Two police cruisers appeared at the top of the incline, and took the beach road down to the bottom, where Sonja was still examining her car. She was about to wave the vehicle down for help, but before she could, something in the wet sand caught her eye. Right under the car, where the tires had spit up mud and water, rested something white and shiny.

  It looked like the end of a bone.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Sonja! Are you okay?” Sheriff Thompson called out as he got out of his cruiser.

  The second police car sped off in the direction that the truck had taken. The sheriff jogged across the beach until he reached a scared and disheveled Sonja.

  “Are you hurt?” his tone and expression were grave, as his eyes moved over her from head to toe, looking for any sign of injury.

  “I’m a little bruised,” she admitted, “but otherwise I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure? I just watched the whole thing. I’m sorry we couldn’t get to you sooner.”

  She nodded. “I’m a little shaky, I guess.”

  “I sent the other cruiser after the truck. Don’t worry, we’re going to catch this guy.”

  Sonja nodded, her skin prickling with cold in the cool evening breeze. More sirens could be heard in the distance.

  “I called you an ambulance after I saw your car go over the edge,” Thompson explained.

  She sighed, closing her eyes. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “You were just in an accident. You need to at least get looked at.”

  “There’s something you need to see first,” she insisted, grabbing him by the arm and leading him to where the bone protruded from the sand.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. This time, there was no denying that it looked human.

  The sirens grew loud as the ambulance pulled up on the beach.

  “I want the paramedics to look at you before we do anything else.”

  He placed both hands on her shoulders. She felt her heart skip a beat and wondered, after all her kicking and fighting, if maybe there was some truth to what Alison had said.

  “I’ll get the coroner down here as soon as possible to look at the bone.”

  Sonja nodded, speechless for once, then blinked and recovered a bit.

  “Alright, I’ll let them look at me,” she murmured.

  “Wise choice,” he smiled, a
strange look on his face.

  “Oh, what about the other bone? The one you had checked out today?”

  There was nothing like a rapid change of subject to shatter a mood.

  Frank Thompson paused, looking somehow disappointed.

  “I’m not at liberty to reveal that information at this time,” gave her a meaningful look.

  Sonja knew instantly what the sheriff meant. The bone from the diner was human.

  * * *

  The paramedics assessed Sonja, sitting her down in the back of the ambulance, checking her vitals and treating the assorted cuts and bruises she’d received. Minutes later the coroner arrived, quickly making his way through the wet sand to the fresh crime scene. The sheriff and the coroner finished digging up the bone, finding several other bones as well, all of them glistening white in the eerie glow of the moonlight. After the paramedics cleared her, Sonja sat on a large rock watching them pull up each bone, one by one. Over an hour later Sheriff Thompson walked up the beach to where Sonja sat, waiting.

  “It looks like your theory might actually hold some water,” he admitted, something like admiration coloring his gaze.

  “Are all of those human?”

  “We can’t verify anything just yet.”

  That meant yes.

  “They belong to a woman, don’t they?” she said quietly.

  Sheriff Thompson gave Sonja a sideways glance. “How do you always manage to figure these things out?”

  “Do you remember a missing person’s case about Daniella Fitzgerald?”

  He thought a moment, stroking his chin before taking a seat next to her on the rock.

  “Was that the beauty pageant contestant?”

  She nodded.

  “You think it’s her?” he frowned.

  “I can almost guarantee it.”

  “Is that why someone is trying to kill you? They think you know something?”

  “Sheriff, I do know something. I know that Daniella went missing, and I figure that has to be her body. The murderer probably tried to relocate the remains after killing Bill.”