“Positive. Also, we have our own bathroom. That way, you can get dressed privately without any worries.”
Sonja felt herself turn as red as her hair. How could she be so lucky to get this man?
A reassurance passed over her, letting her know that marrying this man was the right choice.
“You’re smiling,” he pointed out.
Sonja covered her mouth, feeling embarrassed.
“What?”
She hesitated, but then walked over and grabbed his hands. However, just as she opened her mouth to tell him how much she loved him, a horrible gut wrenching sound interrupted.
The chef was screaming at the top of her lungs from the main floor.
“What the heck?” Frank shouted, running for the door, Sonja fast on his heels.
Being at the top of the stairs, they were the first ones to get to the entry hall where the chef was standing screaming. “What? What is it?”
“Mr. Terrance,” she balked. “He . . . he’s dead!” With that, she fainted away.
CHAPTER 8
* * *
Frank dove for the fainting woman, catching her at the last second in his steely arms. Sonja, without another second’s hesitation, instinctively dashed past the scene and into the study where supposedly the dead body was.
A chilly winter breeze brushed against the bare skin of her arms and neck, and she shivered, realizing that two large glass French doors on the back end of the cabin were sitting wide open, looking out on the veranda and the dense forest outside. Snow had begun to scatter across the wood flooring.
She continued further in, but didn’t get more than three steps past the threshold before she stopped cold, frozen in her tracks—and it wasn’t because of the chilly weather outside. Staring down at the floor, she witnessed the gruesome scene that had sent the chef into a fit of fright.
The older gentleman, Terrance Devonworth, lay face down on a maroon rug, just in front of the large mahogany desk. Protruding from his back, like a shiny, morbid tree out of unhallowed ground, was a silver letter opener. The left hand was hidden under the body as if he’d clutched at his own chest before falling over. The right hand, however, remained outstretched in a frozen, yet fevered clutching motion—as if he’d been reaching out to someone as he died. A small dark smudge appeared to be on the tips of his fingers.
“Oh, my, word. What the devil happened?” Pritchard exclaimed upon coming into the room, his eyes widening in utter horror.
“Excuse me. Let me through.” Frank insisted, pushing past both Sonja and Pritchard to the body. Crouching down, the sheriff placed his index and middle finger on the man’s wrist. After a few moments of holding in that position, Frank moved his fingers to the man’s neck.
“What’s he doing?” Pritchard whimpered.
“Frank’s the county sheriff,” Sonja whispered.
Finally, he shook his head. “The chef was right. He is dead.”
“Dad?” he murmured, sounded not unlike a small child. “Oh, my goodness, my dad,” his voice raised in to a frightened scream. Hands going to his clean-shaven cheeks while red hot tears began to erupt from his eyes, he looked like a morbid painting in a museum.
Sonja realized what an awkward position this was, and had no real experience in dealing with overly traumatized men. Things only took a step for the worse when Pritchard turned and buried his wet face in the nape of her neck, sobbing relentlessly.
Frank, despite the dead body lying at his feet, couldn’t help but raise a surprised eyebrow at this little turn of events as well.
“What is that man doing?” came a woman’s frantic voice from the door. Corrine Devonworth ran into the room and looked down at the horrific scene. As her eyes slowly widened, taking in the reality of the scene, her voice broke into a shuddered cry at the top of her lungs. “Y-You killed him. You killed Terrance.”
“Ma’am, if you’ll just calm down,” Frank said, standing up and putting his hands in front of him as a defensive mechanism. The whole situation was quickly spiraling out of control, and if he didn’t do something to regain some semblance of order and organization, the crime scene could be compromised.
“You killed him, you killed him, you killed him,” she continued to scream, her voice reaching a new fever pitch with each exclamation.
“Ma’am, please,” Frank barked.
“Call the police, call the army, call anyone. Get this murderer out of my house.” Spinning toward her husband for help, her jaw dropped so low that it could have hit the floor. Her eyes bugged out as she saw Pritchard with his face in Sonja’s neck. She let out a shrill scream at the top of her throat. “I told you. I told you, Pritchard. Don’t let those strange people into our house—our home. Look what they’ve done. Look. Murdered your father, and now this woman is stealing you away from me.” With one fell swoop, she stepped forward and gave Sonja a hard shove, sending her toppling to the floor.
“Ow,” she exclaimed.
Meanwhile, Pritchard fell to his knees, his tear-streaked face buried somewhere deep in the palms of his hands. “M-My dad.”
Frank had seen and heard more than enough. Jumping forward, he grabbed a hold of the woman’s arm. “Mrs. Devonworth, stop it and listen to me, please.”
“He’s got me. The killer’s got me. He’s going to murder us all and rob us blind.”
Keeping a firm grip on the hysterical struggling woman, Frank shoved a hand deep into his pocket. Retrieving his badge, he held it out in front of the woman’s face, trying to make her see some kind of reason. “Mrs. Devonworth. I am no killer. I am the sheriff of this county and the acting officer at this crime scene. Now, will you please be quiet,” his voice boomed, filling the whole room with its vibrations.
For the first time since her outburst began, she quieted down, her eyes blinking away fresh tears as she glanced at the shiny sheriff’s badge in Frank’s hand. “Y-you’re the sheriff?”
“That’s right, ma’am. Now, I realize you’re upset. You have every reason to be. However, this is now an official crime scene and I need you and everybody else to please step back out into the hall.” He shot a glance over at Sonja, silently asking for her help in clearing the distraught couple from the room.
However, Corrine didn’t move right away. Instead, she turned and looked Frank in the eye. “D-Did you know he was going to be murdered tonight?”
The sheriff’s face twisted up on one side as he tried to formulate an answer to such an obvious question. “No, ma’am, of course not. There would be no way for me to know.”
“Then why are you here?” she urged, the peaking tremor of her voice slightly returning.
“My fiancé is the diner owner in Haunted Falls. I was simply helping her deliver an order here to your home when we got stranded, just as your husband told you.”
Her gaze fell on the body again, her eyes taking in the shocking horrors of the protruding weapon and the redness of the shirt around the wound. Finally, as if her sense of composure had returned with the flip of a switch, she turned to Frank and gave a firm nod. “Thank heaven you’re here then.”
Turning on her heal, she crouched down near her weeping husband. Placing an arm around his shoulders she guided him out of the study.
CHAPTER 9
* * *
Sonja found it a little odd that the only person who hadn’t come running to the scene of the crime, where so much screaming and commotion was going on, was Bethany—the older woman. It was possible, of course, that she was already asleep. Some people had the ability to conk out and be completely dead to the world until morning. It could take a marching band to wake them up.
However, Sonja was under the impression (based on the complaints from her own mother and the friends in her circle) that older women rarely slept well, let alone deeply. Too many of the natural aches and pains of age were constant reminders that you were alive.
However, Sonja didn’t mention one word of this to Frank, not yet, anyway.
“Call the statio
n and tell them what’s happening. Ask them to call up to the next town over and see if they have any qualified men who can come help.”
“Qualified men? Don’t they have any police of their own?”
Frank shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. They’re even smaller than we are. Technically, I’m the police officer for the town.”
“What constitutes a qualified man?”
“Former officers, military men, security guards of any kind. If I’m going to properly deal with this murder while it’s fresh, I’ll need at least one extra pair of hands.”
With a welcoming smile, she held up her own hands. “What about these ones?”
“No, Sonja. You’re not a police officer.”
“No, you’re right. I’m not. But neither is any man you’re going to get from Carlsberg.”
“They will be when I temporarily deputize them.”
“Deputize me. I’m already here and willing to help,” she urged him, keeping her hands raised in some sort of strange offering.
“No. That’s not going to happen and you know it.”
Shoving her hands into her pockets, she pressed her lips together and held in her breath. A minor wave of anger swept through her body. She felt like she was more qualified than a lot of people to act as a temporary deputy in a pinch. After all, she’d been the one to solve over twenty murders in the past few years. Frank had always been upset with her involvement in those cases, but he could hardly argue with her after the killer had been caught.
However, she knew he had other reasons to keep her out of the loop whenever possible. After all, she was his fiancée. If anything, he was trying to protect her, like he always did. She was sure her involvement created a conflict of interest. Her presence could be distracting, as he worried about Sonja’s safety instead of a killer.
Coming to these realizations, she let her anger out with a whoosh of air. Her smile returned and she nodded. “I’m on it. You can count on me.” She made a joking salute, showing that she was willing to respect his decision as a professional. If she intended to have a long and happy marriage with him, these understandings and compromises were a must.
Frank smiled in return. “I’m glad to hear it. Let me know who they’re sending, if they can even find anyone with the proper qualifications.”
“I will,” she agreed with a firm nod, turning toward the door to leave the room and make the call. Before she exited, however, she paused and turned back to look at Frank.
“What is it?”
“I just wanted to point out, don’t forget to have a look at those dark smudges on his fingers.”
Frank’s signature half-smile creased the right side of his mouth. “You couldn’t just leave without giving at least one tiny piece of input, could you?”
“You know me, I’m a natural born nosy busybody and amateur sleuth,” she joked, using the very words Frank had used to describe her on more than one occasion. So many times, over and over, she’d been offended by these labels.
Now, she was finally learning to embrace them with a smile.
Frank shook his head and let out a quiet laugh. “Okay. I’ll have a look at the smudges. Now, get on that phone call, will you?”
“Got it.” She gave him a thumbs up before heading out of the study and shutting the door. Once she stood in the entry hall, she dug into her pocket and retrieved her cell phone. Looking down at it, she pressed the button to illuminate the screen.
Nothing happened.
She pressed it again, but the screen remained dark. “Darn,” she muttered, realizing the battery had died. She’d meant to charge it earlier at the diner while she worked on the peppermint waffles, but it had slipped her mind.
She’d just have to use the hall phone.
Glancing at the group of mourning family members in the living room, Sonja wondered if she should ask permission first. Pritchard was leaned over on the couch, still weeping quietly. Corrine sat nearby, lovingly stroking his hair. The chef was awake but still appeared faint. She sat in a nearby chair with a cold rag over her head. Bethany Devonworth was still nowhere to be seen.
Somehow, that made Sonja feel very uncomfortable.
Deciding it wasn’t worth it to bother the family with such a trivial question, she slipped down into the alcove under the stairs. The device looked like it belonged in some sort of office. It had a whole series of buttons up and down the base, the kind you’d use to dial out to different lines or extensions. However, she guessed it made sense for a rich family to potentially have different phone lines. Pushing off her initial curiosity, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.
There was no immediate dial tone.
Her first thought was that maybe the phone lines were down, but then she remembered that you often had to push a specific button to dial out when using a phone connected to multiple lines like this.
Scanning the phone for any clues about what to do next, she went ahead and pushed a little red button near the top. That had to be it, right?
A small beep echoed through the earpiece, followed by a mechanical voice. “You have one saved message.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” she muttered quietly to herself, not wanting to alert the family to her sudden mistake. The last thing she wanted was to encroach on their privacy more than they already had. Frantically looking for a button to stop the message from playing, she didn’t act quickly enough.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Devonworth. This is Dr. Fredricks from The Rocky Mountain Institute of the Mind.”
Sonja froze in place, her index finger poised in a crook over the phone. Wasn’t that institute actually just a glorified insane asylum? She’d heard of it in passing and knew it was built in a secluded spot in the mountains but didn’t know much about the place.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news. Early last evening, there was an incident with your daughter.”
Daughter? Good heavens, did the Devonworth’s have an institutionalized daughter?
“One of our night nurses was assaulted and his keys were taken. We are in the process of searching for your daughter now. We assure you, we will find her. We will keep you updated on any progress we have. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call me back.” The line went quiet and Sonja gingerly slid the phone back into the cradle, hanging up.
Glancing toward the doorway of the study, she thought of the open French doors. Had a crazed woman broken in and committed the murder?
CHAPTER 10
* * *
Finally figuring out the phone, Sonja dialed out to the Haunted Falls Police Station. “Hello, you’ve reached the Haunted Falls Police. This is Marie.” Even over the phone, it was almost as if Sonja could see the older woman’s flamboyant hand gestures. In another life, she could easily be a stereotypical diner waitress who chewed and popped her gum and changed her hair color weekly.
Instead, she was the receptionist at the station and had been for most of her life.
“Marie? It’s Sonja Reed.”
“Oh, hiya, hon. If you’re looking for Frank, he’s not here.”
“No, no, nothing like that. I’m calling on his behalf. You see, we’re up at this cabin on Sycamore Lane and there’s been a murder.
“A murder? Good heavens, another one?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Well, hon, we can’t send anyone your way, I’m afraid. I’ve been told that the ferry is out and won’t be up again until morning.”
“We’re already aware of the situation. That’s how we got stuck out here in the first place.”
“Oh?”
“We were hoping you or one of the deputies could call up Carlsberg and ask around for any men who may be qualified to come out and help Frank with the investigation.”
“I could do that, but why doesn’t he just use you?” she asked.
Sonja couldn’t help but smile at the older woman’s comment. “I offered, but he wants someone who is qualified.”
Marie groaned. “Oh, I supp
ose so, but I can guarantee you’ve helped to solve more murders than any man from Carlsberg.”
“I know, I know, but I’m just doing as Frank asks. He’s the sheriff after all.”
There was a pause. “Okay, you’re right, hon. Better do as the boss says. As if this wasn’t a crazy enough night,” she complained.
“A crazy night?” Sonja inquired, pushing the topic.
“Oh, yeah. With the sheriff off duty tonight, the deputies have got their hands full.”
“Why what’s going on?” Sonja had a good guess at what could possibly be happening, but she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions.
“Some psycho escaped from that asylum near here. You know, that really weird big building just built out in the middle of the woods?”
“I’ve heard.”
“Yeah, the deputies are out searching for her in conjunction with the forest service.”
“A woman escaped, huh?” Sonja asked, trying to sound surprised.
“Yeah, so make sure to keep the doors at the cabin locked if you’re staying there.”
“I will, for sure,” Sonja agreed, going over all the new facts in her mind. “Marie?”
“Yeah, hon?”
“Do you know the girl’s name?”
Marie hesitated. “I’d say that’s need-to-know information only, hon. Sorry about that.”
“I see,” she replied, a little disappointed.
“The woman comes from rich stock, I think, and it would be bad for their image if the news of the girl’s escape got out.”
“I think I understand.”
“But, I can tell you that she ran out with nothing more on than a simple white gown. No shoes or anything. I tell ya’, she must be freezing her little patootie off.”
Suddenly, Sonja’s jaw dropped wide open as she had a realization and a gasp escaped her throat.
“Anyway, if you see a sign of anything strange going on out where you guys are—I mean, besides the murder you’re already dealing with—make sure to stay safe.”
Christmas Waffle Caper Page 4
