The Wayward Waffle: Book 4 in The Diner of the Dead Series

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  All that remained was a skeleton in a wedding dress, raising a singular hand and pointing with its bony finger at Sonja.

  In that singular chilling instance, the somewhat frightened woman lost her concentration on driving, the wheel slipping from her hands as she hit another bump. The van tilted and yawned and an audible screech echoed from the back.

  As quickly as it had happened, Sonja gripped the steering wheel and regained control.

  “What the heck is the big idea?” Ally popped her head in from the back. “We nearly lost a whole tray of bacon.”

  “Sorry, I just thought I saw something in the woods,” she admitted.

  “I think you need a vacation,” Alison mumbled disappearing into the back.

  Slowing down, Sonja peered back into the woods. The apparition was gone.

  * * *

  Pulling up to the backside of the park, Sonja instantly spotted their booth. Corrie had taken the initiative of hanging a sign over the long wooden table with “The Waffle” printed on it. Turning off the van, she stepped out and admired the booth. “That was nice of her,” she commented.

  “How much you want to bet she charges us for that sign?” Ally grumbled, opening the back doors of the van.

  Sonja sighed. “You know, maybe we’ve not given her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Has she given us a chance to?” the perturbed friend noted, grabbing a stack of trays and moving them toward the table.

  “Come on,” the red-headed woman said softly. “You promised. Let’s try to be nothing but nice to her today. Who knows, maybe she’ll really come around.”

  “Or maybe she’ll see it as an opportunity to walk all over us.”

  Sonja reached in and grabbed the Picnic Waffles and set them out. “It’s just one day.”

  “Fine,” her friend sighed. “I’ll try it out—just for today.”

  Sonja beamed, “Great. Let’s get the heat lamps out before any of the food gets cold or soggy.”

  The two women set quickly to work, laying out simple—yet beautifully presented—arrays of breakfast food for all the town residents who were going to start showing up any minute. Sonja thought it would be a nice touch to create a truly ‘summer picnic’ ambiance for the booth. A classic red and white checkered cloth covered the expanse of the table. Hand woven picnic baskets held bushels of fresh fruit—apples, grapes, bananas, and more. Blue ribbons were tied along the sides of the tables as well as hung on the poles holding up the sign. Decorative condiments, including maple syrup in glass pitchers and individually wrapped butter pats, completed the ensemble.

  When they had finished setting everything up, Sonja walked out to the front, took a step back and admired the work they had done. It truly looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. “I think they’ll love it,” she commented before heading behind the table.

  The park was already bustling with other local businesses hurrying to make any necessary last minute preparations.

  Cars were pulling into the parking lot and families were piling out—all hungry and ready for one of the grandest picnic celebrations of the year.

  The first customers walking toward the booth were Lincoln Bidwell and his son Shamus. Lincoln looked handsome and distinguished dressed in his old army uniform, a symbol of respect among the community.

  “Hi there,” Sonja greeted them, putting on her most professional smile.

  “Hiya, little lady,” Lincoln replied, leaning on his cane for support. “What have you got for sale over here? I could use a break from Shamus’ rock hard eggs he makes me every morning.”

  Smiling, Shamus shook his head. “He won’t even eat them most of the time. He just pours a bowl of sugary cereal instead.”

  “Cereal!” Sonja exclaimed. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand for breakfast it was prepackaged cereal. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Let’s see if we can get you something delicious to eat for a change,” she replied.

  “That sounds just fine, just fine indeed.” The old man replied, eyeing the food eagerly. He stopped when his eye caught the silver dollar waffles. “What are those?”

  Sonja stepped up proudly to present her latest creation. “These are—what I like to call—Picnic Waffles. Delicious, small, and easy to carry around while you eat them, they have little pockets of maple syrup packed into each bite.”

  “Well, that sounds just about perfect, if I do say so myself,” the elderly gentleman beamed. “I’ll have some of those.”

  “How much are they?” Shamus chimed in, reaching into his pocket.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, son,” the father insisted. “I can pay for my own food.”

  “They’re two for a dollar,” Sonja replied.

  “Great, give me four dollars’ worth.”

  “You must be hungry,” Alison interjected with a smile.

  “I’m getting some for Shamus, too,” Lincoln beamed proudly.

  Shamus simply smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Sounds good.”

  Taking the cash from the older man and then handing him the waffles, Sonja was suddenly blinded by a glaring flash on her left side. Surprised by the sudden disruption in her vision, her fingers slipped and two waffles fell into the grass.

  “Oh shoot,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Lincoln shot a glare directly at the man standing there—camera in hand, covering his face. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  Lowering the camera, the only visible portions of the man’s face were his eyes, forehead, and nose. Everything else was obscured by a large, bushy—yet surprisingly well groomed—beard and long locks of hair reaching past the man’s shoulders.

  Eyeing the stranger before him, the uniformed veteran searched the face as if trying to find something deep within the trusses of hair. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the cameraman nodded at Sonja, ignoring Lincoln’s question. “I’m getting pictures of all the nominees for the Town Father award before the ceremony.” Smiling, the man’s eyes twinkled—like some strangely handsome mountain man.

  Suddenly, Sonja’s attention was drawn to a second man standing nearby—also holding an expensive looking camera.

  “Perhaps you should change your camera settings. Even with the overcast, you shouldn’t need your flash feature with the amount of light we currently have.”

  Sonja felt her heart leap in her chest and her breath grow short. Standing just a few feet from her booth was Benjamin Simon—her secret crush.

  She had met him only a few months earlier—when he came into town with a film crew to shoot an episode of a popular ghost hunting television show. During a crazy murder case involving one of the crew members, a case Sonja had gotten herself accidentally involved in, she had grown fond of the handsome cameraman and also made friends with one of the girls on the crew—Maddy the Mystic.

  After the murder, the television show had been canceled and Benjamin had decided that, after he tied up a few loose ends in L.A., he would return and work as a farmhand in Haunted Falls. He had also taken care, making sure Maddy made it back to her hometown in Idaho all right.

  Originally, Benjamin had estimated he would only be gone a week or two—but Sonja had not seen him for over a month and a half. She had waited eagerly, each and every day, for him to return. He was, after all, the only man she had been interested in romantically for quite some time. Part of her was disappointed that Benjamin hadn’t come to see her when he first came into town, but why would he? It wasn’t like she had expressed her interest in dating him—at least not yet, anyway.

  Now, standing there in front of her booth, camera in hand, he looked more rugged and beautiful than she remembered. He wore a purple V-neck t-shirt that fit snuggly over his well-formed chest along with a pair of work jeans, while his short dark hair was swept back.

  “Benjamin,” Sonja finally exclaimed much too eagerly, her cheeks flushing in excitement.

  “Hiya, Sonja,” he
replied.

  “I think I know what I’m doing,” the bearded cameraman replied to Benjamin’s comment about the flash. “I’m a professional photographer.”

  “I know,” Benjamin commented, “but Ms. Bennett decided she needed two cameramen for the event—just in case one of us didn’t get all the pictures she needed.”

  The bearded man’s face slumped first into surprise, and then into anger. “I am fully capable of taking quality pictures for this event. I think Ms. Bennett overreacted. I don’t need a small town photographer to help out.”

  “Oh, he’s not a small town photographer,” Sonja butted in, unnecessarily defending Benjamin on an instinctual impulse. “In fact, he was the cameraman for The Spook Show before it ended,” the enraptured woman declared proudly, talking about him as if they were already in a relationship and it was her duty to protect her man’s pride.

  Benjamin laughed quietly. “It’s okay, Sonja. He has every right to be a little upset. I know I would be if I took a job and realized they hired someone else without telling me first.”

  “Sonja?” Shamus Bidwell interrupted in a whisper. “Do you think we could get those waffles? Dad gets a little shaky if he doesn’t eat.”

  “Nothing of the sort, Son,” Lincoln defended. “I’m sure Ms. Sonja will get us our waffles when she has a moment.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she replied, having completely forgotten about her two customers standing before her. Scooping up another batch of Picnic Waffles, Sonja bagged them and handed them over to Lincoln and his son. “There you go. Again, I’m very sorry.”

  “Don’t you worry about it, little lady,” the older gentlemen replied. Turning to the bearded cameraman, Lincoln snapped, “It’s this man who should be apologizing.”

  “Excuse me?” the man asked, incredulously. “I’m just doing my job.”

  “What is your name, sir?” Lincoln insisted.

  “I’m Samuel Hawkins, a professional photographer with True Image Event Photography.”

  “I don’t care how professional you say you are. In the future, I insist you act in a more well-mannered order. Otherwise, I have no choice but to call and complain to your superior.”

  “This isn’t the army, old man. We don’t have superiors,” the photographer snipped.

  Sonja’s jaw dropped, her face flushing with shock. What kind of professional says something like that to a customer?

  “Is everything alright over here?” Corrie Bennet chimed in, walking over toward the increasingly crowded booth. “Ah, I see you gentlemen have met,” Corrie mentioned, nodding to Benjamin and Samuel.

  “Yep, we have,” Benjamin said with a smile that almost made Sonja melt into the grass below her sandals. “I hope there aren't any hard feelings,” the ruggedly handsome man said, approaching his fellow photographer and holding out a hand.

  All eyes fell on Samuel. Sticking out his hand he reluctantly shook Benjamin’s, a sneer at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose if Corrie sees fit to hire a second photographer it’s no skin off my nose. It’s not like I’m making less money.”

  The handshake broke off and Benjamin turned toward Lincoln. “Mr. Bidwell, do you mind if I get a quick shot of you and your son?”

  “Thank you for asking, young man,” Lincoln replied, narrowing his eyes at the bearded photographer. “We’d be glad to.”

  Rising the camera, Benjamin snapped the picture. “Perfect. I’ll probably try to get a few more throughout the day.”

  “No problem, son.”

  Turning from the booth, Samuel walked away, camera in hand and taking pictures of other picnic patrons as he went.

  Sonja leaned on the table. “Do you know him?” Sonja asked Lincoln.

  “Not in the slightest,” he replied, “but he does have a familiar face.”

  “Well, Dad. Should we see some of the other booths before the award ceremony?” Shamus asked.

  “I suppose we should,” the father replied. “Nice to see you, Sonja. Nice to meet you —Benjamin, was it?”

  “Yep. Nice to meet you, sir,” Benjamin added.

  The father and son walked off to see the next booth, both smiling.

  “That man better not win,” Corrie sneered. “He doesn’t deserve that award.”

  Sonja looked at Alison who rolled her eyes.

  “Well,” Corrie declared self-righteously. “It looks as if everything is in order here,” the town gossip announced as if she had walked over and magically fixed an already awkward encounter. “I have other things to do. Good luck with sales, ladies.”

  “Thank you,” Sonja replied in as cheerful a tone as possible. Alison visibly tried not to make a face.

  “By the way,” Corrie noted, “you owe me thirty dollars for the sign.” Clipboard in hand, the woman turned and headed off without another word.

  “I told you so,” Alison mumbled.

  CHAPTER 5

  “So, how is business treating you?” Benjamin asked, leaning in on the table.

  Sonja felt her heart pounding in her chest, making her slightly light headed. Inwardly, she felt her stomach turn in embarrassment. She never felt like this, never grew faint over a man. It was the stuff of romance novels and it didn’t, or at least shouldn’t, happen in real life.

  Yet, here she was, swooning over a man she barely knew, and yet something about it was exciting.

  “Business is good,” she finally managed to force out. “We have a whole line-up of regulars who come to The Waffle almost every day.”

  “That’s amazing,” he replied. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Face flushing a pinkish hue with excitement, the enamored woman leaned in. At that moment, Sonja caught Alison’s eye. Her friend had one eyebrow raised and a knowing smile on her face.

  Attempting to ignore her best friend’s visual inquiry, she continued with her conversation. “So, how is Maddy?” Sonja asked, inquiring about her recently acquired friend from the film crew.

  Benjamin looked down, a little bit of sadness in his eyes. “She’s doing as well as any of us could expect,” he replied.

  “Did you see her off?” Sonja pressed. Maddy was the one person who had really been hurt the most, at least emotionally, by the TV show crew breaking up.

  “I actually flew out with her to Idaho. That’s why it took me a while longer to get back here than I originally expected.”

  A hint of jealousy ran through Sonja, despite her blatant awareness that there was probably nothing romantic involved in the trip with Maddy. “Oh?”

  “She was more broken up than I thought. She really dreaded having to go back to Idaho, back to her family, and for good reason, too.”

  “Why is that?” Sonja asked, mindlessly stirring the eggs under the heat lamp.

  “Well, her hometown is probably the smallest place I’ve ever visited, and the people there aren’t exactly the warmest—especially her family. They all basically resent her for taking off and doing television, and for claiming she could communicate with ghosts.”

  This comment irritated Sonja because being supernaturally sensitive herself, she truly believed that Maddy was the only person she knew—besides maybe Belinda Smith, the self-proclaimed town nut case—who could truly sense spiritual presences. “Wow. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. Small town politics most likely. But get this, that’s not the only thing that went down while we were there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when we arrived, we found out that Maddy’s grandpa had died . . . had been murdered—mutilated.”

  Sonja’s jaw dropped. “Holy cow,” she whispered. Sonja briefly thought of the strange string of unrelated murders that had recently occurred in Haunted Falls.

  For a brief moment, she wondered if something supernatural was going on, and maybe like a disease she had somehow passed that ill luck onto Maddy—a young woman who was already sensitive to spirits.

  Shaking her head, Sonja tried to rid herself of the negative, and rather unrealist
ic, thoughts.

  “But I’ll tell you something, Sonja,” Benjamin whispered, leaning in. “After everything that happened here with the murder, and then being there in Rock Hills with Maddy for a few weeks, I’m starting to think there may be something more to this whole ghosts and the supernatural thing than I first expected.”

  Leaning on the table, Sonja’s jaw dropped in amazement. Not many people in Haunted Falls, if any, ever expressed real belief that ghosts might exist. For the first time since her return to the small mountain town, Sonja didn’t feel so crazy herself. Maybe, in time, she could share her supernatural experiences with Benjamin.

  It made her like him all the more.

  “Besides our experience in the barn,” he asked, referring to the apparition that had appeared there during filming, “have you ever experienced anything supernatural?”

  Sonja swallowed hard, nervousness creeping up her throat. While she had definitely had her fill of ghostly encounters, she had never told anyone about them—and she certainly never had someone ask her directly.

  “Actually,” she whispered, willing the truth to finally coming spilling out, but ultimately she couldn’t do it. “No,” she answered.

  She cursed inwardly for her lack of confidence to bring the truth forward. Finally, someone who might understand, who might actually begin to believe in ghosts himself, and she spoiled it.

  “Oh, I see,” he mentioned, clearly a little disappointed.

  “Sorry,” Sonja responded.

  “Before you left,” Benjamin commented, clearly changing the subject, “you mentioned that I should come into the diner and get a free plate of waffles. Is it okay if I swap out that plate for some of your Picnic Waffles?”

  Sonja straightened up and put on her best professional face, while also trying to maintain a warm interaction. “Absolutely, how many do you want?”

  “Two is fine.”

  “Nonsense,” she insisted. “I’ll give you four.”

  “Are you trying to fatten me up?” he joked. “I realize I no longer have a high paying television job, but I’m not that desperate for free food.”

  Sonja ignored him and handed him four waffles wrapped in deli paper. “So, I thought you were going to work as a farm hand?” she asked. “Are you doing photography instead?”