Carolyn Q. Hunter - BUCKAROO WAFFLE MURDER

Buckaroo

Waffle

Murder

A Wicked Waffle Paranormal Cozy

Book 5

By

Carolyn Q. Hunter

Copyright 2018 Summer Prescott Books

All Rights Reserved . No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.

**This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.

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BUCKAROO WAFFLE

MURDER

A Wicked Waffle Paranormal Cozy

Book 5

PROLOGUE

T he fresh January air was chilly that morning. A glistening layer of ice covered the landscape. Each branch of the usually green aspen trees glittered like a light show, waving to the passersby on the winding roads far below. The sky was a slate of muted blue, not a single cloud staring back from the bleak heavens.

Vaughn Potter stood on the wooden porch of the Last Chance Museum and Train Station, bundled up in five layers of clothes. Long winter underwear was topped with plaid pajamas, a heavy sweater, a red wool robe, and a brown leather coat. In his gloved hands, he held a blue speckled tin cup that steamed with fresh black coffee.

There was a pinch in his cheeks and on his nose which urged him to step back inside the warmth of his personal apartment attached to the museumbut he refused to move.

The sun was just coming up over the horizon, sending waves of orange and yellow light like streamers through the frosted trees. In his humble opinion, there was nothing better than a chilly winter morning in the Colorado Rockies.

Taking a deep breath, he let the below-freezing air invigorate his lungs, then let it out in a magnificent pillar of steamnot unlike the very train that sat about ten yards away.

Lifting the hot cup to his lips, he sipped the dark liquid. It warmed his body against the elements all while giving him a fresh boost of energy.

The low vibration of an engine in the distance, accompanied by the crunch of tires over fresh snow, caught his attention. Walking down the steps from the porch and out from under the awning, a breeze caught him that took his breath away.

The white and blue mail truck appeared, with elevated and chained wheels, trudging its way toward the front door of the museum. Parking, the driver side door slid open, revealing a striking woman inside. Morning, Vaughn, she greeted.

Hiya, Mary, he replied, lifting his mug toward her. Care for a break and a cup of coffee?

Sliding out of the seat, she walked around to the back of the trunk. Fraid I cant, Vaughn. Got a whole bunch more packages to deliver.

I thought youd get a break now that the holidays are over.

She shook her head. Not very likely. Not until the end of Valentines. Besides, everyone is busy spending their Christmas gift cards and money.

Sounds like hard work, he consoled her.

Well, it keeps me good and busy, she said, opening the back doors. Speaking of packages, Ive got quite the delivery for you.

Vaughn had been expecting this for a few weeks now. Let me give you a hand. Eagerly rushing back to set his mug on the wooden porch railing, he darted to the back of the truck where the mail woman was.

I appreciate it because this thing is a mammoth, she grunted, grabbing onto one of the rope handles of a large wooden crate.

Dont I know it. Vaughn smirked, grabbing the other side and helping her to drag it down onto the snowy ground. Lets just get it into the lobby.

Got it. Counting to three, they both lifted the hefty delivery and walked toward the museum, hobbling up the stairs, and finally pushing through the swinging double doors inside. The crate hit the floor like a ton of bricks, creating a boom that echoed throughout the whole building.

There we go, Vaughn said, catching his breath.

What the devil is in this thing, anyway? she pressed, leaning on the box for a moment as her lungs burned.

Honestly, I dont know. I won it at an estate auction and am hoping there are a few good antiques for the museum inside.

More old west stuff?

Thats what this museum is, isnt it? he laughed, motioning to all the rugged wares hanging on the walls and sitting behind glass.

I guess so. Just thought Id ask. Finally catching her second wind, she stood up straight. Hope you got a few good treasures in there.

Me too. You just never know with these blind auction items. Sometimes youll get some true family heirlooms, other times its a heap of junk.

Well, I better get moving before I freeze. Pulling the ear flaps on her hat tight over her face, she headed for the door.

Thanks for the help.

No problem.

You sure you dont want to stop for a cup of coffee before you go back out? Its bitter out there.

I really have a lot of deliveries to get done.

You could help me open this crate, he offered, laying both gloved hands on top of the box. Arent you interested to see whats inside?

Twisting her petite lips to one side, she couldnt help but crack a smile. Okay, Vaughn. You got me. But just one cup of coffee, got it?

As you wish, my lady, he joked, heading off through the side door, through the museum office, and into the apartment where he poured from the tin pot sitting on top of the wood burning stove. On his way back, he grabbed a crowbar off a hook on the wall. Here you go, he offered, holding out a red speckled cup as he reentered the room.

Thanks. Taking the cup, she sipped the steaming liquid and sighed comfortably, honestly grateful for the momentary break from her route through the snowy rural mountains.

Okay, lets pop this thing open and see whats inside. Jamming the crowbar under the lid, he pried upward. The long nails squeaked in protest as he unhinged the wooden top and set it aside.

A pile of packing straw stared back at him. Lets see, he whispered, digging into the hay like strands and tossing them on top of the lid.

Curiosity setting in full force, Mary stepped up close to peer inside. Looks like an old trunk.

Yeah, but its whats inside the trunk thats the real mystery, he replied, shuffling the last of the straw aside. Twisting the old metal latch with a loud click, he lifted the lid.

A puff of dust erupted from the trunk, causing the two onlookers to cough and wave away the plume.

Man, when was the last time this was opened? Mary joked, laughing through another cough.