Murder in the Mist (22 page)

“Yeah, it’s a bummer. I hate cutting the day short, but Mitch insists I get medical attention.”

Keeping her eyes on the trail, the ranger said, “My shift ends in about twenty minutes. I’d planned to do a bit of shopping in town, and I’d be happy to drive you to the doctor.”

Laura didn’t answer at first. Shifting around to look at Mitch, an aching pain bit her hard in the hip. “Mitch, as much as I’d like to explore the beach and cavern with you, it’s not going to happen today. Besides, you said the more time an investigation takes, the colder the evidence gets. I won’t have you wasting any more time on me when it can be better spent searching for more clues.”

Mitch watched her with an assessing gaze. He nodded, accepting her offer with mixed feelings. “Ranger Dorsey, how far to the beach area?”

She pointed as she braked to a stop. Then she glanced at her watch. “We’re at low tide. High tide at four fifty-four p.m. Don’t linger, Deputy. There’s a storm brewing, which means the tide will roll in fast. Predictions are for eighteen feet.”

Mitch stepped out of the vehicle. He thanked Ranger Dorsey for driving Laura to town, then lifted his hand in a wave. “I’ll check on you later, Laura.”

“Be careful, Mitch.”

He stared as the 4x4 disappeared, then followed the short path to the coastline area. For several moments, he stood taking in the serene beauty of gentle waves lapping against the pebble-strewn beach and, in the distance, colorful sails of bobbing boats. At the bottom step his boots sank into the sand. He walked along the pebbly shore area in a grid pattern, scouring the sand and clumps of seaweed for any unusual objects, and when the beach ended he climbed atop a craggy table of rocks. Careful not to slip and fall, he searched crevices and found nothing of importance. He continued along the granite ledges until he reached the sheer stone walls of Thunder Hole and could go no further.

Standing with hands on hips, frustration rode him like the wild waves washing in and out of the cavern and sending bursts of foamy spray skyward. Whoever killed Daisy Fuller knew the area. He had to agree with Bryan Cole’s assumption that the killer’s intention was to dump her body in the ocean and let the predators destroy the evidence. Except the waves had turned the tides on him.

A small ball of fire sparked in front of him, followed by a vibrating boom of thunder. The electrified air caused the hairs on his arms to stand on end. He looked at the leaden sky. It was time to heed Ranger Dorsey’s warning. With a storm approaching and the way the waves were kicking up, he needed to make tracks to higher ground.

He raced along the surface of uneven rocks. At the rate the tide was rolling in, if he didn’t get across the beach area soon, he’d have to risk battling the current in order to swim to safety.

A splat of rain hit his shoulder. The breath was sucked from his lungs when an unexpectedly large wave crashed over him. His boots slipped on the boulders’ wet surface. He scrambled to maintain his balance, and fell to one knee. Another wave rushed at him. He dug his fingers into small crevices and held tight. The force of the breaking surf felt as if it were a beast trying to swallow him. Unable to regain his balance, he called on the strength in his arms and legs to pull himself across the slippery stone.

A thundering roar warned him that another cascade of water was approaching. The knees of his pants ripped as he scrambled to the rocky rim. What had been an easy climb thirty minutes ago had become a life-and-death struggle. The wave washed him off the ledge and dragged him into the frigid water. Beneath the roiling surf, he held his breath, worrying he might be caught in a riptide. At the moment he feared the air had run out, his lungs near exploding, a wave lifted him up and spit him out. Gasping for air, he managed to stand. Running through waist-deep water was no easy task. He moved his arms back and forth in a swimming motion to help propel himself forward. The tide continued to rise; it reached his chest now.

He struggled. The steps to safety were within fingertip reach. He leaned forward and stretched. Another wave crested, grabbed hold, and sucked him under. His boots and service gear weighed him down.

He fought until he surfaced. Salt burned his eyes. He sucked in large gulps of air and then heard his name.

“Mitch…Deputy Carter…Here.”

The water had reached his chin and was inching toward his nose. He swirled around to see Ranger Klopper standing with a life ring tied to the end of a rope.

“Grab hold.”

Mitch prayed the current wouldn’t sweep the lifeline out of his reach. Watching the white ring sail through the air, he crouched on his knees and used the force of the water to surge his body upward as he jumped—and landed with a splash, face down in the briny sea. His last thought was how glad he was that Laura wasn’t with him.

And then he was skimming through the water, his right arm hooked through the ring. Strong hands pulled him to safety.

Mitch coughed and gasped his thanks. “How did you know I was here?”

“Ranger Dorsey reported that you had come to the area to do some investigating. I got worried when you didn’t answer your walkie-talkie. Sure hoped you weren’t in trouble but thought I’d better check.”

Mitch accepted the blanket the ranger handed him, and wrapped it around his shivering body. “You saved my bacon, Ranger. I won’t forget it.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Laura labored up the stairs. The apartment was quiet. That worked for her. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation. She carried the camera case and trekking poles to her bedroom and dropped everything on the floor, then turned to look in the mirror and stood there not believing the course of the day’s events. The laugh that escaped her came out as a disgusted snort.

Glad to be home and thankful no stitches were needed to close the inside of her lip, Laura touched her tender cheek, which was rapidly developing into a black eye, and then peeled off her clothes. Aunt Philly would understand if she didn’t watch television with her tonight. A soak in a hot shower and a glass of wine cured many ills when all else failed.

In the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle of merlot from the cabinet and poured a glass, then headed back to the bedroom to finish undressing, cranked up the hot and cold knobs, and settled on the shower seat, her legs stretched forward and her head resting against the tiled wall.

Steamy water gushed over her battered body as she sipped, grimacing when the wine stung the cut inside her lip. The alcohol would have to wait for another night. She closed her eyes and allowed the last vestiges of stress to drain away.

She stepped from the shower and snagged a towel to wrap around her body, tucking the corners in at her breasts, then bit back a moan from the pain in her hip. She gritted her teeth to walk without a limp to the bed. Ahh, the bed. It crooned her name. What she needed at this moment was a pain pill. She grabbed a clean baggy T-shirt, pulled it over her head, and hobbled to the kitchen, Ken Musuyo’s scowl and words still fresh in her mind.
If you don’t allow your hip to heal, I can guarantee another surgery in your future, and this time the outcome might not be as successful as the first.

After a feast of potato chips, peanut butter slathered on graham crackers, a large glass of cola, and three scoops of chocolate ice cream, she sighed. There was nothing like a healthy dose of junk food to bolster a girl’s fortitude.

She fell back on the bed and used a pillow to support her bad leg, grabbed a romance novel from the bedside table, and opened it to the marked spot. Her eyes had a mind of their own, and drifted shut.

The cell phone vibrated and hummed against the nightstand. Turning on her side and wrapping her arms around a pillow, she let the message go to voicemail.

****

A week later, Bryan Cole strolled into the newspaper office holding a vase filled with a variety of colorful flowers. Laura closed the top to her computer. She greeted him with a smile and extended a hand, offering him a chair. He set the container in front of her. “Peace offering.”

She lifted the flowers to her nose and sniffed. “It’s me who should apologize to you for spoiling the picnic lunch at the gazebo. I could offer you a thousand reasons for my rude behavior, and yet none of them can excuse the way I acted.”

She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “You didn’t seem fond of roses, white ones, especially. So I chose wildflowers. These are from my garden. Hope we can be friends.”

Friends.
His voice reverberated through her with a lazy sensuality. Perhaps she had been too quick in her judgment of him. “The flowers are lovely.”

An awkward moment of silence passed as if each of them were searching for something to say. It was Bryan who interrupted the moment. “How does owning your own newspaper in a small town compare to being a big city reporter?”

Laura realized with a start that with recent events, she hadn’t given much thought to her life in New York. She stared at Bryan, recalling Mitch’s words about giving the friendship a chance to grow but to go at her own pace.

Bryan chuckled. “If it takes this long to compare your city life to this, you must be trying hard to be tactful.”

“Not at all…but it’s not what I expected. It’s beautiful.”

He looked at her, meeting her gaze. “And deadly boring.”

She gave a shout of laughter. “Is it, really? You mean after all that’s happened since I arrived?”

“So, tell me.” His voice was soft and low. “What do you miss about being an investigative reporter consistently appearing on the nightly news?”

The moment of camaraderie shattered as her memories flooded back. In an instant, she was sitting on the sidewalk, soaked in blood, cradling Jolly’s head in her lap.

“It was my life for ten years. Every time a drug ring was busted up, or a serial rapist put behind bars, it made me feel needed, as if I were helping keep the streets clean. Plus, the adrenalin rush of danger and excitement becomes addictive.”

Bryan shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “You seem to have brought some of the big city drama with you. Dead bodies popping up all over the place.”

Laura shuffled the papers on her desk. She studied him for a moment, the teasing glimmer in his eyes fading.

“I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”

“What?”

“Insulted you.” He stood and paced around in a circle as if looking for something he had lost. He huffed out a breath. “I’m not usually a bumbling idiot. It seems whenever I’m around you, it’s open mouth, insert foot. I…I…”

She stared at the papers in her hand. Swallowed. A little part of her liked having this effect on him. Before she could get the words out of her mouth, the chime over the door pealed, and Mitch walked in.

Laura watched Bryan quickly mask his disappointment. Apparently, he still thought of Mitch as competition. Well, all that romantic love crap be damned.

Mitch and Bryan shook hands. After the pleasantries were over, Mitch gave Laura a half smile. There was no humor in his eyes. “Three calls this morning, each one to report a missing dog, and all of the dogs were old, so it would make them easy to catch.”

Laura’s eyes widened. She placed a hand to her cheek. “You don’t think he’s struck again?”

“That’s my first thought.” Mitch cut his attention to Bryan. “What time does Amy Osmond usually get to work?”

“Always early. Around seven-thirty. Good worker. Visitors and staff love her. Why?”

“She takes a shortcut from her house to the edge of the forest until she gets to a marked trail in the park. Are there any employees who live in town that might give her a ride?”

“I’m not in charge of the civilian workers. Laura, okay to use your phone?”

She nodded. “What’s happened, Mitch?”

He blew out a breath. “Might not be anything. I stopped by the Silly Lobster for dinner, and Amy’s mother asked to speak to me in private. She didn’t want anyone to hear her concern that a couple of times Amy was certain someone was in the woods watching her. At one point, she thought she was being followed. She even called out. When no one answered, Amy chalked it up as a deer rustling the bushes. Naturally, her mother is concerned, and so am I.”

Bryan pursed his lips as he disconnected the call. “All the locals work different part-time shifts.”

“I’d take it as a personal favor if you changed her hours…maybe ten to two. That way anyone who lives along the rim is already at work and still at work when Amy leaves for home.”

Icy fingers shuddered down Laura’s spine. “You’ve got a suspect in mind—someone who lives near the park?”

Mitch’s voice sounded tired. “I wish I did. This is merely a precaution.” He looked at Bryan. “My gut tells me the missing dogs are buried in the park. Notify your rangers to keep an eye out for any freshly disturbed earth.”

Bryan straightened to his full height. “With thousands of acres, that’s a big request, but anything to catch this pissah, all you need do is ask.” He smiled at Laura. “Duty calls. Enjoy the flowers.”

She tilted her head and thanked him again for the bouquet.

Before the ranger walked out the door, Mitch said, “Hey, Bryan, don’t you own a small sloop sailboat?”

“Ayuh. You want to go out sometime?”

Mitch chuckled and shook his head. “I’m a landlubber, like to see what’s under my feet. Give me a horse and saddle any day over a boat and water.” He winked at Laura. “Actually, I was thinking you might invite Friday to go sailing. It’s not nearly as strenuous as hiking trails. Whadda you say, Friday?”

A wobbly smile cut across Laura’s face. “Well—” Damn Mitch Carter for putting her on the spot. The expectant look in Bryan’s eyes reminded her of a little boy waiting to hear if he’d won a prize. Hell. “Sure. What about Saturday morning, at nine? This time, I’ll pack the lunch.”

“I’m on call the entire weekend. Monday?”

She was her own boss and could set her own hours, yet she didn’t want to get into the habit of allowing pleasure to interfere with work. “Just this once, I’ll take a work day off.”

The expectant frown on Bryan’s face softened into a smile. “My boat’s name is
Not for Sail.
She’s red with white trim. Slip number five.”