Murder in the Mist (24 page)

Bryan untied the ropes. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.” He pressed the starter, and the inboard motor purred to life. An expert sailor, he eased the boat out of the slip and into the channel. “Hold the tiller while I run up the sail.”

She switched seats with him and held steady as he’d instructed. Lifting her face to catch the breeze, she experienced a sense of anxiety.

“Relax, Laura.” Bryan took the wheel. “We’ll use the auxiliary until you get used to being on the water. It won’t take long for me to make a sailor out of you. Tell me, what do you like to do for fun?”

She thought for a moment. “I’ve never given the subject much thought. My entire life has been based around my work…the next assignment. That was my fun.”

“What about now?”

Give Bryan a chance.
Advice from both her aunt and Mitch. “Travel. In fact, Aunt Philly and I plan to do just that—a Mediterranean cruise in September, and though she doesn’t know it yet, I think Hawaii sounds more inviting than spending a frigid winter in Maine.”

“That sounds more like a destination than fun. After that, then what?”

She stifled a frown at the irritation his words evoked. “Then, one day at a time.”

“What about settling down, having a family some day?”

A long silence followed. She shifted her gaze to the sparkling waters as she considered the best way to answer him. “Why, may I ask, are you so interested in my future?”

He blinked as if he hadn’t expected her straightforwardness.

She decided to lay some basic ground rules. “Bryan, the reason I’m with you today is because Aunt Philly and Mitch think you’re a nice guy. Plus, I was rude the last time you attempted to take me to lunch. Maybe the questions you ask are your way of making conversation, but to me it’s more like interrogation. If we are to become friends, stop trying so hard. Here’s what I’m not interested in: becoming a sailor, jibbing and tacking, deep-sea diving, cohabitation, settling down, or marriage.”

She crossed her arms, ignoring the voice inside her head chastising her for being so blunt. Hadn’t Mitch said to set the ground rules—to let Bryan know to go slow? Yeah, but Mitch didn’t say to scare the hunky senior park ranger away, either.

****

Just sitting so close to Laura swung Bryan’s world sideways. Behind those sunglasses her eyes were a pale blue that darkened to deep sapphire when she was annoyed, he knew. Intelligent eyes that judged him at every blink. And she should. Irritation mixed with admiration rolled off him in waves.

She pulled a sports visor out of her tote bag and tugged it on. She cocked her head and gave him an exaggerated sigh of impatience. He wasn’t used to being countermanded by anyone. Mitch had warned him about Laura’s leg and the possibility of a future surgery. He hadn’t wanted to treat her like an invalid nor had he intended to imply she was to become a sailor. She had apparently done her homework and knew the agility required to man a sailboat. He’d grown up on the water. She hadn’t. What came second nature to him might be a struggle for her.

Mitch had also warned him to go slow. Laura was a fiercely independent woman who had been forced to prove herself in a man’s world. What was it Mitch had said—
she’s like a wild filly who doesn’t trust man. She needs gentling, and to do that you have to go slow. You’ll have to earn her friendship, Bryan, or be willing to walk away.
And then he had added,
Some fillies are never tamed. They’re gentled, but only tolerate man’s presence.

He hadn’t completely understood Mitch’s analogy comparing Laura to a wild horse until this very moment.

He saw the debate in her face. This woman took her word seriously. She had set the ground rules—go slow—allow the friendship to build—or get lost. His respect for her climbed several notches for that alone. The question remained—what did he want from her: tolerance, or friendship, or something more?

Tension compressed the air between them, forcing Bryan’s attention away from her steady gaze to fix on the churning surf ahead of them.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable as he’d been on his first date, and pointed. “A school of dolphins, straight ahead.”

She reached in the tote bag and withdrew her camera. It was the first real smile he’d seen on her face all morning.

****

Benjamin watched Bryan escort Laura toward the marina. He pushed away the murky darkness pooling inside his head. He didn’t want to hear the disembodied voice.
We like the way she smelled, didn’t we, Bennie? Like fresh flowers. She belongs to us…not that ranger.

He pulled the leather work gloves from his back pocket and slid his hands inside them.

He stood there, his knees feeling weak and shaky, his body slowly joining the rebellion of his emotions. Adoration. Disappointment. Anger.

She’s never going to love Beenie-weenie. She likes the ranger.

Benjamin placed his hands against his ears. His voice was low and raspy. “I’m not listening to you. She touched me. She smiled at me. Do you hear—she smiled at
me
. Benjamin. Not Bennie.”

Later, Benjamin’s eyes sharpened and then relaxed while he eavesdropped on Bryan and Laura’s conversation as they returned.

Bryan had commented, “The fireworks are spectacular.”

“So I hear from Aunt Philly. We plan to watch from the sun porch. Perhaps you’d like to join us.”

Benjamin clenched his teeth until they hurt when Bryan lifted Laura’s hand.

Anger punched him hard as he watched Bryan’s fingers interlace with Laura’s. In spite of himself, Benjamin continued to listen. “Nothing would please me more, but unfortunately, all the rangers are on duty. The Fourth is a big weekend at the park. Seems everyone wants to watch the fireworks from atop Cadillac Mountain. Can’t say I blame them.” And then Bryan snapped his fingers. “Why don’t you and your aunt drive up? I’ll arrange for you to have reserved seats from the top of Thunder Hole, and provide the chairs. I might even manage to sneak in a few minutes to watch with you.”

Laura had tapped a finger against her cheek as if thinking. Then smiled. “It’s a date. What time should we arrive?”

And then they had kissed. Not an intimate, passionate kiss. A mere touch of the lips. Benjamin watched as they said goodbye and Laura disappeared inside the bookstore.

He’d never physically ached for a woman. But he did now. Not just to make love to her, though that was central to his mind. He wanted to taste her, to inhale her scent, to make her his.

Everything about her drew him. Like now. She didn’t belong to the ranger.

We are identical twins, Bennie. I was born with the brains, while you are destined to always do the dirty work. Do something worthwhile for once. Make her love you.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands against each side of his head to relieve the ache. Who was he—Bennie or Benjamin? Neither was a great choice.

“How do I make her love me, Bennie? You and I are both losers.”

Chapter Thirty

The following week flew by at an incredible pace. Fourth of July weekend meant the countdown of days until Sheriff Gilman returned from her honeymoon and Mitch left for Texas.

As many times as he had scoured the park areas and reviewed the autopsy report, Mitch had to admit his frustration over being no closer to finding Daisy Fuller’s murderer or to connecting a ten-year-old murder to this one.

The missing pets were still missing. None of the rangers had discovered any clues that the remains had been dumped or buried in the park, and no remains had washed ashore.

To fill her days, Laura spent more time working with the tourism council and the historical society. Aunt Philly seemed inordinately pleased that Laura had accepted Bryan’s invitation to watch the fireworks from atop Cadillac Mountain inside the park, and when the local celebration was not the subject, she chattered continuously about the European cruise and spending the winter in a warmer climate.

At night, Laura researched the history of the town and its buildings. Her goal was to help establish grants to preserve historical sites from outside commercial contractors whose sole purpose was to demolish the structures for capital gains and replace them with parking lots or ultra-modern architectural designs.

And, all the while, she wrestled with the question of who was sending her the white roses. After receiving another rose, she decided someone other than Mayor Shipley was the perpetrator. Whoever he was had changed his pattern. This time, she found a fully-bloomed flower on the steps at the back door of her office. She hadn’t noticed the second difference until she picked up the stem and a thorn pricked her finger. Always before, the sender had stripped away the sharp barbs. She wondered if she had inadvertently offended her secret admirer and this was his way of sending her a warning.

Shaking off the doldrums, she scanned the news clipping into her computer, then zoomed in on the grainy black-and-white images of Brenda Alligood and Bennie Wiener. Twenty-plus years had passed since Dan Fuller had taken the photo and written the article about the girl’s unfortunate death. Laura held a current picture of Benjamin Noone next to the screen. The resemblance she had earlier thought existed simply didn’t.

The office phone rang. “
Cole Harbor Gazette
, Laura speaking.”

Heavy breathing.

“Hello, is someone there?”

An unfamiliar male voice with a deep rasp whispered, “No one loves you.”

“Who is this?”

The line disconnected.

Laura pushed out of her chair and walked to the back door to double check that the deadbolt was in place. Her heart thudded until the beat throbbed inside her ears.

She punched in the numbers of Mitch’s cell phone.

“Deputy Carter.”

She struggled to keep the quaver from her voice. “Are you near the newspaper?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I didn’t tell you about receiving another rose because I still believed it was someone’s idea of a sick joke. Mitch, a moment ago, I received a strange phone call. I think it was a threat.”

“Lock the doors, draw the blinds, and don’t let anyone in. Give me ten minutes. I’ll sing out your name when I get there.”

To stay occupied, she made a fresh pot of coffee. And she paced, sat down, paced some more, until she heard a tap on the glass. “Friday, it’s Mitch.”

She turned the lock and wanted to rush into his arms—to feel safe. Instead, she walked to the coffeepot and poured two cups. “Mitch, are you sure Elio Casper is dead? I mean…did anyone actually see him in the morgue, or in a casket?”

“What’s happened to spook you?”

She set the cup on her desk and opened the large manila envelope, then carefully removed the slightly mashed but fully bloomed rose. “This arrived two days ago. Unlike the others, it has thorns. My finger is still sore from the prick.”

She related about the telephone call, and repeated the caller’s words.

“You didn’t recognize the voice?”

She shrugged. “It was a man who sounded as if he had a bad case of laryngitis.”

Mitch gave her an assessing glance. “Although my sources are reliable, I’ll contact them to double-check on Elio Casper’s death.”

She looked down at the cup in her hands. “I can’t help but think the roses and now this phone call are connected, and that someone else is in Elio Casper’s grave. I’m scared, Mitch. Not just for me. I don’t want Aunt Philly harmed because I live with her.”

“Friday, with the way the town is filling up for the fireworks show this weekend, I’d like you to stay at home with the doors locked. I have to work. There’s no way I can keep an eye on you.”

“Don’t worry about us. Aunt Philly and I accepted Bryan’s invitation to watch the fireworks from the park.”

Mitch gave her a knowing look.

She hitched one shoulder. “Don’t go reading anything into it. I took your advice and set the ground rules. Slow and easy.”

In silence, they exchanged awkward smiles.

She had to remember that his time for returning to Texas was drawing nearer, and that she was staying in Cole Harbor.

Mitch checked his watch. “I’ll let you know what I find out about Elio Casper. In the meantime, you know the drill…doors locked…no venturing out at night alone.”

****

She hadn’t slept.

At six-thirty, she carried a cup of coffee to the porch. The sun was trying to break through a blue-gray mist that hovered over the cove. Laura sat on the porch swing, dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas. The nights in Cole Harbor remained cool and damp. She sat there sipping and listening to the seagulls’ high-pitched mewlings.

Her cell phone vibrated against her hip. She reached into her pocket to look at the caller ID.

Bracing herself for bad news, she returned to the bedroom and shut the glass slider so her voice wouldn’t disturb her aunt.

Speaking just above a whisper, she said, “Do you know what time it is?”

There was no humor in Mitch’s voice. “Figured you’d be up.”

Her nervousness increased. “What did you find out?”

“Hang on a second, Friday. I need to take this call.”

She frowned and glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

“Friday, sorry about leaving you hanging.”

A terrible feeling rose inside her. Dread. “If Elio is alive, just tell me.”

“My sources sent me several pictures, which I’ve emailed to you. They should come through—now. Tell me if you can identify either of the two men.”

Her cell phone beeped. “Give me a second, Mitch.”

She viewed the gruesome images of Elio Casper and Mario Gombiana. Both on metal slabs, their naked bodies draped with white sheets. Elio’s eyes wide open. Lifeless, cold, dead eyes. Bruises on his face and neck. Gombiana’s picture was more graphic, with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

“Friday?”

“Yeah.” Tears burned behind her eyes, and her throat was tight. “That’s them. You’re right. They are really dead. So who is after me?”

She heard him sigh through the phone. His tone was hard, intense. “The sorry bastard, whoever he is, will regret the day he harassed you when I catch him.”

When she didn’t answer, he added, “I’ll nail this guy. You believe me?”