Murder in the Mist (7 page)

He poured his coffee, then sat across the desk from Laura. “Maybe.”

Laura took a bite of the still-warm confection. Although she knew the conspirator, she took her time before answering. “The person who makes the best ever desserts of any kind is Maudie Perry, and her best friend since childhood is Phyllis Friday, and since Aunt Philly has always been a sucker for a guy in uniform, I’ll lay my money on her being the inside informant.”

Mitch chuckled. “Like I said before, I’m not a betting man. But you win.”

They passed the next few minutes with pleasantries before Mitch grew serious. “I wanted to let you know that the medical examiner’s report came in last night. Official cause of Victor Forgione’s death—arsenic poisoning. Had it not been for you detecting the garlic odor, his beautiful bride of six months would be living on some exotic island and spending his billions instead of standing trial for murder. In a few months, she’ll trade her bikini for prison coveralls. Good call, Friday.”

Laura exaggerated the fluttering of her eyelids. “Why, shucks, deputy, I was just doing my job.” She offered her hand across the desk. “Truce?”

He accepted it. “You stepped on my ego, Friday. That’s pretty dang tough on a Texan.”

Setting her mug aside, she leaned forward, arms crossed on the desk. “Sorry. Hope we can be friends, especially since we’ll be working together.”

Mitch looked around, then back at Laura. “Did I miss something? Working together?”

“Yeah, you know, sheriff’s office, newspaper office, exchanging facts, clues. I scratch your back, you scratch mine.” She hastened to correct the last bit. “Well, scratch the scratching. I didn’t mean that literally. By the way, you have a mole in your office.”

Mitch scrunched his brows together. “Mole…as in…snitch?”

“Yes. Louise Highland is the biggest gossip in town. She couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it. The woman thrives on telling tales, and with embellishment. Not to knock a dent in your ego armor, but I already knew about the medical examiner’s report. I thought it professional courtesy to wait until you told me.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Friday. Thing is, Louise worked for Sheriff Gilman’s father. After he died and Roberta filled his position, she kept Louise on, saying she didn’t know how to fire a woman who had worked for her dad for over twenty years. I’m not in charge of personnel; I’m just the deputy.”

Laura washed down the remaining bit of pastry with the last of her coffee. She was on a roll and decided to go for broke. “So, what’s your story, Mitch? What brings a Texas cowboy lawman to a small seaside community like Cole Harbor? We’ve got no night life, the sidewalks roll up at dark-thirty, and except for the fireworks on Fourth of July, the most exciting thing that might happen is you climbing up a tree to rescue Nadia Cruex’s cat.”

She watched his hesitation. The agitated way his jaw worked. Everyone was entitled to their secrets. Lord knows, she had her own. “I’d rather hear it from you than from Louise.”

His eyes narrowed. She thought she saw a hint of anger. He banked it fast. “After a stint in the Army, I got my old job back with the border patrol at Fort Stockton Station. Sometimes it wasn’t much different than being on patrol when I was deployed in Iraq or Afghanistan. Pulling the trigger was getting too easy. I didn’t like the person I was becoming, so I asked for a transfer as far away from crime as possible. Cole Harbor seemed like a good fit.”

“Aw, disappointing. I expected a love-gone-wrong story.” Though subtle, she didn’t miss the flinch, or the tic under his eye. She knew emotional pain when she saw it. Now wasn’t the time to push. “Is it a good fit?”

Mitch shrugged one broad shoulder. “Six months on the job, and all is well. Okay, since we’re playing twenty questions, it’s your turn. What’s your story?”

Laura looped her fingers through the handle of her coffee cup as she stood to replenish it. “Like you, nothing newsworthy. Although I was born in Cole Harbor, my parents moved to New York when I was five. My mother and Aunt Philly were sisters. We visited a few times. Not often enough. After my father’s death, ten years ago, my mom returned. The last time I came was for her funeral, about five years ago.”

Now it was her time to shrug. “Running the
Harbor Gazette
seemed like a prime opportunity. Not getting any younger…planning for the future. You know, logical reasoning.”

He scoffed. “C’mon, Friday. What are you? Twenty-eight? Thirty, at the most? Surely you can come up with a better line. That day at the docks, you said you were an investigative reporter from New York. Though when I Googled Laura Friday, she didn’t come up, but a Laura Schofield did. Odd, the striking resemblance between the two of you.”

She inwardly cringed. As much as she wanted to tell Mitch about Elio Casper, she didn’t trust him to keep her confidence. The last thing she needed was Louise posting gossip on some social media site that would point Casper’s boss to Cole Harbor.

“Coincidence. They say everyone has a twin. I guess you found mine.” She grabbed a note pad and pencil. “Let’s change the subject. Anything new on Dr. McMahon’s cause of death? He was wearing a life jacket when his boat flipped.”

“The eyes are the windows to the soul, Laura. Yours hold a secret that frightens you. Whatever it is, you can trust me.”

She laughed. “A cowboy, a lawman, and a psychic. You are full of surprises, Mitch Carter. Now, about Dr. McMahon?”

He stood and placed his hat on his head. “No mystery. Medical records show Dr. McMahon had a weak heart and had suffered several heart attacks. When the boat flipped, apparently the combination of stress and frigid water was too great. Official cause of death—acute myocardial infarction. See you later, Friday. I need to make rounds. Someone’s cat may need rescuing.”

She laughed. “I’ll make sure it’s front page news. Thanks for the chat, and the Danish.”

She took a second to think about the upcoming headlines for the paper’s next issue. Opening her laptop, she typed:
Garlic Lands Bride in the Soup.
For the next few hours she concentrated on writing her articles.

At noon, her aunt entered. “All work and no play makes for a dull reporter. Let’s walk over to the Silly Lobstah for lunch.”

“You don’t have to ask twice. I’m starved.”

Engrossed in conversation, it was yelps that drew their attention in time to see Benjamin Noone flail a dog with a shovel before he yelled and gave chase. “I catch you digging in my flowers again, and the next time it’ll be more than a whack with a shovel.”

Phyllis’s voice was stern and commanding. “Stop it. Don’t hurt that poor animal.”

Benjamin stood still, the shovel held in mid-air. He glowered at her. “Dog can find someplace else to bury its bones. So mind your business, ’cause keeping this square beautiful is my business.”

Phyllis linked arms with her niece, and gave a tug. “C’mon, Laura.”

“Aunt Philly, did you see the expression on his face? He looked almost…demented.”

“I told you he was a strange duck. By the way, I don’t recognize the dog. Maybe it belongs to one of the campers visiting the national park. I’ll put in a call to Bryan Cole, the park ranger, to ask if anyone is missing a pet.”

Over a dish of baked sea scallops marinated in garlic butter, Phyllis made a suggestion. “I can’t believe how fast time has flown. You’ve been here almost a month. I say, let’s have an adventure.”

Laura dabbed a piece of crusty bread in the savory sauce and plopped it into her mouth. Between chews, she said, “What do you have in mind?”

“Pine Island is one of my favorite spots. I’ll make sure Harmon Taylor has the skiff in good running order. What about a day of exploration, with a picnic, next Saturday?”

“Sounds like fun, but won’t the owner get upset if strangers tromp all over the island without permission?”

Phyllis smiled over the rim of her iced tea glass. “Since I’m personal friends with the owner, I don’t think she’ll mind.”

“Who? Maudie? Nadia? One of your other friends?”

“You’re looking at her. Me. Several years ago, I got wind of a speculator interested in developing the island. The last thing I wanted to see was those beautiful trees and the wildlife displaced by a hotel and a bunch of littering tourists. I pulled a few strings to buy it out from under him. I’ve willed it to the government to become a sanctuary when I die, so the island will remain a natural habitat permanently, for all to enjoy.”

“Aunt Philly, you are one in a million. I’m sorry I’ve stayed away for such a long time. I have a feeling I’ve missed out on many special times with you. And, yes to Saturday. It’s a date.”

What Laura really wanted after the meal was a nap, but work called. In the office, she wrote her next
Tidings
article and then turned her attention to the morgue books stacked on the end of her desk.

The first two books held nothing she felt related to the spirit that had visited her. By six o’clock, she had decided to leave the next volume for the morning, but curiosity won out, and she opened it. On page five, a headline caught her attention, an article about a teenage girl named Brenda Alligood, whose neck had been broken. The boy who killed her, Bennie Weiner, had been sent to a mental institution. She searched her memory. Neither Brenda’s nor Bennie’s name came up.

Laura grabbed another morgue book from the closet. She locked the office and walked to the private entrance that led to the living quarters above the library. A familiar excitement filled her. The kind of excitement that happened before a big story broke. She wondered if there was a connection between the spirit and the murdered girl.

Chapter Nine

After supper, Laura plumped two pillows and used the headboard as support, a cup of tea in her hand, the scrapbook propped against her knees. Before long, her eyes growing heavy with sleep, she yawned and almost—almost—overlooked the article about a young nurse who had gone missing from Cole Harbor.

After reading it, and with a moment’s hesitation, she opened her door and peered across the living room. A light shone from beneath her aunt’s bedroom door. She padded across the area and lightly rapped. “Aunt Philly?”

“Come in.” Phyllis looked up from the mystery novel she was reading for the next Friday Sisters Book Club discussion. “You found something interesting?”

Laura sat on the edge of the bed. She opened the morgue book. “This is dated ten years ago. It says Lynnette Braswell disappeared. No evidence of foul play suspected in her disappearance. Do you remember when this happened?”

Phyllis rubbed her forehead. “Let me see. Lynnette came into the library a few times to do research during her nursing courses. Pretty little thing. Quiet. In fact, no one actually missed her until a friend, who lived in Bangor, called the hospital to see if Lynnette had left yet. She was supposed to spend her days off with the friend, but she never showed up. Someone from the hospital went to her apartment. Her car was gone. Sheriff Amos Gilman was called. He got the landlord to open Lynnette’s apartment. Neat as a pin. No signs of a struggle or a robbery. Nothing seemed amiss. That was about the time Sheriff Gilman took ill. I guess he didn’t have the physical or mental wherewithal to give the case the attention it deserved. He hired his daughter as a deputy, but she was fresh out of the academy, trying to learn the ropes and cover for her dad at the same time. Apparently, he didn’t want anyone to know how sick he was. A couple of months after Lynnette’s disappearance, her car was found by some hikers, at the bottom of the stone cliffs out by Frenchman’s Bay. A body was never found. When Amos died, I guess the case slipped through the cracks. Like the article states, it was assumed the girl had accidently lost control of her car. It went over the cliffs. What happened to her body remains a mystery.”

Laura placed a fingernail under the first two letters of the young woman’s name. “
Ly
, Aunt Philly. I’ll bet you a Nobel prize in journalism that our spirit is Lynnette, and her death was no accident.”

“Hmmm. What do you suggest we do? Tell Mitch, see if he’s interested in digging into a cold case?”

“And have him laugh us under the table? No way. If we have to hold another séance to contact Lynnette, we will. My guess is she’ll contact us first.”

Laura reached down to rub her aching leg. “Is it too late for a cup of your special amaretto hot chocolate? I’m so wired, I need something to help me relax.”

Phyllis swung her legs over the side of the bed. “You don’t have to ask twice.”

****

The following morning, dressed in a pair of white slacks and an emerald green silk blouse, Laura dropped her keys as she bent to unlock the door to the newspaper. It was when she stooped to pick them up that she spotted the white rose lying on top of a piece of paper. She lifted the rose to her nose and inhaled the sweet aroma. It didn’t miss her attention that the stem had no thorns. She opened the note. The words, written in an almost illegible scrawl, caused her to gasp.

“You gotta let it go, you know.”

She frowned as she looked into Mitch’s smiling face. “Let what go?”

“Whatever’s putting lines on that pretty face.”

Laura inhaled. She exhaled. “Funny the things that can rock your world.” She glanced up and down the sidewalk and across the town square. Except for a few tourists walking into local eateries, and Benjamin sitting in his usual place inside the gazebo, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Merry blue eyes immediately turned dark. Mitch’s expression went from teasing to all business. “You’re trembling. Let’s go inside so you can tell me what’s upset you.”

Opening the door and flipping on the lights, she dropped the large scrapbook on the desk. She held up the rose, and handed him the note. He read it aloud. “‘No one loves you.’ Not exactly the way you’d want to start your morning.” He picked up the rose and twirled the stem between his fingers. “Is there a significance to the flower with the note?”

She went through the rote motions of making coffee. “I don’t know.”

“I’m a cop, Laura. You may have bested me with the garlic-arsenic evidence, but I’m savvy enough to know when people are hiding from something. If you’re in trouble, the only way I can help is for you to give me details.”