Murder in the Mist (8 page)

Everything inside her tightened until she thought she was going to break. She opened her laptop. “Give me a sec. Before I get too tightly wound, I want to research the meaning of a white rose.”

Her fingers flew over the keys. The frown on her face and her silence prompted Mitch to ask, “What does it say?”

“Suited to reverent occasions, the white rose is a fitting way to honor a friend or loved one in recognition of a new beginning”—her voice broke—“or…a farewell. White roses are often displayed at funerals.”

She watched him watching her. He studied her intently, his eyes dark, expression somber. “Just breathe, Friday. It’s going to be all right.”

She closed her eyes, and felt as if her world had turned upside down. “Better pour a cup of coffee. If you have time, I’ll give you the long version. If not, you’ll have to settle for a quick sketch.”

“I’ve got time.”

“Promise, not a hint of this to Louise. If you do, I’m as good as dead. And if they’ve found me, it’s only a matter of time.”

He listened intently as Laura filled him in on the details of the night she was shot and her camera man killed. “That’s why I changed my name and left New York. Even though I’m the legal owner, the
Gazette
was purchased under the ownership of a dummy corporation, for my protection. Writing tame articles isn’t my style. I’ve been careful not to post my picture on social media sites or to write articles that would draw a flurry of outside reporters. Other than you and Aunt Philly, no one else knows. She’s as close-mouthed as a clam when it comes to keeping confidences.”

Laura propped her elbows on the desk and covered her face with her hands. “How could Elio Casper track me down? He’s in prison.”

“The Internet is the eyes and ears of the world. Nothing’s private. I pulled up some of your articles, Laura. You’ve been responsible for ratting out a lot of dangerous thugs. With your permission, I’ll do some snooping, on my personal computer, after hours. Louise won’t know. If necessary, I can call in a few favors.

“In the meantime, go about your daily business. My guess is we’ve got a local who thinks pulling crank jokes on the new lady in town is funny. Whoever he or she is, they’re probably waiting to see how much they’ve rattled your chain. You’re a pro at these games. Don’t give them what they want.”

She had that feeling, that creeping pins-and-needles feeling in her spine, that told her something bad was about to happen. She blinked. “I have a permit to carry a concealed weapon. It’s issued in the name of Laura Schofield.”

“What’s your weapon choice?”

“A Ruger LCR.”

Mitch blew out a whistle. “Sweet. Small, compact, deadly. If it makes you feel safe, go for it.”

Responding to the vibration at his waist, he looked down at his beeper. “It’s Louise.” He smiled. “Maybe she needs me to get a cat out of a tree, or a squirrel from an attic.”

Laura’s limp smile let him know the joke had fallen short. He added, “I still think it’s a sick prank, but as a precaution be cognizant of any out-of-the-ordinary strangers. You have enough street smarts to detect them.”

She gave a little wave and watched him walk out the door. She opened a desk drawer and drew out a large manila envelope and labeled it “Prank.” A good reporter always kept evidence. She closed her eyes as her head leaned against the office chair.

Chapter Ten

To Laura, Cole Harbor always smelled like a freshly mowed lawn, green, sunny, and bright. This morning was no exception. Dressed in a pair of cutoff jeans and a T-shirt, with orthopedic lift sneakers, sunglasses, and a ball cap, she followed her aunt down the wooden dock to where a man stood holding the rope to an aluminum boat.

She lifted the camera and clicked. In college her secondary major had been photo journalism. Perhaps one day she would publish some of her pictures.

Phyllis called out, “Morning, Harmon. Got ’er ready?”

“Ayuh. She’s got a full tank of gas. Put a new spark plug in this mornin’. Motor purrs like a kitten. The tide’s runnin’ low. Stay in the channel, and you’ll do fine.”

Phyllis set the cooler of food and drinks on the dock. She accepted the old boatman’s hand to help steady her as she stepped into the skiff. Once in, she looked up at the sky. “Fair weather. We plan to stay on the island all day. Should return before nightfall.”

Laura grasped the man’s hand. He was an old salt, for sure—weather-wrinkled skin, and ripcord tough. His strength surprised her. “Don’t worry ’bout fallin’, missy. You just take your time to get your footin’, ’cause I got yah.”

She found it awkward, reaching down with her shorter leg. Phyllis gripped her by the hips. Laura hoped she wasn’t blushing for all the help. A grown woman who couldn’t master getting into a boat was embarrassing.

“Got it. Thanks to both of you. I guess you can tell how much of a rookie I am.”

“Don’t you worry, young missy. I’ve known your auntie for nigh on her entire life. She’s as good a sailor as they come. She’ll teach you a thing or two.”

“Oh, stop your confabbing, Harmon, and hand me the cooler and the lifejackets so we can get on our way. Laura, you sit on the bow seat.” She pointed. “It swivels. You'll have a bird's eye view from all angles."

The cooler secured in the center of the boat, Phyllis fastened the buckles on her lifejacket. “Cast off.”

Harmon handed her the rope. She primed the starter, gave one strong pull on the cord, and the old kicker roared to life. Laura turned and watched her aunt, hand on throttle, guide the little craft into the channel. The woman was full of surprises.

“How far, Aunt Philly?”

“About fifteen minutes, if we putz along. Keep an eye out for whales or seals. Sometimes seals will swim so close you can reach out and touch them.”

“What about whales? Aren’t we in danger of them capsizing our boat?”

Phyllis laughed. “If one does approach us, I’ll shift into neutral gear until it surfaces and then swims clear.” She abruptly stood and pointed, then reached down to idle back the motor. “Port side. Left, Laura. Off to your left. Thar she blows.”

A whale breached about two hundred yards ahead of them. Laura zoomed the lens and adjusted the camera's angles as she shot picture after picture. “Oh, man, that was awesome.”

“Ayuh, awesome.” Phyllis put the boat in gear.

The skiff sliced through the crystal calm water. Laura lifted her camera to click shots of a group of low-flying brown pelicans, all thoughts of spirits, gangsters, the rose, and its anonymous note forgotten. She felt as free as the wind.

Phyllis pointed. “We’ll land there.” She aimed the boat toward the shallow waters of the island, cutting the motor, and the boat slid up on the beach. She swung her feet over the side into ankle-deep water and grabbed the bow rope. “You sit while I pull her up a bit further on the shore.” She secured the rope with a sailor’s knot around a tree.

Laura waited until her aunt gave an “okay” nod. “You make getting in and out look so easy.”

“Tell you what. Turn around and step out of the boat backwards, with your left leg first. Place your hands on the gunnel to steady yourself.”

Laura did as she was instructed while Phyllis held the boat firm. Once both feet were on the ground, Laura grabbed the cooler. “How big is the island?”

“Twelve acres of paradise. It’s populated with mostly pine, white birch, and wild blueberry bushes. Watch your step. The trail is rustic and reaches from one end of the island to the other. The highest point is in the center. We can see Cole Harbor from there.”

The tunnel of growth opened into a clearing. Wild grasses dotted the winding path, thickly speckled with yellow and white flowers. Ahead of them a vast array of ferns spread out like a thick carpet. Towering oaks and birch trees waved their branches overhead, breaking the sun into a dozen pieces of gold. A Monarch butterfly darted in front of them. Laura sucked in her breath. “Beautiful. Simply beautiful. I can see why you wanted to preserve the island.”

She spotted two birds playing tag in amongst the pine trees. She wasn’t into the great outdoors. She was more of a city girl, used to sidewalks and tall buildings, but a woman just had to take in nature once in her lifetime.

Her hip throbbed by the time she and Phyllis arrived at a small clearing at the apex of the island. She drew in a breath and blew it out slowly—partly because of the pain and partly because of the circumference of beauty that unfolded before her.

She and Phyllis spent the morning exploring and eating the wild blueberries they picked. After a morning swim, they lay on a blanket to soak up the sun. “Thanks, Aunt Philly. Just what the doctor ordered. It’s been a long time since I felt this relaxed.”

Phyllis propped on an elbow. “Your mother and I used to come out here when we were children. After your dad died and she moved back to Cole Harbor, we’d spend Saturdays here.” Her voice wobbled. “Then she got sick, and that was that.” Phyllis wiped tears from her eyes. “Say, how about a lobstah roll and a cold beer?”

Laura’s own voice seemed to hang in her throat when she tried to speak. “Sure. I’m starved.”

At three o’clock Phyllis suggested they return to the harbor. “By the time we get back, shower, and dress, we’ll be ready to settle down for the night. There’s an old classic movie starring Gregory Peck that I’d like to watch.”

Laura patted the tops of her legs. “I think I’ve gotten a little more sun than I intended. Let me guess. The name of the movie is
Moby Dick.
”

“You’d think, what with us living in a whaling community. But, no, give me a good western any day. Love the way that man sits a horse. And speaking of horses, there’s some good trails in the national park. We could rent a couple of horses and go for a ride, if you’re up to it.”

Laura used her aunt’s outstretched hands to help her stand. She hugged Phyllis. “You are my heroine. Is there anything you can’t or won’t do?”

“Give me a minute. I’m sure I can think of something.”

Laura laughed at her aunt’s quick wit as they prepared to retrace their steps on the trail.

With little or no warning, the sun hid behind the clouds, a wind kicked up, and the sky darkened. Phyllis glanced up, saying, “I checked the weather before we left. We’re supposed to have clear skies through next weekend.”

Laura rubbed both hands up and down her arms to ward off the chill bumps. “It feels like the temperature has dropped ten degrees in less than a minute. Is this usual for this time of year?”

“Not unless a storm is brewin’. Besides, Harmon would have sounded the fog horns to warn boaters to head for shore, and he hasn’t. C’mon, we’d better hustle back to the boat.”

It was the sobbing that stopped them. Laura was certain the puzzlement on her aunt’s face was a reflection of her own. “Maybe it’s the wind.”

“Whatever it is, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Each woman grabbed an end of the cooler and ran, with Phyllis taking the lead. The ferocity of the wind grew. Trees bent almost to the ground. Phyllis tripped and fell. The sobbing grew louder.

As Laura helped her aunt stand, she looked around, then called out, “Who are you? What do you want of us?”

The sobbing continued.

“Hurry, Aunt Philly.”

A tree crashed in front of them. Phyllis yelled, “We can either climb over or go around.”

“Too many branches. Let’s go around.”

A dark thought entered Laura’s mind. The beginning of an unpleasant fear. The séance had awoken a spirit. What if the spirit was evil and lived here? What if the spirit intended to punish them for invading its resting place?

Another tree uprooted and crashed, cutting off their immediate path to the boat. Phyllis grabbed Laura’s hand. “Forget the cooler. This way.”

Needles from pine limbs slashed at Laura’s face. Shrubs grabbed her ankles and tried to pull her down. Her rubbery legs wobbled dangerously. Weeks with no exercise could do that. So could fear.

And then the earth opened up and swallowed her. Her head hit the rock-hard ground, and her breath was knocked from her body. Her lungs refused to inhale, but a door opened, yawned black and gaping.

Laura had a dream. In her dream, the air felt like velvet. She could spin round and round and see the bright pinpricks of stars. She had taken this door before. She walked toward it, unafraid. The only thing missing, of course, was her friend, Jolly.

She stepped inside the shadowy depths—

A hysterical voice beckoned her back. “Laura! For God’s sake, Laura, speak to me!”

Her eyes flickered open. She struggled to sit up. She faced the sky. And then she looked to see what she was sitting on. Panic laced her voice. “It’s a body. Oh, my God, I’m in a grave!” She tried to stop the screams rolling from her throat. Uncontrollable shivers caused her teeth to chatter.

“Get me out, Aunt Philly. Pleeease, get me out!”

She grasped the strong hands. Thankful the grave was shallow, she climbed out. The sky cleared. The wind calmed, and the sobbing ceased.

Laura and her aunt hugged each other as they knelt over the grave. Thoughts rushed Laura all at once as she looked at rotting remnants of a nurse’s uniform. Her voice was hushed when she finally spoke. “I think we’ve found Lynnette Braswell.”

Phyllis made the sign of the cross over her chest. “I think you’re right. Be at peace, Lynnette. We won’t leave you until help comes. Promise.”

Laura gave her aunt a quizzical look. “Do you think she was alive when she was brought here by whoever?”

“I don’t know. But let’s make haste to the boat.”

“We’re not leaving, are we?”

“No. I’ll give the distress signal—and send up a flare. We’re close enough for Harmon or another boater to hear.”

Laura reached into her front pocket and removed her cell phone. Two bars. She dialed the number Mitch had given her. “Answer. Please answer.”

“Deputy Mitch Carter.”

“Mitch, it’s Laura. Come quick. There’s a body. We’re on Pine Is—oh, shit.”

Phyllis yelled over the deafening blast of the siren. “What happened?”

Laura let forth a deep sigh. “The call dropped. I hope he was able to hear me.”