“He doesn’t know we can ID him. But he knows someone can.” He ran his hand across his eyes and over his hair, felt the sudden moisture in his palms.
“Who?” Brad asked.
Mitch jumped to his feet and grabbed his parka.
“Elise!”
~ ~ ~
Mitch pushed Sophie’s door open and yelled, the panic in his voice obvious to his own ears.
“Sophie? Elise?”
The door to the back room swung open and Sophie emerged, drying her hands on a dish towel.
“Good heavens, Mitch? What’s the matter?”
“Where’s Elise?”
“Uh, she went back to—”
“We need the truth, Sophie,” Jonathan said quietly. “Even if you promised.”
Mitch stopped and looked back at Jonathan. “What are you talking about?”
“Is she in danger?” Sophie’s quiet voice permeated the room, made Mitch turn once again to look into her eyes.
“She might be. Where is she?”
Sophie looked past Mitch, her eyes focused on the doorway. On Jonathan.
“Sophie? Jonathan? What’s going on?”
Jonathan shut the door and ventured further into the tiny restaurant. He looked past Mitch, spoke directly to Sophie.
“Is she with him?”
Mitch stared at Jonathan, his hands growing moist inside his gloves. “With who?”
Sophie’s hand grasped his forearm. “Elise is with her uncle. At his cabin.”
“Her uncle? What uncle?”
Sophie gently guided Mitch into a chair and sat beside him. “Do you remember how she told you about visiting here with her aunt and uncle? How her aunt had died in an accident and she lost touch with her uncle after that?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, he came back here. He’s been here ever since.”
Mitch pulled off his gloves and wiped his hands on his pants. “Why didn’t she tell me when we planned this trip? Why was it a secret?”
Jonathan joined them. “She didn’t know he was here. Until a few days ago when Brad apparently mentioned his name.”
Mitch turned his attention to Brad. “You knew?”
Brad shook his head, his mouth open. “I didn’t know. I have no clue what they’re talking about right now.”
Mitch pointed at Jonathan. “And you?”
“Just found out this morning.”
“Who is this guy?”
Sophie sighed. “His name is Ken Fogarty.”
Brad gasped. “Old Man Fogarty? The freaky hermit?”
“He’s not a hermit. And he’s not a freak.” Sophie’s voice, strong and angry, filled the room. “He is a kind, gentle man who has been saddled with more guilt and grief than anyone should have to bear.”
Mitch waited for the words he was hearing to make sense. But they didn’t.
“I don’t get this, Sophie.”
“Elise’s uncle married a woman about a year before they vacationed here. They had a wonderful marriage. It was a first for Ken. The second for Faye, who had a son. Her first husband died of cancer. Ken was a second chance at love for her, a second chance at a loving father for her son.”
Mitch dropped his head into his palms and listened to Sophie tell him things about Elise that he should have known. Not Sophie.
“Two years later, she died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Ken had forgotten to turn his hot rod off when he left for work.”
“Whoa.” Mitch looked up. His heart twisted for this man he didn’t know, a man who had to carry the burden of a loved one’s death.
“I know, it must have been awful,” Sophie said. “Apparently Elise’s family turned against him. Faye’s family turned against him—even going so far as to get custody of Faye’s young son, Ray.”
Mitch considered Sophie’s words, waited for her to continue.
“Ken was so brokenhearted that he retreated from the world. Came here. To the one place that brought him peace and made him feel connected to happier times.”
“If Elise realized this on Thursday, why didn’t she say something sooner?”
“She was worried about you and how her uncle’s freedom might affect your feelings for her,” Jonathan said.
“Affect my feelings for her? How? Why?” Mitch laid his head on the table, his heart heavy. “Wait. You don’t have to answer that. She thought I would project my feelings for my father’s killer onto her uncle?”
Sophie’s confirmation came in the form of her soft fingers on his hand.
“And that’s where she is now?” he asked quietly, his mind trying to grasp everything he’d just been told.
“Yes. She wanted to make sure he was okay. She’s been terribly worried about him with this sicko on the loose.”
Mitch pushed back his chair and stood.
“We’ve gotta get to her. Before the killer does.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
6:15 p.m.
Ever since she was a little girl, Elise had always loved being in the darkroom with Uncle Ken. The idea of dipping an empty piece of paper into a “bath” had always made her giggle, the appearance of the final picture akin to pulling a bunny out of a hat.
Elise had certainly learned a few darkroom tips during those years, but never had she realized a watch light would be enough to develop a picture in an otherwise pitch-black room.
“You’ve learned a lot about darkrooms since I saw you last,” Uncle Ken said over her shoulder.
“I have. Most of it was from you, stuff I still remember. But some of it is from the photographer at my paper, Dean. He’s a little off-color, but you’d like him.”
“I would have thought that most photographers today would be shooting with digital cameras.”
Elise shook her head. “Not Dean. He wants total control over his camera, his pictures.”
The room grew silent as she pushed the paper around in the fixer solution and waited for the pictures to appear.
“There you go.” Uncle Ken’s voice drew her attention from a past full of memories and onto the paper in front of her.
The first few images to appear were of smiling tourists, people who must have arrived in the twenty-four-hour time period before she and Mitch had.
“Everyone looks so happy,” she said.
“It’s a happy place.”
She couldn’t miss the wistful tone in her uncle’s expression. It was obvious he was remembering their vacation to the island all those years ago.
She looked at the paper in front of her, at Mitch’s smiling face, his arm wrapped around her protectively, lovingly.
“He looks like a nice guy.”
“He’s the best.” She looked at Mitch’s image, felt the longing to be with him. Here. “I think you two would hit it off if you’d only give each other a chance.”
A pounding sound made them both jump. She looked quickly at her uncle.
“I can’t, Elise. I just can’t.”
“I’ll get it then.” Elise opened the door of the darkroom and headed toward the front door, the still-wet photograph from that first night clutched in her hand.
As she strode across the family room, she looked down at the picture. Saw Mitch’s smiling face, saw the restrained sparkle in her own eyes as she’d tried to push off thoughts of her uncle in favor of a relaxing vacation. And she saw Merlin at the table behind them.
Merlin?
She stopped in her tracks, stared at the newsman’s face partially hidden by the tightly drawn hood and the hint of brown hair that escaped.
Brown hair?
Confused, she looked at the picture more closely. Searched it for something that would make sense. But there was nothing.
The man at the table behind them was the same man who’d been covered in snow. The same man who’d sent a chill down her spine. And he was the same man she’d spent two days with, searching for something that would help them identify a killer.
But what about the hair? Could it be a brother?
The basket of personal care items next to the walkie-talkie at the Lakeside Inn. It had been short a bottle of shaving cream. She covered her mouth with her hand as the enormity of her thoughts hit her full force.
All of a sudden it made perfect sense why there hadn’t been anything about the serial killer in the wire stories. He’d gotten rid of them. She’d just been too stupid to put two and two together. Until now.
Bits and pieces of their time together filtered through her thoughts. The way he hadn’t known where the wire stories were kept. He’d explained it away on his illness, but that wasn’t true. He’d opened up the wrong cabinet because he hadn’t known.
The sloppy desk had bothered her that second time, and now she knew why. Someone that sloppy wouldn’t have had wire stories neatly arranged in a basket. He must have done that during the night, weeding out the ones he hadn’t wanted her to read.
Her mouth dropped open as his words filled her ears.
“When I think of Annie, my head hurts. She was such a fighter.”
A fighter.
Mitch and Brad had been certain Annie had fought with her attacker, the turned-over trash can and scattered pens indicative of a struggle. She’d fought him.
The pounding at the door continued. Without thinking, Elise unlocked the door and turned the knob. As she pulled the door open, she felt her stomach drop, her heart lurch.
Merlin.
“Surprised to see me?” The man’s voice was oddly different, the endearing grumpiness she’d come to know replaced by a chilling tone. She stared into the face of the man she’d put so much trust in, the face of the man who had taken the lives of Pete, Annie, and a man who was obviously the real editor of the paper, and suddenly knew exactly what she needed to do.
“Merlin! I thought you were dead!” Drawing on every ounce of courage and hope she had, Elise wrapped her arms around the man’s neck and prayed her acting ability would pass as sincere. “It is so good to see you.”
The man stood motionless for a moment, then stepped back, stared at her with an unreadable expression as she continued.
“Come in. You look cold. Why don’t you sit right here and let me get you a blanket.” Without waiting for a response, she reached for the afghan she’d used such a short time ago, and handed it to him. “Where have you been since the fire?”
As soon as the question left her mouth, she wished she could recall it. A question like that left him with only two options. To gamble with a believable answer, or admit the truth. The latter choice being a sure death sentence for her and Uncle Ken.
Uncle Ken!
She looked quickly at the closed door to the darkroom, knew her uncle was on the other side, terrified to come out, terrified to be with another human being. Afraid of judgment.
“Is someone in there, Elise?”
She swung her gaze back to Merlin, considered lying, but knew it was futile.
“My uncle’s working in the darkroom. Would you like to meet him?”
Merlin jumped to his feet, his breath hot on her neck as he followed her to the doorway. “Yes. I would.”
Uncle Ken emerged from the room, his eyes hooded and distant.
“Uncle Ken, this is Merlin Webber. He’s editor of the paper here.” Elise spoke softly, her feet still moving slowly toward the darkroom as she discreetly handed the newly developed picture to her uncle.
“How long have you lived here?” Merlin’s question surprised her, and she listened for Uncle Ken’s answer as she made her way into the darkroom.
“Almost thirteen years.”
The second the words were out of her uncle’s mouth, she realized what they’d mean to a killer who didn’t know about his secluded lifestyle. That kind of time on the island would mean that Ken would know he wasn’t the editor.
~ ~ ~
Mitch saw the candlelit windows as soon as they rounded the last outcropping of trees. It was the same cabin he’d pointed out to Elise from the sled that first afternoon.
Looking back, he could see the instances that had brought Elise pain, the times she’d grown quiet. He recalled how her hand had lingered on the red pushpin that represented this cabin. The way she’d snapped her pencil when Brad mentioned her uncle’s name that first night. The way she’d insisted on going with the ski group to round up the outlying residents.
It all made sense now. Elise hadn’t grown quiet because of a problem between them. She’d retreated because of the memories the cabin and the island had brought back. Memories she’d kept to herself rather than share with him.
He shook his head and forced himself to focus on the cabin in front of him. Now was not the time to question the strength of their relationship.
“That’s it.” Brad pointed at the cabin with his ski pole.
Mitch pushed off the snow with his poles, took the lead as they approached the cabin.
“Mitch, wait. Let me go around back, in case the killer is in there with them.”
Mitch nodded at Brad, watched his buddy ski around the back of the small log home before continuing on his own path once again.
When he reached the front porch, Mitch bent down, unsnapped the straps that held his boots in place.
All was quiet from out here. But he knew that didn’t mean a damn thing. Death was quiet.
Mitch stepped onto the porch and crept over to the door. He strained to hear noises on the other side but heard nothing.
Pulling off his gloves, he clenched and unclenched his hands in an effort to bring some feeling back to his fingers. He counted to three and reached for the doorknob, slowly turned it to the right. The door pushed inward an inch and he peered inside.
A bearded man standing to the left of an inner doorway met Mitch’s eyes briefly, jerked his head toward the small room beyond where he stood.
Elise’s uncle. It had to be.
Mitch met the man’s eyes again, prayed he would understand the nonverbal question in his face. His stomach lurched when the man nodded in response.
Mitch quietly unzipped his parka, reached his hand toward his holster and closed his hand around the gun.
~ ~ ~
“I was trying to develop a roll of film when you knocked. I just need to finish that up.” Elise walked into the darkroom, willed her voice to remain calm. “But we need to shut the door for it to be dark enough.”
She prayed Uncle Ken would look at the picture she’d handed him, realize the man in the background was the one in his home now. Prayed he would leave his personal jail and venture out. For help.
Merlin was standing so close she could feel his breath on her neck as she shut the door, her eyes desperately trying to adjust to the lack of light.
Pressing the tiny button on the side of her watch, she held her arm to the countertop and the bottle of fixer she’d been using just moments earlier. Elise closed her left hand around the bottle, unscrewed the cap with her right.
“Merlin?”
“Yes.”
“This is for Annie.”
With one quick movement of her arm, she shot the open bottle forward, the liquid spattering in the man’s face and eyes.
Elise heard the thud of his body as he fell backward against the wall, heard the high-pitched screams as his eyes began to burn.
The door of the darkroom flung open and she looked up, saw Mitch’s tall form standing in the doorway, his hand wrapped around the grip of his gun.
“I got him, Mitch. I got him.”
She stared down at the wounded man huddled in the corner beside the open door. A man she had trusted.
“He killed Pete and Annie. And the real Merlin.” Her voice cracked as she looked up at Mitch. “He killed them all.”
Mitch’s arms reached for her, pulled her close. “But you stopped him before he could hurt anyone else.”
Chapter Thir
ty
9:00 p.m.
She felt Mitch’s arms around her, felt the love he had for her. But there was something else there now. Something she hadn’t felt before.
She knew what it was. It was apprehension. Maybe even a little mistrust.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Uncle Ken sooner. I was afraid it would make you run.”
She felt his warm lips against her forehead, his breath on her hair.
“Why would you think that?”
“I know how much pain your dad’s murderer caused both you and your mom. I know how angry it makes you when people don’t pay for their crimes. I guess I assumed you’d think my uncle should have been punished for Faye’s death. Everyone else did.”
“Forgetting to shut off a car is quite different than raising a gun and pulling the trigger,” Mitch said softly.
She knew he was right. Felt it with every fiber of her being.
“I’m sorry, Mitch.”
“I know.”
Elise looked at the doorway that led to the darkroom, closed her eyes against the image of the killer that instantly filled her mind.
“So he really didn’t kill Pete?”
Mitch shook his head slowly. “Nope. Josh Cummings murdered Pete. So he could win the competition and the prize money.”
“Only he didn’t win. Mark did.”
Mitch rubbed his hand across face. “Sad, isn’t it?”
She stared at the fire in the hearth, watched the flames shoot upward toward the chimney.
“It makes sense. Now.” She could hear the raspy sound to her voice as she continued. “When I think back to the first time we talked, Merlin seemed more shocked by the fact that there’d been two murders than he was by the actual crime itself.”
“I’m sure he was thrown off by the fact that he wasn’t the only killer on the island.” Mitch touched his lips to her head and kissed her softly.
“But—”
“What?”
“It must have been horrible for Merlin’s father to hear Jonathan and me in that office and not yell for help.” Elise sat forward, met Mitch’s eyes with her own. “Do you think he was gagged?”
Deadly Getaway Page 17
