Deadly Getaway

by Laura Bradford

  Mitch took her hand in his. “We think he was dead before you ever showed up.”

  She stared at Mitch, waited for him to continue.

  “Think about it, ’Lise. He took on the vocation of his victims. That says to me that Merlin must have been dead when you showed up the first time. Certainly by the second.”

  Elise looked at the fire for a moment as she pondered Mitch’s words. It made sense. He took his father’s career after he killed him.

  “Do you think his last victim had been a cop?”

  “Yeah. It would explain the intensity and loathing in the agent’s voice that first night. And it jives with what Joe told us during the sleigh ride that first day about the cop he brought into town after the noon flight.”

  “And it backs up why Sophie thought there were four cops,” Elise said quietly as she looked down at her hands. “I’m so glad this is over, Mitch.”

  “Me too.”

  She reveled in the feel of his warm hands as she peered at her uncle in the kitchen.

  He’d responded well to Mitch. Even helped Brad and Mitch tie the killer up and get him onto the sled he had in his shed.

  “Your uncle seems like a nice guy. It’s a shame he’s punished himself so much.”

  She swung her gaze back to Mitch. “It is. He loved Aunt Faye with his whole heart. He was an incredible stepfather to her son.” She held her hand against Mitch’s, entwined her fingers with his. “He made a mistake. That’s all.”

  Uncle Ken walked into the sitting room carrying a tray with three coffee mugs and some white napkins.

  White.

  “Uncle Ken? Was the guy you saw outside your cabin last Thursday the killer?” She reached for a mug of coffee and handed it to Mitch, waited for her uncle to answer.

  “He was quite a distance off and his face was shadowed by the trees, but I’d say no. My guy was younger.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  Elise looked at Mitch. “I think my uncle saw the kid from the livery staring up at the cabin on the day we arrived.”

  Mitch took a quick sip of coffee. “Do you remember anything else?”

  “He dropped something white. But that was five days and two feet of snow ago.” Uncle Ken perched on the edge of the armchair.

  “Something white?” Mitch asked.

  “Yeah. Maybe paper of some sort.”

  “I wonder if it was R.J.’s letter.”

  “What letter?” Elise asked.

  “Remember, he told me he had a letter to give to someone?”

  “Oh, then I’m sure it wasn’t the same person. I don’t have visitors.” Uncle Ken cleared his throat and grabbed his own coffee mug from the tray. “So, this guy that Elise took out with the fixer, he didn’t kill all three of the victims?”

  Mitch shook his head. “Nope. He killed the desk clerk at the Lakeside Inn, and his father. The skier that was killed was the victim of a man who was desperate for a way to pay his divorce attorney.”

  Elise recalled the things the killer had said the day they met. Things that had seemed innocent at the time.

  “Don’t let your guard down around this Mark guy you told me about. Just in case your Mitch is right. Someone had to have killed that skier.”

  “Can you imagine the instant when he first realized he wasn’t the only killer?” Elise leaned her head against Mitch’s strong chest.

  “I suspect he learned a whole lot standing outside Brad’s open window.” Mitch nuzzled his stubbly chin against the back of her head. “I’m sure he was well aware of the skier’s disappearance thanks to our conversations. But yeah, I imagine he was elated when he realized Pete was dead. Took total focus off him.”

  “I guess that’s how he knew about the fortune-teller murders and the article I had written too. He heard Brad talking about it that first night, didn’t he?”

  Mitch nodded.

  Elise saw her uncle frown down at his hands.

  “Uncle Ken? You okay?”

  The man shrugged. “It’s just a shame that people can’t find other ways to change their lives.”

  A quiet knock on the back door brought an end to the conversation.

  “That would be my afternoon angel.” He looked down at his wrist, then back at the door. “Making her very first evening call.”

  Elise watched the way her uncle’s demeanor changed as he headed for the back door. Sophie brought a lift to his shoulders, a spring to his step.

  He unlatched the back door and opened it, reached for Sophie’s hand.

  Elise smiled as Sophie walked through the door, followed closely by Mark and a young man with dark hair.

  “Hey there, Mark, R.J. What are you guys doing here?” Mitch kissed Elise’s head quickly, then rose to his feet and walked toward the door.

  “We made a connection that we thought some of you might be interested in,” Sophie said, a smile spreading across her face.

  Elise stared at the young man who reached for Mitch’s outstretched hand. Recognized the ocean-blue eyes that sparkled as he smiled.

  “Ray?” Elise’s voice was echoed by Uncle Ken’s as she too rose to her feet.

  “Elise?”

  Relief flooded through her body, happiness filled her heart. She looked at Uncle Ken, saw the disbelief in his eyes as he stood transfixed in the same spot he’d been when Ray walked through the door.

  She ran around the sofa, wrapped her arms around the young man’s shoulders and held him close. “Oh, Ray, we’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Elise.” He held her closely for several moments and then stepped back, reached for Uncle Ken’s hand. “I’ve missed you too, Ken.”

  Uncle Ken cleared his throat, too shocked to speak.

  “Before you say a word, Ken, I need you to know something. I need you to know you didn’t do anything wrong that morning.”

  Elise stared at Ray, her heart pounding.

  “I did, son. I was careless. And there’s not a day that’s gone by that I haven’t regretted my stupidity or wished it had been me instead of your mom.”

  Ray pulled a piece of folded paper from his pocket and held it outward. “I lost the envelope out by your shed a few days ago. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it wasn’t an accident. Mom left that car running. She was trying to keep us from watching her die a slow, painful death.”

  Elise sucked in her breath, waited for Ray to continue. Or for Uncle Ken to respond.

  Ken reached for the letter, unfolded it, and read.

  Moments later, his shoulders sagged and he began to cry. A quiet, heartbreaking cry that made her heart ache with pain. And love.

  “Ray, how long have you known this?” Elise asked quietly.

  “I just found out. I came across the letter in a journal my mom kept. I think she assumed someone would find it after she died.”

  Uncle Ken wiped the tears from his face, held a hand over his mouth momentarily. “It makes sense now. She had a lot of appointments that last year. When I questioned her about them, she’d say they were routine. But she’d grown so pale over that last year. You can even see it in this picture.” He picked up the picture Elise had shown him and stared down at it.

  But why would she take her own life?” Elise asked quietly.

  It was Uncle Ken that answered. “Because she didn’t want Ray to suffer through the sickness of another parent. Don’t you see, she didn’t intend for all of this to happen. She was trying to do what she thought was best.”

  Elise felt Mitch’s eyes watching her closely, was grateful for the feel of his arm on her shoulders.

  “Now you know. Now you can live again,” Sophie said quietly as she rested her head on Ken’s shoulder.

  Tuesday, February 1

  Chapter Thirty-one

  12:30 p.m.

  Elise sat in front of Sophie’s laptop, determined to bring closure to a week of hell. Determined to preserve a part of island history that the real Merlin would have wanted.


  The FBI had made it onto the island earlier that morning, pockets of power and phone service had been restored overnight. Merlin’s son had been cuffed and taken away, Josh removed from Jonathan’s watch with the promise of jail time.

  The federal agents had even allowed everyone to call home, tell their loved ones and coworkers that they were okay.

  She smiled as she remembered Dean’s words.

  “’Lise, what did I tell you? Everything comes back to a picture. Once again, it was a photograph that helped catch a killer. Photography is the heart and soul of everything. Reporters are becoming obsolete.”

  She looked across the restaurant at Uncle Ken. Just seeing him outside his cabin, in the company of other people, was encouraging. Watching the sparkle in his eyes as he sat between Sophie and Ray was a dream come true. He looked so happy and at peace. Ready to face a world that had judged him unfairly. Ready to share his home with Ray.

  And Sophie—she was a special lady. The kind of woman she’d love to have for an aunt one day.

  Elise swiped at the tear that escaped her eye as she saw Ray’s arm drape across the back of Uncle Ken’s chair. The horrible nightmare that had kicked off their vacation was over. In its place was hope. Hope for Uncle Ken. Hope for Ray. Hope for her relationship with Mitch.

  Her eyes instinctively moved to Mitch’s table, watched him laughing and joking with Brad and Jonathan. Even Mark seemed at ease as he listened to the guys recount the happenings of the past few days.

  They were good guys. All of them.

  Elise studied Brad as he leaned back in his chair, his foot curled precariously around the leg of the table. As hard as it was to watch someone give up a dream, Brad’s decision to get out of police work was probably a good idea. He had a big heart and was a nice guy, but he needed more than that to be a cop. She just wasn’t sure if the island really needed another fudge shop. But time would tell.

  Jonathan was one of those people you count your blessings for having met. Solid, loyal, honest. The kind of qualities she imagined Mitch’s late father having.

  She watched as Jonathan rested a hand on Mitch’s shoulder as they traded stories, saw the respect and admiration in Mitch’s face. There was no doubt about it, the two men had formed a bond over the past few days. A bond that wouldn’t end because one lived in New Jersey, the other in Georgia. In fact, Jonathan was already talking about a summer vacation to Ocean Point.

  Smiling, Elise scanned the wall next to her small table, her eyes coming to rest on the picture Sophie had tacked up that morning. A picture of Elise with Uncle Ken, Ray, and Mitch. Her family. Her loved ones.

  She looked back at Mitch, met his sparkling eyes across the room. Her heart jumped as he pushed back his chair and walked over to the table where she sat.

  “Having trouble writing?”

  “No. Maybe. A little. There’s just so many thoughts swirling through my head right now.”

  “Enough to write a book?”

  She felt the corners of her mouth turn upward, heard the laugh escape her lips.

  “Oh, no. No way. Not another Madame Mariah prediction. I think this eventful vacation was enough, don’t you?”

  Mitch shrugged. “Maybe. But what harm can come from writing a book? You’re certainly good enough.”

  She reached up and gently guided his head downward until their lips were just inches apart. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Uncle Ken from the start.” She searched his face for forgiveness.

  “It’s okay. I understand. You were trying to protect what we have. But you don’t need to do that. I’m in this for the long haul. And nothing anyone else does can change my feelings for you. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Her stomach jumped as his lips met hers and lingered ever so softly. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined finding a man like Mitch.

  He ran his hand gently down her cheek, brushed a wayward curl from her face. “Now get back to writing so we can salvage what’s left of this vacation before we have to head back to Jersey.”

  “Can we cuddle by the fire?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Can we ski together?”

  “Yup. And you don’t even have to teach me. I’m a self-taught wonder.”

  She laughed.

  “Can we spend some time with Uncle Ken and Ray, I mean R.J.?”

  “Definitely.” He ran his lips across her forehead. “Besides, I’ve got something I want to ask you while we’re here. With them.”

  “Ask me?”

  “Ask you.” Mitch cleared his throat as a nervous look flickered in his eyes. “I just pray you say yes.”

  She stared at him as he winked and walked away.

  Could he mean what she thought he meant?

  Finally she had the incentive she needed to get her article written. Positioning her hands on the keyboard in front of her, she began to write—

  As the clouds rolled in, weather forecasters in the Mackinac Island area predicted the impending arrival of a massive blizzard—a storm that would likely leave island residents stranded without power, phones, and access to the mainland.

  But that was only the beginning of a forecast far more menacing than the meteorologists could imagine. This unforgettable blizzard blew in more than just deep snow and howling winds. It also ushered in two very different meanings for the word getaway . . .

  Excerpt from Hearse and Buggy

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Hearse and Buggy,

  the first book in the new

  Amish Mysteries Series

  by Laura Bradford.

  Claire Weatherly looked around the empty stockroom, kneading the small of her back with stiff, tired fingers. Three hours earlier she’d been almost convinced it would take an act of God to clear away the last of the handmade furniture left behind by the previous tenant. Bed frames, tables, chairs, chests, and cribs had claimed the much-needed space for weeks, a glaring reminder of one more task that needed to be completed before Heavenly Treasures would finally feel as if it were truly there to stay.

  Because it was. And so was she.

  Sure, there had been times—like three hours ago—when she’d been inclined to give in to the doubts and simply roll over, convinced her fresh start was nothing more than idle daydreams with a hefty dose of delirium thrown in for good measure. Yet she’d pressed on, driven by the same little voice that had prodded her to make some of the best decisions she’d made in years. Including taking a gamble and leaving her ex-husband’s harried world in favor of one where she actually fit.

  “Miss Weatherly?”

  At the sound of Esther King’s timid voice, Claire turned and drank in the sight of the young woman in her plain royal-blue dress and white apron.

  “Oh, Esther, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

  A hint of crimson rose in the nineteen-year-old’s face. “Sore eyes?”

  “Sore eyes, sore arms, sore legs . . . Take your pick.”

  Esther’s soft brown eyebrows rose toward the white head cap secured to her matching brown hair. “Are you sick, Miss Weatherly?”

  “No, no—I’m fine. A little tired, perhaps, but fine.” She waved her hand around the room. “So? What do you think?”

  Esther’s gaze followed suit, a shy smile inching her full lips upward. “You did nice. You cleared everything from the room just as you said you would.”

  Indeed she had, the last of the items—a beautiful chest—being picked up by one Eli Miller not more than ten minutes earlier.

  She met Esther’s eye and held it a beat. “Eli was sorry he missed you.”

  “Eli?” Esther’s hand flew to the cape of her dress and smoothed its way down to her apron. “Eli was here? In the shop?”

  Claire knew she shouldn’t tease, but she couldn’t help it. Esther needed a little spark in her life. “He was. And even though he’s rather distracted by everything going on wi
th his sister, he asked about you.”

  All color drained from the young woman’s face. “He did?”

  “He did.”

  Esther took a step back and flopped against the wall. “This is when I miss my cousin Hannah’s world. If I had a cell phone as she does, you could have called me, and I would have come sooner.”

  With a few easy strides, Claire claimed a section of wall to the left of her new friend. “Do you miss it?”

  “Miss what?” Esther asked.

  “Living the way you did, the way the English do every day.”

  Esther closed her eyes, her audible inhale filling the space between them. “Sometimes. I mean, I love Mamm and Dat, and I’m glad I made the decision to come back after Rumspringa and be baptized, but . . . sometimes . . . I wish I could do things Hannah can do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like be able to tell Eli I like him, rather than wait for him to notice me.”

  “Then you’re not worried about his temper?” The second the words were out, Claire wished she could recall them. Eli Miller was a nice guy. He’d been nothing but polite the few times she’d run across him coming and going from Shoo Fly Bake Shoppe next door. Several times a day he showed up at the Amish bakery to see if his sister, Ruth, needed anything, and when she did, he attended to whatever it was in quick fashion. That, and the fact that Esther thought so kindly of him, should be enough to drown out any whisperings Claire had heard about his short-fused temper.

  “His temper is not good, but he does not deserve so much shunning. What that man did was wrong.”

  Claire reached out, rested a calming hand on Esther’s arm. “I know. And you’re right. I can’t imagine how a man like Mr. Snow could hurt your community in the way he did. Pocketing money that rightfully belonged to your family, and to people like Eli and his brother, was wrong. He should have been thrown in jail.”

  And it was true. Walter Snow, the previous tenant, had lured Amish furniture makers to his shop, offered their work on consignment, and then stiffed them of money that was rightfully theirs for months before the Amish had grown wise to his thieving ways. Unfortunately, Eli had taken a stronger stance than the rest of his community, breaking his oath of nonviolence and threatening the shopkeeper with bodily harm if the money wasn’t returned.