Murder in the Mist

by Loretta C. Rogers

“We’ll see.” The moment she started up the steep incline, the muscle in her leg refused to respond, causing her to stumble. “Damn.”

  Strong arms held her up. Laura wrested her arm away. “I don’t need your help.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  She took a moment to swallow her aggravation before she half hobbled, half limped toward the ambulance. “Hey…wait a sec…press.” She held the badge forward.

  The overt look from the EMT and the lawman’s almost indiscernible nod in reply didn’t escape Laura. “Thank you, Deputy Carter.”

  She lifted the sheet. No bruising, no indications of a fall, nothing to suggest foul play, until she parted the man’s lips and bent forward. “Uh-huh.”

  “What?” Mitchell Carter said in a flat voice.

  They faced each other like duelers, with that unblinking awareness. She quirked a smile, leaned in close and whispered, “I’ll bet you a lobster dinner and a beer the vic didn’t die of natural causes.”

  “First of all, he’s not a victim. Secondly, I’m a steak-and-bourbon guy.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I take pictures of the…deceased.”

  “That’s the coroner’s job.”

  Laura looked around. “Where is he?”

  Mitch removed his hat and riffled through his hair. “This is a small community, a tourist town. He’s not available at the moment.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know Cole Harbor was a hot bed of crime.”

  One of the EMTs laughed, then sobered when Carter sent him a scathing scowl.

  When no one offered further explanation, Laura shrugged. “Whatever.” She walked to the bicycle, and quirked a smile over her shoulder. “Have a nice day, Deputy.”

  She spent the rest of the morning introducing herself to business owners, soliciting ads for the paper, and taking pictures of crafters setting up their tents, along with a flurry of other activities for the annual Fourth of July festivities.

  At three o’ clock, Mitch Carter walked into her office. His voice betrayed his aggravation. “Not that it matters, but after the coroner examined the body, I requested he send it to the medical examiner in Bangor for an autopsy.”

  Laura leaned back in her chair. She smiled with harsh amusement. “You always so abrupt? No ‘Good afternoon,’ or ‘How’s it going,’ just straight to the point…shoot from the hip?”

  Mitch drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Good afternoon, Miss Friday. How was your day? Mind if I sit down?”

  She extended a hand toward the chair. “Let me guess. You and your drawl come from Montana? Wyoming?”

  “Texas.”

  “Long ways from home. How did you end up here?”

  His discomfort with the question piqued her curiosity. He ignored the inquiry, and she chose not to goad him further.

  “My job history is none of your concern. Regardless of what you’ve assumed, I care about the safety of this town. Negative press for a community that depends on tourist dollars would be bad for business. Believe me, the citizens won’t take kindly to it, or to you. Keep the story about Victor Forgione general until I receive the medical examiner’s report.”

  He stood and walked to the door. Before stepping outside, he turned. “Why did you part the deceased’s lips and take a whiff? You have a fetish for smelling dead people’s breath?”

  Laura placed both hands on the desk to assist her in standing. “Very funny, Deputy. I was checking to see if our guy’s breath smelled like garlic. An experienced cop should know garlic odor is a sign of arsenic poisoning. I’ll still wager you Mr. Forgione was murdered.”

  Mitch’s cocked eyebrows indicated his amusement. “By whom?”

  “The grieving widow, of course. Unless our guy pumped himself full of Viagra, there’s no way a man his age could keep her satisfied. He looked old enough to be her grandfather.”

  “Pure conjecture. Like I said, not a hint of foul play when you print the story. And for the record, I’m not a betting man.”

  “For your information, I print only facts. The Gazette is not a gossip rag.”

  She expected Mitch Carter to slam the door on his way out. Instead, he eased it closed. The click when he pulled it shut was barely audible. But he’d made his point loud and clear. He wasn’t a man who liked people stepping into his territory. If she read him right, he was one tough hombre if crossed, and her instincts were rarely wrong.

  Settled at the computer, she typed: Mitchell Carter, Texas.

  She looked up when the door opened. Seeing her aunt, she closed the laptop. The aroma from the sack in Phyllis’ hand brought a loud rumble from Laura’s stomach. Both women laughed.

  “Lobstah roll, cole slaw, coffee, blueberry taht.”

  “You are my angel, Aunt Philly. Did you bring something for yourself?”

  “Ayuh.” Phyllis dipped into the bag and drew out another tart. “Saw Mitch Carter. He didn’t look happy.”

  Laura took a large bite of her roll, her voice muffled as she spoke. “What’s his story?”

  “If you mean why do we have a deputy from Texas, the answer is that it’s a well-kept secret. We asked Dan Fremont, but all he’d say is it was none of our business. Even gossipy ole Louise Highland’s lips are cemented.”

  Laura uncapped the coffee to let it cool while she finished off the sandwich, then nibbled on the blueberry tart. Her aunt continued. “You have to admit Mitchell Carter is a handsome rascal. Reminds me of Robert Mitchum, the actor—tall and lanky, a little swagger to his walk, and that deep cleft in his chin.” She sighed audibly. “Makes my unmentionable places twitch every time I see him.”

  Phyllis plopped the last of the tart into her mouth. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m old…not dead.”

  “That’s still more information than I want to hear. Let’s change the topic. Who is the town’s coroner?”

  “Ken Musuyo.”

  “Is there a mystery around Dr. Musuyo, also?”

  “If there is, I don’t know about it.”

  “I can tell by the look on your face you’re hedging. What, he’s a third-rate doctor, a medical school failure?”

  Phyllis huffed. “None of that. Ken Musuyo, his wife, and parents are wonderful people. Ken is an excellent doctor. I’d put my life in his hands anytime. Its just that there’s no veterinarian, and people don’t want to drive to Bangor or Ellsworth when their pets get sick.”

  Laura sighed. “Why isn’t there a vet?”

  “Had one. Couldn’t make a living. Not enough business.”

  “I suppose Dr. Musuyo does house calls, too?”

  “Ayuh.”

  “That explains why he wasn’t available down at the docks this morning.”

  “By Godfrey, we heard about that poor man having a heart attack.”

  “Aunt Philly, as much as I love you, I have a paper to put out. I’ll be working late, so don’t wait up for me.”

  Before her aunt left, Laura called her back. “Mitch Carter implied I should only report cutesy stuff. Are the people here closed-minded about real news?”

  Phyllis touched her niece on the cheek. “This is your paper. Run it as you see fit. By Godfrey, we are hungry for news. Dan only put out a paper once a month, and he seldom reported anything from the outside world. However, just a small caution. You’ve made a huge investment. Keep folks happy, and that will grow. I’ll bring your suppah around six.”

  Laura mulled over her aunt’s subtle warning. She put delving into the deputy’s background on hold as she bent to her computer. If it was news the citizens wanted, then it was news she planned to give them. She typed the name Vincent Forgione into the search engine. A smile lit her face.

  At midnight, satisfied with her first front page headline—Wealthy Plastics Tycoon Vincent Forgione Leaves Fortune—she filled in the space beneath it with pictures of the yacht and the deputy standing next to the sheet-shrouded gurney. She followed with other news about local events, as well as UP and AP news, and a special section she was certain would win
over old and new Cole Harbor citizens: Tidings, where she planned to feature folks who had historical connections to the town.

  When the last copy had been printed and folded, she placed her hands to the small of her back and stretched. She understood why Dan Fremont put out a paper only monthly. With limited local news, it entailed a lot of work for one person. Nevertheless, before she turned out the light, she vowed to invest in a police scanner for the office and to turn the Gazette into a weekly production.

  Chapter Five

  Little more than a week later, during The Friday Sisters Book Club meeting, the talk was about the headlines in the morning paper.

  Maudie Perry said, “I can’t remember a time when there was so much excitement in Cole Habah. Two deaths, and only days apart. Land a-goshins, first a tycoon on a yacht, and now a dead body washed up on the beach.”

  Phyllis lifted the newspaper. “By Godfrey, I’m proud as a peacock of my niece. Dan never made Cole Harbor sound as interesting as this—” and she read, “Captain Matthias Friday, a lover of history and books, in 1893 donated his home to the town, and it is now The Matthias Friday Library. Captain Friday sailed the Asian and Middle Eastern trade routes, bringing rare spices and exotic silks to—his great-granddaughter, Phyllis Friday—”

  A round of gleeful twitters and applause filled the room. Maudie Perry beamed. “I can hardly wait to see who you feature next, Laura.”

  One of the other ladies spoke up. “You know, I heard Harmon Taylor down at the boat yard say there might be foul play involved in that man’s drowning. You’re a reporter, Laura. What do you think?”

  Laura closed the mystery novel selected for this evening’s discussion. She weighed her words. “I only report the news. It’s up to the sheriff to determine if a crime has been committed. If and when he does, you will be the first to read about it on the front page.”

  Like a tidal wave, the women seated around the table seemed to lean forward with Maudie as the leader. “So foul play is suspected?”

  Laura bit back her amusement. “I didn’t say that, Maudie. As I stated in the article, the wind was high the day Doctor McMahon dropped his sailboat off for repair. But if he didn’t think his small skiff could handle the wind for his five-mile return trip across the bay to Marshwood Island, I’m sure Mr. Taylor would have gladly driven him over in a larger boat. The way it stands now, the skiff flipped and Doctor McMahon drowned.”

  Maudie was quick with her response. “Ah, but therein lies the mystery, Laura. The doctah was wearing a lifejacket. Perhaps his spirit can tell us what really happened. What do you say, ladies, shall we find out?”

  A round of “ayuh” responses filtered around the table.

  Laura worked to maintain a stern demeanor when her aunt abruptly stood. “Then this calls for a séance. Maudie, you know where the candles and matches are. We’ll use Nadia’s cookies as the physical nourishment to entice the spirit. Everyone join hands while I turn out the lights.” She made a quick count. “We are six, which is divisible by three.” She gave a little squeal. “Oh, I’m so excited.”

  “Aunt Philly…really?”

  “Yes, really! If nothing else, indulge us for a bit of fun in our otherwise humdrum daily routines.”

  Feeling a bit chagrined at her aunt’s scolding, Laura glanced around the table. The flickering candles cast eerie glows about the room and added an ominous element to the mood. She wanted to laugh at the serious expressions masking the older women’s faces. The thought of calling forth the spirit of an accidental drowning victim seemed sheer absurdity. Nonetheless, she joined hands with Phyllis on one side and Maudie on the other.

  Phyllis kept her voice soft. “Nadia will act as our medium. First, we will offer a prayer of protection for all of us against any uninvited spirits.” After the prayer, a circle of amens filtered around the table.

  Laura glanced at the elfin-like woman who wore her hair in a crown of braids and whose dark eyes and complexion reflected a gypsy quality.

  Nadia nodded, closed her eyes, and chanted, “Spirits of the past, move among us. Be guided by the light of this world and visit upon us. Doctor McMahon, we bring you gifts from life into death. Be guided by the light of this world and visit upon us.”

  Stillness filled the room. Laura continued to silently ridicule the idea of evoking spirits.

  Her eyes shut, Nadia’s voice quavered. “There is a nonbeliever among us. The spirit will not come.”

  It wasn’t ghosts squeezing her hands until they cramped and caused Laura to wince. Without speaking words, both Phyllis and Maudie’s tight grips singled her out as the doubter. She squeezed back.

  When nothing happened, Nadia repeated the chant, and ended with, “We mean you no harm.”

  An icy chill settled over the room. Laura wanted to break the circle to rub away the goose bumps prickling her arms. She had been warned that breaking the circle might end the séance and send the spirit back to the netherworld.

  Nadia whispered, “If you are with us, spirit, let us know. Rap one time for ‘yes’ and two times for ‘no.’ Do you understand?”

  Laura gripped the two hands that held hers. It was evident that Philly and Maudie were also nervous.

  One timid rap sounded on the wall behind Laura.

  Nadia continued. “Thank you. Are you the spirit of Dr. McMahon?”

  Two raps signaled ‘no.’

  “Are you a male spirit?”

  Two raps.

  Nadia whispered, “Thank you.” She continued. “Are you a young woman?”

  One rap.

  Laura looked around the table at the graphically outlined faces. She wondered if the same skeptical wonderment showed on her own face.

  “Are you a happy spirit?”

  The frigid temperature increased, and sobbing filled the room. Nadia’s voice remained hushed, her expression serious as she spoke to the group. “If things get out of control, break the circle immediately, one of you blow out the candles, and someone turn on the lights. Don’t hesitate. Be quick.”

  When the sobbing continued, Nadia said, “We apologize for your sadness but thank you for visiting us. Can you tell us who you are?”

  Laura noticed a change in the atmosphere. She looked down at the hands that gripped hers, and discovered they were twisted together so forcefully, the knuckles were white. Vapor filled the room. A hazy form materialized and drifted across the table, leaving in its wake a stifling odor of dank earth and moldy leaves. A silver aura settled at Laura, and hands appeared to lace around her throat.

  Maudie shrieked, “Break the circle!”

  Laura tried to stand. Her hip cramped like a vise grip clamping her to the chair, and she cried, “Aunt Philly, blow out the candles. Someone turn on the light.”

  Nadia stood at the head of the table and reached out her hands, an urgency filling her voice. “Quick, we must close the séance.” When all hands had reunited, she spoke in a quiet monotone. “Goodbye, spirit. Thank you for visiting us. You may leave now. We ask that you go in peace and do us no harm.”

  And then she offered a small blessing over the group to assure the specter didn’t attach itself to any of them. “Even though we have officially ended the séance, some spirits like to hang around. If this one does, I believe we have nothing to fear.”

  She turned her attention to Laura. “It seemed as if she were reaching out to you. Maybe she was just curious. She might even return to visit you later in the evening during a dream sequence.”

  Laura took a moment to collect her wits. “Yeah, well, this is just too weird. I’m not sure I’d want a dead person attaching itself to me.”

  One of the ladies gasped and pointed. “Look!”

  All eyes riveted on the mirror over Maudie’s priceless antique buffet. Leaking into obscure lines were the letters l and y.

  Maudie grabbed one of the linen napkins from the table and rushed to wipe away the moisture. “This mirror and sideboard have been in my family for two hundred years. Spirit or no
spirit, I’ll not be the one who allows it to be damaged.”

  After a moment, Phyllis asked, “What do you think the letters mean, Nadia?”

  The old woman shrugged, spreading her hands wide. She cut an eye toward Maudie. “The beginning of a name, or someone’s initials, perhaps. Unless we call upon the spirit to visit again, we may never know.”

  Maudie’s voice was contrite. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t panicked, the spirit would have told us who she was.”

  Laura snatched a cookie from the plate. She had stood in the face of danger many times, had experienced knee-knocking fear, but the people she’d encountered were flesh, bone, and blood. She didn’t like situations she couldn’t control. Although her hand trembled as she shoved the wafer inside her mouth, a healthy dose of curiosity filled her.

  One of the ladies opened the drapes to allow light into the dining room. Laura glanced at her watch. “There’s probably thirty minutes of daylight left. If anyone is afraid to walk home, Aunt Philly and I will escort you.”

  Maudie sidled closer to Phyllis. “Nadia, how do I know the spirit is gone and won’t return? I’ve lived alone in this old house for fifty years and never had cause to be fearful.”

  The old woman patted her friend on the arm. “You have nothing to fear except your imagination. Shall I spend the night with you?”

  At Nadia’s suggestion, Laura noted the relief reflected in both women’s faces.

  Chapter Six

  At the rear entrance of the library, Laura suggested her aunt go upstairs to the living quarters without her. “I won’t be long, Aunt Philly. After what we’ve just experienced, I’m curious to look through Dan’s old morgue books to see if I can find an article about anyone who died under mysterious circumstances—”

  Phyllis finished the sentence. “And whose name has the initials: L and Y?”

  Laura’s stomach rumbled. “Exactly.” Then, at her aunt’s obvious hesitation to let her go, she asked, “How about a sandwich and a beer when I get back? In all the excitement, Maudie forgot to feed us. I’ll get as many books as I can carry up the stairs. It’s okay—nothing is going to happen.”