Murder in the Mist

by Loretta C. Rogers

  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.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Laura was going to be sick. She tried desperately to control the reflex in her abdomen. Her stomach clenched, and her throat tightened. Bile burned up her throat, but she swallowed to force the acrid fluid down. Water rippled and surged around her ankles. She reached down and scooped a handful to cool her face.

  “Shouldn’t they be here by now, Aunt Philly?”

  Phyllis looked at her watch. “It’s only been ten minutes since Harmon signaled he’d heard our distress call.” She shaded her eyes as she, too, looked expectantly toward the town.

  Laura swung her good leg over the side of the boat. “I need to sit down. Actually, I need to lie down.”

  “You do look pale. Who can blame you? Falling on top of a pile of bones…by Godfrey!” Phyllis joined her niece in the boat.

  Thirty long minutes later, Laura and her aunt heard the siren. They stepped out of the boat and waded until knee deep to wave their arms. Two loud blasts signaled the driver of the police boat had seen them.

  Mitch stood on the bow. As soon as the skipper slowed the boat in the shallows, Mitch jumped in and waded ashore. “You ladies all right?”

  He took a look at the zigzag welts across Laura’s cheeks, forehead, and nose, and his voice revealed his concern. “Were you attacked?”

  She reached up, touched her face, and tried to sound jovial. “Yeah, by tree limbs.”

  Laura and Phyllis both nodded. He met their eyes. “What’s this about a body?”

  Laura focused on Harmon Taylor as he swung his small craft alongside the police vessel. He steadied the boat while Dr. Musuyo climbed down the ladder into his craft. Two large black suitcases were handed down to the doctor. The sk
ipper tossed out the anchor, then descended down the ladder into Harmon’s skiff.

  Phyllis wrung her hands as she began, “Poor Laura. One minute we were rushing back to the boat to avoid the storm—”

  Harmon had joined them. He removed his signature cap, the one with a large fishhook adorning the bill, to scratch the top of his head. “Storm? What storm? Hasn’t been a cloud in the sky all day. Water’s smooth as a skatin’ rink.”

  Laura gave her aunt a “let’s keep this to ourselves” look. Phyllis nodded. “Well, never mind about the weather. What I meant to say is we were trying to avoid getting too much sun. A tree fell, and when we went around it, the earth opened up and Laura disappeared.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “By Godfrey, I didn’t know what had happened to her. Ayuh, scared the peewaddy out of me.”

  Mitch touched Laura on the shoulder. He held her eyes for a moment longer. “You look a little green around the gills. Are you up to going back to the grave?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Aunt Philly knows the way. We’ll follow her.”

  Ken Musuyo opened his medical bag and removed a tube, which he uncapped. “Laura, this is an antibiotic cream. Let me put some on those scratches.”

  He wiped her face with a moist sterile pad and then administered the salve to the abrasions.

  Mitch’s eyebrows fired to life. “Ready? I’ll scout the area for evidence while Dr. Musuyo sets up a crime scene, and while he does, Laura, I need you to photograph everything. I’ve already put a call in to the state police. They’ll no doubt want to send a forensics team. In the meantime, we’re in charge.” He glanced at Phyllis, and extended his hand. “Lead the way. We’re right behind you.”

  “Wait. Hold on a sec, Mitch.” Laura’s voice fell silent for a moment. “You need to know that it’s a skeleton. Not a body. What we found inside the grave is a skeleton.”

  His expression switched to a mixture of skepticism and downright irritation. “Tell me you don’t mean like ancient bones inside an Indian mound, that type of bones. The state police will have a hay day laughing themselves silly, and at my expense.”

  Laura’s cheeks flamed red. “Lying in a shallow grave on an uninhibited island is the remains of a woman, who was probably scared witless at the time of her death. So excuse me if I don’t give a damn about your precious ego getting squashed. Come on, Aunt Philly, let’s get this over with.”

  Mitch’s lips pressed into a thin line. His scowl deepened. “I deserved that. My apologies. To all of you.”

  Without another word, Phyllis took the lead, followed by Laura, with Mitch, the doctor, and crusty old Harmon Taylor all following in single file. After ten minutes of stomping through the brush, Phyllis stopped at the freshly uprooted tree and pointed at a hole no more than four feet wide and four feet deep. “Here it is.”

  Mitch immediately enlisted Harmon’s help in setting up the crime scene perimeter with the yellow crime scene tape. He began his crime scene log—listing everyone present, those who would go past the perimeter and enter the crime scene, and the reason for their presence. He also did a rough sketch to show the scale and dimensions in a way photography couldn’t. Later on he would turn the drawing into something better, either that or work with a forensics artist to improve the details of the sketch.

  Clear evidence showed the ground had given way, probably when the tree uprooted and loosened the earth, aided by the weight of Laura’s body. Inside the hole lay a fully clothed skeleton with a purse tucked neatly at its side. Mitch said, “Laura, before Dr. Musuyo examines the corpse, I’d appreciate it if you would take pictures of the crime scene.”

  Her voice grim, she agreed. “Fine.”

  She stepped close to the edge of the grave, lifted her camera, and clicked away, taking pictures at different angles, zooming in and out. “Dr. Musuyo, is there anything specific I need to home in on?”

  “Let me take a closer look, first.” He eased into the hole, straddling the corpse. Everyone watched while he squatted. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and then removed a small voice-activated tape recorder from his shirt pocket. He identified himself as the Cole Harbor coroner and recited the date, time, and location. “From the purse, what’s left of the victim’s clothing, shoe size, the size of the skeletal bones in the hands, and with preliminary examination, our victim is female.” He leaned closer. “The angle of her head suggests a broken neck. Closer examination required to confirm cause of death. Remaining remnants of clothing suggest the victim’s occupation was in the medical field. Perhaps a nurse.” He lifted the right hand. Then looked up, an odd expression on his face.

  “What is it, Doc?” Mitch asked.

  Musuyo again spoke into the recorder. “The first joint on each of the four fingers and thumb appears to have been removed. Since the body was unearthed at approximately three o’clock on the afternoon of”—again he repeated the date—“it is unlikely the removal of the metacarpal phalangeal joints was done by an animal. Further examination needed to draw a more accurate conclusion.”

  He asked Harmon to hand him a measuring tape. “Approximate height, five foot four inches. Age of victim, and approximate weight, inconclusive at this time.”

  Mitch tipped his hat back. “What kind of sick-o cuts off his victim’s fingertips?”

  It was a rhetorical question.

  The doctor placed the skeleton’s hands on the chest cavity. “Laura, zoom in and get a shot of the manus. Excuse the medical jargon…hands.”

  Although the weather had cooled, sweat trickled between Laura’s breasts. She felt hot and cold at the same time. She didn’t want to puke. She honestly did not want to puke. She sucked in deep gulps of air, lifted her camera, and snapped several more shots. She also clicked pictures of the uprooted tree and the crime scene perimeter.

  After securing a plastic bag around each hand to keep the bones intact, Musuyo carefully opened the purse and read off the contents. “Wallet, notepad, pen, lipstick, perfume, small hair brush.” He opened the wallet. “No driver’s license, credit cards, nothing to identify the victim. Hmm, she wasn’t a victim of robbery.” He counted, “Two hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills.”

  Mitch took a deep breath. “What about car keys or a cell phone?”

  “No. Neither.”

  “Okay, bag it.”

  Musuyo placed the recorder back in his pocket. “This is off the record. Since she’s fully clothed, my guess is she wasn’t sexually assaulted. Of course, we’ll know more once the ME does his examination.”

  As an investigative reporter, Laura knew the protocol. Once the remains arrived at the ME’s, the body would be logged in, remains of clothing and shoes and other possessions inventoried. The skeleton would be weighed, and then the body would be tagged and given an official ID number. Given time and workload constraints, it could be a week or a month before Mitch received the ME’s report.

  The doctor’s voice interrupted her thinking. “Deputy Carter, if you will, open that larger case and hand me the roll of plastic bags.” He looked at Laura and Phyllis. “All that’s left is to bag the bones so they can be transferred to the laboratory. There’s nothing else for you to do here. I suggest you and your aunt return to town and get some rest. Deputy Carter and I will finish up.”

  Harmon’s voice sounded a bit craggier than usual. “Now, Phyllis, before you go all women’s lib on me, just hear me out. You and the young missy have had a shock. The tide’s running high and swift. I’ll tie your skiff behind my boat and tow ’er in. Let me take the two of you in my boat. ’Sides, it’ll be dark in ’bout an hour.”

  He appeared as surprised as Laura when Phyllis said, “That’s mighty kind of you, Harmon. You’ll get no argument from me.”

  Mitch said, “I’ll walk with you,” but he turned back to ask, “Doc, will you be okay if I leave you alone for a few minutes?”

  Ken Musuyo simply waved and continued about his business of labeling and bagging.

  “Doc, I’ll email the photos to
you.”

  “Thanks, Laura. If you can’t sleep, call me and I’ll bring something by to help you relax. You, too, Phyllis.”

  At the water’s edge, Harmon tied Phyllis’s skiff to his boat while Mitch helped Laura and her aunt get aboard. “It may be too late to come by tonight. Tomorrow okay?”

  “Sure.” Laura lowered her voice. “I found an article in one of the old morgue books that might tell us who our girl is.”

  A strong gust of wind swept across the bay, causing waves to rock the boat. Harmon called, “Hold on, ladies. Looks like we’re in for a rough ride.”

  Laura glanced over her shoulder, but Mitch no longer stood on the shore. Her mind was so consumed with this chance discovery that it was hours before she realized how deeply this ordeal had shaken her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sunday morning, Laura helped her aunt fill the dishwasher. It was routine to partake of a large home-cooked breakfast, skip lunch, then have an early dinner at one of the local restaurants.

  “Judging from the dark circles under your eyes, you didn’t sleep well.”

  Laura swept crumbs into her hand and emptied them into the sink. “I kept thinking about that poor woman. To tell you the truth, I half expected our spirit to make another appearance to let me know if we’d found her…Lynnette.”

  “I thought she might, too.”

  Laura propped against the counter. “I used the time to write an article for the paper, which I won’t publish until we hear from Mitch.”

  Her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it from her pocket. Her sigh was audible when she spoke. “Deputy Carter?”

  “I’m at the back door. Are you up to talking?”

  “Sure. Give me a sec.”

  Phyllis said, “Why don’t you make a fresh pot of coffee. I’ll go down and let him in.”

  “I’m not an invalid, Aunt Philly.”

  “I know you’re not, dear. Although you mask the pain well, I can see how yesterday’s activities have taken a toll on your leg.”