Murder in the Mist

by Loretta C. Rogers

  He walked the short distance to his office to spend the rest of the afternoon filling out forms and writing his report, and to formulate a plan of investigation. He wanted this mystery solved before Sheriff Gilman’s return. This was his watch, and he had no intention of leaving Cole Harbor with an unsolved murder on the books.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bryan frowned at the hard knot that had settled in his gut. He stood in front of the newspaper’s large glass door and read Laura’s name and title. His body hummed with the feel of her presence as he watched her sitting with her full attention to the computer screen. Bryan, old boy, all you have to do is convince her that she likes you. So why did he feel like he was about to approach a man-eating shark? The two sandwich bags he held suddenly felt like lead weights, and he regretted his idea of a picnic lunch rather than taking her to a restaurant. Before he could abandon the idea and ditch the sacks in a public waste receptacle, Laura looked up, offered a smile, and motioned him inside.

  She closed the laptop. “Right on time. I’m starved.”

  He held forth the two white bags labeled with large red lobsters wearing chef’s hats. To his chagrin, she was not smiling. “I thought a picnic at the gazebo might be fun. Can I entice you with lobster rolls?”

  When she didn’t give an immediate response, he said, “Or…not.”

  The discomfort of his smile echoed in his blue eyes. She definitely wasn’t dressed for eating outdoors. “Listen, bad idea. I can see I’m not scoring any points here.”

  Laura’s own blue eyes narrowed. She arched a brow. “Had you warned me, I would have dressed for a picnic.” And then she smiled. “But a girl has to eat, and I never turn down lobster rolls from the Silly Lobster.”

  Bryan smiled. His pulse raced from the faint scent of the vanilla she wore. He kicked himself six ways to Sunday for not thinking through his idea of wooing her. At his age he should know that a reporter from New York might prefer flowers and dinner by candlelight.

  He switched the bags both to one hand and rushed to open the door for her. “After you.”

  She headed off down the sidewalk for the short walk to the gazebo. Bryan fell in step beside her, resisting the urge to cup her elbow. He shook his head. Damn. What was wrong with him? No woman had ever had this effect on him, and he fought the urge to touch her.

  Sun glistened off the bay’s teal liquid surface as Laura and Bryan neared a group of trees that shaded the gazebo. Birds chirped their revelry from the tops of overhanging limbs. Nearby, Benjamin walked about with a trash grabber and placed debris in the sack that hung at his side.

  Laura spoke to him. “Lovely flowers, Benjamin.”

  He simply offered his usual dullard stare and a slight nod.

  Bryan touched Laura’s elbow as she stepped inside the gazebo, and she lifted her head as if to catch the breeze. He placed the lunch bags between them as she sat on the bench seat and hunched her shoulders, closing her eyes. A puff of air ruffled several short strands of hair against her cheek. Bryan noticed the tenseness in her shoulders. “Laura?”

  She slowly opened her eyes, a guarded glint hovering in their blue depths. “It seems only yesterday when I looked at Pine Island and all I saw was its rustic beauty. Looking at it now reminds me of what Lynnette Braswell must have suffered.”

  “I’m sorry, Laura. Truly sorry. It was callous of me not to remember that you’d suffered a trauma on the island. Would you like to go back to your office?”

  She reached for a sack, opened it, and was about to speak when a cheery voice said, “Hi, Ranger Cole, here’s the iced teas you ordered.” The young waitress winked as she handed him a cup carrier and a small white box. “And here’s the gingerbread with a container of fresh whipped cream. I waited ’til I saw you, just like you said. Enjoy your lunch.”

  Bryan blushed all the way to his ears. The odds for a pleasurable hour or two with the woman of his dreams seemed stacked against him. To add to his frustration, Mayor Shipley strolled up. “Pleasure seeing you, Bryan…Laura. A picture perfect day, don’t you think?”

  He removed a small pen knife from his pocket and bent to cut the stem of a white rose. With methodical care, he stripped away the thorns before presenting it to Bryan. “A man should always give his lady a beautiful flower.”

  Laura was lovely, all right. Soft and tempting. Bryan shook his head to clear his wayward wanderings. “Your thoughtfulness goes without question, Mayor.”

  Shipley leaned forward and sniffed. “You’ve given me an idea for lunch.” He waved as he proceeded down the sidewalk.

  Laura’s grimace didn’t go unnoticed. Bryan’s hopeful expression faded. “What is it, Laura?”

  “Look at the scowl on Benjamin’s face. If looks could kill, the mayor would…” Her voice drifted off without finishing the sentence.

  Bryan helped himself to a large bite of the lobster roll. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Guess he doesn’t like anyone messing with his flowers. Although, technically, they aren’t his, since the city pays for the plants and fertilizer.”

  Laura pinched crumbs from the roll, tossed them to the ground, and watched the gulls swoop in to feed. “Bryan, I have something I need to tell you, and please don’t interrupt until I’m finished.”

  He took another bite. “Sounds serious.”

  She stuck a straw inside the plastic tea mug and drank as if to quench a parched throat. She rewrapped the lobster roll and placed it back in the sack. Her voice soft and quivering with emotion, she related to Bryan about being shot, the death of her best friend, and the overwhelming relief she’d experienced when Mitch had informed her that her life was no longer in danger. She followed up with falling into the grave and finding the skeleton.

  “A lot has happened in these four months, Bryan. I came home to pull my life together. You seem like a really nice guy, and under different circumstances, maybe—” She spread her hands and shrugged. “In small degrees, life is beginning to stabilize, and I’ve almost stopped jumping at sounds that remind me of gunshots.”

  She placed her hand on top of his. “And, because you are a nice guy, I don’t think it would be fair of me to lead you to believe that we can be anything more than friends. In the best way I can, I’m asking you not to push me into a relationship. I’m not ready.”

  Bryan nodded his appreciation for her straightforwardness. “I understand all you’ve been through, and I admire the way you’ve taken charge of your life.” He hesitated. “An honest question deserves an honest answer, right?”

  “I’m always honest.”

  “Is Mitch Carter my competition? He’s a good-looking guy, but I’m willing to give him a run for his money.”

  Laura’s face tightened. It didn’t take a mind reader to interpret the angry glow in her blue eyes. “Did you not hear what I said? There is no Mitch, there is no competition, and if you don’t respect my feelings, there is no friendship with you, either.”

  She stepped from the gazebo. Then, as if seeing the rose she held for the first time, she tossed it to the sidewalk and squashed it under the toe of her shoe.

  Bryan caught up to her. “Laura, what I said was stupid. I hope you’ll accept my apology for being totally out of line.”

  She held her hand up as if telling him to leave her alone. Crossing the street to her office, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. Within seconds, the “Closed” sign faced the street, and the mini-blinds were snapped shut.

  Bryan bent and lifted the mangled rose from the sidewalk. A hot flood of shame washed over him. He was a grown man acting like a stupid high school jerk. He hadn’t meant to speak his thoughts about Mitch. No smile graced his lips for his lack of respect for the small request Laura had asked of him and his lack of compassion for what she’d suffered.

  He pulled the ranger cap from his back pocket and jammed it on his head. He pivoted on his heel—and nearly collided with the groundskeeper.

  Benjamin frowned down at the rose Bryan held. “That reporter lad
y shouldna done that. Flowers don’t hurt nobody.”

  Bryan gathered up the sandwich bags and plastic cups and tossed them into the trash container. He handed the small white box holding the gingerbread to Benjamin. “No sense letting it go to waste.”

  Long strides took him to where he’d parked his truck. The memory of the tears clouding Laura’s eyes twisted his gut. On the drive back to his office, he chastised himself and tried to think of a way to make things right with her.

  ****

  Laura locked the back door to her office. She walked the short distance to the rear of the bookstore, inserted the key into the apartment’s entrance, and, with quiet determination, climbed the stairs. The last thing she desired was for either her aunt or Maudie to know she was home.

  Walking straight to the bedroom, she sagged onto the bed like a flower that had wilted from too much sun. She pulled the pillow over her face, trying to dismiss the sight of the white rose and the mayor’s leering grin as he’d used the knife to strip the thorns from the long stem.

  As far as she was concerned, Shipley was a fat, pompous pervert.

  She was furious. Furious at Bryan for his oafishness, at Benjamin because he gave her the creeps, at the mayor because she suspected he was the anonymous admirer leaving the white roses, and especially angry at herself for the way she had acted toward Bryan. She wanted to scream. When she’d stopped complaining to herself, exasperation rolled over her. Stripping out of her clothes, she donned an oversized T-shirt and, with a mutter of disgust, walked to the kitchen, opened the freezer, grabbed the carton of chocolate ice cream, and went to sit on the sun porch. Whatever articles she had planned to write could wait until later.

  Lord, she was embarrassed, and she owed Bryan an apology.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mitch punched the alarm. His gaze traced to the numbers on the clock’s face. He rolled out of bed, stretched, and yawned as he headed for the shower. Standing under the steaming spray, he did a mental count of how many weeks he’d worked without a holiday. He wasn’t complaining about the fifteen-hour days and always being on call seven days a week. One sheriff, one deputy, one secretary to man the office. Sheriff Gilman had taken a three-month leave of absence. A person needed time for pleasure and relaxation…a do-nothing day…and his body and mental attitude were talking to him.

  With a towel wrapped around his waist, he stood at the kitchen window and looked out. The town was waking up. Saturday, and businesses were in full swing. Laura’s campaign to open the doors of Cole Harbor seemed to be working. Vehicles lined the sidewalk along Front Street, filling all available parking spaces.

  Laura. Beautiful, compelling blue eyes, and no one had a claim on her. If he allowed his mind to drift in that direction, she was his only regret for not remaining in Cole Harbor. There was an unspoken attraction between them. He knew she felt it as much as he did. Pondering the talk they’d had several weeks back, both had admitted there was no room in their lives for love. He closed his eyes and allowed his wife’s image to fill his mind. He gripped the edges of the sink. His body responded with an aching need that had remained unfulfilled since the day he’d buried her. He turned and walked back to the shower, this time to stand under a steady stream of cold water.

  He was Texas born, and Texas was where he belonged. Under different circumstances, he would have given Bryan Cole plenty of competition where Laura was concerned.

  He rubbed the towel briskly across his body and was reaching for his uniform when his cell phone rang. He picked up the phone from the nightstand. A smile crinkled his eyes when he spied the caller ID.

  “G’ morning, Friday.”

  “Aunt Philly’s making waffles. How about coming for breakfast? We’ll need hearty fortification to see us through while we’re looking for evidence at the park.”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  During the meal, Phyllis bemoaned her disappointment that the Friday night séance was a bust. “We followed the same procedure as the first one we performed, and not one spirit visited. I just don’t know what we did wrong. Maybe it’s because you didn’t attend, Laura.”

  “That’s quite all right, Aunt Philly. I’ve had my fill of dead people following me around.” She gathered the plates and set them in the sink. “I’m ready if you are, Mitch.”

  She kissed her aunt on the cheek. “I don’t need a crystal ball to predict you’ll have a busy day with all the tourists in town. We’ll order dinner in.”

  She grabbed two bottles of water, sandwiches, and candy bars from the refrigerator and zipped them inside a small backpack hanging from one of the dining chairs. She smiled at Mitch. “Never hurts to be prepared.”

  “I’m impressed.” He grabbed the olive drab bag and followed her downstairs and out to the patrol car.

  Once settled inside, she said, “I have an embarrassing confession.” Without great detail, she explained about her miserable lunch with Bryan and the encounter with the mayor. “I hope today is Bryan’s day off. I’m not up to seeing him. As for the mayor, I’m still certain he’s the one leaving the white roses. The question is—why?”

  Mitch put the car in gear. He studied her for a second. “No need to worry about bumping into Bryan. I have it on good authority that he’s attending a weekend seminar in Bangor. Something about first-responder recertification.”

  Laura stole a sidelong look at Mitch’s lighthearted expression. “I did a story once on first-responders. They go through rigorous training.”

  “Yep. Bryan’s up to the challenge. Anyhow, Ranger Dorsey has agreed to drive us to the campsite where Daisy Fuller and her friends pitched their tent. About Shipley. You’re a beautiful woman. Chalk it up to him being a secret admirer. Unless it gets out of hand, I think he’s harmless.” Mitch laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes if Martha catches him.”

  Laura also laughed.

  He watched the worried frown crinkling Laura’s forehead relax. “Friday…give Bryan a chance. He’s a steady guy. I happen to know he’s crazy about you.”

  “I don’t know, Mitch. He’s nice enough, it’s just that I’m not ready to be involved with anyone. There are things I want to do with Aunt Philly—like travel. For years I put my job and the next assignment ahead of everyone important, including my mother. You have no idea how much I regret not spending more time with her. I don’t intend to make that same mistake with my aunt. Bryan doesn’t seem to understand that I don’t want a relationship. Besides, he thinks you’re his competition. Which is ridiculous—right?”

  It was a rhetorical question. Mitch could see the debate in her expression. He kept the answer to himself. “You set the pace on how slow or fast you want to proceed with the friendship. He’ll understand.”

  Mitch drove through the large entrance and pointed the car toward the visitor’s center, where he parked. Laura grabbed the backpack, unzipped a pocket, and removed her camera, placing the strap around her neck.

  When he opened the car’s trunk, he said, “Here’s a small gift for you.”

  A puzzled look on her face, Laura accepted the two red-and-white rods. “What are they?”

  He pushed the release button to telescope the poles to their length. “Trekking poles, to help stabilize you over the rough terrain, and to ease the strain on your leg.”

  The look she gave him as she placed the straps around her wrists was reward enough. Before the moment blossomed into awkwardness, Ranger Jane Dorsey approached. She smiled at Laura. “Hey, nice sticks.” She smacked her hands together and beckoned. “Ready if you are. The 4x4 is this way.”

  Mitch reached to adjust his walkie-talkie. “Ranger Dorsey, what channel are you on?”

  “We’re always on nine. If you find yourself in trouble, every ranger in the park is on the same channel. Smart. Most people tend to forget the cell phone reception up here is slim to none.”

  During the ride, Dorsey pointed out different points of interest while Laura snapped pictures. At the campsite, the ranger
said, “As you can see, Blackwater is fairly remote. We get a few campers who like the semi-roughing-it experience.” She pointed to the bathroom designed to resemble a log cabin. “Two composting toilets. No showers. Unless they swapped out sites for some reason, Daisy Fuller and her friends were there. Spot number thirteen. As you can see, it backs up to the forested area and is a distance from the bathroom.”

  Mitch merely nodded at her explanation. “Give us a layout of the area, Ranger Dorsey.”

  She pointed. “All of the trails are rustic. There are a few boardwalk areas, but most are covered with leaves. Every trail loops into each other, and all are visibly marked with a number and arrows, so campers don’t have to guess which path leads back to their campsite, or the visitor’s center, the beach area, and even to the higher elevations for the veteran hikers.”

  Laura and the ranger followed Mitch to the vacant area. He used the toe of his boot to sift through fallen leaves and dirt. “How likely is it for someone to get lost?”

  Dorsey thought for a moment. “I’m not saying getting lost wouldn’t happen, but the trails are marked exceptionally well.” She shrugged. “Wandering off in the dark without a flashlight adds to the possibility. Even though we don’t allow alcohol or drugs in the park, unless we searched every vehicle, people can slip it in. If Daisy Fuller was inebriated, and wandered off without a flashlight, then, yeah, she could have easily gotten off the trail and gotten lost. Conditions for the night she disappeared would have aided in losing her way. Don’t forget it was storming, and then fog set in. Thing is, if she’d hunkered down and stayed put until daylight, she’d have found her way back to her friends.” She shook her head in disgust. “Amateurs.”

  Mitch thanked the ranger for her help. He glanced at his watch. Nine a.m. “Unless you get a distress call, don’t worry about us.”

  Dorsey climbed into the off-road vehicle and turned the key. “Good luck. Hope you find what you’re looking for.” She waved and drove off.