Murder in the Mist (3 page)

In the center of the round table, lighted candles emitted eerie shadows over the tureen of steaming lobster chowder and a platter of crusty bread. Phyllis adjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose as she peered at the open book. “It says to call forth spirits we must provide them with physical nourishment and lighted candles—enough divisible by three.” She sniffed and sighed her appreciation for the food’s savory aromas.

Maudine Perry lamented, “I’m not so sure we should dabble in the arts of dark magic, Phyllis. What if we accidently call forth an evil spirit?”

Phyllis studied the pale, pinched features of her friend. “Maudie, are you a mouse or a woman? We’re merely trying to contact Sally Wentworth’s spirit, and none other.” Once again, she glanced around the table at the faces of women past their prime, some widows of lobstermen and crabbers. She herself was a spinster. Maudie baked the pastries and ran the tea and pastry shop inside the bookstore, and the others were a teacher, a minister’s wife, a librarian, and a travel agent, all long retired and often feeling cast aside because of their age and various stages of mobility.

During their last monthly Friday Sisters Book Club meeting, which had included a discussion of Sherlock Holmes and
The Disappearance of Lady Carfax
, the group compared the case to that of a teenage girl whose family had moved to Cole Harbor over fifty years ago.

“Stay or go, we thank you for preparing the chowdah. If you decide to go, that will leave us with a numbah not divisible by three.” Phyllis sighed. “In that case I’m afraid, ladies, we’ll have to cancel the séance and find anothah way to figure out who murdered poor Sally.”

She didn’t know if the sighs filtering around the table were those of relief or disappointment. Her chin went up. “Are we mice or women? Where is your courage? While our new deputy is too handsome for his own good, and has proven his prestigious credentials, he is young and inexperienced. Plus, he himself said he wasn’t interested in solving cold cases.”

Maudie Perry broke the circle. She clasped her hands together. “I think we’ve read too many mystery novels. Look at us. Nadia is almost eighty, and deaf as stone. We’re old. Not sleuths or psychic mediums. Besides, Sally Wentworth disappeared forty years ago. I agree with the majority of the town folks. She ran off with that no-good Corbin Drake. Sheriff Pitmeyer, God rest his soul, never found any evidence of foul play. Besides, Sally’s parents died a long time ago, and there is no family who would care one way or the other. I don’t understand your obsession with solving a mystery where there is no mystery.” Maudie reached across the table and grabbed a crusty roll. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

“Ayuh, I agree with Maudie. Ladle me a bowl of chowdah, will yah? And for your information, I’m not all that deaf. I have selective hearing.” The wrinkles smoothed from Nadia Cruex’s cherubic face when she smiled.

Bing bong…bing bong!

Phyllis Friday huffed, “For Pete’s sake. It’s aftah seven.” She yelled, “The store is closed.”

Bing bong…bing bong!

The incessant ringing of the doorbell was followed by, “Aunt Philly, open the door. It’s me, Laura.”

“By Godfrey! This is certainly unexpected. It’s my niece from New York. I told you about her…the reporter.” Phyllis pushed away from the table. “Coming… Hold on, I’m coming.”

Phyllis unlatched the door and swung it wide. After the hugs were done, she prattled, “I wasn’t expecting you until next month. Is something wrong? Oh, dear, this is a lovely surprise. Put your suitcases there.” She clasped her niece by the arm. “I’m rambling like a doddering idiot. Come, you’re just in time for a bowl of the best clam chowdah you’ve ever tasted.”

Laura leaned in close and whispered, “Introduce me as Laura Friday. I’ll explain later.”

Her aunt gave a faint nod, although curiosity gleamed in her eyes.

After the introductions were made, questions came at her from around the table, everything from “How long do you plan to stay?” to “What’s it like being a big time New York investigative reporter?”

Laura cast a haggard glance at the curious faces staring back at her. “If Aunt Philly is up to my bunking in with her until I get my own place, I’m here permanently.”

Phyllis’ gasp echoed those of the other ladies. “What about your job? What I mean is, of course, dear. Stay as long as you like. I have plenty of room.”

Laura dipped a piece of bread into the rich, creamy soup and plopped it into her mouth. She chewed, stretching out the answer to her aunt’s question. “I’m burnt out, Aunt Philly. I don’t have the physical or mental energy to cover another story about murder or kidnappings or anything concerning drug pushers and gangs. My editor is friends with Dan Fremont, and—”

Phyllis interrupted, “Dan Fremont who owns the
Harbor Gazette
? You’re going to work for that crotchety ole grouser?”

Laura lifted the linen napkin and dabbed her lips. “Yes and no. Yes, Dan Fremont who owns the
Harbor Gazette
, and no, I’m not going to work for him. I’m sure you’ve heard about his health, and that he’s retiring.” She spread her hands wide, “Sooo, the corporation that bought the
Harbor Gazette
has employed me. You are looking at the new editor-in-chief and reporter extraordinaire, all in one.”

Maudie Perry offered, “But, dear, nothing exciting ever happens here. Life is dull, routine. In a word—boring. In time you’ll tire of writing mundane articles about the women’s society planting new flowers around the gazebo, or who died, or who won the annual pie-baking contest. You’re young, talented, beautiful. Couldn’t you find something more exciting?”

Phyllis scolded. “Maudine Perry, what my niece does with her life is her business.” She flashed a thoughtful smile toward Laura. “Part of me agrees with Maudie, but the other part is totally delighted you’re here.”

Phyllis noted the desperation that crept into Laura’s voice. “I needed a change. A do-over, if you will. I was born in Cole Harbor and lived here until I was five. It seemed logical for me to come home.”

The gaunt look and dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes. Phyllis didn’t need a sixth sense or a séance to know something was amiss with her niece. She placed her hands on the table and pushed her chair backwards as she stood. “Ladies, we haven’t left a drop in the pot or a crumb of bread to evoke a wisp of smoke, much less a spirit. I declare the séance officially postponed.”

Laura groaned when she arose. A reaction to the pain, she gripped her hip. The wan look on her niece’s face caused Phyllis to hasten her friends toward the front door. “Be careful going home. It’s thick as pea soup tonight.” And then to Laura, “Don’t worry about your bags. I’ll bring them up. Take your mother’s old room. It has its own bathroom. Top of the stairs, end of the hall.”

Laura let out a tired breath. “It was nice meeting all of you. Forgive me for intruding.”

Maudie patted Laura’s shoulder. “Now, now, none of that. We’re just a bunch of dotty ole busybodies who haven’t learned to mind our own business. It’s my turn to host the next Friday Sisters Book Club meeting. Promise you’ll join us.”

“Perhaps.” Laura turned toward the stairs.

Chapter Three

“Knock, knock.”

“Door’s open, Aunt Philly.”

Phyllis used the toe of her shoe to nudge the bedroom door completely open. She set the tray containing two cups, a small teapot, and a canister of whipped cream on the end of the bed. “I thought you might like a cup of hot chocolate, with a healthy splash of amaretto. It’s my specialty.”

Phyllis sniffed her appreciation for the aromatic fragrance as she lifted the canister. “Whipped cream?”

Laura smiled and nodded. She accepted the cup as she sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, knees drawn up. Her aunt relaxed in the wingbacked chair next to the window.

Neither woman spoke.

Laura closed her eyes and swallowed the knot in the back of her throat. The velvety texture of the chocolate laced with alcohol worked like a magic potion. She set the empty cup aside. A slight blush rose to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Aunt Philly.”

Phyllis tipped her own cup for the last luscious drop of liquid. “Whatever for?”

“For barging in without an invitation, for being rude to your friends, for…for—” and then like the gates of a dam had burst, her tears flowed and heart-wrenching sobs tore from Laura’s throat. Damn her aunt for unleashing the vulnerability she’d chained down so she could investigate crimes without crumbling under fear.

Phyllis shifted to the bed and opened her arms. She stroked the silken strands of short blonde hair as she cradled her niece. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you things were not right. I’m a good listener, if you’re of a mind to talk.”

Laura sat up. Between sobs, hiccups, and blowing her nose, she managed to relate about Jolly’s death, about her own injuries, and about the implied threat to her life. “It’s all my fault. I have a knack for plunging ahead without thinking. Max, my editor, warned me. If I had listened, if I had waited for DEA to arrive, Jolly would be celebrating his wedding day instead of lying in a cold grave.”

Phyllis offered a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry about your friend, but what worries me the most is the threat that young punk made about hurting you. At least he’s in prison, and I assume no one knows you’re here. You’re safe.”

Phyllis stared at Laura with genuinely kind eyes. “I’m guessing all this has something to do with you changing your name from Schofield to Friday.”

“The more anonymity, the better. Max helped me make the name change legal. You don’t think Dad would mind, do you?”

“It’s a shame your parents aren’t alive to see the fine young woman you’ve become. In death as well as in life, Tom and June would agree with your decision. Besides, you’ve always been more Friday than Schofield.”

A yawn caught Laura by surprise. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“The amaretto is doing the trick.” She patted her niece’s arm. “Don’t you worry. My lips are sealed. Now, it’s late, and you need to rest. I’ll take the dishes to the kitchen and bring up your bags.”

“I’m serious, Aunt Philly. Not even to old Sheriff Gilman.”

“Amos Gilman had a fatal heart attack a few years back. His daughter, Roberta Gilman, is sheriff now. She’s on temporary leave of absence—honeymoon. Mitchell Carter is the new deputy. He’s arrogant, too handsome for his own good, and behind those baby-blue peepers is a man harboring a sad soul.”

“I don’t remember her. In fact, there isn’t much I do remember about Cole Harbor. Is the new Sheriff Gilman capable?”

“Ayuh. Seemed only reasonable for her to fill Amos’ shoes. She’s more’n qualified.”

“I wondered about the deputy’s southern drawl.”

Phyllis’ eyebrows arched upward. “You met him?”

Laura gave a brief sketch of her encounter with Mitchell Carter, then scooted from the bed. “I’ll get my travel bag, and we can leave the rest of the suitcases until morning.”

The sudden motion of standing caused her to yelp when pain sliced through her thigh and her leg collapsed. She grabbed the bedpost to keep from crumpling to the floor. This time the tears that leaked from her eyes had nothing to do with emotions and everything to do with the multiple gunshot wounds that were still healing.

She swallowed back the bile. Her hands trembled as she reached for her purse and lifted out the bottle of painkillers.

Phyllis took the cue, grabbed the cup off the tray, and rushed next door to the bathroom, to return in seconds with cool water.

Laura swallowed the pills, then settled on the edge of the bed. “I should probably check in with Mr. Fremont tomorrow. How far is it to the newspaper office?”

Phyllis tsked. “Out the bookstore door…into the newspaper’s door. We knew Dan had planned to sell the paper and move out west to live with his daughter. He always was a close-mouthed ole coot. I’m surprised he kept quiet about you being the new owner.”

“He doesn’t know it’s me who bought it. I desperately need anonymity. The purchase was made through a dummy corporation, so that it appears as a subsidiary of the
New York Crier
. As far as anyone knows anywhere else, I’m merely here to run the one-person operation.”

“Smart girl. You take after me.” Phyllis offered a sly grin, and a wink.

Laura took a deep breath to discredit the statement. She picked at a piece of lint on the quilt. “Do you ever get tired of being alone?”

“Who says I’m alone? I have my friends, regular patrons who enjoy sipping tea and enjoying a pastry while sitting in a comfy chair with their books, and now I have you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Of course, I do. I loved someone once. He died in Vietnam. I never wanted anyone else. For better or worse, we choose our own paths, Laura. If we’re not happy with the choice, then we work to change it.”

A smile kinked one corner of Laura’s mouth. “At the office they call me the ice maiden. Behind my back, of course.”

“You are no longer in New York. Plus, you said you wanted a new start. Close your eyes, sleep off the exhaustion, and when you wake up it will be a brand-new day, a brand-new job, and a perfect time to become someone other than the ice maiden.”

Phyllis blew a kiss and shut the door behind her.

Laura undressed and stood naked in front of the long mirror behind the bathroom door. She had always taken pride in her early morning runs, keeping her five-seven frame lean and fit. That had been nine weeks ago. Now her eyes held dark shadows, her cheeks were two pale hollows, and her limbs had become almost too thin to bear her weight. In a word, she looked like a scarecrow in dire need of more stuffing.

She traced the line of the long scar that marred her hip and traveled the length to her knee. Bullets from an M-16 had splintered the bone, leaving little for the surgeon to repair. Yet he had saved her leg, merely leaving it shorter than the other. No more early morning runs for her. No more runs, period. She couldn’t stand the sight of her own body, nor the ugly orthopedic shoes that had become a permanent part of her wardrobe.

Chapter Four

Three days later, the morning sun spilled through the glass-paned window of the newspaper office. The scent of lemon oil filled the growing warmth in the office as Laura wiped the dust cloth over the antique wooden desk. She smiled as she worked her way around the room, giving the wood a polished gleam and humming along softly to the tune on the radio.