Murder in the Mist Read Online Free Page B

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.
    Laura stood in the center of her new office. Hands on hips, and satisfied with her efforts, she surveyed the space. No more overflowing file cabinets, or stacks of folders piled in chairs or in every corner of the small office. Dan Fremont had said to keep what she thought was important, chuck the rest. The paper was hers to do with as she pleased.
    Cleaning and organizing had a cathartic effect on her. She felt good. The floors shone with new polish, and years of dust had been removed from the venetian blinds, shelves, and the ceiling fan.
    “You look like the cat who swallowed the canary. Gloating, I see.”
    Laura turned when the little bell over the front door dingled. “Good morning to you, too, Aunt Philly.”
    Phyllis handed her niece a cup of coffee, then pulled up a chair and sat down, taking a sip from her own cup. “I have an assignment for you. I’d like you to find a missing person.”
    Laura removed the plastic cap from the cup. “Sounds intriguing. Tell me more.”
    “Sally Wentworth disappeared almost fifty years ago. My theory is she was murdered and her body dumped in the bay. The night you arrived, my book club ladies and I had planned to hold a séance to see if we could call forth her spirit.”
    Laura chided. “Really? Don’t tell me you believe in such nonsense.”
    Phyllis wagged her finger. “Don’t poke fun. Cole Harbor isn’t exactly a beehive teeming with activities. We have the Lobstah Fest, of course, and the Fourth of July Arts Festival, and in October we hold a Halloween Ghost Hunt at the Lighthouse Museum. Other than going about our daily lives, the rest of the time there isn’t much to do. So if we want to hold a séance, then humor your old aunt and her cronies.”
    “Sorry, Aunt Philly. I didn’t mean to be crass. Was Sally a close friend?”
    “Yes and no. Her parents rented a cottage here for several years when we were both in grade school. She was such a pretty girl, and so much fun. She and I became inseparable during that time, and she drew boys the way honey draws flies. Shortly after her sixteenth birthday, Sally started skipping school to hang out with Corbin Drake. She was sixteen, and he was twenty. In our day, anyone who wore a black leather jacket, smoked cigarettes, and rode a motorcycle was considered a real pissah, you know, a hoodlum. Then Sally disappeared and was never heard of again. Corbin was gone too, of course.
    “Her parents reported her missing. After his investigation, Amos concluded Sally had run off