Murder in the Mist by Loretta C. Rogers Read Free Book Online Page A

the key into the lock and turned the knob. Darkness and silence greeted her. Standing on the top step, she reached inside and groped the wall for the light switch. Her eyes swept the room before entering. Grumbling aloud, she said, “This is ridiculous. A grown woman, jumping at shadows, and all because of a stupid séance.”
    Nonetheless, she turned the deadbolt in place, then hurried to the closet where she had stored the morgue books. Not wanting to worry her aunt, she lifted the top eight volumes and almost buckled under the weight. She returned three neatly to their stack. Taking comfort in her own voice, she said aloud, “These will do for now.”
    The oversized scrapbooks fit awkwardly in her arms. After locking the door, she shifted the weight to keep the books from sliding, placed her chin on the top book to stabilize it, and wondered how, with a bum hip, she would manage the steep stairs to her aunt’s upstairs living quarters carrying this load. She smiled when she spotted Phyllis standing on the library’s stoop, holding the door ajar. “Figured you might need some help.”
    Once upstairs, with the apartment door secured, Laura said, “It’s a beautiful evening. Let’s spread out in the summer room.”
    “You go ahead. I’ll whip up our snack.”
    The glassed-in porch ran the length of the upstairs suite. Phyllis and Laura’s bedrooms were separated by the living-dining area and kitchen. Sliding glass doors from the bedrooms and from the living room provided private entries to the porch, where a cooling breeze filtered through the open screened windows. Laura set the morgue books on a long coffee table. Before switching on a lamp, she looked out across the main part of the town and thought it picturesque enough to be a Thomas Kinkade painting. She remained silent, considering the evening’s events and the wisdom of believing the ghost of a young woman had actually appeared during the séance.
    She switched on the lamp between the two glider rockers and propped her feet on an ottoman. The scrapbook in her lap was labeled with dates from the current year to five years past. As messy and unorganized as Dan had left the office, she gave him credit for the neatly clipped articles and the orderly way he’d adhered them to the pages.
    She’d lost track of time when her aunt said, “Anything?”
    Setting the book aside, Laura accepted the offering of a tuna sandwich, chips, and a bottle of beer. “Nothing of importance. Andrew Grubber ticketed for disorderly conduct, Edward Harvey for driving with an expired license. Limon pie wins contest for most unusual taste.”
    Phyllis heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe our spirit is an old spirit. Cole Harbor has a history that dates way before the American Revolution, after all. There’s even a little bit of history about witchcraft, though I don’t think anyone was ever hanged or burned at the stake.”
    The next hour was spent with exclamations over various articles, or with Phyllis filling in details. It was when she huffed out, “Oh, my!” that hope sparked in Laura.
    “What is it…what did you find?”
    Phyllis’ face puckered in a sad expression. “Not what we’re looking for. Oh, I’ll never forget the day Ardelia Stovall stood along the beach calling and calling for her son, Lydel. He was only six years old.” Phyllis pulled the shawl a little closer around her shoulders as she stood to look out across the bay. “All my life I swam in the cove and never once feared sharks. It wasn’t natural for them to come into the inlet. Days later, Amos Gilman was searching along the island banks when he found what was left of little Lydel. Just like it says in the article, every fisherman for miles around went on a shark hunt. I can’t remember how many sharks or what kind were brought in and gutted. Not one held evidence of having fed on a child, or a human for that matter. The town almost died for lack of tourism. I don’t think I’ve ever felt