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

comfortable swimming since, and that happened ten years ago. You know what’s odd? There’s never been another attack or a shark spotted in the cove since.”
    Laura commiserated about the child. She closed the book she held and set it on the stack, then stood and stretched. “Let’s call it a night, Aunt Philly. Maybe tomorrow something will turn up in one of the other volumes.”
    Later, in the bathroom, Laura turned off the shower with a rusty clank. She reached to towel the mist from the mirror. Instead, she used her finger to write the letters: ly . “Who are you?”
    Settled against the pillow, the last thing she remembered was looking at the clock. As she slept, her usual anxiety dream visited. Herself running, running, running down a long endless alley, dark. A small, bobbing light at the end, beckoning her. Explosions, deafening. All around. Her labored breathing. No matter how fast she ran, the distance between her and the light lengthened, making it impossible to reach the light.
    Like most nights, she awoke biting back weary screams, drenched in sweat, the sheet tangled around her legs. On other nights, she simply lay there and tried to will away the painful throbs in her right hip.
    The doctor had called it post traumatic stress disorder.
    She climbed from the bed and limped to the bathroom, where she used the moon’s light to guide her to the medicine cabinet. This time, she didn’t silence the scream.
    To control her trembling, she leaned forward to clutch the sides of the sink. The cold porcelain felt good to her warm hands. She gulped deep breaths to control the retch rolling up her throat.
    Phyllis fairly skidded into the room, her voice in a high crescendo saying, “By Godfrey, Laura, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
    “I did. I mean, I think I did. See a ghost, that is. She…um…It was staring over my shoulder. I saw her in the mirror.” Laura lifted her hands to her face. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed. “Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe I am suffering from PTSD, or maybe I’m ready for a stint in the loony bin.”
    Phyllis wet a washcloth, wrung out the excess water, and handed it to her niece. “Or maybe you really did see a ghost. Remember, what Nadia said—sometimes, after a séance, the spirit will attach itself to a person.”
    Aggravation laced Laura’s voice. “Yeah, well, the séance was in Maudie’s house. So how would the spirit know to find me here, and why me?”
    “I don’t know. Unless—” Phyllis’s face scrunched into a thoughtful frown. “Was the woman young or old?”
    “Young. Maybe in her twenties. What’s your point?”
    “Can the sarcasm. I’m merely trying to help. You are the only one at the séance younger than sixty. That’s my point. The spirit is reaching out to you because she can relate to you. What else do you remember about her?”
    “I don’t know, Aunt Philly. It all happened in a split second. Maybe I imagined it. I awoke from a bad dream. Maybe I was still a little shaken, and the only thing I saw in the mirror was my own reflection.”
    “I’m certain you saw what you saw. A spirit is trying to reach out to you. The question is who, and why?”
    “Oh, great. Maybe I need to wear a sachet of garlic or wolf bane around my neck for protection.”
    Phyllis laughed as she hugged her niece. “That’s for vampires and werewolves, which is the one thing Cole Harbor doesn’t have. Let’s go back to bed. I don’t think your ghost will visit again tonight.”

Chapter Seven
    Other than a flowering garden, the setting sun was his favorite sight. Tonight the sky fired the horizon and reminded him of a campfire’s glowing embers. Benjamin wished he’d inherited his mother’s artistic skills, for only an artist could wash the sky in iridescent hues of purple and pink. The feathery clouds reminded him of lace. He remained on the porch until the red globe slid behind the horizon, erasing the colors and replacing them with pitch