Chapter Thirty

The following week flew by at an incredible pace. Fourth of July weekend meant the countdown of days until Sheriff Gilman returned from her honeymoon and Mitch left for Texas.

As many times as he had scoured the park areas and reviewed the autopsy report, Mitch had to admit his frustration over being no closer to finding Daisy Fuller’s murderer or to connecting a ten-year-old murder to this one.

The missing pets were still missing. None of the rangers had discovered any clues that the remains had been dumped or buried in the park, and no remains had washed ashore.

To fill her days, Laura spent more time working with the tourism council and the historical society. Aunt Philly seemed inordinately pleased that Laura had accepted Bryan’s invitation to watch the fireworks from atop Cadillac Mountain inside the park, and when the local celebration was not the subject, she chattered continuously about the European cruise and spending the winter in a warmer climate.

At night, Laura researched the history of the town and its buildings. Her goal was to help establish grants to preserve historical sites from outside commercial contractors whose sole purpose was to demolish the structures for capital gains and replace them with parking lots or ultra-modern architectural designs.

And, all the while, she wrestled with the question of who was sending her the white roses. After receiving another rose, she decided someone other than Mayor Shipley was the perpetrator. Whoever he was had changed his pattern. This time, she found a fully-bloomed flower on the steps at the back door of her office. She hadn’t noticed the second difference until she picked up the stem and a thorn pricked her finger. Always before, the sender had stripped away the sharp barbs. She wondered if she had inadvertently offended her secret admirer and this was his way of sending her a warning.

Shaking off the doldrums, she scanned the news clipping into her computer, then zoomed in on the grainy black-and-white images of Brenda Alligood and Bennie Wiener. Twenty-plus years had passed since Dan Fuller had taken the photo and written the article about the girl’s unfortunate death. Laura held a current picture of Benjamin Noone next to the screen. The resemblance she had earlier thought existed simply didn’t.

The office phone rang. “Cole Harbor Gazette, Laura speaking.”

Heavy breathing.

“Hello, is someone there?”

An unfamiliar male voice with a deep rasp whispered, “No one loves you.”

“Who is this?”

The line disconnected.

Laura pushed out of her chair and walked to the back door to double check that the deadbolt was in place. Her heart thudded until the beat throbbed inside her ears.

She punched in the numbers of Mitch’s cell phone.

“Deputy Carter.”

She struggled to keep the quaver from her voice. “Are you near the newspaper?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I didn’t tell you about receiving another rose because I still believed it was someone’s idea of a sick joke. Mitch, a moment ago, I received a strange phone call. I think it was a threat.”

“Lock the doors, draw the blinds, and don’t let anyone in. Give me ten minutes. I’ll sing out your name when I get there.”

To stay occupied, she made a fresh pot of coffee. And she paced, sat down, paced some more, until she heard a tap on the glass. “Friday, it’s Mitch.”

She turned the lock and wanted to rush into his arms—to feel safe. Instead, she walked to the coffeepot and poured two cups. “Mitch, are you sure Elio Casper is dead? I mean…did anyone actually see him in the morgue, or in a casket?”

“What’s happened to spook you?”

She set the cup on her desk and opened the large manila envelope, then carefully removed the slightly mashed but fully bloomed rose. “This arrived two days ago. Unlike the others, it has thorns. My finger is still sore from the prick.”

She related about the telephone call, and repeated the caller’s words.

“You didn’t recognize the voice?”

She shrugged. “It was a man who sounded as if he had a bad case of laryngitis.”

Mitch gave her an assessing glance. “Although my sources are reliable, I’ll contact them to double-check on Elio Casper’s death.”

She looked down at the cup in her hands. “I can’t help but think the roses and now this phone call are connected, and that someone else is in Elio Casper’s grave. I’m scared, Mitch. Not just for me. I don’t want Aunt Philly harmed because I live with her.”

“Friday, with the way the town is filling up for the fireworks show this weekend, I’d like you to stay at home with the doors locked. I have to work. There’s no way I can keep an eye on you.”

“Don’t worry about us. Aunt Philly and I accepted Bryan’s invitation to watch the fireworks from the park.”

Mitch gave her a knowing look.

She hitched one shoulder. “Don’t go reading anything into it. I took your advice and set the ground rules. Slow and easy.”

In silence, they exchanged awkward smiles.

She had to remember that his time for returning to Texas was drawing nearer, and that she was staying in Cole Harbor.

Mitch checked his watch. “I’ll let you know what I find out about Elio Casper. In the meantime, you know the drill…doors locked…no venturing out at night alone.”

****

She hadn’t slept.

At six-thirty, she carried a cup of coffee to the porch. The sun was trying to break through a blue-gray mist that hovered over the cove. Laura sat on the porch swing, dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas. The nights in Cole Harbor remained cool and damp. She sat there sipping and listening to the seagulls’ high-pitched mewlings.

Her cell phone vibrated against her hip. She reached into her pocket to look at the caller ID.

Bracing herself for bad news, she returned to the bedroom and shut the glass slider so her voice wouldn’t disturb her aunt.

Speaking just above a whisper, she said, “Do you know what time it is?”

There was no humor in Mitch’s voice. “Figured you’d be up.”

Her nervousness increased. “What did you find out?”

“Hang on a second, Friday. I need to take this call.”

She frowned and glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

“Friday, sorry about leaving you hanging.”

A terrible feeling rose inside her. Dread. “If Elio is alive, just tell me.”

“My sources sent me several pictures, which I’ve emailed to you. They should come through—now. Tell me if you can identify either of the two men.”

Her cell phone beeped. “Give me a second, Mitch.”

She viewed the gruesome images of Elio Casper and Mario Gombiana. Both on metal slabs, their naked bodies draped with white sheets. Elio’s eyes wide open. Lifeless, cold, dead eyes. Bruises on his face and neck. Gombiana’s picture was more graphic, with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

“Friday?”

“Yeah.” Tears burned behind her eyes, and her throat was tight. “That’s them. You’re right. They are really dead. So who is after me?”

She heard him sigh through the phone. His tone was hard, intense. “The sorry bastard, whoever he is, will regret the day he harassed you when I catch him.”

When she didn’t answer, he added, “I’ll nail this guy. You believe me?”

“Yeah, I believe you.”

“Good. There’s one important thing I need for you to do as soon as we hang up, Friday.”

Laura could almost feel his smile through the phone. She frowned, considering his request. “What’s that?”

“Go back to bed. You need the rest.”

“Okay.”

Sleeping would be the smart thing to do. She needed to rest and recharge her batteries. Instead, Laura opened her cell phone for a last look at the pictures of Elio Casper and Mario Gombiana. She tried to force her shoulders to relax. “I hope you both rot in hell for killing my friend.”

Laura massaged the ache in her hip as she flipped the phone shut. A new worry beset her. Who was sending the white roses?