Deadly Getaway

by Laura Bradford

  Mitch was silent, his shoulders slumped. Elise looked away, her eyes resting on the photographs beside their table. She took a deep breath and pointed at the picture of the skiers with their beer mugs—the same picture that had caught their eye just yesterday evening. “It’s not right that they were so happy two days ago and now are so miserable.”

  Mitch raised his head and looked at the picture.

  “They came here to have some fun and blow off some steam. And now they’re under more stress than any desk job could ever cause,” she continued.

  “Remember what Dan said about Pete? How he was planning to use the prize money to take his wife on a second honeymoon?” Mitch’s voice was a near whisper. “And now we can’t even get word to her that her husband is dead.”

  Elise held her breath. The fight was coming back into Mitch’s eyes. She knew its source, knew he was thinking of his dad’s murder and the way the killer had eluded police for so long.

  She knew the memories were painful for him, but she also knew they had the habit of motivating him in any number of situations. And judging by the way he suddenly straightened in his chair and looked at the pictures on the wall, Elise could see that this was no exception.

  “Funny, but I don’t see the redhead anywhere.”

  “Who?” Elise asked.

  Mitch pointed at a man sitting by himself in a far corner of the restaurant. “That guy.”

  “And?”

  “And he showed up at the competition yesterday morning and ended up winning the money when Pete disappeared. Everyone was shocked because Pete was the hands-down favorite.”

  Elise dropped her voice to a near whisper. “Do you think he could be the killer?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ve got my eye on him. He seems real removed from everyone. Real sullen.”

  “How long has he been on the island?” She studied the man from head to toe, waited for her radar to go off, but it didn’t. He simply looked like a guy who wasn’t comfortable in his own skin.

  “A week or so. Or so he says.”

  “If he’s eaten here then his picture should be on the wall, right?” she asked.

  “That’s what I’m thinking.” Mitch shot his hand in the air and beckoned to the woman making the rounds of each table, coffeepot in hand.

  “Need some coffee, Mitch?” Sophie asked. The woman placed a gentle hand on Mitch’s shoulder, flashed a look of concern at Elise.

  “Actually, Sophie, I could use your memory.” Mitch looked at the woman as he spoke, his eyes never leaving her face. “There’s a redhead sitting in the corner by the door. Name’s Mark. He says he’s been here for a while, yet I don’t see his picture on the wall. Have you ever seen him before?”

  Elise saw Sophie turn and look in the direction of the door. Confusion crossed the woman’s face as she slowly offered an unreturned wave to a customer who’d just entered the restaurant and stood inches from Mark.

  Although Elise couldn’t see the face inside the tightly drawn hood, the man’s wooden stance seemed vaguely familiar. Shivering suddenly, she forced her attention back to Sophie. The woman stood next to Elise’s seat, her eyes closed.

  “Sophie?”

  The woman opened her eyes slowly but said nothing.

  “Sophie?” Mitch asked, his voice gentle yet firm. “You okay?”

  “Oh, sorry. I guess I got distracted for a moment. The redhead, right? Yes, he’s been in here. Quiet guy. Doesn’t have much to say.”

  “When did you take his picture?” Elise asked.

  “I always take a picture of someone on their first visit. I know I took his picture, but I’m not sure why it isn’t on the wall.”

  “Your Polaroid camera was broken when we came in yesterday and you took our picture with a regular camera.” Mitch looked up at Sophie as he continued. “I imagine that roll is still sitting in your camera, right?”

  Elise shook her head in amazement, watching Mitch’s detective skills take over. He was back. They were going to be all right.

  “I actually finished that roll right after you left, but can’t get it developed because the camera shop is without power just like everyone else.” Sophie’s voice trailed off as she appeared to mull something over in her head. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he was a Polaroid shot.”

  “But if you took his picture with the Polaroid, it should be here on the wall, right?” Mitch asked.

  “I guess . . .”

  It was obvious that the stress of the day was taking a toll on Sophie. The woman’s forehead was creased with worry, her eyes dull and sad. Elise knew how she felt. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen here.

  Elise met Mitch’s eye across the table and gave a slight shake before looking back at Sophie.

  “Don’t worry about it, Sophie. We’ll figure it out later.” She reached for the woman’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “I’m sorry, kids. I don’t mean to be so absentminded. It’s just that—”

  “It’s okay, Sophie, really.” Mitch’s voice softened. “Today’s been awful for all of us. The picture’s not a big deal.”

  “Thanks, Detective. I guess I should get back to work and make sure these poor men have enough coffee. I imagine they’re chilled to the bone right now.” Sophie looked around the restaurant, her eyes troubled, her voice quiet. “I’m just not sure what my coffee can do to change the chill in their hearts.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Detective Burns?”

  Mitch looked up from the notepad Sophie had loaned him, his mind still focused on the ever-growing list of tasks he and Brad needed to work on that afternoon. “Yes?”

  “I’m Jonathan Moore. Retired officer from Cook County Sheriff’s Department in southwestern Georgia.” The man pulled a badge from his back pocket and held it up for Mitch to see. “I just heard what’s going on and wanted to offer some help.”

  The man’s words sliced through Mitch’s preoccupation like a knife. He jumped from his seat and extended his hand in one rapid-fire motion, his eyes suddenly riveted on the tall gray-haired man. “Man, do we ever need some help. I’m Mitch Burns.” He motioned to Elise’s empty chair. “Sit, sit.”

  Mitch soaked up every detail of the man, the way he draped his trench coat over the seat back, the way he inhaled sharply through his nose, the way he sat in the chair with an air of authority before speaking.

  “I was sick of sitting in my hotel room watching the snow fly past my window so I decided to venture out for a little while. I thought for sure I was the only nut who’d go out in this stuff. Then I looked in the windows here. I couldn’t believe all these people.”

  Mitch sat back down, ran his palm across his face. “Everyone’s just trying to get warmed up after being out in that damn snow all morning.” His words trailed off as he recalled Pete’s blue skin and staring eyes. It was a vision he knew would haunt him for life.

  “I asked the big guy sitting over by the door what was going on. He told me about the search and the body. Is it true the guy was murdered?”

  Mitch cleared his throat, leaned forward in his chair and swung his gaze in Mark’s direction. The skier was still sitting at the same corner table by the door, nursing the same mug of coffee. Alone.

  “Detective?”

  Most guys like shooting the breeze with other guys. Comparing jobs, talking about women, swapping stupid jokes. So why did the redhead keep to himself? Was he simply a loner? Or was there more?

  “Detective Burns?”

  Mitch pulled his gaze away from Mark and looked, once again, at the gray-haired man across from him. He saw a mixture of curiosity and frustration in the man’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Jonathan. I guess my mind’s on overload right now.”

  “So it’s true?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah, it’s true. And it’s pissing me off. I’m so sick of dirtbags like this deciding who should live and who shouldn’t. But I’ll tell you this—I’m gonna find the guy who did this and make sure he p
ays.”

  Jonathan let out a low whistle under his breath and leaned forward, shaking his head. “Any hunches yet?”

  Mitch lowered his voice and nodded. “The redhead that sent you over here is really the only one who’s raised my suspicion at this point, but it’s early. What I do know is that he met up with the victim’s ski group yesterday morning, won their competition and the four grand that went along with it. He keeps to himself. No one seems to know anything about him. I’m just not sure if that aloofness is the way he is or a cover.”

  “A cover?”

  Mitch leaned across the table and dropped his voice to a whisper. “We have reason to believe this murder is more than an isolated occurrence.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. The FBI thinks we’ve got a serial killer on the island.”

  He watched as Jonathan’s gaze moved slowly around the room, stopped momentarily to study the lone occupant of the corner table by the door, then came back to rest on Mitch once again. The man’s technique was very much like his own—quiet, quick, thorough.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “If you’re really willing to help, I think we should head over to the police department. You’ll need to meet Officer Matthews and then we’ll go over a little strategy to get everyone through this. Alive.”

  “I’m in. You heading over now?”

  Mitch pushed back his chair and stood. “Yeah. I gotta grab my girlfriend first. She’s in the back with Sophie filling some more thermoses for the guys who helped with the search.”

  Jonathan shook Mitch’s outstretched hand. “Just let me get something warm to drink myself and I’ll meet you at the station in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks, Jonathan.”

  Chapter Nine

  2:30 p.m.

  Mitch stood to the right of Brad’s desk, his gaze traveling the map on the wall. Brad had put a pushpin everywhere a building was located along the main road. Hotels, businesses, library, fire department, newspaper office. But it wasn’t those buildings that made him worry so much. It was the scattered pins further inland that were the most appealing spots for someone trying to hide.

  “If you notice, I tried to color-coordinate the pins a little bit so you can see what’s what.” Brad swept his hand across the map, stopped on the row of pushpins that denoted the area around Sophie’s. “The tourists are all going to be here, where the blue pins are. I’m thinking we might be able to get a few walkie-talkies out to some of those hotels so we can keep in touch with them easier.”

  Mitch nodded, his mind absorbing everything Brad said.

  “But, as you can see, the red and yellow pins are gonna be tougher to monitor, tougher to check.” Brad picked up a piece of yellow paper with various notes scrawled across the page. “The red pins are homes, the yellow ones are a few of the outlying businesses.”

  “What kind of businesses?” Elise asked, her voice quiet but steady.

  “Well, this one right here is a livery. It’s where the horse-drawn taxis and trail rides are run from. Vic Stodder owns it but has gotten too old to run it on his own. He’d been hoping to get someone who knew about horses to help him out, but that hasn’t happened yet to my knowledge. Joe’s been carrying most of the load, but he also works at the Victorian House Hotel and his mom doesn’t want him to quit that job to tend horses all day. And I imagine, with this storm, Joe’s working that hotel job twenty-four/seven, which is leaving Vic high and dry.”

  “And that one?” Elise pointed to a yellow pushpin off the main outer road.

  “That’s the rental place. People can rent bikes there during the summer months, cross-country skis and snowmobiles in the winter.”

  Cross-country skis.

  “That’s it!”

  Elise and Brad turned from the map at the same moment, their eyes large and questioning.

  “Cross-country skis! Dan Friar said the killer almost had to have been on skis—and been fairly good at maneuvering on them—in order to get to Pete, kill him, and get out before being noticed.”

  Brad stood motionless as he looked at Mitch, his eyes glazed in thought.

  “Think, Brad. There were skiers all over those woods that morning. Someone not on skis would have stood out.” Mitch waited for Brad to catch up, to say something, anything.

  “Yeah . . .”

  Exasperated, Mitch pulled his hand across his face and over his hair. “Yeah” wasn’t exactly what he was looking for.

  Elise’s quiet voice filled the room, her words confirmation of the path his mind had begun to take. “If this guy was running from the FBI, he probably wasn’t bogged down with much stuff. Most likely he would’ve picked up skis after he got here.”

  That’s my girl.

  Mitch nodded quickly at Elise, then turned his attention to Brad. Sure enough, their train of thought finally pulled into Brad’s station.

  “Hey! The only place to get skis on the island is the rental shop.”

  “Bingo!” Mitch felt his shoulders sag in relief. Brad was a good guy, but definitely not the sharpest tack in the box.

  “Let’s put that on the short list of places to check out.” Brad reached for a pad of paper and began to write. “Doug and Michelle live right above the shop so they’ll be easy to find.”

  “We also need to consider the possibility he stole some skis. So keep your ears open for any mention of that,” Mitch said.

  The jingle of the front door made them turn.

  “Hey, Jonathan, glad you found us.” Mitch covered the distance between the map and the door in several quick strides. He reached for Jonathan’s cold hand and shook it firmly. “Throw your coat on the chair there and let me introduce you to Brad.”

  Jonathan unzipped his coat and rubbed his hands together. “It’s cold out there.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not a whole lot different in here thanks to a window my buddy refuses to shut no matter what the temperature.” Mitch turned, cupped his hand on Brad’s shoulder. “Jonathan, this is Officer Brad Matthews.”

  “Are we ever glad you found us.” Brad shook Jonathan’s hand, a smile temporarily replacing the worried scowl that had been a fixture on his face since Agent Walker’s call. “How long have you been here?”

  “I got here about a week ago. I’ve been staying over at the Lakeside Inn.” Mitch watched as Jonathan’s gaze moved to the map on the wall, studied the location of every pushpin. “Who did this?”

  “Brad did. He’s done a great job of putting this together so that I, and now we, can get a quick feel for the layout of the island.” Mitch stepped closer to the map and pointed to the yellow pushpin denoting the equipment rental shop. “I was just saying it might be a good idea to check with the rental shop to see who may have rented cross-country skis yesterday morning.”

  Jonathan’s eyes never left the map. “Do you have any way to keep in touch with these people with the phone lines being down?”

  “I’m afraid not. Not the outlying buildings anyway. I have a few walkie-talkies I thought we might try in some of the bigger hotels. I’m just not sure if the range is gonna be too far.” Brad stepped back and leaned against his desk.

  Mitch studied the map, his gaze riveted on the spot Brad had circled in black marker. The woods where Pete’s body was found. “Besides the ski group, are there any other large groups visiting the island right now?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” Brad reached across his desk and grabbed a copy of the Island Weekly. He unfolded the paper, turned a few pages, then stopped. “Yup, there’s a class reunion group from some college in Louisiana. Most of those folks are staying at the Island Inn where you and Elise are, and the Lakeside Inn where Jonathan is. Why?”

  Before Mitch could answer, Jonathan spoke, his words slow but firm. “Because a larger group would be a great place for a guy like ours to assimilate into—at least to an outsider looking in.”

  Mitch nodded, pleased at Jonathan’s quick assessment.

  “Man, you guys are gonna be
holding my hand through this whole thing. I feel like an idiot.” Brad puffed out his cheeks and exhaled loudly.

  “You’ll be fine, son.” Jonathan placed a hand on Brad’s shoulder. “No one expects to come up against a situation like this. Certainly not here.”

  Elise cleared her throat quietly and pointed at the red pushpins that sporadically dotted the island’s interior. “What are we gonna do about the people who live in those homes? Is there a way we can make sure they’re safe?”

  Mitch looked at the map once again, noticed the way Elise’s hand lingered on a pin near the airport.

  “I’m sorry, I haven’t met you.” Jonathan reached for Elise’s hand. “I’m Jonathan Moore.”

  “Ah, geez, excuse me. I’m sorry. I forgot Elise was in back with Sophie when we met. Jonathan, this is my girlfriend, Elise Jenkins.”

  Elise’s hand disappeared inside Jonathan’s firm grasp; her tired eyes held only a hint of their normal sparkle as she smiled up at the man.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Jonathan. Thanks so much for helping.”

  Mitch reached out for Elise and pulled her in for a quick hug. He hated the tension in her body, the fear in her eyes. If only there was somewhere safe she could go to wait this out while he held down the fort with Brad and Jonathan. But there wasn’t. And he knew she’d never go. She had way too much spunk to be shipped away.

  “Now, what were you saying about the outlying homes?” Jonathan looked at Elise, then gestured to the map.

  “I was just thinking out loud more than anything else, I guess. I just can’t help but worry about those people being out so far. Alone.”

  “That’s a good point.” Mitch looked at his college buddy, still leaning against the desk. “Brad, are there many empty rooms in the hotels right now?”

  “I’m sure there are. Winter’s not a real busy time for us. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say only half our rooms are full. And that’s probably an inflated guess.”