Murder in the Mist by Loretta C. Rogers

criminals? He also rationalized that his sixty-five-year-old father wasn’t getting any younger and would eventually need help running the ranch. The bullet his mother had taken in the spine…the same day his bride of six weeks was killed… No, he wouldn’t go there, couldn’t go there. He didn’t save Susan. And he couldn’t restore the use of his mother’s legs. Wallow in it, or suck it up?
    With the memory of Susan’s death playing through his mind, he said, “Fax the paperwork. I’ll sign it and send it back asap. Count on seeing me before Labor Day.”
    “I knew we could depend on you. By the way, word on the street is Navarre Àron is the one who pulled the trigger on your mother and Susie. I would’ve told you before, but I didn’t want that to be your reason to run for sheriff. Get here, and I’ll help you take him and his gang down.”
    A ring tone sounded. Mitch looked across the room. “Fax is coming through.”
    “Good. Go solve your murder and wrap up any loose ends you have in Maine. Before you leave, call me with your flight information, and I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
    When the call disconnected, Mitch stared at the phone. “What the hell have I just done?”
    He rolled his chair over to the machine and grabbed the form. Before giving himself a chance to change his mind, he signed where Sheriff Alcaraz Juh had placed an X, and faxed it back.
    Reaching into his back pocket, he removed and opened his wallet to carefully slide out a picture tucked away between various business cards. He gingerly ran his thumb over the smiling image. “I’m coming home, Susie. I’ll run for sheriff, and when I win, I’ll make my own rules. There won’t be a rock big enough for Navarre Àron or his gang to hide under.”
    Since the murder of his wife, all his idyllic days had died. No more sitting in the porch swing sipping cold lemonade, or slow dancing to Garth Brooks. He nestled the photo back inside its resting place, his heart wanting to turn to stone.
    He took another hour skimming through folders, looking for more conclusive information that would lead to evidence surrounding the mystery of Lynnette Braswell. Finding nothing, he placed all the files back in the box, closed it, and returned it to the records room. He flipped open his phone and dialed. He thrummed his fingers on the desk. “Friday, do you think your aunt would mind answering a few questions about Lynnette?”
    He detected the hint of caution. “Why, surely she isn’t a suspect?”
    He chuckled. “Absolutely not, but she’s the one person I trust to give me solid answers to a few tough questions.”
    “Hold on. She’s with me at the newspaper.”
    He heard Laura’s muffled voice and guessed she was asking her aunt about answering his questions.
    “Aunt Philly says, ‘I’d be tickled pink.’ We don’t usually eat lunch on Sundays, and we treat ourselves out to supper. When did you want to do this?”
    “What if I get take-out and bring it to your place? Crab cakes, baked beans, cole slaw, blueberry pie, beer?”
    “Man after my own heart. We’ll supply the plates. Don’t worry about the beer. We’ve got plenty. What about six o’clock?”
    “Deal.”
    Mitch filled the hours filing paperwork. As much as he wanted to read the ME’s report on the skeleton, to know if she was really Lynnette Braswell, he’d learned to expect a wait of a couple of weeks, closer to a month, before such reports came through. But now that he’d agreed to run for sheriff of El Paso County, his impatience to solve this case intensified. He needed to work, and work fast.
    At two o’clock he received a telephone call from Park Ranger Bryan Cole.
    “Got something you should see, Mitch.”
    “Yeah…what?”
    “Think it’s better you see rather than me telling you. You should also bring your crime kit.”
    “Body?”
    “No, not exactly. Like I said, you need to see firsthand.”
    “Give me about half an hour.”
    “I’ll meet