Murder in the Mist by Loretta C. Rogers Page A

you at the entrance.”
    Mitch notified the answering service that he was on his way to Acadia National Park. He also called the Silly Lobster to place his order. “If I’m not there to pick up by 5:45 p.m., deliver it to Phyllis Friday. Do you need the address?…No, okay…Good.” He paid with his credit card.
    A few minutes later found him locking the office door and unlocking the door to his blue-and-white police cruiser.
    Tourist season had begun. RVs, vans, pickup trucks with campers on the back, and cars full of families and their gear all crawled single file toward the park’s entrance. His impatience growing, he grabbed the bubble, set it on top of the patrol car, and turned the siren to intermittent blasts. He used caution as he passed the line of vehicles until he reached the park entrance on Loop Road.
    He spotted Ranger Cole as he walked from the building and waved him toward a parking space. Cole vigorously pumped Mitch’s hand.
    “What you got?” Mitch hefted the black crime satchel from the back seat of the patrol car.
    “Like I said over the phone, I’m not sure. Climb in. We’ll take the Mule 4x4 in from here.”
    A ten-minute ride over rough terrain and past the wilderness campsites, the senior ranger rolled to a stop.
    The air hung mild and faintly misty, and the grass was dappled green in the late afternoon sun. Another ranger jumped from her sitting position on a large rock to greet them.
    “Deputy Carter, meet Ranger Jane Dorsey.”
    Like her boss, Dorsey was dressed in khaki walking shorts, a matching khaki shirt with the park’s insignia badge sewn on the sleeve, and brogan hiking boots. A walkie-talkie was strapped to her waist.
    Mitch glanced around the area, then quizzically asked, “What’s the range on the walkie-talkie, Ranger Dorsey?”
    “Between seven and eight miles.”
    A nod was his only response.
    Cole extended his hand toward the woods. “We’ll walk the rest of the way in. Lead the way, Dorsey.”
    Mitch followed. “Can you give me details of what you found?”
    Jane Dorsey obliged. “Two teenagers were gathering wood. They tugged on a rotten log and unearthed a bloody bone.”
    Another five minutes, and Jane Dorsey held up her hand to signal a halt. She pointed to where she had marked the spot with a yellow streamer. “There.”
    The nub of a bone protruded from the ground. Mitch set the crime kit on the ground and opened it. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and slid them over his hands. He handed Ranger Dorsey the crime book and instructed her to write as he squatted and put his hands into the damp soil, searching. Gingerly he brushed away debris and dirt until he brought up the remainder of the article sticking out, a small bone laced with dried blood.
    “Where are the kids now, Ranger Dorsey?”
    “With their parents. Pretty shook up.”
    “Gender, age, and names?”
    “Bobby and Chris Ferrell. Ages thirteen and eleven—brothers.”
    “How long ago did the boys find the bone?”
    “All total, it’s been about an hour and half.”
    Senior Ranger Cole said, “What do you think it is? The bone appears too big for a bird.”
    “I hope it’s an animal bone.” Mitch offered. “Anyone report a missing dog, or a pet being sick and gone missing?”
    Cole glanced at Dorsey, who nodded. “Neither. In the case of a sick animal, we would have advised the owner to contact a veterinarian. But, since we have no vet, it would have been Ken Musuyo they’d contact.”
    Mitch used special care brushing away more dirt. He hoped what he was about to find wasn’t another human body—because this was a recent kill.
    In the quiet woods came the unmistakable sound of sharply indrawn breaths. It was the gases from decomposition that caused the rangers to gag. Mitch swallowed the bile biting his throat. A veteran of many autopsies, the putrid odor of death still roiled his stomach.
    He continued to gently sift soil. Relief shuddered over him when, at last, he’d exposed