by Alex P. Berg
I scoffed. “That’s an understatement. I wonder if anyone broke into her home at all.”
“You think that’s a lie, too?” asked Steele.
“Could be. Remember, I didn’t see any signs of forced entry. She might’ve mussed up the office on her own, maybe even disposed of a crucial piece of evidence before anyone arrived.”
“But then why would she report it?” asked Quinto.
“To cast suspicion on someone else,” I said. “I don’t know who. Anyone other than her, maybe.”
“So you think she played a role in her husband’s murder?” asked Shay.
“Perhaps, but I’m not sure. Despite her abrasive personality, she doesn’t strike me as the type who would kill, at least not to perform premeditated murder. I definitely don’t buy her as the kind of person who would spear her husband with a trident, tie his ankles down with weights, dump his body at sea, and scuttle his boat, all without anyone noticing.”
Shay nodded. “Probably not.”
The wind rustled through the leaves overhead, bringing with it the scents of a cluster of blossoming cherry trees off to the side of the path.
“You know,” I said. “Something else that surprised me about Bianca was her lack of surprise. She wasn’t shocked at hearing of her husband’s murder. But neither was Joey. He was more shaken up by the news, but he wasn’t surprised.”
“They must’ve suspected he was dead,” said Quinto. “They both said as much.”
“Right. Dead, but not murdered. There’s a difference.”
“So you think they’re both in on Johnny’s murder?” asked Steele.
I shook my head. “Not likely. Besides, in a town this size, news of Johnny’s death must be on every tongue by now. Bianca was the first to know, but Joey could’ve heard the rumors elsewhere. Still, if he’d heard them, he didn’t let on about it to us.”
“It’s possible neither of them are involved in his death but still know more than they’re letting on,” said Quinto. “What if each of them knew Johnny was involved in some illicit activity, something they knew would catch up to him sooner or later, might even kill him. They wouldn’t want to admit that for fear of being charged as accessories. It might also explain Johnny pushing Joey out. Could be that he managed to solve his money problems only by going underneath the law, and that’s what he wanted to protect his brother from.”
Shay nodded. “That actually would make a lot of sense. But how would that fit in with Bianca’s potentially faked break-in…?”
None of us had any answers, so we walked in silence—or as close to silence as we could get between the rustling leaves, buzzing insects, chirping birds, and gurgling streams of the forest. And here I thought the city was noisy.
“Anyway,” said Steele after a moment. “Something to think about. So what should we do next? Track down those friends Bianca mentioned?”
“She gave you names?” said Quinto.
I’d forgotten the big guy had been sequestered in Johnny’s office at the time.
Shay nodded. “But we don’t know where any of them live or work. We’ll have to track down Silverbrook first.”
While voicing our concerns, I wondered if I should mention my misgivings about the dwarf, too. I voted against it for the time being. “You know, we could kill two birds with one stone.”
“How’s that?” asked Quinto.
“Head to that bar, the Muddled Mermaid,” I said. “We can check on Bianca’s story. If there’s anyone who knows everyone in a small town, it’ll be a bartender. He can probably tell us where to find Rigger and Skillethands and that other guy.”
“Skillethands?”
“I know, right?” I said as we reached the main road. “He kind of sounds like you. Come on. Let’s get a move on.”
20
The Muddled Merman’s front door creaked as we pushed our way into the bar. I wasn’t expecting much. The exterior sign of a muscled merman holding a trident in one hand and a mug of ale in the other had swayed in the breeze, faded, cracked, and grimy, much like the joint’s exterior facing windows, so I wasn’t shocked when the interior of the bar was of a similar ilk. Round, rib-height pub tables, worn smooth by countless encounters with mugs, elbows, and dishcloths, dotted the floor, while lower, square tables of a similar wear level lined the edges. A long bar ran along the edge of the L-shaped room, hiding a kitchen behind it, most likely.
I was, however, surprised at the place’s popularity. Despite it being the middle of the morning, there were a good half-dozen groups at tables, sipping on their beers. An old guy at the bar noticed us lingering at the door. He nodded to a youngster who sat near the back entrance who scuttled off toward the kitchens in response. Telling the cooks to throw another roast beef in the oven, perhaps?
“What were the name of those friends Bianca told you about?” asked Quinto.
“Émile, Rigger, and Skillethands,” I said. “Why?”
“I figured I’d pester the clientele for information while you and Steele take on the bartender. Divide and conquer, right?”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” I said. “If anyone’s likely to sweet talk bar flies into giving us juicy tidbits, I think it would be Steele, not you.”
Quinto grinned. “Hey, we coerce people in different ways. My method is effective.”
Shay gave him a nod. “Go ahead. Try not to crack any skulls.”
“You wound me, my lady.”
Quinto headed toward the nearest group of townies, while Shay and I sauntered over to the bar. The bartender gave us a nervous smile as he wiped off a spot in front of him.
“Howdy folks,” he said. “Haven’t seen you around. In town for anything special?”
“We’re not part of the goon squad,” I said. “Or with the liquor commission, for that matter.”
“Huh?”
“Sorry. I saw the kid, heading to the kitchen… Never mind. My name’s Jake Daggers. This is Shay Steele. We’re detectives with the New Welwic PD.”
Our barkeep added a few more wrinkles to his collection, but his nervous smile didn’t disappear. “New Welwic, you say? What brings you down here, then?”
“You’ve heard about Johnny Nicchi, I assume?” said Steele.
Keep’s face fell. “Oh, yeah. Damn shame, that. Him disappearing, and then last night I hear a rumor he got murdered. And…oh. That’s why you’re here. Right.”
Keep wasn’t the quickest on the draw. “Exactly. We’re trying to track down who might’ve done him in. Looking into his life, his friends, his family. Speaking of which, we heard his wife, Bianca, came by last night. Were you working the evening shift?”
The old guy snorted. “Shift? Do I look like the kind of guy who hires out?”
“So you were working,” said Shay. “You saw Bianca?”
“You’re darn tootin’ I was working. And yeah, I remember her coming in. She met some friends, had some drinks. The usual.”
“Do you remember what time she arrived?” Steele asked.
“Hard to say.”
“Any guesses?”
Keep snagged a mug that lingered nearby and wiped it down with his dish towel, the same one he’d used to clean off the counter. “I mean, I don’t know. Nine? Nine thirty?”
“And she left…?”
The old man shrugged. “Eleven?”
That jived with what Bianca had told us. “You seem like the kind of guy who remembers a face. Probably know most of the locals.”
Keep gave me a narrowed eye sort of look. “My mind’s as sharp as a steel trap. ‘Course I am.”
“Do you recall who Bianca met for drinks?”
“Sure, sure. Let’s see. It was, ah…”
His long pause didn’t engender confidence in the validity of his boast.
“Oh. Right. There was Mallory and her husband, what’s his name… Alessandro. Also little Rialta and her cousin, Carmine. All friends of Bianca’s. I’ve seen them hang out before.”
I felt in my jacket
for my notepad. Luckily I’d remembered it.
I pulled it out. “You said Mallory, Alessandro, Rialta, and who?”
“Carmine.”
I wrote down Bianca’s name, and next to it I jotted those of her friends. While it was on my mind, I also jotted down the names of Johnny’s friends Bianca had mentioned earlier, Émile, Rigger, and Skillethands. “And the mood at the table. Did you happen to get a read on it?”
“Mood?” said Keep.
“Yeah. Were Bianca and her friends somber? Festive? Upbeat?”
“Sorry to disappoint, champ,” said the old man, “but I’m not that in tune with the inner feelings of the folks drinking my beer. Besides, I had too many patrons to attend to last night to pay them much mind.”
“Still do,” said Steele.
“Pardon?”
“Patrons,” said Steele. “Is it always this busy in the middle of the morning?”
Keep gave us that same nervous smile. “Hey, what can I say? Folks like to drink around here. And the locals don’t bother distracting themselves at the boardwalk.”
Shay shot me a look. “That explains the turkey dog.”
I gave Keep a nod. “Tell me about the Muddled Merman.”
I caught him off guard. He blinked. “You want to learn about the bar?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you want to know about her?”
“Her?”
“Hey, she might be a Merman, but she’s still a she.”
“Just tell me about her origins. The name. Is there a long history of merpeople in and around Aragosto?”
“Well, sure,” said Keep. “Legends and old wives tales, mostly, but still. People love their merfolk around here. You’ll see then on signs, in names. Boats named after them. Lots of mermaid figureheads on the ships in the bay, too.”
Steele gave me a sidelong look. “Daggers, where are you going with this?”
“Just curious,” I said. “I’ve heard rumors there haven’t been any merfolk in these parts in over a century. Other people claim to have seen them within the last decade.”
“Really, Daggers,” said Steele. “You can’t honestly think a semi-mythical sea creature could be involved in this.”
Keep sported a genuine look of confusion. “Well, I’m not sure where you’re going with all this either, but for what it’s worth, I think the legends are just that. Can’t say I’ve heard of any credible mermaid sightings, or seen any myself for that matter. Though I sure wouldn’t mind.” He shot us another smile, this one much more creepy than nervous.
“Uh. Right. Thanks.”
I heard heavy footsteps. When I turned, I found Quinto approaching, his eyelids narrowed and his gaze elsewhere.
“You okay?” I said. “You look like you might’ve been interviewing ghosts.”
Quinto blinked. “Huh?”
Steele weighed in. “Were the locals less than friendly?”
“Oh. No. Nothing like that. They were willing to talk. Gave me a few leads on Johnny’s friends. Said to talk to Norma at the bait shop to find this Skillethands guy. But…”
“But what?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Quinto shook his head. “There was something about the way most of them looked at me. Gave me a strange feeling.”
“No offense, big guy,” I said. “But this isn’t the most diverse place in the world, and you stick out like a sore thumb. It’s not surprising.”
Quinto stared back at a group in the corner. “I guess…”
“You get directions to that bait shop?”
Quinto nodded.
“Great.” I gestured toward the door.
Quinto led the way, but he didn’t look terribly focused as he did so.
21
“So, Daggers,” said Steele. “You want to explain to me why you continue to obsess over every utterance of merfolk rumors and lore we come across?”
The sun shone down from the heavens, lending a toasty warmth to my jacket’s embrace, all while the breeze that accelerated off the ocean filled my lungs with a cool freshness. A gull flew overhead, cawing as it flapped its wings. Seeing as I lacked an umbrella, I hoped it wasn’t my hard to shoo, loose-stooled friend from yesterday.
“Come on,” I said to Shay as we walked toward the docks, Quinto leading the way. “It’s not a surprise. Johnny was murdered with a trident. That’s the stereotypical weapon of choice for mermen and mermaids. To our knowledge, no one around here spear fishes. So where did that trident used to murder Johnny come from, hmm?”
“Yeah, that part came across fine,” said Steele. “My questions is, why in the world would you suspect Johnny Nicchi was murdered by an angry merman when literally everything other than the murder weapon is pointing in a different direction?”
“Everything?” I said. “Not even close. I think you haven’t considered the evidence fully.”
“Let’s see. Man murdered. Dumped at sea with weights around his ankles. In a troubled relationship with his wife. Estranged brother. In debt. Possibly involved in illegal activities to cover his debts.” Steele ticked off the points on her fingers as she went. She shook her head. “Yeah. Nothing there about mermaids. Or mermen, if we’re being sticklers for proper gender identification.”
I frowned. “Alright, fine. I admit on the surface it appears other less legendary factors are at play in Nicchi’s death, but until we find a local spear fishermen’s guild or a blacksmith who specializes in tridents, it’s not a terrible assumption to make that Nicchi was murdered by a mermaid or merman. You weren’t there with Silverbrook and me at Old Man Connor’s, but he brought up mermaids unprompted. He said he heard their cries the night Nicchi went missing. You can confirm with Bronmuth if you don’t believe me. And while his testimony is suspect, it’s a weird coincidence he would mention the creatures considering Nicchi’s manner of death. Besides, there are scenarios in which this case could be about merfolk and still fit into the more predictable mold you already outlined.”
Shay lifted a brow. “I feel like I’m about to get served a dose of wild, unfounded speculation.”
I smiled. “It’s my specialty. And you’re absolutely right, but hear me out. Let’s assume Johnny was having serious money problems which caused him to alienate his wife and brother, and let’s assume Johnny also wanted to protect his brother from something when he pushed him out of the family business. Something seedy. Or maybe he didn’t want to share the profits with his brother, or he thought Joey wouldn’t approve. One or more of the three. Doesn’t matter which.”
“And this something seedy would be…?”
“Human trafficking.”
“What?”
“Or not human trafficking, per se. More like mermaid trafficking.”
Quinto hadn’t turned around at my bold statement, apparently lost in his thoughts. Shay blinked and shook her head. “Again, what?”
“It’s not that crazy,” I said. “Are you familiar with mermaid history and lore?”
“Not as familiar as you, apparently.”
“You know me. I have a soft spot for the weird, wacky, inexplicable elements of our world. Now, I don’t remember everything I’ve read on the subject, but if memory serves me right, mermaid populations started to disappear about a century ago, right around the time populations of the other sentient races started exploding. I don’t recall any wars, but they went into hiding out of fear regardless. Communications problems, supposedly, maybe due to their underwater nature. I couldn’t speculate as I’ve never met one. But that doesn’t change humankind’s obsession with them. It’s on display all over town. Just look at the Muddled Merman. Sailors in particular have been infatuated with mermaids for as long as mankind has been sailing the seas. I have to imagine there’d be a market for them, if one knew where to look.”
Shay put a hand to my arm. “Daggers, I don’t know how to tell you this, but humans and mermaids? They’re not…compatible. The parts are different, if you catch my drift.”
“Hardy
-har,” I said. “While most human trafficking does contain a sexual component, it doesn’t have to. Mermaids would make for a great show to the right audience, like that stupid flying horse show but with actual patrons. Or they’d make a great conversation piece—for someone who wasn’t planning on making their purchase public.”
“Or,” said Shay, “and this is just one suggestion of any number of possibilities, Johnny was covering his debts not by abducting mermaids but rather by smuggling crank through the harbor at night. He stepped on some toes or was found out by someone who had a competing interest, and they axed him.”
I shrugged. “Another good theory. Show me an angry dope dealer with a bloody trident in his posession, and I’m on board.”
Shay snorted and shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“But predictable!”
Quinto, who continued to lead us in silence, wove us through a few supply buildings as we neared the docks, clearly following directions he’d received from a patron. When we stopped, it was in front of a squattish block of treated lumber and shingles with a battered door set square in the middle of it. A sign above the latter read ‘Aragosto Bait and Supply.’
A shopkeeper’s bell sounded as Quinto pushed through. Steele and I followed him inside. Rows of metal shelves stretched across the store interior, filled with fishing lures, hooks, spools of wire, coils of rope, and utility knives. Wooden stands dotted with fishing poles stood at their ends like oversized porcupines, and other racks held a selection of hats, jackets, and overalls. An earthy odor emanated from a section near the front counter filled with buckets and paper sacks—likely the live bait. Whoever had situated that next to the jar of beef jerky on the counter hadn’t thought things through.
“So, remind me, Quinto,” I said. “Who are we looking for?”
“Norma, the shopkeeper,” he said, that distracted look still on his face. “Supposedly she knows some of Nicchi’s friends and can point us in the right direction.”
