Not a Mermaid
Jake & Boo – Book 2
Madeline Kirby
Not a Mermaid by Madeline Kirby
Copyright © 2018 by Madeline Kirby
Cover Design: Madeline Kirby.
Mermaid image copyright: Martin Malchev
EBooks are not transferable. All Rights are reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any places, organizations, or locales have been used fictionally and are not to be construed as representative or factual. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events, is entirely coincidental.
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www.evilgeniusatwork.com
E-book ISBN: 978-0-9961958-3-6
Dedication
For Ann and Ned
Author’s Note
This novel takes place approximately four months after the events in Not a Werewolf, and contains spoilers for that story.
Table of Contents
Storm Warning
Jake Has a Dream
The Rains Move In
Sheltering in Place
No One Likes Getting Wet
What the Rains Left Behind
Don Finds a Mermaid. Kind Of.
Jake Considers His Physical Fitness
What’s that Smell?
Jake Meets a Girl
All-You-Can-Eat Shrimp
The Benefits of Meditation
We’re All Grownups Here
Facts and Feelings
A Familiar Face
Jake Has Concerns
Living Arrangements
Rainy Days and Cats
Waters Successfully Muddied
Brunch with the Locals
Time for a Salad
Jake Gets a Murder Board
Perez Has a Theory
Don Has an Admirer
Mr. Hillebrand Has Concerns about His Son’s Lifestyle
They’ve Got Apps for Everything These Days
Coffee with Gloria
Movie Night with Cats
Friends and Frenemies
Speaking Frankly
Boo Makes a Confession
Moving Always Sucks
When Cats Attack
About Jake’s Meditation Practice
About the Location
About the Author
Storm Warning
“It’s too hot,” I whined, shifting to find a cooler spot on the sofa.
My neighbor and best friend, Don, grunted from where he was sprawled on the wood floor of my apartment. I interpreted that as agreement.
Bridger, Don’s recently-neutered kitten, was lying on my coffee table, flat on his back with all three legs pointing in different directions. The breeze from the rattling window unit was ruffling the fur on his belly.
“Your window unit doesn’t sound so good, man.”
“Yeah. I told my dad. They’ll look at it when they come to replace yours. I think he’s going to have every unit in the place checked out.” Failing window units weren’t such a shock, considering how old this place was. I just wished we had thought to check them out before it started getting so hot. Now it was July, and too hot not to have air conditioning in Houston. The good thing about your dad owning the building, though, was that you got a quick turnaround on repairs.
“It wouldn’t have to work so hard if you’d close that window.”
I turned my head to look at the window in question where Raymond was sprawled, belly down, half in and half out of the room.
“But what about Raymond?”
“Raymond is a freaking squirrel. He’s used to hot weather; he’ll be fine.”
“I guess he could come inside with us.”
“Outside. He’ll be fine outside.”
Don still hadn’t come to terms with Raymond. Raymond can’t help it if he’s a squirrel.
“Do you work tonight?” I asked.
“Yeah. Happy hour and then dinner. Should be decent tips.” Don was trying to save up money to go back to school in the fall. I reminded myself again to talk to Petreski about whether there was something the police department could do for him, like a work-study program. Don would make a killer information analyst, if he could just get the education and training.
“Maybe I’ll go with you and sit in the A/C.”
“I thought you had a date with Petreski tonight.”
“I did, but he has to work. Some stake-out thing with Perez.” My boyfriend, Ruben Petreski, is a homicide detective, and his partner, Victoria Perez, does not like me. Petreski says that’s just her way, and that she’s reserved and it takes her a while to accept people. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like me, though, just like I’m sure she didn’t really need his help tonight.
“Okay,” Don said, “but we’re closing that window so Bridger doesn’t get out.”
As far as I knew, Bridger had only tried to get out once. It was right after we found him, and he was trying to follow another cat out the window. But Boo, best cat ever, stopped him cold. He’d never tried again. Whatever Boo did, it had staying power.
But Boo’s not your typical cat, since he’s also my boyfriend. I don’t mean that I’m dating a cat. Well, not exactly. What I mean is that Petreski is a Cat. So is Perez. By which I mean they can turn into cats, which is, I grant you, kind of weird and took some getting used to. Even for someone who reads lots of paranormal romance. Lots and lots of paranormal romance.
The hardest part, though, is that I can’t tell Don. I can see how they wouldn’t want just anybody and everybody to know, but Don’s my best friend and keeping a secret from him is super hard.
“Is it supposed to rain today?” Don’s voice drifted up from the floor behind me.
“I’ll check.” I reached for my laptop, which was sitting on the coffee table. One of Bridger’s paws twitched, but he didn’t wake up.
“Your cat is comatose,” I told Don.
“He’s been through an ordeal. He’s recovering. Besides, cats sleep more when it’s hot.” I had no idea whether that was true, but I didn’t have the energy to question it.
“No rain yet,” I said, checking the local forecast.
“What about that tropical depression? Do they think we’re going to get any rain from that?”
“It’s just sitting in the Gulf, taunting us. They’re saying it’ll probably be upgraded to a tropical storm pretty soon if it keeps this up.”
“Shit.”
I was just a kid when Allison hit, in 2001. Living in The Heights, we didn’t have any flooding right where we were, but we couldn’t get out of the neighborhood because of the high water all around us. My parents tried to keep me occupied, but sooner or later we would all wind up back in front of the television, watching the non-stop coverage.
“Where were you when Allison hit?” I asked.
“Still living in Dallas.”
“Ew.”
“I was eleven. It’s not like I had a choice.”
I didn’t ask about Ike because I knew. We had gone to Austin for the weekend to help my parents unpack and arrange furniture in their new house. We hadn’t been able to come back to Houston for a week. Don had been a wreck until his mom had found a way to text him that she was okay.
“Hopefully this thing will do something soon. I want some rain, but not a storm.
Just something to break this heat.”
Don grunted again.
“We should probably get some supplies, just in case.”
“Does that mean getting in the car?”
“Yes,” I sighed.
“Okay,” I could hear him getting up. “Let’s get this over with.”
❧
I let Don drive to Kroger, so I wouldn’t have to listen to him complain about my driving. It was a Tuesday morning, so even though we weren’t the only ones with this idea, it wasn’t crowded and the shelves weren’t stripped bare.
We pushed the cart up and down the aisles, taking our time and enjoying the refrigerated air. I put my foot down when Don tried to put canned tamales in the cart. Some things are simply not done, even during a weather emergency.
“We are not savages,” I told him.
He was putting the can back on the shelf when I looked up and saw Jennifer Katz heading towards us.
“Hey, Jake,” she said, leaning in for a hug. “Y’all getting storm supplies, too?”
“Yeah. How’ve you been? You look great.” I hadn’t seen her in over a month, and hadn’t known her for much longer, but running for your lives together has a way of bonding people.
“I just got back from teacher training.”
“Training to teach what?” Don asked.
“Yoga. I’ve started teaching at some of the local studios. Maybe I’ll even open one myself one of these days.”
That explained her toned figure and glowing face. Okay, maybe the glowing face also owed something to her recent, not unwelcome, widowhood.
“That’s awesome,” I told her. “You’re doing okay, then?”
“I am. Don’t worry about me. And you? You still seeing that handsome detective?”
“When I can. He works a lot.”
“You boys have a safe place in case the storm gets bad?” she asked. “I’ve got room if you need a place to hunker down.”
“That’s really sweet, but we’re on the second floor of an old brick building, so we should be fine. It’s made it through worse. Also, we’ve got a cat and Buttercup probably wouldn’t be thrilled.”
Buttercup was Jennifer’s bulldog, and he was a pretty mellow guy, but I had no idea how he’d react to having Bridger invade his territory.
“Okay. But you know where to find me if you need to.”
“That was awful nice of her,” I said to Don as we continued down the aisle.
“Well, you did save her life.”
I shrugged. I couldn’t argue, but it was embarrassing to talk about, so I focused on finding the peanut butter, knowing the inevitable argument over smooth versus crunchy would distract us both.
❧
I sat in my regular spot at the bar where Don worked. There were the usual faces – the older, retired barflies, the younger barflies who worked from home and set their own hours, and the soccer mom barflies. No, really, that’s a thing. There’s a practice field nearby, and there are a couple of moms who come in for a beer, instead of sipping chardonnay out of a travel mug in the bleachers. They’re the smart ones, if you ask me, especially in this heat.
“I’m not bringing Annabel tomorrow,” I heard one say.
“You worried about the storm?” the other one asked.
“That and the heat. It’s crazy, making the kids practice in this heat. I told the coach, but he didn’t seem concerned about it.”
“Yeah, well he’s an asshole. Fuck him.”
I didn’t know soccer moms used that kind of language, and was impressed.
The first soccer mom checked her phone. “Drink up, lady. Gotta go get the kids.”
The ladies paid their tab and left.
“Do soccer moms tip well?” I asked Don when they were gone.
“Okay,” he shrugged. “Better than the retired guys on fixed incomes.”
“Hmm.” I looked around the bar. I noticed a few people being shown to tables in the restaurant. It must have been later than I realized, and I tried not to be grumpy, thinking that I should be getting ready for dinner with Petreski, not drinking beer and watching Don tend bar.
A dark-haired man approached the hostess stand, a full-figured blonde on his arm. I did a double-take, but it wasn’t Petreski. Ridiculous to think so, because even if he were going to cheat on me, it wouldn’t be with a curvy blonde. It was the dark hair that caught my attention, but also something about the way he carried himself and scanned the room. I realized he must be a cop.
The blonde said something to him, and he turned back to her. She smiled, and dimples softened the hard lines of her face. I didn’t think the soccer moms would have approved of her short skirt, but she wore it with confidence, and even I couldn’t help but appreciate the way she rocked those stiletto pumps as she made her way to their table.
Jake Has a Dream
I was small. Or rather, I was small in my dream. I knew I was small because I had to look up to see anything, but I didn’t feel small. I felt like a beast, and I knew I could kick ass. I could hear someone crying, and went to investigate. I could hear my nails clicking on a hard floor, and liked the sound of it.
There was a closed door, and I could see a light underneath it. Whoever was crying was in there. I sniffed, and the air was warm and humid. I heard splashing, and the crying got louder. It must be the bathroom. I whined, and the crying stopped. I whined again.
“It’s... it’s okay Ruby. I’ll be out in a minute.”
I sat down to wait, and the sobs started again.
“Jake! Dude! Wake up!”
Don was shaking me, and I bolted upright. “What the – oh, crap.”
“You were crying.”
“Nooo...” I groaned, bending forward and burying my face in the covers. “No no no no no.”
“What? Was it... one of those dreams?” Don asked, referring to the disturbing, psychic dreams I had had in the spring, leading us to find a murder victim in the bayou near our apartment building.
I nodded, not sitting up. “Yeah.”
“You gonna hurl?”
I shook my head, and felt the bed shift as Don stood. I could hear him in the kitchen, and he was back a minute later with a glass of water.
“Drink this and tell me about it.”
“Can I have a beer?” I asked, taking the glass.
“No.”
“Petreski would let me have a beer.”
“No he wouldn’t. Tell me about the dream.”
I sighed. “I was little. Like a Chihuahua or Yorkie or something. But I had attitude, too. I could hear someone crying, and there was a lady in a bathroom. I could hear water splashing, like she was in the bathtub, and she called me Ruby and then she started crying again, and I woke up.”
“Okay. That’s not so bad, though, right? A lady crying in the tub? Maybe she lost her job or had a fight with her boyfriend or something like that.”
“You know what happened the last time I started having these dreams. They all led to bad things.”
“But they also helped us save Bridger.”
“Yeah, but...”
Bridger scrambled up on the bed, still not a very good jumper, having only one hind leg. We watched him tromp around a bit, before he settled against my leg and yawned.
“Tell you what,” Don said, taking the glass back to the kitchen. “We’ll go see Miss Nancy today.”
I don’t know which surprised me more – that he was actually suggesting I go see Miss Nancy, or that he would go with me. For years he had rolled his eyes whenever I would mention my spiritual advisor. But when one of my dreams led us straight to Bridger, my skeptical friend had to admit that maybe there were things in this world that defied explanation or logic.
“Jake?”
“Huh?” I looked over to where Don was settling back in on the sofa.
“Miss Nancy? You wanna go see her today?”
“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” I reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. “Bridger? You gonna go over there with Don,
or you gonna stay here with me?”
Bridger stretched and purred, so I left him alone.
“I think your cat likes me better,” I told Don.
“Furry little traitor. Where’s Boo, anyway?”
Boo – Petreski – ugh, it’s so confusing when your boyfriend turns into a Cat. Anyway, even before we started dating, he’d show up here in Cat form and spend the night, waking me up if I had a bad dream. It was nice, actually. When he’s a Cat he’s a lot like a regular cat, and likes to cuddle.
“I don’t know. He’ll be back.”
“Too bad you can’t ask him. Maybe you could use your psychic powers on him?”
“Yeah. Too bad.” Except, of course, that I could ask him. But for some reason my animal empathy, or whatever it was, didn’t extend to Cats that weren’t really cats.
❧
The first time I had brought Don to meet Miss Nancy, she had used the good tea set when the three of us sat around her kitchen table. This time we got mugs, which meant Don was part of the family now. My mug had a unicorn on it. I double-checked, but there was no rainbow – coming out of its ass or otherwise. Don’s had a kitten on it, which Miss Nancy thought was sweet and amusing.
We had brought Bridger with us, curled up in the cat sling Don had made for him out of an old sheet. Don didn’t want to leave him at home in case the A/C finally gave up the ghost, and Miss Nancy likes cats, so that wasn’t a problem. He started squirming right after we sat down, so Don put him on the floor and we all kept an eye on him while we talked.
“So, more dreams, then?” Miss Nancy asked, pouring me some tea. She wasn’t wearing any kind of head wrap or turban today, and her long dreadlocks were piled high on top of her head. I could see only the slightest touch of grey at her temples. I had no idea how old Miss Nancy was, and knew better than to ask. I figured she was about the same age as my mom, since they were good friends. But only my mom’s hairdresser knew for sure whether she had any greys yet.
“Just the one, last night,” I replied, tearing my eyes away from Miss Nancy’s dreadlock crown.
“It sounded bad, though,” Don said.
“But it wasn’t too bad... no one was getting killed or anything. Just a lady crying.”
“Whatever it was, it was disturbing enough to – Ruby? – that...” Miss Nancy’s voice trailed off and she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. Don and I stayed quiet, letting Miss Nancy gather her thoughts.
Not a Mermaid Page 1
