Siren's Secret

by Debbie Herbert

  “Don’t see how we can do both,” Carl observed.

  Tillman sighed. “Take the tail off Melkie. I don’t really have anything on the guy. The collection of dead bugs in his house raised a red flag, but being creepy isn’t a crime.” Still, his gut told him Pellerin could be the killer.

  Chapter 11

  I’ve got a special checklist

  One, two, three

  Coming now to get you

  All for me.

  “Melkie Pellerin.”

  “Thanks, Lily. I’ll take it from here.” Shelly disconnected the call, booted up her computer screen and had the address less than ten minutes later. She glanced at the clock in her YMCA office. Plenty of time to shower and change and drive out before Tillman came over to the house. As a precaution, she’d stuff her hair in a baseball cap and wear dark sunglasses.

  * * *

  Melkie couldn’t believe his luck. The cops had stopped tailing him. Now was his chance. He’d been crawling the walls while under surveillance and the blackness and anger demanded release. He would get the mermaid tonight. Hopefully, she’d be off guard, thinking his next move would be only an email to set up a meeting.

  Methodically, Melkie collected supplies.

  Killing jar with fresh chloroform and washcloth. Check.

  Empty Mason jars. Check.

  Phony stiletto knife from the mermaid bitch. Check.

  Duct tape, kitchen steak knife, pint of formaldehyde. Check, check and check.

  A duffel bag with a towel, change of clothes and baby wipes was already in his truck, as well as a large tarp cloth.

  The dog ran to the door, expectant. “Sorry, fella. But Daddy’s bringing home more for his special collection.” Melkie gently pushed Reb back with his foot.

  It felt great to get out of the tiny house and drive without being followed. Free. And if he intended to stay that way, he’d best play it smart. He would not be tricked again.

  Melkie drove down streets laden with monstrously tall live oaks, their branches dripping with Spanish moss, like old men with long gray ZZ Top beards. And like old men, they were slowly dying, the parasitic moss eating away their life sap.

  On Pendarvis Road, he slowed as the mermaid house came in sight.

  Melkie’s heart hammered as the Chevy’s beam lit on an unmarked car twenty yards ahead, parked in a nest of trees and scrub brush.

  Chill. Maybe someone had left the broken vehicle, planning to return later. He drove past the mermaid’s house, scoping the potential threat.

  That was no abandoned vehicle. Dusk hadn’t settled enough to mask a man behind the wheel. Another couple hours, Melkie probably wouldn’t have noticed. He recognized an unmarked cop car when he saw one—those hubcaps on the plain-Jane body were a dead giveaway. Melkie drove past, slightly under the speed limit. Could it be the same cop who had tailed him earlier? There were several pickups on the road; they were common as grits around the bayou. Adrenaline pumped through him, making him jittery and hyper-alert to the surroundings.

  He held his breath, continually checking the rearview mirror, sure the car would emerge from its cover, blue lights flashing.

  He was dizzy from lack of oxygen by the time he got on Interstate 10 East for Mobile. As the distance increased between him and Bayou La Siryna, Melkie sucked in long breaths. Nobody was after him. Disappointment at not being able confront the mermaid had subsided by the time he hit the city outskirts. Time enough for that tomorrow. The more he mulled over the cop stakeout, the more pleased he became. Could be his letter to Sheriff Angier had actually worked. It appeared the heat was off him and now focused on that freak of nature.

  Perfect.

  Melkie smiled as he crossed into the familiar territory of the Mobile docks. He was juiced and knew what would cool the fever.

  It was time.

  * * *

  Shelly peered through the windshield at the man. He was the right height and body frame, and the curly brown hair also fit. Just a little closer, a little slower, and she’d know for sure. She had to get this right, couldn’t pin this on the wrong person. She pulled the rim of her cap lower and watched him throw a cardboard box in the backseat of a truck.

  She caught a glimpse of a hawkish nose and then the dark brown eyes swept casually past her before he got in the truck.

  It was him.

  She quickly averted her eyes and drove on, keeping the same rate of speed. Had he recognized her? The truck backed out of the driveway. She held her breath, wondering what to do if he followed her. She pushed aside the handgun in her purse, grabbed the cell and selected Tillman’s number from the menu. Her fingers poised over the send button, ready to hit Send if needed. At the end of the street, she looped around, twisting her head to keep an eye on Pellerin.

  The truck swung onto the street and headed the opposite direction. Shelly let the phone drop in her lap, following him at a safe distance, another car between the vehicles. When Pellerin left Happy Hollows she got his license plate.

  ALA3536.

  * * *

  Melkie ignored that the times were coming closer together and glanced at the dashboard clock. It was 9:06 p.m. A little early, but there should be some action by the docks. Pressure weighed his lungs and he was as antsy as a chain smoker trying to quit cold turkey.

  Just a little longer.

  Cruising into his lucky hunting area, Melkie surveyed the pickings. A few women were out, but he wanted one alone and not running with a pack of whores. He hit the accelerator and drove three blocks to a local bar and parked behind it, in a lot with only one working streetlamp. Melkie scrambled out of his truck and searched the crumbled blacktop for a small pothole with broken-up asphalt. He took a screwdriver from his belt and pried the pavement until he’d removed a sizable chunk. That ought to work.

  Melkie flung it, crashing the bulb and casting the lot in darkness. It made a loud cracking noise, but music from the bar would drown the noise from the patrons inside. He crept back to the truck, using other parked vehicles as cover. He was dressed all in black and figured he blended into the shroud of night, especially considering the waning moon.

  He took out a cold beer from a small cooler under the passenger seat and settled in to wait.

  After a while, a batch of women rounded the corner of the bar. There were seven of them—pretty young things in tight jeans. Most likely they had all driven out here in groups. Four of them got in a Malibu and took off. He watched the remaining three closely. They stood in a giggling, chatty circle by a truck until two got inside it.

  Melkie kept his eyes on the last girl. She had dark auburn hair and pale skin that glowed in the darkness. He couldn’t believe his luck when, instead of hopping in the back of the truck with the others, she walked off alone, coming his way. He hastily dabbed chloroform onto a washcloth, folded it up and stuffed it in his pants pocket.

  Showtime.

  * * *

  Shelly raced in the house, thankful her cousins were already home.

  “I found him! I got the address for Pellerin, drove by his house and saw him come outside and take off in his truck.”

  Jet rose from the couch. “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t think so. And I’ve got his license plate number. He drives a Chevy extended cab truck so we know to be on the lookout for that.”

  “Now we can take him out.” Jet smiled, a predatory gleam in her eye.

  “No. We let Tillman get him.” At Jet’s frown, Shelly hurried on. “I still have his knife, remember? I’ll carve his name on it and dump it in our yard for the cops to find. They’ll think Melkie dropped it when he robbed us. That will directly tie him to the murders.”

  “I want my rings back,” Lily said.

  “You’ll get them,” Shelly promised. “I don’t think he could sell them until the heat’s off.” She ran to the stairs. “I need to plant that knife before Tillman gets here.”

  When she returned to the kitchen, Jet and Lily were seated at the table. Jet wore a pai
r of latex gloves and held a bowie knife in one hand. Shelly dropped the baggie with the knife on the table and got a pair of gloves. She slipped them on and sat beside Lily.

  Jet removed the killer’s knife and started etching its blade. She glanced at Shelly. “M-e-l-k-i-e. Right?”

  “Right.” Shelly nodded. “And somewhere on the blade carve the initials of the victims—J. B. and C. W.”

  Jet kept carving. “Weird name.”

  “Weird guy,” Lily said.

  “By this time tomorrow, the killer could be in jail.” Shelly felt almost dizzy with relief. Her cousins would be safe, and the killer couldn’t hurt anyone else.

  Jet finished and surveyed the handiwork. “It looks like a nine-year-old’s scribble.”

  Shelly took it. “Who cares? It has a name on it. All that matters is that the cops find it and arrest Melkie.” She scraped her chair from the table and went to the door. “Let me throw this outside before Tillman gets here.”

  Shelly stepped onto the front porch and tossed the knife by an azalea bush. The glint of the silver blade rested against the black soil. Easy to find when she asked Tillman to search the area. She’d tell him she heard a noise out front and then make sure he located it.

  Everything was going to be fine.

  * * *

  “Officer Donnell, Angier speaking. You set up to watch the Bosarge house?”

  “Been here just a few minutes, boss.”

  “Seen anything suspicious?”

  “No. A few vehicles passing by, typical for this area.”

  “Don’t forget to be on the lookout for a 1992 Chevrolet truck, license plate ALA3536, registered to a Melkie Pellerin, white male. If he stops the truck nearby or gets near the house I want you to approach and question him.”

  “Got it,” Donnell said.

  Tillman’s senses hummed with energy. Finally, he’d have it out with Shelly tonight and question her about Pellerin. If she identified him as her stalker, and if the forensics lab confirmed Pellerin’s DNA matched evidence from the previous murders, he could close this case. The murders had been eating away at him since the first body was discovered and now he felt everything was coming to a head and he’d get the killer. Until then, he had to watch Pellerin. If that meant the correctional facility might be short a man, then that’s what he’d have to do. “I’m en route to your location, should be there in less than fifteen minutes. Consider Pellerin—”

  Donnell cut in. “A woman is exiting the house and she appears to be holding a— Wait, let me get the binoculars.”

  Tillman waited.

  “Looks like a knife. She threw it by some shrubbery on the porch. Want me to go look?”

  Tillman hesitated. “No. We’ll retrieve it when I get there. Describe the woman.”

  “Long blond hair, slender.”

  Tillman frowned. Could be either Lily or Shelly.

  “Describe her clothing.”

  “She’s gone back inside, but she wore white shorts and a dark blue T-shirt.”

  “Thanks, Donnell. Call me back if you see anything else.”

  Tillman threw the cell on the passenger seat. A knife? What in the hell were those women up to?

  At last he turned onto Pendarvis Road and dialed his officer. “What’s your location?”

  Even though Donnell told him where he parked, it took Tillman a few seconds to make out the shape of the vehicle surrounded by trees. “I’m right up on you. Follow behind me in your car and we’ll check out the porch area.”

  He veered from the driveway and rode into the yard, aiming the headlights on the front porch. Before exiting the vehicle, he put on gloves and grabbed an evidence kit on the floor of the backseat.

  The front door opened and Shelly, Lily and Jet came out.

  “What’s going on?” Lily asked, the faint raising of her eyebrows reflecting mild curiosity. He caught Shelly and Jet exchange a quick look before he turned his attention to finding the knife.

  “Got it.” Donnell picked up an object and held it up to the light.

  A bone-handle stiletto knife. Tillman stood by his side and they examined it together.

  “It’s got an inscription,” Donnell said. “M-e-l-k-i-e.” His eyes caught Tillman’s. “Pellerin.” Donnell flipped the blade over and gave a low whistle. “Check this out.”

  Tillman’s blood pounded as he read the initials.

  “Isn’t that the guy you asked me about today?” Lily called out.

  Tillman combed his eyes over Lily. Blue jean cutoffs and a yellow T-shirt. He slid his gaze to Shelly. White shorts, blue T-shirt.

  Shit.

  “Think he’s our stalker?” Lily tried again.

  Tillman kept his eyes on Shelly, not bothering with the others. “You have some explaining to do, Miss Connors.”

  Chapter 12

  In my truck, the killing jar,

  You won’t be going very far.

  Don’t think that you can get away,

  I’m the hunter, you’re my prey.

  Stormy-gray eyes pierced Shelly as she stood on the porch. Her body felt heavy—as if a five-hundred-pound anchor rooted her to the spot. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

  He knows what I did.

  Why hadn’t she thrown the knife out the back porch? She was so close to framing the killer and in a matter of seconds she’d ruined everything.

  Tillman kept his eyes pinned on hers while he spoke to his officer. “Bag up the knife and return to your post.”

  The officer frowned. “But, shouldn’t we—”

  “I’ll interview these women,” Tillman interrupted. “Keep your watch, and when your shift ends take the evidence to the station.”

  The officer, clearly unhappy, did as instructed.

  “Is there a problem, Sheriff?” Lily asked. Her tinkling voice betrayed no alarm.

  Tillman climbed up the steps. “Everyone in the house.”

  Shelly’s heart sank. He addressed them in the same clipped tone he’d used with his officer. She followed her cousins inside, weighed down with dread. Jet stomped over to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel, head held up in challenge, while Lily drifted to the piano and played a few notes.

  That’s not going to work, Shelly thought, settling on the sofa. They were in serious shit now.

  “No music,” Tillman ordered.

  Lily gave a gentle sigh before turning to face him.

  Tillman’s presence filled the room. He folded his arms and didn’t say a word. The silence became unbearable.

  “You got a problem, Sheriff?” Jet asked.

  “The three of you are my damn problem. What the hell is going on around here?”

  Shelly kept her eyes down, didn’t want to face him. He was on to her lies. And he’d never trust her again.

  Lily twirled her long hair and gave a charming pout as she sensuously crossed her legs. “We’re being stalked, Sheriff. We need your protection and understanding.”

  Tillman scowled. “I’m not sure who’s stalking who. All I know is something fishy is going on here.”

  Jet snickered.

  “What the hell is so funny? Framing someone for murder is no laughing matter.”

  Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Shelly watched the flickering play of the chandelier light against the black wood of the piano. She wanted to lose herself in the colors, be hypnotized by lavender, pink and white sparkles dancing and—

  “Shelly.” Tillman’s harsh voice interrupted the trance. “Look at me,” he ordered.

  She raised her eyes and faced his, reading anger, accusation and condemnation.

  “Officer Donnell saw you throw that knife in the shrubs. Explain yourself.”

  “It really is Melkie’s knife.”

  Jet was at her side immediately. “Don’t say another word, Shelly.”

  Tillman ignored Jet, his gaze fixed on Shelly. “How did it come to be in your possession?”

  “Because I—”

  “Shut up!” Jet stepped
in front of her. “You don’t have to answer his questions.”

  “I’m afraid she does,” Tillman said. “I can charge all three of you right now with obstructing a murder investigation and tampering with evidence.”

  “Don’t play big bad cop with me.” Jet folded her arms defiantly. “You’re all the same, your dad included. Why don’t you cut to the chase and tell us how much we have to pay you to make all this go away.”

  Shelly stood. “Jet, stop it. Tillman doesn’t want our money. He’s not like that.”

  “How much?” Jet repeated.

  “You can’t buy your way out of this.” Tillman’s jaw clinched and his shoulders squared with determination. “Now sit your ass down and start talking.”

  Shelly held her breath as the two silently squared off. Even Lily seemed frozen on the piano bench, making no sound to smooth the tension. To Shelly’s surprise, Jet unfolded her arms and sat on the sofa, back stiffened in anger.

  “The way I see it,” he began, “is that one or all of you has either been targeted by a killer, or you are in some way involved in the murders. Which is it?”

  Shelly’s heart hammered. She couldn’t tell him the whole truth; he wouldn’t believe her even if she did. But she had to tell him some of it. “Tillman, I saw Melkie Pellerin dump the body of the last victim. My cousins don’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Shelly, don’t—” Lily said.

  “I’m the one who saw him, not —” Jet said.

  “Both of you stop.” Shelly shook her head and faced Tillman. “I witnessed it.”

  Tillman gave a curt nod to Jet and Lily. “Leave us.”

  Jet spoke low and quickly to Shelly. “Unless he actually he arrests you, don’t say anything without a lawyer. I’ll find you the best by morning.”

  Lily laid a hand on her shoulder. “We stand together. I won’t let you face this alone.”

  Shelly’s lips quivered. They had to be scared of exposure, had to be frightened their mermaid race might come to light, yet their first concern was to protect her, a mere TRAB, a traitor-baby product from the union of human and mermaid races. A contamination of the pure merfolk bloodline. “Go. I have to do this alone.”