“I haven’t seen any others.”
“You wouldn’t tell me if you had. You and your damn secrecy.”
Shelly felt her insides shrink. He was right, of course. A secret identity was a sacred tenet of the merfolk. “But that’s not to say there aren’t more mermaids,” she hastened to add. “Maybe not half-mermaid like me, but I’m positive there must be others. How much merblood is in them I can’t say. Some are probably so far removed they have no clue. All they know is they’re drawn to the ocean.”
Tillman stopped on the edge of her property and narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what physical signs a mermaid has on land. I never suspected anything different about you.”
“I haven’t noticed it on anybody lately, but Jet and Lily say to look for scars at the base of a person’s fingers or toes. Sometimes hybrids are born with webbing between them and the tissue must be surgically cut.”
“I’ve heard of people being born with that webbing.”
“I’ve actually researched it. Webbing generally occurs once in every two thousand births. But here in Bayou La Siryna, it occurs one in every eight hundred births.”
He folded his arms across his chest, waiting for more.
“We also have sensitive eyes, the bright sunlight irritates them. So we always wear dark sunglasses outside.”
“Anything else?”
“We...um...have a third eyelid.”
Tillman lowered his face until it was inches from her own. “Where? I’ve never seen it.”
Shelly backed away. “They usually only come out in merform or in old age. It’s a kind of protection against the salt and microbes. And there’s another thing about our eyes. When we get really afraid or angry our irises swirl.”
They resumed walking in silence.
“So what happens now?” she asked, staring straight ahead. “About Melkie, I mean, not us.”
“First thing in the morning, I send off the knife and the note to the state crime lab. Their backlog is huge but since this is a high-profile case, we should be able to speed up getting results. It will prove to me he’s the killer, but I don’t know how the knife will hold up in court since you were seen tossing it.”
She tried to match his all-business tone. “I’ll testify that I found it and, in a panic, just wanted to get it out of my house. Aren’t you going to arrest him or at least search his house for our missing stuff?”
“On what grounds do I have to arrest him?”
Her temper rose. “Because I told you how I saw him that night. I know he’s the one stalking me. He got a good look at me when he dumped that body and now he’s somehow figured out who—what—I really am.”
Tillman snorted. “I saw you change right in front of me and it’s still hard to believe in...mermaids.”
They neared the house. The front porch light was on, Jet and Lily waiting.
Tillman jerked his head at them. “They’re the same as you.”
“Yes. Except they’re full-blooded. I’m only half-blooded, on my mother’s side.”
“What’s the damn difference?”
She wished she hadn’t brought it up. “I can’t stay underwater indefinitely like them, or swim as fast, or have a mesmerizing voice like Lily.”
Tillman shook his head. “Knew there was something weird about them.” He came to a sudden halt. “Shit. So that’s how Jet’s collected a fortune in sea treasure.” He gave a bitter laugh and walked faster. “And, of course, they helped you set China Wang’s body on the beach at Murrell’s Point.”
Shelly said nothing.
A car door opened and closed to the side of them. “You went on a boat ride, boss?” An officer exited the lookout vehicle and stared at them in puzzlement. “What’s going on?”
Tillman dismissed him without slowing his walk. “Later, Officer Donnell.”
They were almost to the porch. “You do remember tomorrow’s the deadline to respond to Pellerin’s email?” she asked.
“That’s why Donnell’s parked out front.”
“But—”
“Don’t respond to the email. You don’t know what you’re dealing with when it comes to a psychopath. With the DNA evidence, I should be able to make an arrest in a few days.” Tillman pulled her to face him. “What else are you hiding from me, Shelly?”
She gasped at the hard suspicion in his eyes. “Nothing.”
“Are you protecting one of your cousins?”
“What do you mean?”
“What the Sheriff means,” Jet drawled from the porch, “is that he thinks we’re the bad guys.”
“It’s my job to consider all the possibilities.”
Shelly looked back and forth between Jet and Tillman. “But that’s ridiculous. You can’t possibly believe we have anything to do with killing—”
“No. But Lily could have been the one that found China and you’re protecting her.”
Shelly shook her head. She had told him everything, risked everything, and he still didn’t believe her version of what happened that night.
“Why couldn’t I have been the one that found the body?” Jet asked.
“Because a strand of long blond hair was found on the victim.”
Jet’s mouth twisted into a sarcastic smirk. “Next he’s going to tell us all not to leave town.”
“Not a bad idea.” He turned and strode stiffly to his cruiser. At the door he called back to them, “Pellerin may not be the only one required to submit DNA samples.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Jet smirked.
Lily shuddered. “The scientists would have a field day with us.”
Shelly hugged her arms to her waist, chilled in spite of the humid, stifling night air. She’d screwed up everything. Pissed off her family, lost her shot at love, and possibly ruined any legal case that would put away a serial killer.
* * *
Portia lay sprawled on the couch, the TV volume set on low while a West Coast football game played. A gentle snore escaped and Tillman sighed in relief. At least he didn’t have to face a scene on that end. He slipped off his shoes and went upstairs to check on Eddie. He eased open the bedroom door, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Tangled up in the white sheets, Eddie’s face was completely covered. Tillman trod softly to the bedside and eased the sheet down from his head. Eddie’s eyelids fluttered while Tillman noted the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest underneath. Satisfied his brother was okay, he made his way to the kitchen for a bite.
What a freaking hell of a day, emphasis on freaking. After Shelly’s revelation, he’d driven past Pellerin’s place, noted his truck parked out front and, without making a conscious decision, he’d wound up at Murrell’s Point. He had parked with the car facing the ocean and stared out at the calm waters.
His own thoughts were far from tranquil. Who could have guessed what lay underneath the surface? He’d lived here all his life, fishing and boating, the quiet sea a backdrop to his daily existence of school, play and work. A perfectly normal life with a great dad, friends, a nice house and security. Sure, his mom had been a bit prone to drink in the early years—and then there was always Eddie. But it had been manageable.
In one short week it had been blown to hell. It had started off great when he’d finally asked Shelly out. He’d kept his attraction for her under wraps, not wanting to get involved. Fearful that if it didn’t work out, she might not want to continue working with Eddie. And when they made love, the physical chemistry between them blew his mind. It had never been so intense with Marlena. He realized now that Marlena had been a safe, comfortable girlfriend until she’d decided her career was more important than him. But to be fair, it wouldn’t have worked anyway. No woman wanted the baggage of his family responsibilities. He had begun to hope Shelly was different, but she had lied to him from the beginning.
He opened the fridge and stared at his options: leftover meat loaf or a sandwich. Neither appealed, so he settled for a beer instead. Maybe Mom was on to something. If alcohol could take the
edge off a shitty mood, then hallelujah. To hell with always being the responsible Boy Scout. He reached back in the fridge and grabbed two more bottles. Arms full of liquid comfort, Tillman returned to the den, settled in the recliner and turned up the sound on the fourth quarter of the game.
Portia bolted up from the couch and whirled in his direction. “Oh, you’re home.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead and yawned. “What time is it?” She squinted at the grandfather clock. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you go on to bed?”
“Not tired.” Tillman took a long swallow and tried to take an interest in the game.
“Aren’t you working tomorrow?” She looked pointedly at the collection of beer bottles by his side.
“Yep.” He took another gulp, eyes directed on the TV.
“Bad day, huh?”
“Yep.” He could feel her studying him but pretended not to notice.
“I really don’t think...” She hesitated.
Tillman fixed her with an icy stare, daring her to make a single comment.
Portia laughed ruefully. “The answer isn’t in that.” She nodded at the beer.
“You want to go there, Mother? Really?” The righteous anger felt good, allowed him to focus on something besides the woman he thought he’d been falling hard for.
She stiffened and lifted her regal nose an inch. “Sounds like you’re spoiling for a fight.”
“Then maybe you should leave me alone.”
Portia rose in a huff, knotted the sash around her robe with a fierce tug and spun on her heels.
Good, he wanted to be alone. In this ugly mood he might lash out and say things he’d later regret.
She paused at the top of the stair landing. “It’s that woman, isn’t it? The pool girl?”
Pool girl, ha. Shelly was a fucking mermaid, for God’s sake. “None of your business.”
“You never used to talk to me like this.” Her lips pursed together. “I don’t appreciate it.”
“Cut the crap. I’m not two years old.”
“Humph.” She disappeared in a twirling puff of pink silk.
Tillman finished the beer and unscrewed the cap off another. It wasn’t helping yet. He could still see Shelly, see the fish tail morph to legs, slowly creeping from her toes to her waist. What else lay beneath that deceiving, sweet face? The strands of blond hair on China’s body had nagged him from the start, but he’d dismissed the coincidence of it matching Shelly’s hair, just as he’d dismissed the small footprints from the dead body to the ocean.
Was it too much to ask for one damn thing in his life to be normal and uncomplicated?
He doubted he’d ever view Shelly the same again. He’d look at those gorgeous legs and only remember them changing to fish scales.
Forget her. Walk away while you can. Sadness replaced the anger and he felt much, much worse.
Chapter 13
Words as weapons
Syllables as shots
And in the cold pauses
I know he loves me not.
Shelly lifted her face to the warm night breeze, inhaling the scent of brine and feeling the echo of the waves deep in her stomach. But the magic didn’t lift her sadness for long.
The killer could be out there right now, watching, waiting for a chance to make her his next victim. She cut her gaze to the County Sheriff’s car, nestled in the oaks on their property. Tillman might be shocked and furious, but she was grateful he left them with protection.
“You showed yourself to Tillman out there on the boat, didn’t you?” Lily asked.
“He had to know,” she answered quickly. “He saw me toss that knife.”
“So now he knows all of us are mermaids.” Jet’s brown eyes were like chips of black ice in the Antarctic Sea. “Your secret was our secret.”
“I had no choice. Besides, you exposed your merform to Perry.”
“Perry.” Jet screwed up her face. “Look how well that turned out.”
Shelly flushed. “Tillman would never betray me, or any of us, like Perry.”
Lily languidly twirled a lock of pink highlights. “He seemed pretty upset when y’all came back.”
“Give him time,” Shelly said with a confidence she didn’t feel.
“He wants you to leave everything to him,” Lily guessed.
Jet squeezed her shoulder. “After what happened tonight, you want to trust that man? No way. We’ll take care of the killer ourselves.”
“Take care of him...how?”
“He has to be silenced,” Lily said in her velvet voice. “Don’t worry. You draw him out and Jet and I will take care of the rest.”
Shelly looked back and forth between them. “You’re serious,” she said in disgust. She put her hands on her hips. “No. Absolutely not. Give Tillman a chance to arrest him.”
“Why?” Jet asked. “Because you think it’s the right—the human—thing to do, or is it because you’re afraid to cross Tillman and risk your relationship?”
Shelly slumped her shoulders. “He may never accept what I am, but he could at least realize I’m a decent person.”
“If it’s over between the two of you, his opinion doesn’t matter,” Lily said. “If Melkie Pellerin disappeared from the face of the earth, everyone would be grateful.”
“Tillman would never let him just disappear,” Shelly said, appealing to their ingrained sense of self-preservation. “He wouldn’t stop probing until he knew what happened. And then—” she gave them both a significant nod “—he would come after whoever killed him. We would all spend the rest of our lives in prison.”
Jet dug in her heels. “No body, no crime.”
“I don’t want to kill anybody,” Shelly said, and sighed. “I just want to be safe again. Can’t you see that if you kill him our lives would be ruined? A dark shadow would follow us everywhere we went. You two could leave and join your family at sea. But I can’t do that. I’m not built to stay underwater for long.”
A silent look passed between Lily and Jet.
“Please,” Shelly said. “I don’t want you to risk your lives.”
“You placed us and every mermaid in jeopardy tonight,” Jet said. “You’re as dangerous to us as Melkie Pellerin.”
Lily ran a pointed fingernail down Shelly’s cheek. “Stop worrying. We’ll talk later when you’re not so upset. But I have to admit, I’m as disappointed as Jet by what you did tonight.”
They left her alone on the porch. Shelly wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned against a railing. She had lost not only Tillman but also the only family she had left in the world.
* * *
Tillman retrieved the tagged pieces from the evidence lockbox and arranged a special courier service to the state crime lab in Montgomery. He’d pulled every string he had and got a commitment from the assistant director that the DNA from today’s delivery would be checked against the sperm samples from Jolene Babineaux and China Wang. A few days, tops, and he would have enough evidence to obtain a search warrant for Pellerin’s house and make an arrest.
He opened a desk drawer for an aspirin to ease the dull ache in his temples from lack of sleep and last night’s beers. He downed a couple of the pills with a sip of black coffee. No wonder Mom looked like hell the morning after a binge.
A scent of cedar preceded his deputy into the office.
“Morning, Tillman.” Carl laid two wooden sea turtles on the desk and pulled up a chair for their customary morning meeting.
“Good morning.” Tillman picked up one of the sculptures and admired the grooving that precisely reflected the markings on a turtle’s shell. These two were keepers. “How long does it take you to make one of these?”
Carl sipped his coffee and shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. I whittle when I’m thinking or goofing off and next thing I know, it’s done.” He eased one leg over the thigh of another and changed the subject. “Tell me about last night.”
“Donnell must have turned in his report already.”
“He di
d.” Carl’s eyes sharpened.
Carl could pretend to be nothing but a slow-witted old man, but Tillman wasn’t fooled. Nothing got by his deputy. Old family friend or not, he wouldn’t have kept him on the force, otherwise.
“Donnell was a bit troubled about last night.”
“The knife,” Tillman guessed.
“And the mysterious boat ride.”
Tillman dismissed the boating incident with a wave of his hand. “I only did that to separate Shelly Connors from her cousins. Figured she would open up more alone, especially if she was protecting them from something.”
“And what did you find out?”
Tillman got up and walked over to the window. The water was calm today, although the sky was dark with the promise of rain and wind. Was she out there now, swimming underwater, feeling the undercurrents of a storm? He scowled. What Shelly did was no longer his concern. It was only natural to wonder about her, but with time he’d learn to forget that sunshine-colored hair, skin that tasted like salt, blue eyes that darkened to indigo pools when passionate. Shit, she’d almost turned him into a blubbering poet. Best to forget about that night in the pool, it meant nothing.
He spun around and realized Carl had been trying to get his attention. “What did you say?”
“Don’t let this get personal.” Carl tapped his temples. “Think with this head and not the other.”
Tillman flushed but stifled a snippy comeback out of respect for Carl’s age and his close relationship to his father. “I never let my personal feelings affect my professional decisions,” he said evenly.
“Be sure you keep it that way.”
Tillman’s back stiffened. “Of course.”
“Donnell said Shelly Connors tossed the engraved knife in the bushes. She give you a reason for that?”
He stifled a grimace. After learning Shelly’s secret, he’d been too surprised to question her properly. Carl was right to get on his case. “She panicked when she found it and wanted it out of the house.”
“Bring her in for questioning. If you can’t do it, I will.”
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