Island of Secrets

by Janni Nell

  “If only Joe and Randy could be here,” sighed Evie.

  Lyn turned to me, explaining, “They were our husbands.”

  Evie blinked back tears. “They died within five months of one another. Life suddenly seemed so short, we decided to make the most of the time we had left.”

  “Hence our bucket list,” said Lyn.

  Evie beamed. “Thanks to Oak’s generosity, we’ve already skied in Switzerland, dined in Paris, cruised the Greek Islands and gone on safari in Africa. Isn’t he a lovely nephew?” Oak smiled and raised his glass to the aunts, but he seemed to think it best to remain quiet while they were talking. “Next on our list,” said Evie, “is to—”

  She was interrupted by the appearance of Polly with our starter. I was surprised that the chef doubled as a waiter, but I guessed Polly’s salary was generous enough to overcome any objections. Polly was young, maybe twenty-seven or eight. Very pretty with a neat blond bob and a model-slim figure. What’s that saying? Don’t trust a thin chef. Well, Polly could cook for me anytime. Her food was a whole new level of yum.

  While we devoured garlic scallops followed by a lobster salad, the aunts kept us entertained with tales of their travels. They were still talking when the fruit and cheese platter was served.

  Evie selected a piece of blue vein. “Next on our list is petting a koala.”

  “In Australia,” added Lyn.

  “My father is Australian.” I said.

  “What a coincidence,” said Evie. “So where are the groovy places to go Down Under?”

  “No one says groovy anymore,” interrupted Lyn.

  “Sure they do,” said Evie. “It’s having a renaissance.”

  “Only in your mind.”

  “Well, whatever. Tell us about Australia, Allegra. Is it a groovy place?”

  I was embarrassed to admit I’d never been there, but it was easy to explain my reluctance to visit. Ten years ago, when I was fifteen, Dad had gone to Australia to see his relatives. Or so he said. He’d disappeared while crossing the Nullabor Plain, which was a long way from his relatives in Sydney. After he’d been missing for the requisite amount of time, he’d been declared dead, even though his body had never been found. Mom had remarried. About a month ago Casper had checked some kind of heavenly register and told me Dad was still alive. Naturally I hadn’t told Mom she was a bigamist. She’d never know unless Dad returned, and I didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

  Evie jumped up and gave me a big hug. “You poor dear. It must’ve been awful losing your father.”

  I disentangled myself from her arms. “It’s okay. I know he’s still alive.”

  Lyn and Evie exchanged a glance. Poor girl, she’s so deluded.

  Evie said kindly, “Of course. I’m sure you’ll see him again one day.” She probably meant in Heaven. “But don’t put off till tomorrow what you can do today. It’s why we have our bucket list. You should take a leaf out of our book.”

  “She’s too young for a bucket list,” said Lyn.

  “Not too young to make the most of today—carpe diem and all that.”

  “I’m all for seizing the day,” I said, as Polly offered us coffee. Evie and Lyn declined, claiming they wouldn’t sleep. They had to be up early to take a sightseeing helicopter flight with Quinn. After a round of kisses—even Lyn gave me a peck on the cheek—the aunts drifted away to their shared guest cottage.

  They were sweet old ladies, but I was glad when they were gone and I could focus on the case again.

  Turning to Oak, I said, “Time to see the body.”

  Once again he led me through the magnificent living areas and down the hall to the room behind the kitchen. The deep freeze stood against the wall like a big white sarcophagus. I wasn’t sure what it usually contained, but I hoped it wasn’t our food.

  Oak had taken the sensible precaution of locking it. I waited impatiently for him to turn the key and raise the lid. As cold air streamed out, I took a closer look at the merman’s body.

  He was about five feet tall—or long, since he was lying down. He had the well-developed arms and chest that were common in mers of both sexes. Just below his belly button, the tanned skin merged with gray-blue scales that in death had lost their glossy shine. Despite being frozen, the scent of the sea lingered like day-old fish.

  I turned to Oak. “How did you find him? I want all the details.”

  “Sure. No problem. Kristiana was PMSing.” (Okay, too much information, but I’d asked for it so I didn’t protest.) “I went to the beach to escape. I was walking along the water’s edge when I saw him. He wasn’t the first injured merman who’d washed ashore. Usually I push them back into the water and they manage to swim away. But not this time. This dude was in a lot of pain—doing that high-pitched clicking and squeaking thing they do. He kept looking out to sea like he was waiting for someone, but they never showed up. I got hold of him under the arms and dragged him into deeper water, but he was too far gone to swim away. I stayed with him, holding him up, hoping one of his friends would come get him. I stayed there a long time, but no one came. He died in my arms.”

  I always got an ache in my chest over senseless killing. Not that I liked to admit it.

  Oak went on. “That’s when I knew this had gone far enough and called you. Quinn helped me carry the merman up here. He’s seen them before and he can keep a secret. No one else on the island knows.”

  If he believed that, he was either deluded or incredibly naive. In a community this small, nothing would remain secret for long, even if Quinn did keep his mouth shut.

  “I’ve told you everything,” Oak said. “Has it helped?”

  “Sure.” I turned my attention back to the mer. I noted his tiny nostrils, and the ears that would’ve closed tight when he swam underwater. He was handsome, even if his lips were an unnatural shade of blue. Obviously, he wore no clothes, but he did have eight fan-shaped shells woven into his seaweed-colored hair. From what I knew about mers, the shells were earned for services to the community. Eight shells were about average for a mer of his age, which I guessed to be mid-thirties in human years. The average mer lifespan was just over a hundred years, so this guy had been cheated of quite a lot. Sadly his body didn’t provide any clues about his killer. Although the broken shaft of the arrow protruding from his chest had potential.

  “Where’s the other part of the arrow?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” His brow crinkled. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “But—I’m sure, yes, I’m positive the arrow wasn’t broken when we put him in the freezer. Why? Is it important?”

  Inwardly I shuddered at his ignorance. Such a vital clue to be overlooked. “Fletching can be quite distinctive. Some archers have their own personal colors.”

  “Right,” said Oak, “I should’ve realized we could identify the hunter.” He dived into the freezer, his upper body disappearing as he rummaged beneath the corpse. Soon he gave a satisfied grunt and straightened up holding the other half of the arrow like a trophy.

  I took it from him, careful not to damage the fletching, which was frozen stiff. Even so it was a beautiful combination of peacock blue and iridescent green feathers. An unlucky bird was missing some pretty fine plumage.

  My gut instinct told me the arrow hadn’t been made by human hands. I’d have known for sure if my toe had itched, but since it was currently out of action, I’d have to call in reinforcements.

  I took photos of the fletching and sent them to Wanda, who, as well as being a student of witchcraft, had an extensive library on all things paranormal. Along with the photos, I sent a text: Who uses these arrows?

  Chapter Three

  All the next day I waited for Wanda to call, but my phone remained silent. The aunts dropped by after their helicopter flight and told me about all the little coves they’d seen from abov
e.

  “So thrilling,” said Evie. “I’ll bet pirates used to live here. Oh, and I’m sure I saw a crocodile. And even a mermaid.”

  Lyn sighed. “Have you been watching Peter Pan again?”

  “I like Peter Pan.”

  Lyn shook her head and turned to me. “Pirates and mermaids notwithstanding, you should do the flight with Quinn. It’s a great experience.”

  “I’ll put that on my bucket list,” I said and they laughed.

  I joined them for an uneventful lunch then returned to my cottage and took more pain pills. I snoozed for hours. In the late afternoon, I showered, taking care to keep my stitches from getting wet. After dressing in clean shorts and a tank top, I took a soda onto the balcony. A bird called nearby. I inhaled the scent of frangipani. It would be easy to believe that all was right with the world, but of course it wasn’t. I had a mystery to solve, Wanda hadn’t called me back, and Heavenly was still anchored within sight of my balcony. As I watched it bob about on the waves, Casper came on deck and beckoned me. Was I really going to refuse because I’d seen him having coffee with a beautiful woman? The heck I was.

  I was halfway down the path to meet him when I saw Evie and Lyn perched on their balcony. Around each crêpey neck was a strap attached to a pair of binoculars.

  As I reached the marina, the sound of Evie’s voice drifted down. “Venus rises in that direction. It’ll be so pretty.”

  Lyn said, “I think Venus rises in the sky, not on the marina.”

  I turned to see Evie’s binoculars pointed at Casper, who was climbing off the yacht. Evie might be on the wrong side of sixty, but apparently she could still appreciate the sight of a stunning man in…was he wearing his tux? The one I’d bought him for the Angel Awards? A smile curled my lips. To tease him, I pointed to the aunts. “Apparently you have a fan club.”

  He blushed and ducked his head. His embarrassment was so cute I was tempted to give him a big hug, but before I could do anything so rash, he suggested we climb aboard.

  I didn’t move. “Where are we going?”

  “Thought you might enjoy a dinner cruise while you waited for Wanda’s call.”

  “How do you know she hasn’t called?” I began, before realizing that—duh!— “You’ve been watching over me.”

  “I’ve been sensing your frustration all afternoon. You need to relax. Wanda will call when she has something to tell you.”

  He’d said when, not if. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “I’m not clairvoyant,” he said as though he was a teacher talking to a particularly dumb student. “But stressing about Wanda’s call won’t make her get back to you any quicker. So, wanna come for a cruise? I have a surprise on board.” He held out his hand.

  A surprise on a magic yacht was bound to be good. I took his hand and climbed aboard, which didn’t mean I was abandoning my plans to see other men. I was just postponing them.

  * * *

  As the yacht glided across smooth water, the breeze ruffled Casper’s hair, which was starting to grow out again after the savage clipping it had received from a hairdresser in Scotland. The lights of the yacht reflected off his golden locks like a halo. I’d once asked whether angels really wore halos and he’d told me they were for special occasions only. In much the same way as the Queen of England wore her crown.

  Casper said, “Close your eyes.” I did. He mumbled words too low for me to hear and clapped his hands three times. I felt the movement of fabric as though my clothes were magically changing. When I opened my eyes, I was wearing a pink dress with big frills on the hem and sleeves. I shrieked.

  “Pink? Frills? Are you kidding?”

  “It seemed appropriate for the entertainment,” said Casper, which was the cue for Barry Manilow to begin singing “Copacabana.” Casper took hold of my shoulders and turned me toward the stern, where Barry—the actual man—was samba-ing along to his song.

  I whispered, “Is that really him?”

  “Don’t ask. Don’t tell.”

  A trick of the yacht, then. Although Barry looked pretty real to me. He even winced when I poked his cheek.

  “This next song is for Allegra Fairweather from her friend Casper,” Barry announced and launched into “Can’t Smile Without You.”

  “Wanna dance?” Casper held out his hand. I took it and melted into his arms. He’s a brilliant dancer. Back in the 1930s, Ginger Rogers taught him ballroom and, though Casper has never admitted it, I think he’s taken a few lessons from John Travolta as well, which helped when Barry switched to “Jump Shout Boogie.”

  We danced until my feet ached. Until the music felt like it was flowing through my veins. Until I was so flooded with endorphins, I felt as if I was dancing on Cloud 9.

  “Casper,” I began breathlessly. My heart swelled with everything I wanted to say. How good his hand felt on my waist. How right it felt to be in his arms. How much I missed him when we were apart. How I wanted us to be together forever and ever.

  “Casper,” I said again, as Barry held the last note of a song. Casper’s eyes met mine, and for a moment I was lost in the gold and green and brown that reminded me of a sun-dappled forest. The words I promised myself I’d never say hovered on my tongue. I opened my lips to set them free. “I love—” His eyes pleaded with me not to say anything that would force the Powers-That-Be to separate us. Summoning all my self-control, I stepped out of his arms and continued. “I love—this boat. How about clapping up some food? I’m starved.”

  Casper did as I asked, and soon we were sitting at an elegant dining table with a snowy white tablecloth, silver cutlery and big cream candles that didn’t flicker in the breeze. Casper offered me what appeared to be champagne.

  “Better not. I need to stay sober in case Wanda rings.”

  “This won’t make you drunk. You’ll get a pleasant buzz but no hangover.”

  “My kind of champagne.”

  “It’s ambrosia.”

  “Nectar of the gods. I’ve always wanted to try that.” It was pretty good too, bubbly and sweet and golden, like bottled sunlight. “I could get used to this.”

  “Couldn’t we all. Shame I only have this yacht for a month.”

  “Are things so uncomfortable on Cloud 9?” I asked. He’d claimed that was where he lived, but I’d never been sure whether he was joking.

  He smiled but didn’t answer. Guess the conditions on Cloud 9 were classified information like so much else about Casper.

  The food was the best I’d eaten. I mean ever. Between nibbles of the freshest seafood, crispest salads and thickest crunchiest French fries, I said, “Hey, Casper, do you have a bucket list? I mean did you, before you died?”

  “What’s a bucket list?”

  “You know—a list of things you wanted to do before you died.”

  He considered the concept, frowning. “My life wasn’t like that. It was all about survival. Surviving the winter, the next battle, the next famine. We didn’t have vacations or pleasure outings. We had religious—what you would call pagan—holidays. In essence it was a very simple life. Simple but hard. If I had a choice, I’d rather live now. I’d like to have a bucket list.”

  “Go on, then. Make one.”

  “You first.”

  “Alright.” The ambrosia was making me all warm and fuzzy just as he had promised. “I’d like to see Cloud 9.”

  “I thought you said a bucket list was things to do before you died.”

  “I’d like to see Cloud 9 before I die.”

  “Not possible. Try again.”

  “Okay, I’d like to return to Willingthorpe Castle and defeat the White Lady. Now it’s your turn. And, yes, I do know you’re already dead. Pretend you’re not.”

  He surprised me by saying, “I’d like to marry again.”

  “Any
one in particular?” I asked, thinking of the dark-haired woman at the café.

  “No one special, but I miss having a family.”

  “Will you be reunited with your wife and daughter when you earn enough credits to enter Heaven?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We shared an uncomfortable silence until he said, “Your turn again.”

  “I’d like to see Dad. I’d like to hear him say that he didn’t abandon us, that he had a good reason for not coming home.”

  Casper squeezed my hand. “Maybe you’ll meet him again.”

  “And maybe I won’t. It seems our bucket lists are about things we can’t have. They should be more down-to-earth like Lyn and Evie’s.”

  “Okay, coming down to earth,” said Casper. “I’d like to ride on a roller coaster.”

  I laughed. “That’s easy. As soon as this case is solved we’re off to Magic Mountain.”

  “Cool,” he said, sounding like a teenager on his first trip out alone.

  I smiled at his enthusiasm. “Oh, I’ve just thought of something else. Before I die I want to know your real name. We’ve known each other for twenty years. It’s about time you told me.”

  “Hmm, well, the thing is, I like the way you call me Casper. It’s something you began so it will always be special.”

  I was kind of touched, but that didn’t mean my curiosity was satisfied. “What did people call you before? I mean before Casper, but after your real name?”

  “I’ve had many names. I like Casper best.”

  “Maybe I’d prefer to call you…?” I waited for him to fill in the blank, but he remained silent. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “Not right now.”

  Fine, I could deal with that. Moving right along, I said, “My bucket list includes another private performance from Barry M.”

  He jumped to his feet much too quickly. “Your wish is my command.” He clapped his hands and soon we were dancing to “Could It Be Magic.” The music soothed me. What did it matter if I didn’t know Casper’s real name? As we danced, the stars sparkled. I floated on a cloud of ambrosia and music. It was all so romantic. Suddenly, I was leaning my head on his shoulder. He stroked my hair like a lover. I looked up at him. He gazed down at me as though I was number one on his bucket list. Our faces were only inches apart. The warmth of his breath caressed my lips, but I knew I could never kiss him.