by Janni Nell
“Well, that tells me a lot about you, but it doesn’t reveal much about your family. Tell me about your parents.”
“I’ve got a mom and stepfather, but I don’t see them very often.”
“What about your dad?”
“No longer in the picture.”
Dylan got the hint and dropped the subject. Although I couldn’t quite get Dad out of my mind. When I was younger I’d created various scenarios to explain his disappearance:
a) He’d had an accident and lost his memory.
b) He was on a secret government mission.
c) He’d been killed fighting for freedom and justice.
When Casper had revealed that Dad was still alive, I’d begun to wonder whether there was a more mundane explanation for his disappearance:
a) He was bored of his family and wanted a break.
b) He had met another woman and had a new family.
c) He didn’t love me—I mean us—anymore.
“Are you an only child?” asked Dylan.
Running warm sand through my fingers, I said, “I have a sister and a seriously cute baby niece. Want to see some pics?” I reached for my phone before remembering that it had been stolen on Tikini Island. “Another time, maybe.”
“Looking forward to it. I love baby pics.”
“Bet you don’t,” I teased. Men didn’t get it. Actually I hadn’t got it either until Little A had been born. I’d delivered her, by the way, helping my sister through the contractions while fighting off a malevolent witch.
“Okay, you got me,” said Dylan. “I admit I’m not usually into baby photos, but I’d like to see your niece.”
I was pretty sure he was just being nice, but I appreciated the gesture.
Eventually he asked, “How long are you staying on Lu’arna Island?”
“As long as it takes,” I said, so comfortable in Dylan’s company I’d forgotten he didn’t know what had brought me to the South Pacific. Heck, he didn’t even know I was a paranormal investigator.
“As long as what takes?” he asked.
This probably wasn’t the time to tell him about my unusual profession. It had scared off guys in the past. Hedging, I answered, “I’m kind of employed by the owner of this island, but I can’t talk about the job. Confidentiality clause—you know how it is.” Throwing the conversation back to him, I asked, “What kind of work do you do?”
“Boring office stuff. Not something I want to talk about on vacation.” Immediately I was curious, but before I could press for more details, he had moved on, “Where do you call home?”
A sigh escaped before I could prevent it. “Good question. I used to rent an apartment in San Diego, but my friend moved out and I didn’t want to share with anyone else, so I’m currently homeless.”
“San Diego’s a long way from New York,” he mused, as though he was hoping to see me when we returned to the States.
“My mom and sister live in Massachusetts.” Now why had I said that? Was I hoping for a relationship with Dylan? Or was I still pissed off with Casper?
“So maybe you’ll move to the East Coast?” He tried to look casual, but there was a hint of eagerness in his voice.
I shrugged. “Who knows.” I preferred a warmer climate but perhaps Dylan could change my mind. Slow down, Allegra. I’d known this guy for about forty-eight hours and already I was thinking long term. Maybe I was suffering sunstroke.
The sunstroke theory gained credibility when I noticed a woman wearing old-fashioned clothes standing at the other end of the beach. Following my gaze, Dylan said, “We’ve got company.” I was kind of relieved that he could see her too.
She shaded her eyes, watching us. So far as I could tell she was neither Oak’s guest nor a member of his staff. Curious, I got to my feet.
“Friend of yours?” asked Dylan.
I shook my head. “But I intend to find out who she is.”
When he offered to go with me, I said, “No, you stay here. Guard the wine.”
“Do you think I’ll need my rifle?” he chuckled as I got to my feet and moved across the sand.
The woman could have stepped out of a nineteenth-century brothel. Her full breasts spilled from the bodice of a long red gown, which was hitched up to reveal white petticoats above stockinged ankles and black boots. Her dark hair was bundled into an untidy knot decorated with feathers. Her face was powered, her lips garish red.
My gut screamed paranormal, but since my toe wasn’t itching, I couldn’t be sure. Her expression was wary. Poised on the balls of her feet she seemed uncertain whether to run.
Careful not to scare her by going too close, I said, “Hi, I’m Allegra.”
She hesitated a beat before answering, “’Allo. I’m Queenie.” Her accent was pure Cockney.
“You’re a long way from London.”
Her lower lip trembled, but she steadied it. “Right you are, ducks. A very long way.” She glanced from side to side as though making sure she had an escape route.
Determined to draw her out, I smiled, nice and friendly. “How long have you been on the island?”
“Too bloody long.” She started to back away.
Guess she didn’t like direct questions. I tried a different approach. “Hey, I like your dress. Great color on you.” And that was all it took to break through her reserve.
She beamed. “It’s me lucky gown. Always ’ad a good show when I wore it. I’m a performer see. Queenie Pearl. That’s me stage name. So much better than Gertie Grubb.” She curtsied. “I was the star of Tyler Tucker’s Grand Music Hall, when Queen Victoria was on the throne.”
Yep, just as I’d suspected. A ghost. There are two types of ghosts—the ethereal, misty ones, who can’t do much more than scare people, and the solid ones, who are potentially much more dangerous since they can do anything a live person can do. Except die, of course. Queenie was a solid ghost, but she didn’t look particularly dangerous. “How did you get from London to Lu’arna?” I asked.
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say, I died and woke up ’ere.”
There’s always a reason ghosts are trapped between this world and the next. Usually it’s some unfinished business or a wrong they have to right. Queenie might have died in London, but her unfinished business must be connected with this part of the world.
“When did you come to Lu’arna? I mean before you died.”
“Nosy cow, ain’t ya?”
Since she chose to answer my question with a question, I did the math and came up with a century give or take. As a long-term resident of Lu’arna Island, she might know something about the war between the mers and the Tikini-kai. It was worth a try anyway. What did I have to lose? “Do you know where the dowry is? Or the Star of Light?”
“Don’t know wot you’re talking about. Could we just ’ave a chat. Like mates.”
“Sure. What do you want to chat about?”
“’Im.” She pointed at Dylan. “He ain’t half ’andsome. Wot’s ’is name?” When I told her, she said, “Irish, eh?”
“American.”
She gave him a long slow look. When Dylan raised his glass to her, she said, “You’re lucky to ’ave such a fine man. He reminds me a bit of me own true love.”
“Is your true love on the island?”
She shook her head sadly. “He’s long gone. I miss ’im.”
“I’d like to reunite you.”
“Oh very funny. You’re a barrel of laughs, you are. In case you ’adn’t realized, me man’s dead.”
I didn’t point out that she was also dead. Instead, I said, “You’re obviously here because you have unfinished business. Once you resolve that, you’ll be free to move on and be with your man again. I could help with that. I’m a paranormal investigator.”
“Don’t w
ant no one investigatin’ me.” Queenie started to back away.
I called after her, “Don’t go. I don’t care what you did while you were alive. I don’t care if you committed a crime. I just want to help you move on.” But she wasn’t listening. She kept backing away until she reached the vegetation fringing the beach. Before I could stop her, she’d plunged into the tangle of vines and bushes, and disappeared, literally, making it impossible for me to follow her.
I returned to Dylan. As I stretched out on the rug beside him, he asked, “Who is she?”
No way was I going to tell him she was a ghost. Confessions about the weirder part of my life could wait until I knew him better. “There’s a costume party on the other side of the island. She’s one of the guests.”
“A costume party sounds like fun,” he said, sitting up.
“Except we have no costumes,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t go searching for the nonexistent party. “Anyway, it’s invitation only.”
* * *
Dylan relaxed, reclining on the rug as the sun went down in a blaze of orange and red. The sea became molten gold. Darkness came quickly as it does in the tropics. No lingering twilights. Just two settings. Day and night. The stars seemed brighter too. Big and bold and proud. The fat moon rose like a diva preparing for an aria. Not that I know much about opera, but I’ve met one or two deceased divas. Let’s not go there.
We lay side by side, gazing up at stars that made me think of dice tossed across dark baize. Dylan reached for my hand and laced his fingers in mine. Our arms touched, bare skin against bare skin. A breeze whispered over our bodies.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” murmured Dylan.
“I could live here.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if we never had to return to our day jobs?”
Well, no, I liked my job, but admitting that would lead to questions about my occupation I preferred not to answer.
I was wondering whether Dylan would kiss me, when my new phone rang. Wanda. Her timing was appalling. She’d now interrupted two intimate moments, first with Casper and now with Dylan.
Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t ignore the call. “Sorry, I have to take this,” I said to Dylan. I got to my feet and moved away for privacy.
When I answered, Wanda said, “I’ve found someone who speaks Mer.”
“Yes!”
“But wait, there’s more. She lives in Papeete.” Wanda sounded like she was smiling.
“So close? That’s some coincidence.”
But Wanda didn’t see it that way. “Makes perfect sense that someone who can speak Pacific Mer would live in that region. Her name is Sophie Renard.” When she gave me the address, I keyed it into the phone. “Right, I’m done,” yawned Wanda. “Gotta get to bed. Mac’s testing me on potions tomorrow—I mean today. Bye, Al—oh, I almost forgot. I’ve been getting these strange calls from your old phone. You know the kind. Heavy breathing. Grunting.”
I groaned. Lowering my voice, I said, “A fricking goblin is making prank calls from my cell.”
“So why did you give it to him?” Wanda and I have known each other a long time. We can say things like that without taking offense.
“Ha ha, very funny,” I said. “He took it when I was being marinated. Right before they tied me to the spit. Long story. I’ll tell you sometime. Ignore his calls.”
Wanda stopped laughing. “I told you to be careful.”
After assuring her I was fine and wouldn’t be returning to Tikini Island anytime soon, I hung up. When I returned to the rug, Dylan held my hand again, but I couldn’t recapture the mood. All I could think about was arranging a meeting between Sophie Renard and the mers.
Chapter Six
Since Casper had abandoned me on Tikini Island, I didn’t ask him for a ride to Papeete. Instead I took the helicopter. Quinn, the pilot, was the strong, silent type, who didn’t seem to have many interests besides flying and working out in Oak’s gym. He gave me a smile without showing his teeth, and made sure I was properly strapped in.
As we took off, I looked down on Lu’arna Island. Oak’s big house dominated the landscape in a tasteful, environmentally responsible kind of way. The pool he shared with his guests was totally integrated into the garden Vincent had designed. At a respectful distance from the big house, the four staff cottages hugged the employees’ pool, while on the other side of the big house were two guest cottages. There were no yachts berthed at the marina. Oak preferred jet skis and other fast boys’ toys to yachts.
Quinn guided his helicopter away from the island and, after a flight over sparkling ocean, we landed in Papeete. Leaving him to complete his errands for Oak, I went in search of Sophie Renard. There was no one home at the address Wanda had given me, but a neighbor yelled from her window that Sophie would be working now. At Café Noir. The same café where Casper had gotten cozy with the dark-haired woman. My stomach clenched. I had a bad feeling about this, which was confirmed when I arrived at the café and came face-to-face with Sophie. Up close she was even more beautiful. Big brown eyes, perfect skin—even if it was bruised in places—and full lips. I’d never kissed a girl, but if I wanted to, Sophie would be the one. No wonder Casper was interested.
Swallowing my—let’s not call it jealousy—I said, “Can you take a break? We need to talk in private.”
Turned out she owned the café so there was no problem getting away for as long as she wanted. To avoid eavesdroppers, I suggested we go to the waterfront. On the way, I gave in to my natural curiosity and asked whether her injuries were the result of an accident.
“It was no accident,” she answered firmly, but refused to say anymore.
I was tempted to ask about her relationship with Casper, but I figured she wouldn’t talk about that either. Besides, did I really want it confirmed they were dating?
Suppressing my nosiness, I kept silent until we reached the waterfront. When I was sure no one could overhear us, I explained that I wanted Sophie to help me communicate with the mers.
The color drained from her face. She looked like she was trying not to throw up.
“It wouldn’t be dangerous or anything,” I said, thinking fear was the reason for her sudden nausea.
She swallowed and took a deep breath, gaining control of her stomach with difficulty. She said, “Why do you wish to speak with the mers?”
“I’ve been hired to stop their war with the Tikini-kai. As a first step, I want to find out how it started. I’ve already spoken to King Kanu—”
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You spoke to him and survived?”
“Just barely. Anyway, I figure since I’ve heard his side of the story, I should hear the mers’ side too. Will you translate for me?”
Instead of answering, she doubled over and threw up. I jumped out of the way just in time. When her stomach was empty, she slowly straightened up dabbing at her mouth with a tissue. “Excuse me. I have been feeling ill.” She touched her small belly in the same way my sister had during pregnancy.
“How many months?” I asked.
She looked like she was going to barf again, but she managed to murmur, “Eight weeks.”
“Bet the father’s happy,” I said. She burst into tears.
Taking her arm, I guided her toward a wooden bench. Just before we reached it, she swayed as though she was going to faint. I snaked my arm around her waist, supporting her until she was safely sitting.
“Put your head between your knees,” I said.
She continued sobbing and trying to talk at the same time, which made her choke.
I said, “Don’t say anything until you feel better.” I felt sorry for her—even if she was having an affair with Casper. I mean, you have to feel sorry for someone with bruises and a plaster cast decorated with coffee and grease stains rather than friends’ signatures.
Another beating? I flexed my knuckles. “Give me his address, I’ll sort him out.”
She shook her head. “Let the sleeping dogs lie. It is over. I have left him.”
“You’re living with the baby’s father now?” I guessed, but she shook her head.
“I am staying with a friend.” She began to play with the charm bracelet on her wrist, twisting it ’round and ’round. There were only two charms. A tiny silver cradle and a bright red heart, which she touched as she said, “It is not possible to stay with my baby’s father.”
“He’s married?”
“Non.”
Okay, time to find out whether it really was Casper. “Do you have a photo of him?”
“Why please?”
“Oh, I—um—thought looking at him might cheer you up.” But I soon learned that Sophie’s boyfriend didn’t like to be photographed.
“I do not know why,” she said. “He is a big handsome man, like a warrior. With yellow hair.” She blinked away more tears, balled her tissue and threw it into a trash can. Her lips firmed, and her chin came up. Determined. “With or without Horst, I will have this baby. It may be my last chance for a child. I will be forty next month.”
“Wow, you don’t look a day over thirty,” I said truthfully, but even that didn’t make her smile.
I wasn’t smiling either, because I’d just realized that, along with the baby’s father being a warrior with golden hair, he also had a German name. Casper had belonged to a Germanic tribe, although he’d never told me his real name. I was kind of hurt that he might have told Sophie before he’d told me. Still, telling her his name wasn’t as bad as fathering her child. Of course, the evidence against Casper was all circumstantial, but I couldn’t help wondering whether he’d broken his Rules of Conduct for this woman. Was she worth setting back his chances of entering Heaven by thousands of years? Maybe forever? A lump of tears balled in my throat.
Sophie said, “I am sorry to speak of private things. Please forgive me.” She dug in the pocket of her black skirt and produced another tissue. After blowing her nose, she said, “I hope you can stop the war. I will translate for you. When—?”
