Murder Hooks a Mermaid

by Christy Fifield

  And disaster would follow.

  When they entered the restaurant they made sure to keep a little distance between them, like they were trying to pretend they weren’t together.

  Karen spotted us and raised an eyebrow. I shot a glance at Riley and back at her, a warning that whatever questions she might have for me, I would have a few of my own in return.

  Sometime in the next few days we were going to have a very interesting conversation. But it would likely have to wait until Bobby was free again.

  Karen slipped into the booth across from me, and Riley slid in next to her, careful not to sit too close. She looked back and forth from me to Jake, waiting for one of us to say something.

  The waitress arrived in the middle of our awkward silence.

  “What can I get you?”

  Riley looked at her and blinked, like he was just waking up. “I’d like a burger,” he said. Then he turned to Karen. “Do you want something? I don’t think we ate dinner, did we?”

  She shook her head slowly, as though she had to think about her answer. “No, I don’t think so.” She looked up at the waitress. “Can I get bacon and eggs, over easy?”

  The waitress scribbled the order on her pad and promised to come back with the coffee in a minute.

  When she left, Karen turned to me. “Things have been so insane, we literally forgot to eat. There’s a mountain of food—everybody and their grandma brought us a covered dish—but we didn’t eat any of it.”

  I’d seen her do this before, get so wrapped up in a project that she forgot meals. But it was a new thing for Riley. His work was physically demanding, and he usually had a healthy appetite, which was to say he ate enough for a small army and then burned it right back off. Until today.

  With coffee at hand and food on the way, Karen started to ask a question, but Riley beat her to it. “What did you want to tell us?”

  “I think I figured out why Bobby was hanging out at Mermaid’s Grotto,” I said.

  Riley furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

  “We were talking,” I explained hastily, “Karen and I, about how it didn’t make any sense why Bobby was hanging out at a tourist trap so much, instead of at The Tank.”

  “But he was at The Tank,” Riley countered. “We all were.”

  “Yes, but you told Karen he was going by the Grotto, too. Every day or two. That was where he hooked up with those divers, and nobody could figure out why he was there. Well”—I straightened my shoulders proudly—“I know why.”

  “So tell us already!” Karen never was very patient.

  “Two words: Megan Moretti.”

  “Megan?” Riley said. “What’s she got to do with this?”

  “She’s the reason Bobby was at the Grotto.” Hadn’t I just said that? I thought I’d been pretty clear. Maybe Riley was more confused than I thought. “He went there to see her.”

  “So she’s back, I presume.” Karen stated the obvious.

  “I just talked to her an hour ago,” I said. “So I guess the answer would be yes.”

  “And Bobby’s been hanging around her again?” It was Riley’s turn to ask a question.

  The tag-team approach was disconcerting. Usually these two talked over each other, each one trying to run the show. Now they were taking turns, and the change was very unsettling.

  “I just said that. But that’s not really what’s important.”

  “So if that isn’t important,” Karen said in a tone that implied she thought it was, “then what is?”

  The waitress returned with plates, and put them in front of my friends. Now if they would just keep their mouths busy with food, I could tell my story.

  “We went to the Grotto for dinner.” That was as far as I got before Karen gave me another look. “Jake was asking about local restaurants—what was good, what was overrated—and I suggested the Grotto. I told him it was a piece of local history.” I snuck an apologetic glance at Jake. “I kind of had an ulterior motive in choosing it.”

  “It was good,” Jake said with a smile. “And we got some useful information. A good choice for lots of reasons.”

  “Anyway, we stopped at the bar after we ate, and there was Megan serving drinks behind the bar. Last I heard, she got married and moved to Jacksonville, but there she was, with her, um, assets on display, and no wedding ring.”

  They both had their mouths full, and I filled them in on our conversation with Megan. Jake spoke up a couple times, adding bits and pieces I forgot.

  By the time we’d told them what we knew, Riley looked like he wanted to punch somebody. “So whoever these guys are, they harassed Bobby into taking them out, then when they get busted they give the cops some song and dance and get Bobby arrested?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Jake said evenly. “As I understand it—and correct me if I’m wrong—Bobby was arrested right along with everybody else. And they did let him make bail. The real problem is the dead diver.”

  Karen made a sour face. “Yeah, and we all—well, except Jake—we all heard him threaten to kill them.”

  I shook my head. “He was just mad. He didn’t mean it.”

  Riley nodded vigorously in agreement. “He was just blowing off steam.”

  “But to anyone like me who doesn’t know Bobby,” Jake said, “it sounds like a serious threat. Especially when one of the guys is murdered the next day.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Riley’s voice held a challenge. “You think he did it?” His voice rose, and heads turned at nearby tables. “Well, he didn’t. I know he didn’t.”

  “But I don’t,” Jake said, an edge creeping into his tone. “And that was my point. I don’t know him, or have any reason to believe or not believe. Except”—he pointed at me, then at Karen—“that two people I do know and trust tell me he didn’t do it.”

  No one said anything for a few minutes. Karen stirred her coffee, even though she hadn’t added anything to it, and Jake fiddled with his napkin, wadding it into a tiny ball.

  Finally, Jake broke the silence. “Has anyone heard who the divers were? What they were doing here?”

  The three of us shook our heads.

  “That’s actually one of the weirdest things,” Karen said. “Usually there’s gossip or rumors or an unofficial leak. Something. But I checked in with my station manager, and he said nobody’s heard a thing. Not a peep. It’s like the locals aren’t being told what’s going on.”

  “Maybe this is just a little part of something bigger,” Jake suggested.

  “But what?” Riley asked. “And I still don’t know why my brother got mixed up in this.”

  “From what Megan told us, those guys were pretty persistent,” I said. “What if they were afraid the cops were getting close? They wanted to finish their business and split. That would explain why they were so pushy.”

  “And if the cops—or whoever they were—thought the divers were spooked, they would have grabbed everybody before they could get away,” Karen said.

  She looked at Riley. “Your brother got mixed up in this because he wanted to impress a girl, I’m betting. He was acting like a big shot in front of Megan and promised to get the guys a boat.”

  I had a hunch it might have been more than simply acting like a big shot; the more I thought about it, the more I suspected Bobby was trying to make Megan stop thinking of him as Riley’s little brother.

  “A man can purely mess himself up trying to impress a girl,” he said, looking across to Jake for support.

  “So true,” Jake said.

  “But if Bobby didn’t kill that guy,” I asked, ignoring the moment of male bonding, “who did? Because the cops clearly think they have their guy, or they wouldn’t have arrested Bobby.

  “That’s the most important question right now. Until we find the person who killed that diver, Bobby won’t get out.”

  “Isn’t that the cops’ job?” Riley said.

  “Yeah, like that worked so well for Kevin Stanley,” Karen replied, dri
ly. “The police tried to call that an accident and make it go away.”

  The previous fall, Kevin, star quarterback for the Keyhole Bay Buccaneers, had been killed in what looked like a tragic accident. But there was nothing accidental about his death, as I’d discovered.

  “And if it hadn’t been for Sly and Bobo,” she continued, looking at me, “you would have been the next one to have an ‘accident.’”

  I shivered at the memory of my close call. Jimmy Parmenter, raging on steroids and fueled by jealousy and anger, had come close to making me seriously dead in the junkyard behind Fowler’s Auto Sales. Only the intervention of junkyard owner Sly and his dog, Bobo, kept me from joining Uncle Louis as a ghost.

  “Be fair,” I said. “It wasn’t just Boomer. Everybody thought that was an accident.”

  “Everybody except Uncle Louis,” Riley shot back.

  “What? How did you know?” I stopped and glared at Karen. “You told him, didn’t you? What the—?” I clamped my mouth shut before I used several of Bluebeard’s—or should I say Uncle Louis’s?—favorite words.

  Jake’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Am I missing something here? I thought Uncle Louis died when you were a little girl. How could he have anything to do with that Stanley kid?”

  I buried my face in my hands. I didn’t want to tell Jake about Uncle Louis, not yet. I didn’t want him to think I was a crazy person, just as we were getting to be, well, whatever it was we were getting to be.

  But it looked like, thanks to Karen’s loose lips and Riley’s big mouth, I might have to.

  “Long story,” I muttered. “I’ll explain it later.” I didn’t mention how much later. Three or four years ought to be enough.

  We talked a few minutes more, but none of us had any bright ideas about who might have wanted to kill Bobby’s customer. The best anyone could come up with was Karen’s suggestion of “a falling out among thieves.”

  In the car on the way home, Jake brought up the subject of Uncle Louis again. “What did Riley mean when he said Uncle Louis didn’t believe Kevin’s wreck was an accident? It was pretty obvious there was something I didn’t know.”

  I turned my head and looked out the window on my side, watching the dark waters of the bay slide past. The glow of a nearly full moon reflected on the water, broken by the light chop from the night wind. It looked as confused and chaotic as I felt, trying to come up with an answer.

  “I’m sorry,” Jake said when I didn’t say anything. “Obviously, whatever it is, it’s none of my business. Forget I asked.”

  The silence stretched uncomfortably between us. The car was suddenly cold in spite of the warm air flowing from the heater vents, and I wrapped my jacket around me.

  We pulled up in front of Southern Treasures, and I grabbed my purse. “Thanks, Jake.”

  That seemed inadequate, and I struggled to find the right words to dispel the chilly atmosphere. “I’d ask if you want to come in for a cup of coffee, but I’m willing to bet you’ve had enough for one night.”

  That got a brief chuckle. “I think I’ve actually had enough coffee,” he said. “But I’d be glad to stay if you want company.”

  “Okay.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure what I had just said yes to, but I’d decided I had to trust Jake. He was still a mystery, but somebody had to make the first move.

  That first move would be telling him about Bluebeard. Or, more accurately, about Uncle Louis.

  I unlocked the front door and Jake followed me in. I hesitated before I switched on a light, wondering what fresh chaos might greet us.

  Bluebeard, still awake, stuck his head out of his cage, and I realized with a start that it was not yet midnight. With all that had happened, it felt like it should be much later.

  Everything was in order, though that wasn’t always the case. Sometimes Bluebeard, or Uncle Louis, would move things in order to get my attention.

  Tonight Bluebeard settled for simply staring directly at me, and saying clearly, “People don’t just come back for no reason.”

  Chapter 12

  I SNUCK A GLANCE AT JAKE.

  His eyes grew wide, and he turned to me. “Does he talk like that often?”

  “That,” I said drily, “is what I have to tell you about. Come on upstairs.” I gestured toward the staircase at the back of the shop.

  It was going to be another long night.

  “You’re going to think I’m nuts,” I said once we were settled on the sofa. I’d made cocoa, just as Linda had the night before, looking for something to hang on to while I destroyed my budding friendship/romance/whatever-it-was with Jake.

  “I doubt it,” he said. “Besides, I like people who color a little outside the lines.” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood, but I wasn’t reassured. He didn’t know just how far outside the lines I went.

  “Downstairs,” I continued, “you asked if Bluebeard talked ‘like that’ often. Well, he does and he doesn’t. He does say things that seem a bit, um, unusual from time to time. But I am pretty sure it isn’t really Bluebeard who comes up with them.”

  I looked away, afraid to face Jake. “I think it’s Uncle Louis.” I hesitated, then the words tumbled out, like water spilling over the banks of a flooded stream.

  “I didn’t want to believe it, I wanted to think it was Bluebeard. But stuff was always out of place in the shop, and sometimes it was things Bluebeard couldn’t have moved. Then he started saying things that didn’t make any sense coming from a bird. Things Bluebeard couldn’t ever have heard.

  “Parrots are smart,” I said, distracting myself from what came next. “But they only repeat things they’ve heard. They don’t learn words any other way.”

  “Okay,” Jake said slowly. He kept his voice low. “But how do you go from the parrot saying something you don’t think he’s heard to you thinking it’s Uncle Louis? The guy taught Bluebeard to talk, didn’t he? How do you know he didn’t learn that from him thirty years ago?”

  “It’s not just that,” I said, still not looking at him. “It’s when he says stuff, and what he moves.”

  I turned around. It was suddenly important that Jake understand and believe what I was telling him. “Like the time last fall when I brought home this incredible antique quilt. I didn’t have a display place that was quite right, so I put it in the back until I was ready to put it out. Then a woman came in with a wad of dough she’d won over in Biloxi. She wanted to buy a quilt, and there was that antique sitting on the counter behind the register.

  “I didn’t leave it there, I swear,” I said, watching his expression. “It was just there, in plain sight, when she walked through the door with cash in her hand. It was folded just as pretty as you please, and it was way too heavy for Bluebeard.”

  “You still haven’t told me what Riley meant,” Jake said. Judging from his expression, he wasn’t dismissing my story, but he wasn’t ready to accept it, either.

  If I was really going to trust Jake, I had to tell him about Kevin. He knew most of the story, as I quickly reminded him: how Karen and I had seen the aftermath of the single-car crash, how I didn’t believe it was an accident, and how, as Karen had pointed out earlier, I had nearly become Jimmy’s next victim.

  “What started all of that was something Bluebeard said,” I confessed. “The night of the accident I came home and found the shop in a mess. Karen was with me. She saw it, too.”

  “No wonder the break-in—” He paused to think. “—which was what, a couple days later? No wonder it upset you so much.”

  I nodded, and continued with my story. “When we came in and found the shop trashed, Bluebeard said very clearly, ‘It wasn’t an accident.’ At first I thought he meant he’d trashed the shop on purpose, but I eventually had to admit he was talking about Kevin. And once I accepted that, I couldn’t let it go until I found out what really happened.

  “There was something else. While the investigation was going on, Bluebeard kept yelling about a ‘bad man.’ At first I tho
ught he meant Matt Fowler, but I finally figured out he meant Jimmy.”

  “So, you’re telling me you have a ghost in your shop,” Jake said.

  I nodded, and looked away.

  “But he just says obscure things? And he moves stuff around? He doesn’t actually tell you what things mean, or answer questions?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know how it works. Maybe there are rules or something. Or maybe I would understand more if I knew more about Uncle Louis.” I sighed. “I’ve been trying to find out what I can about him, but there just isn’t much to find. He died almost twenty-five years ago, and there aren’t a lot of people around who still remember him. But you heard what he said this time: ‘People don’t just come back for no reason.’ There’s a reason he’s here; I just don’t know what it is.”

  “I have to say,” Jake said, “that wasn’t quite what I expected. But I don’t know what I did expect.

  “It’s actually kind of sweet, him hanging around.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder, and I turned back to look at him. Judging by his expression, I hadn’t destroyed our friendship after all.

  “So, who all knows about this ghost?” he asked. “Obviously Karen does, and she told Riley.”

  “Linda,” I said. “Felipe and Ernie. They all found out when Kevin was killed. And now you.”

  “I guess I’m in good company, then. And I’m flattered you trusted me enough to tell me.”

  “And you don’t think I’m crazy?”

  Jake tilted his head a little to one side, as though he were thinking hard. “Maybe a little, but I’ve learned to keep an open mind. I admit, I might be a lot more skeptical if I hadn’t heard what he said tonight.”

  Just why had Bluebeard spoken up when we came in? The only other time he’d done something like that was with Karen, and it had forced me into admitting my suspicions to her.

  I was being played. By a bird. Okay, a bird and a ghost, working together, but I was being played.

  “I think maybe he did that on purpose.”

  “Would you have told me if he didn’t?” Jake asked.

  “Probably.” I thought for a few seconds. “Yes. That’s why I asked you in, and I hope I wouldn’t have chickened out, even if Bluebeard hadn’t said anything.”