Murder Hooks a Mermaid

by Christy Fifield

  He took the next-to-last bowl from his ingredient tray, full of a dark, aromatic liquid. As he started to pour, I identified the smell of dark rum.

  The rum hit the hot syrup, igniting into blue flames. Ernie stirred carefully as the rum burned for a minute or two. When the flames died out, he tossed in the contents of the remaining bowl, finely grated orange zest, and ladled syrup over each banana-covered waffle.

  As soon as Ernie ladled on the syrup, Felipe added a scoop of ice cream and handed each of us a plate. We put the plates on the table and broke into a spontaneous round of applause.

  Ernie flashed us a brilliant smile and took a bow.

  Somehow, while we were all watching Ernie, Felipe had managed to make a fresh pot of coffee. We settled back at the table to try Ernie’s creation.

  The aroma was heavenly, but the flavor was out of this world. Spicy-sweet syrup contrasted with the mellow flavor of the sautéed bananas, and each bite was a combination of textures: crunchy waffle, firm banana, and the smooth creaminess of the ice cream.

  “Ernie,” I said between bites, “you have outdone yourself this time.”

  Next to me, Jake groaned. He swallowed a bite and rolled his eyes. “I wondered why you didn’t eat very much dinner.”

  “I should have warned you. Ernie really likes to make desserts. I mean, he’s good at everything, but he goes all out on dessert. I’ve learned to save room.”

  “I wish I had,” Jake said. “I’m stuffed, but this stuff is so good, I can’t stop eating.” As if to prove his point, he lifted another forkful to his mouth.

  I started to say that Riley didn’t know what he was missing, but thought better of it. Because Riley was missing a lot more than dessert tonight.

  Karen ate quietly, caught up in her own thoughts. She had always been decisive, willing to trust her own judgment. But this time she was facing a cost she hadn’t expected.

  She turned down a cup of coffee, saying she had to get home and get some sleep so she could make the drive to Jacksonville in the morning.

  I walked to the door with her, while the three men remained discreetly at the table. I was Karen’s oldest and closest friend, and they chose to give us a few private moments.

  “Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so,’” she said the minute we were out of earshot. “Do not say it.”

  “I wasn’t going to. In fact, I was going to ask if you needed some company. I rode with Jake, and I can go with you if you want.”

  She shook her head. “I knew better than to get involved with him again. I knew better. But I thought—I hoped—things had changed.” She put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m going home to go to sleep, and I’m driving to Jacksonville at first light. By this time tomorrow I expect we’ll have our answer.”

  Chapter 31

  JAKE AND I LINGERED A FEW MINUTES LONGER, helping Felipe and Ernie clear the table and get the dishwasher loaded. Given the feast Ernie had prepared, it seemed fair.

  Ernie took advantage of the traffic in the kitchen and dining room to draw me aside for a moment. “Felipe and I have been talking,” he said softly, “and we were thinking about asking you and Karen if you wanted to expand our dinners to six.

  “Of course, after tonight that doesn’t seem likely,” he cut his eyes toward the front door, where Riley and then Karen had already departed. “And it seems insensitive to suggest it right now. But give it some thought, and we’ll bring it up after things have settled down.”

  It looked like Jake had passed muster. Felipe and Ernie had not only accepted him, they wanted to reach out and include him in our circle. It was as if they were giving their blessing to our budding relationship.

  “Thanks, Ernie. And tell Felipe thanks, too. I’ll give it some thought.”

  I had two concerns about his suggestion. First, I still had some unanswered questions about Jake, questions I would need to settle somehow before he became a permanent—or even semipermanent—part of my life.

  And second, how would his inclusion change the group dynamic if Karen was the only unattached person? Like I said, she was my oldest and closest friend, and I wouldn’t hurt her for the world.

  A few minutes later, the kitchen once again spotless and the dishwasher humming quietly, Jake and I thanked our hosts again and headed out to the car.

  As we pulled away from the curb, Jake spoke up. “If you don’t mind, I think maybe we ought to take a little spin past the Mermaid’s Grotto. We could have a little nightcap in the bar, have another look around…” His voice trailed off, as though it had just been a random thought.

  I knew better. Jake thought Karen was right, that there was a connection between Megan Moretti and the two men from Callahan, and he wanted to take another look at her with that thought in mind.

  “I suppose we could,” I said, matching his casual tone. “I don’t know where I’d put a nightcap, but I like the idea.”

  So instead of turning toward home, Jake turned toward the docks. Mermaid’s Grotto was one of the few places open after dark, and there was plenty of parking in the public lot.

  I was just about to get out of the car when I spotted something that made my heart stop.

  Riley Freed’s truck, parked next to Mermaid’s Grotto. Where Megan Moretti was working.

  I didn’t for a second believe he was involved in anything underhanded, but Karen’s remark came back to me with the force of a blow to the midsection.

  “Megan Moretti can have both the Freed brothers if she wants them.”

  Megan had always wanted Riley, and maybe Bobby, too. Now it looked like she just might get her wish.

  “Are you going to get out?” Jake was standing by the car, holding my door open.

  I shook my head, still staring at the truck. Jake followed my gaze, but he didn’t know Riley’s truck, and he turned back, a questioning frown on his face.

  “Is there a problem?”

  I nodded. “Get back in the car. Please. Hurry!”

  Jake didn’t stop to ask questions. He closed the door and walked back around, sliding in behind the steering wheel.

  “You okay? You’re acting really strange.”

  “We can’t stay here,” I said. I pointed to the well-worn pickup parked on the far side of the lot. “Riley’s here.”

  “Riley?”

  “That’s his truck.”

  “Do you think he’s involved in this?” Jake was incredulous. “I would never have guessed.”

  “No, no, no. I can’t imagine a world where Riley Freed would be involved in anything shady. But he just broke up with his ex-wife—again—and there’s a hot babe in there who’s been after him since she was thirteen.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think,” he said, starting the car and pulling out of the parking space, “that it may just be a guy drowning his sorrows. Or it may be a guy looking for a sympathetic shoulder. Either way, it’s none of our business.”

  As we drove away, I sighed deeply. “I wish you were right,” I said. “But two of my best friends just broke each other’s hearts for the second time. At some point it will end up being my business.”

  We drove the few blocks home without speaking. Jake walked me to the door of Southern Treasures and waited, as had become his habit, while I checked the alarms and the doors. Then he kissed me good night and lingered on the sidewalk until I locked the door behind him and reset the alarm.

  Bluebeard’s wolf whistle cut through the shop as soon as Jake’s back was turned.

  “Is that necessary?”

  The only answer I got was a cackle. It was as close as he could come to a laugh. Apparently it amused him to harass me.

  “Just for that, no banana.”

  “Banana?”

  It was a hollow threat, and we both knew it.

  Bluebeard didn’t have anything else to say while I gave him his treat and checked his water. But just before I went upstairs, he said clearly, “People don’t come back fo
r no reason.”

  I had a hunch Megan Moretti’s reason just might be Riley Freed. And the thought saddened me as I climbed the stairs to bed.

  Things didn’t look any better in the morning. Karen texted me from Tallahassee at about nine thirty. She was making good time, and had a lunch date with someone she called “an old friend” when she got to Jacksonville. She said she’d call as soon as she knew anything.

  I managed to last another hour before I was pacing the floor. I had to know why Megan had come back. Did she have her sights set on one of the Freed brothers? And if so, which one?

  She had seemed sincerely glad to see me the night Jake and I had been in the Grotto, and I thought we’d had a connection. Maybe I could at least talk to her.

  And if she thought she was serious about Riley, maybe I could convince her it wasn’t a good idea.

  I made up my mind. Mermaid’s Grotto would be closed for another half hour, but the crew should be there, getting ready for lunch. Maybe I could get a few minutes with Megan before she started her shift.

  I knew I shouldn’t meddle, but I just felt like I had to do something before I exploded. It gave me a lot of sympathy for Riley.

  I stopped at The Lighthouse for a latte-flavored bribe. If I was going to make a quick trip to Mermaid’s Grotto, I was going to need a car, and I didn’t have one of my own.

  Jake didn’t like the idea, even with the lagniappe of a free latte. Maybe I should have brought a scone, too.

  “All I want to do is borrow your car for half an hour,” I said. “Maybe if I can talk to Megan I can find out if she’s really after Riley. And if she is, maybe I can talk her out of it.”

  “That’s nuts!”

  “Maybe so, but I have to try. Now, can I borrow your car, or do I have to walk?”

  Jake shook his head. “You are one of the most stubborn women I have ever met.” He walked over to the front door, flipped the lock, and hung up the sign with a clock face that said he’d be back at eleven fifteen.

  “Half an hour,” he said. “And I’m going with you.”

  I knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue.

  The parking lot at Mermaid’s Grotto was empty except for a few employee cars ranged along the back fence. I showed Jake the path around the building to the back door, where a bored-looking dishwasher lounged against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

  “Is Megan working?” I asked in my sweetest voice.

  The guy shrugged. Did that mean yes or no?

  “Is she here?”

  Another shrug.

  “Habla ingles?” Jake asked.

  He shook his head, and dropped the cigarette in the gravel, grinding it beneath his heavy rubber boot. Then, without speaking, he opened the back door and went inside.

  From inside the kitchen he looked back at us and motioned for us to follow him.

  I looked at Jake, who imitated the guy’s shrug.

  We followed him into the kitchen.

  A restaurant kitchen just shortly before opening is a study in controlled chaos. Everyone was focused on what they were doing, and no one paid any attention to us.

  The dishwasher pointed around a service area, and went back to his dish bay.

  We went around the service area and spotted a door leading into the bar. But when we went through, there was no sign of Megan. The only person in the place was a guy with a toolbox and a shirt that proclaimed him an employee of Big Al’s Aquarium Service. “Robert” was embroidered over his pocket, if it could be trusted.

  “Robert?” I asked.

  “That’s me. Something I can do for you?”

  “We were just looking for Megan, the bartender.”

  “Sorry, nobody’s here yet. They don’t come in until after I finish servicing the tank.” He nodded at the back bar space. “Gets a little cramped back there when I’m working.”

  Curiosity got the better of me, and I moved closer, trying to see what he was doing. “I remember when there were mermaids in that tank,” I said, “but just barely.”

  “Me, too.” He stuck out his hand. “Bob Bailey. I’ve been taking care of this tank for a long time. But not back to when there were mermaids,” he added hastily.

  I chuckled. “Not unless you started when you were in preschool.”

  “Feels like it sometimes, but no.”

  Jake moved up next to me, his curiosity piqued. “How does this work?” he asked.

  Our original objective abandoned, we peppered Bob with questions. Delighted with such an attentive audience, he answered our questions, even volunteering a little bit of history.

  “When the mermaids were here, part of the pool was open, like the one at Weeki Wachee Springs. But when they converted to a reef tank, they had to completely close it in, because the fish need a constant temperature. Too hot, or too cold, and they can’t survive.”

  “Is that what you’re checking?” I asked.

  “Oh no. That’s monitored automatically. There’s sensors in the tank, connected by cables to a controller that keeps the temperature in the proper range. If it goes too high or too low it triggers an alarm, and I come running, sort of like when a burglar alarm goes off.”

  “But what if a sensor fails?”

  “There’s enough of them that one won’t matter. It would take a bunch of them to trigger the alarm. Never had that happen in any of the tanks we service.” There was a distinct note of pride in his voice. He took his work seriously.

  We watched him fiddle with an electronic box tucked inside a control panel behind the bar while he talked. It turned out Big Al, the owner of Big Al’s Aquarium Service, was his dad, and he’d been servicing the pool since the mermaid days. “There isn’t an inch of this tank I don’t know. Been coming in here with my dad since I was a kid.”

  I wondered aloud why I had never crossed paths with Bob, as small as Keyhole Bay was. I guessed we were near the same age.

  “Oh, we lived over in Pensacola when I was growing up. Dad was a Navy diver before he started the aquarium service. I moved over here a couple years ago, when I got tired of living in the city.”

  I could have stayed and asked questions for a while longer, and I suspect Bob would have happily answered, but I had promised Jake I would keep my visit to half an hour. Even though he hadn’t said a word—and in fact seemed as fascinated as I was with the things Bob was telling and showing us—I knew we had to get back to our shops.

  I got Bob’s business card, telling him I’d love the chance to talk to his dad about the mermaid shows. “I was obsessed with them when I was a kid,” I explained. “I told my father I wanted to grow up to be a mermaid.”

  Bob nodded. “I was jealous of the girls,” he admitted. “There weren’t any boys in the show back then, and I was bummed out that I couldn’t be a performer.”

  “Thanks,” I said, sticking the card in my pocket. “See ya around.”

  By then the front door was open, and we didn’t have to go back through the kitchen. I hadn’t seen Megan come in, but it would be too late to talk to her, anyway. I would have to catch her later.

  Chapter 32

  JAKE DROVE BACK TO BEACH BOOKS, DETOURING past Curly’s drive-through window to pick up lunch. I offered to buy his burger as a thank-you, but he declined. “I don’t want you to get the idea you can rope me into these things with a cheeseburger,” he said. “Or a latte.”

  “Darn, you figured out my evil plan.”

  “Sure did.” He handed me a paper bag with my lunch and pulled back into traffic. Two minutes later, we parked behind Beach Books. When Jake unlocked his front door, it was sixteen minutes after eleven.

  I’d kept to the schedule I’d promised.

  As I crossed the street, I noticed a truck parked in front of my store. The lines of the rounded hood and tall cab were from an era before tail fins and protruding headlights. Old enough to be an antique, it looked both original and pristine.

  The forest green paint gleamed, the chrome twinkled, and the glass was perfec
t. It looked like it must have the day it rolled off the showroom floor.

  As I approached, I recognized the driver.

  Sly was sitting behind the wheel.

  He hopped out when I reached the truck, bouncing the key in his hand as though he were gauging the weight.

  “What brings you here?” I asked, opening the door and turning the sign over.

  Sly followed me inside. “Your truck.”

  “My truck?”

  “My truck!” Bluebeard said.

  “It’s gorgeous, Sly. But I can’t afford that.”

  “My truck!” Bluebeard insisted.

  “You got that right, Mr. Louis,” Sly said.

  “My truck.” Bluebeard was practically cooing, looking out the window at the truck sitting at the curb.

  Sly took my hand, turned it palm up, and placed the key there. “It was Mr. Louis’s truck before it was mine. Seems only right that it come back here.”

  “How am I going to pay for that? It’s got to be worth a fortune! Sly, you know I can’t afford this. Besides, what are you going to drive?”

  “You looked around my place, girl? I got prolly three thousand vehicles out there. Most of ’em’s just parts, but I’ve tinkered with a few over the years. Got a garage out back with a couple dozen in running order. Some of them older’n that one.” He waved at the truck.

  “My truck,” Bluebeard repeated.

  “I tell you what. You can buy the truck back for what I paid for it, plus the parts I put in it. Won’t take any more than that. I did the work myself—for fun, not for profit—so that don’t count.

  “That’s the deal.”

  I stared at the truck. It was beautiful, and I was already in love with it. I could imagine myself driving it around town and out on the back roads, searching for merchandise for the shop.

  “Are you sure? You might have to take it in payments.” I was hesitant to commit to the deal, not knowing how much he’d put into the thing. I was sure some of the parts were rare, and he might have had to pay dearly for them.

  “Whatever you need to do, girl. I think you need to have this truck.” He cocked his head in Bluebeard’s direction. “And I think your uncle agrees.”