Bluebeard bobbed his head up and down, an emphatic signal of his approval.
“All right,” I said slowly. My stomach clenched in anticipation of the answer to my next question. “How much?”
“Well, seeing as most of the parts came off things that got towed to the yard for scrap, I figure there’s about seventy-five dollars in parts. Throw in fifty for the paint—built me a paint booth back when I was doing a lot of repairin’—that’s hundred and a quarter. And then there’s what I paid Louis for it.”
He turned and looked at Bluebeard. “You remember our deal, old man? Course you do.” He turned back to me, a nostalgic smile on his face. “Your uncle sold me that truck when I turned sixteen, rather than let the dealer take it as a trade. Told me it was wore out and I’d need to fix it up, but he knew I could do it.
“He charged me twenty bucks, and let me work it off by taking care of his new truck. So I never really paid him anything. Then there was, lessee…”
He paused and counted on his fingers, deliberately dragging out the time, making me wait.
I tried not to fidget.
Finally he shook his head. “Nope, can’t think of nothin’ else. I guess you owe me ’bout a hundred twenty-five. You need to make payments on that?”
I think my bursting into tears was answer enough.
I tried to talk him out of it, tried to tell him the offer was much too generous, but he wasn’t having any of it.
“What goes around comes around. Your uncle did me a big favor sellin’ me that truck when I needed it. Now I can return the favor by selling it back to you and getting it out of my garage.”
He patted my shoulder. “I’m gonna go over and get me some of Miss Pansy’s baking,” he said. “Then maybe you could do an old man a favor and give me a lift home.”
I could hardly believe my good fortune. The truck was perfect, and Sly’s sincerity convinced me to accept his offer. He gave me the title and a bill of sale in exchange for a handful of bills from the register, and I had a new/old truck.
While he went next door to The Lighthouse for pastries, I called my insurance agent and arranged coverage for my new ride. They still didn’t have the final report on the Civic, but with a replacement vehicle I wasn’t nearly as distressed by the delay.
I tried to call and share my news with Karen, but my call went directly to voice mail. I hoped that meant she was busy talking to her friends in Jacksonville and would have some answers soon.
I was still on the phone when I saw Jake cross the street. I didn’t leave a message, figuring Karen would call when she could. But instead of coming into Southern Treasures, Jake disappeared through the door of The Lighthouse.
A few minutes later, he emerged with Sly. Jake had a coffee in each hand, and Sly had his own cup and a bulging white paper bag. It looked like he’d spent the entire payment for the truck on Miss Pansy’s baking.
They stopped on the sidewalk next to the truck, sipping their coffee and talking. Jake caught my eye through the window and motioned me to join them, hoisting one coffee cup to indicate it was for me.
There are some definite advantages to living next door to the best coffee in town.
I walked outside, and Jake handed me a coffee cup. “Vanilla latte,” he said, “to celebrate your new truck.”
I ran my hand along the curve of the back fender, feeling the smooth paint beneath my fingertips. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” I looked over at Sly, who beamed behind his coffee cup. “I still can’t believe she’s mine.”
“All yours,” Sly said. “I signed that paper, and now she’s your responsibility. There is one thing, though.”
“Anything,” I replied instantly. Whatever it was, I owed Sly more than I could ever repay.
“If she needs anything, you bring her to me, you hear? Don’t let any of those boys over at Fowler’s get anywhere near her. You let me take care of her.”
I agreed immediately. Given the age of the truck—the registration said it was a 1949—I’d been a little worried about finding someone I could trust if she needed work.
Now I knew where to go if I needed help.
We stood on the sidewalk for several minutes, sipping coffee and admiring the truck, until Guy Miller stuck his head out the door of his shop.
“Cool truck,” he said, walking over and taking a closer look. “Whose is it?”
“Mine.”
He looked at me, eyes wide. “Are you kidding? That’s an amazing truck! Where did you get it?”
“I just bought it from Sly, to replace the Civic.”
“Yeah, Linda told me about the fire. But this”—he waved an arm at the truck—“this is great.”
“I think,” Jake said, “she should have the name of the store painted on the side. In old-fashioned script letters.”
“Absolutely,” Guy agreed. “Gold lettering on that dark green. Great idea.”
I wasn’t sure how Sly would feel, but when I turned to ask him, his grin gave me the answer before he said a word. “I was hopin’ somebody would think of that. Mr. Louis had the store name painted on there when he owned it. But I didn’t want to be telling Miss Glory what to do with her truck.”
My inner twelve-year-old couldn’t contain herself any longer. “That,” I said, “would be made of awesome.”
A few minutes later, Linda came out of The Grog Shop, looking for Guy. The minute she spotted the truck, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I should have known that was where my husband disappeared to,” she said. “He can’t resist.”
Eventually the impromptu block party broke up. Jake, Guy, and Linda all had to get back to their stores, and I needed to get Sly home. He said Bobo was waiting for his treats from Pansy’s bakery case.
I told my neighbors I was closing up, but I’d be back in half an hour or so. I knew I wouldn’t be able to just drop Sly at the junkyard and come right back. I had to drive my new truck, even if it was only a ten-minute cruise through town.
For one crazy minute I considered taking Bluebeard with me. But I didn’t want to take him without a carrier, there wasn’t room for both him and Sly in the cab, and I wasn’t going to let him ride in the back. He’d have to wait for his ride.
I stuffed my driver’s license in my pocket with my shop keys, grabbed my cell phone, promised Bluebeard I’d be home soon, and went off to drive my new truck.
Chapter 33
THE DRIVE FROM SOUTHERN TREASURES TO SLY’S junkyard was way too short. After I left Sly at his gate, thanking him again and again, I drove through town.
The engine purred like it was brand new, the clutch was like silk, and everything felt solid and stable. It was like the answer to a prayer.
I turned off the highway, using the side streets to make a blocks-wide U-turn. On impulse, I took a detour past the docks. I suppose I wanted to run into someone I knew to get a chance to show off my new acquisition.
As I cruised past Mermaid’s Grotto, I remembered Bob telling me that Megan would be in for the lunch shift. The parking lot was nearly as empty as it had been that morning, the lunch rush having come and gone.
I pulled in, tires crunching in the gravel, and parked.
This wouldn’t take long, if Megan was even here. And if she wasn’t, I’d go on home and try again later. Or tomorrow.
I left my cell phone in the spotless glove box and locked the truck, stuffing the key in my pocket. As I did I felt the stiff cardboard of Bob’s business card. I was looking forward to talking to his dad and hearing stories of the mermaids. Especially since I’d never gotten to be one.
The front door was unlocked, but no one was in sight when I walked in. I went through to the bar, pausing to let my eyes adjust to the dark interior from the bright sunshine outside.
Behind the bar, Megan moved bottles as she polished the glass shelves, setting up for the evening crowd.
Now that I was here, I had no idea what I was going to say. Jake was right; this was nuts. Still, I’d come this far.
Stepping up to the bar, I caught Megan’s reflection in the glass of the fish tank. I realized the tank lights were off, creating an impenetrable gloom where you normally saw schools of brightly colored tropical fish.
Megan saw me at about the same time I saw her. She tilted her head in greeting, but didn’t turn around.
“Hey, Glory. How you doing?” She continued her polishing, finally turning around when she reached the end of the shelf.
“Kitchen’s closed,” she said, “but there might still be somebody back there. Can I get you something?”
“Just a few minutes of your time, if you can spare it. I was hoping we could talk.”
“I suppose,” she said warily. “Let’s go upstairs. Sounds like maybe this should be a private conversation.”
I followed her up the stairs to the break room where I’d had to tell her Bobby was charged with murder. We sat on one of the old mermaid’s changing benches, Megan straddling the bench facing me.
“Is it—” She swallowed hard and tried again. “Is it Bobby? I can’t get in, they won’t let me see him. Have you seen him? How is he?”
Her lips quivered with emotion, and tears pooled in her eyes. How could anyone think she was involved with anything that might hurt Bobby? Her obvious anguish over him convinced me she’d had nothing to do with his trouble.
I shook my head. “I haven’t seen him. Some of the family has, but I’m more concerned about some other things. Like why you came back to Keyhole Bay.”
She stood up from the bench and paced across the room to a hatch on the far side. She opened a cupboard and took out a small canister. “Fish food,” she said, stalling.
She opened a hatch in the floor.
“Why did you come back, Megan? You were glad to get out of here when Riley and Karen got married. Riley said you told him you never wanted to see this place again.
“So now Riley’s divorced, and you show up again, and hook up with Bobby again.
“Why, Megan?”
She didn’t answer at first. She fiddled with the canister, scooping out a measure of food and putting it in a capsule. She filled three capsules while I waited, afraid to breathe, for her answer.
“I heard about Riley, sure. But I was afraid to come back right away. I knew if it was a rebound thing it wouldn’t work. I had to wait, to let him get back to bein’ himself.”
She took another canister from the cupboard, filling another dispenser. She kept her face turned away, as though it were easier to confess if she wasn’t looking at me.
“Then Bobby walked in here one night, and it was like the first time I saw Riley, back when we were just kids. And then I didn’t much care what Riley was up to, if Bobby was willing to consider getting back together after I treated him so bad.”
I got up from the bench and walked over to where she stood with her head down.
“It’s okay, Megan. We’ve all had a crush on the wrong guy now and then. But you recognized your mistake, and you’re trying to make it right.”
I put my arm over her shoulders. “Thanks for telling me. Karen and Riley, well, they can’t seem to stay together, but they can’t stay away, either. They’ll have to work it out.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “It was just that, well, you came back, and Bobby got in all this trouble, and I just wanted to be sure…”
My voice trailed off in embarrassment. Megan had confessed her motives, but I couldn’t quite match her candor, though I wanted to. I wanted to try to be her friend.
“Do you think I had something to do with Bobby’s trouble? ’Cause I wouldn’t want any of Bobby’s friends feelin’ that way.” Her accent thickened as it had the other night, emotion eroding her control.
“I…well, no, not really,” I lied. I had suspected her. Trying to impress her was what had gotten Bobby in trouble. Because he didn’t believe she really cared for him.
I followed her gaze to the open hatch. A tube about four feet across. I could hear water sloshing a few feet below us.
The old mermaid access hatch.
The realization came a second too late.
Megan’s head came up, her face suffused with anger.
With an unexpected lunge, she grabbed me and pushed me toward the hatch.
I tried to fight back, but she had the advantage of surprise and a strength born of desperation.
I struggled to gain traction on the concrete, but the moccasins that were comfortable in the shop were too slick.
“You’re not going to mess this up,” she said through gritted teeth. “No more than you already done.”
“What? Mess what up?” I asked. If I could keep her talking, maybe I could find a way to escape.
Her grip tightened. “You know what. You can pretend you don’t, but I know better. Me and Freddy and Chuck, we’re getting out of here. Coulda had a good score, if you hadn’t started snooping.”
She shoved again, and I felt one foot slip over the edge of the tunnel.
I lurched to one side, trying to avoid the open air below.
“I made Chuck use the gaff hook, with Bobby’s fingerprints on it. That should’ve been enough. Until you stuck your nose in.”
Shove.
“Then Freddy said you’d back off if we torched your car. But no! You come sniffin’ around here, playing innocent.”
Shove.
“Well, Miss Innocent, let’s see how well you swim.”
Shove.
My foot slipped, and I was airborne, dropping through the hatch into the cool water below.
Above me the hatch slammed shut, cutting off the light from the break room.
I was alone in the tank, and no one would notice me until they turned on the tank lights for the dinner crowd.
If I lasted that long.
Chapter 34
I COULD FLOAT.
I could swim.
I could tread water.
I could hold my breath.
What I couldn’t do was fight the cold.
According to Bob, the tank was kept slightly below eighty degrees. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was cool, and it didn’t take long before I felt chilled.
I’d heard Megan dog the hatch after she slammed it shut, but I climbed the rungs on the side of the tube and tried anyway. It wasn’t designed to be opened from the inside; the mermaids had always had open water as an emergency escape route, and the fish didn’t care.
I pounded on the heavy cover, but it didn’t budge. All I succeeded in doing was battering my hands.
My moccasins had disappeared when I hit the water, and standing on the narrow metal rungs cut into the soles of my feet. Clinging to the rough metal, pitted from years of saltwater exposure, scraped my hands.
I abandoned my perch and dropped back into the water.
Salt water stung my eyes as I laid my head back and tried to stay calm.
There were several inches of headspace between the water and the tank cover, as well as a couple feet at the top of the tunnel. I had enough air.
For now. But I had no idea how long it would last.
The first shiver passed through me, a warning. I couldn’t lay back and wait for rescue that might not come for hours. I had to do something.
I touched my pockets, searching for a tool. I had no idea what I needed, or how I would use it, but I took inventory.
Driver’s license.
Car key and shop keys.
I remembered my cell phone, sitting in the glove box of the locked truck. I told myself that, even if it survived the dunking, there wouldn’t be a signal in the tank. It wouldn’t have made any difference.
A few crumpled dollar bills, and a couple quarters.
A soggy business card.
Bob’s business card.
Bob, who had patiently answered my questions about how the tank worked.
Cold seeped through me, and I fought against panic. I
had to think clearly, to remember anything that might help me escape from the tank, or at least bring help sooner.
Growing up near the water, basic safety had been drilled into us from early childhood: stay calm, don’t waste energy thrashing around; most of all, stop and think before you act.
Thinking, however, wasn’t that easy.
I tried to concentrate, to remember my conversation with Bob, but my mind kept skittering off on other things.
Megan knew Freddy and Chuck. They were in this together, and she knew about my car.
Anger gripped me, and I slammed my fist against the surface of the water. Curses rained from my mouth, a shower of invective that would have made Bluebeard proud.
Bluebeard. He’d tried to warn me, told me people didn’t come back for no reason. Sly had come back for his mama and daddy. Why had Megan come back?
For a good score, whatever that was.
I forced myself to abandon that line of thought and go back to my conversation with Bob. Our conversation. Jake had asked questions, too.
He’d asked Bob about the sensors failing.
With an effort, I teased the answer out of my weary brain.
There were a lot of sensors. One failure wasn’t a problem.
But several failures would trigger the alarm. And Bob would come running.
All I had to do was disable several sensors.
One problem: I didn’t know where they were.
No, two problems: it was dark.
So, if I were a sensor, where would I be?
Underwater? Well, duh. That didn’t exactly narrow down the options. But they would be hidden from sight.
So eliminate anywhere in front of a window. That helped.
I paddled along one wall, feeling for the change from glass to concrete that would signal one of the pillars between the windows.
Sure enough, I could feel a cable running along the wall. Fastened to the wall every few inches with straps drilled into the concrete.
I tried to pry the cable up, using my keys. It only moved a fraction of an inch, not far enough for me to get a grip or pull it loose. I felt along the wall underwater, reaching for the sensor at the end of the cable.
Murder Hooks a Mermaid Page 21
