Mermaids in the Basement

by Michael Lee West

  The clacketing of Faye’s bracelets announced her arrival before I actually saw her. Then I saw her push through the crowd. “Get out of my way,” she said. “I’ve got to find my daughter.”

  “Find her?” Honora’s brow furrowed. “Where’d she go?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” cried Faye, her eyes glittering. “My baby has gone missing. Somebody has stolen my Joie.”

  A spot of blood, studded with a pearl, marked the bottom step in the garage. The second splotch stood a few feet away, next to a crushed strawberry. More splatter marks led to a zigzag shawl, which lay crumpled on the concrete, then out the side door, where the garden dropped off into darkness.

  There was no sign of Joie.

  Faye gripped my father’s lapels, her bracelets clicking, and gaped up at him. “Is that her blood? You’re a doctor, surely you can tell?”

  As Honora and I approached the crowded doorway, the short Rolex man stood back to let us pass.

  “One of the caterers went into the garage for a cigarette,” he said. “When she saw all the blood, she screamed. Dr. DeChavannes heard the commotion and came running. That’s when he saw the scarf. I believe it’s his fiancée’s.”

  Honora walked down the garage steps and stared at the blood. Then she followed the spatter marks, which curved in a jagged arc around the storage shelves. “Maybe she’s in the Bentley,” she suggested.

  “Already checked,” said Daddy.

  “Perhaps she’s somewhere in the house? Have you tried the powder room?” Honora walked back to the steps and picked up the bloody pearl.

  “Yes, and I looked upstairs, too,” said Daddy. “I can’t find her anywhere.”

  “We’ll just have to look again. It’s an enormous house.”

  “Whose pearls broke?” Faye leaned over the railing. “And why is there so much blood?”

  “Maybe Joie took a tumble and broke her necklace,” said the short man.

  “Not on your life.” Faye’s head whipped back and forth, but her hair didn’t move a millimeter. “Joie hates pearls. Trash from the sea, she calls them. Maybe we should call the police. Where’s your phone?”

  “In the kitchen. But let’s don’t be hasty. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” Honora’s hand closed over the pearl. “Let’s keep searching, shall we? Is anyone else missing? No? Well, let’s look outside, too.”

  Isabella lit a cigarette. “Maybe it’s time for an Amber Alert.”

  While Daddy went looking for Faye, the short fellow assembled a search party. He sent the Louisiana congressman, the mayor of Point Clear, and me to look outside. He dispatched Honora, Gladys, and Isabella to check the upstairs.

  “I’ll search the library,” said Daddy, leading Faye back into the kitchen, guiding her to a straight-backed kitchen chair.

  “I can’t call the police, I’m too upset,” she said. “Call them for me, Louie baby.”

  I grabbed a flashlight from the shelf and stepped outside. Fog drifted past the cypress trees. My shoes squeaked on the grass as I walked down the yard. It was difficult to see anything, but I clicked on the light and swept the beam back and forth, picking my way down to the pier and the boathouse. Behind me, my companions had fanned out in the yard, peeking under the azaleas. “Joie?” they called. “Honey, are you out here?”

  The screen door creaked, and I glanced inside the boathouse. My worst fear was that she’d walked into the bay and drowned. I swept the light around the little house. Empty. Then I stepped back onto the pier. Earlier, after my little altercation with Joie, I hadn’t seen any blood. Her knee had looked bruised, but the skin wasn’t broken. Maybe after I left, she’d gotten up and tripped on a loose pearl. This time, she could have fallen hard, maybe cutting her lip or gashing open her arm. Even if she hadn’t eaten one of the tainted berries, she’d had enough champagne to make her woozy. She could have staggered outside, into the bay. On the other hand, maybe she’d staged this little drama, leaving behind blood and pearls, hoping I wouldn’t tell my father about the mysterious Billy.

  Again, I swept the light over the planks, searching for blood; I didn’t see anything but a clean expanse of pressure-treated wood. I stepped over to the edge. Water slapped against the pilings. I could hear the music playing at the Grand Hotel, and way off in the dark, I knew that people were dancing in the pavilion.

  An owl hooted, and something rustled in the tall weeds. My companions were in the gardens, their flashlights illuminating boxwoods and hemlock. Those lights reminded me of hot summer nights when the tide comes in and the wind blows east, setting into motion an event called a Jubilee, when fish leap out of the water, flopping onto the sand. People spread out on the beach, their flashlights bobbing, while they gather crabs and flounder.

  The men kept calling Joie’s name, followed by a pause. If she was outside, she didn’t—or perhaps couldn’t—answer. I hurried off the dock, following the flaky stone path into the house. Faye was lying on the sofa, a rag over her eyes. Honora stood beside the window, holding the dog against her shoulder. Daddy sat at the massive ormolu desk, running his hands over the green marble inserts, explaining the situation to the 911 operator.

  “It looks like Joie bled all over the garage banister,” said Isabella, stepping into the room. “Could she possibly be having her period?”

  “What are you saying?” Faye shrieked. “That my daughter slid down the banister without a Kotex?”

  “Of course not,” said Isabella. “Besides, Kotex is obsolete. Wouldn’t Joie use a tampon?”

  “Maybe she’s taking a walk,” Gladys suggested. “Or she could’ve left. Is her car still parked out front?”

  “She doesn’t drive. She came with me and Louie.” Faye exhaled, and the rag rippled. “My baby isn’t gallivanting. Somebody did this to her. Somebody with cheap pearls.”

  I cupped one hand over my bulging pocket. Then I sat down in the plaid silk chair. The pearls oozed between my fingers, running down the silk brocade, then pinging to the floor, rolling between my father’s feet.

  Chapter 15

  CIRCE’S BOWL

  At first I didn’t think he’d noticed. He hung up the receiver and sank his elbows into his knees. Then he looked up. “Renata, do you want to explain how your pearls got broken?”

  I wanted to say, “Ask Billy.” Instead, I said, “I need to talk to you alone.”

  All the women turned and stared. Gladys’s mouth fell open.

  “Forget it, you’re about an hour too late,” Daddy said.

  “Well, I want to hear what she did,” said Faye. She flung the washcloth across the room. It hit the French door with a splat. Then she got to her feet and pointed at me.

  “Start talking.”

  I touched two fingers to my lips. My hands shook, distorting my lips and chin, like I was rubbing off lipstick. I thought that made me look guilty, but I couldn’t hold still. How to explain without enraging Faye? How could I just say that I’d interrupted a phone call between her daughter and somebody named Billy? There’s a fine line between lying and being tactful; I don’t know why I cared, but I did. I folded my hands and pressed them into my thighs.

  Daddy’s jaw twitched. He pushed away from the desk and started toward the kitchen. Halfway, he stopped and turned. “You are just like your mother,” he said, and pushed away from the desk.

  As my eyes filled, Honora grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “To find Joie,” he said.

  I heard the front door slam. Minutes later, headlights swung around the driveway, and I heard the low rumble of his Jaguar.

  “Well? Don’t just sit there like an I don’t know what,” Faye cried.

  “Renata, tell us again what-all happened,” Gladys said.

  “Give her a second.” Honora said, staring hard at Gladys. “Can’t you see that she’s upset?”

  “Riddles,” said Faye. “Nothing but riddles.”

  “My pearls broke,” I heard myself say, “but Joie didn’t
get hurt.”

  Faye’s face contorted, then she lunged toward me, fists raised. Isabella grabbed the woman from behind and led her back to the sofa. “She did it,” Faye sobbed.

  “Do not judge until you know the facts,” said Gladys.

  “Oh, shut up, you, you Catholic swamp thing, you!” Faye squirmed out of Isabella’s grasp. “I know all about you people. Joie was scared to death of y’all.”

  Honora sat on the edge of the sofa and put her arms around Faye. “Honey, you’ve suffered a shock, and you’re looking pale, mighty pale. Let’s lie down, shall we?”

  “I’m fine,” Faye yelped.

  “Can I call your doctor?”

  “No, you may not,” Faye snapped. “Louie takes care of all my prescription needs.”

  Honora didn’t flinch, but I knew she was opposed to him, or any doctor, writing prescriptions for family members. She wouldn’t take even an aspirin from him.

  “Besides,” Faye added. “He’s gone, isn’t he? Leaving me here with y’all.”

  “We won’t bite,” said Gladys.

  “Well, not hard,” said Isabella.

  “I can’t stay here another second.” Faye shrugged off Honora’s hands, the bracelets rattling, then she struggled to her feet. “Where are the police? Maybe I should call them again.”

  “The phone’s on the desk,” said Honora, giving Isabella a scolding look.

  “Faye, dahlin’, why don’t you have a nice glass of wine instead?” asked Isabella.

  “I don’t want anything except my daughter,” said Faye.

  “Of course you do,” Honora said. “That’s what we all want, for our loved ones to be safe and happy.”

  “Can we get you anything other than Joie?” Isabella raised her eyebrow. “Like a Valium?”

  “You are a witch, and a drug addict,” said Faye, with a freezing stare. “I just want to be with Louie. He’s the only one I trust. Besides, I know y’all are going to protect her.” She pointed one red fingernail in my direction.

  A baggy-eyed policeman showed up, demonstrating a decided lack of interest in the missing bride-to-be, along with the hysterical ravings of her mama. Faye pointed a fingernail in my direction. “Ask that young lady about her pearls. Ask how they got broke.”

  “You can file a missing person’s report, but not for forty-eight hours.” The policeman coughed into his hand.

  “In forty-eight hours,” Faye said, “my daughter could be in the Caribbean, sold on the white slavery market!”

  The policeman handed my grandmother a card, then excused himself. The guests were gathering their coats, thanking Honora for her hospitality and offering their heartfelt prayers to Faye.

  I walked onto the terrace and looked up at the stars, wishing I’d never left Nags Head. Behind me, I heard the clink of metal as the caterers emptied the buffet. From the far side of the house, I heard shouting, and the short man ran up the path, his eyes shining. “We found her.”

  Red lights swirled in the trees while the medics pushed the gurney toward the ambulance. Joie was strapped to the thin white mattress. She looked unconscious, or maybe even dead. Blood had caked on her nose and forehead, and a small knot protruded through her scalp. Her dress was wet and muddy.

  A crowed had gathered around the ex-senator as he explained how he’d found her lying faceup in the koi pond. It was his opinion that she had started to climb the garage steps, then tripped and fell backward, smashing her nose against the banister. At some point she must have gotten to her feet and wandered outside, dazed and disoriented, until she toppled over into the pond, under the Circe fountain. More blood had been found on Circe’s bowl. It looked as if Joie had struck her head against the thick limestone, then hit the water. “The gods must have been watching,” said the ex-senator, “because she landed sunny-side up. Otherwise she would have drowned.”

  One of the medics helped Faye climb into the back of the ambulance. Mascara had gathered under her eyes and run down her cheeks. Her poofy hair was dented on one side. There was something pitiful about the tendons that stood out on her neck, and the loose folds of skin that hung from her chin. Faye looked old and frightened, and right before the ambulance doors slammed shut, she fixed me with an evil stare.

  I rushed over to one of the drivers. “Is she all right?”

  “Ma’am, I don’t know yet. Are you a family member?”

  I started to nod yes, but I caught myself. “She’s my daddy’s fiancée.”

  “Well, she’s unconscious, and I think her nose is broken, but that’s all I can say.”

  I thanked him and stumbled over the grass, back to the other end of the terrace, where guests had gathered around a blue-haired lady who was lying down in one of the lounge chairs. She sat up, holding her head in her hands. “I’ve never fallen asleep at a party in my life!” she said. “And it was such a nice one, too. The chocolate-covered strawberries were divine.”

  I found my grandmother in the living room, lecturing Isabella on the evils of food tampering. Isabella listened without comment, blowing a smoke ring into the grainy dark. When she saw me, her eyes rounded. “Is Joie alive or what?”

  “Alive, but knocked out cold,” I said.

  “Knocked,” Honora whispered, as if awestruck.

  “What could’ve done it?” Gladys asked. “Or should I ask who?”

  “Maybe she ate a tainted strawberry,” said Isabella.

  I leaned against the French door, watching the caterers pack up the chairs and folding tables. Far across the bay, the lights of Mobile winked. Warm air pooled in the shadows. I picked out the Big Dipper, and Mars drifted toward the west. I thought I saw a star drop out of the sky and sizzle down into the bay; I made a wish—Please let Joie be all right.

  Behind me, the door creaked open. Gladys grabbed my arm and towed me into the living room. “Honora’s got your dad on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”

  Honora raised her eyebrows as she stepped back from the green marble desk and held out the receiver. “Be calm,” she whispered. “Because he isn’t.”

  The phone felt heavy as I raised it to my ear. I inhaled, then released the air through my teeth. “Hello, Daddy.”

  “I’m on my way to the hospital, and I don’t want to see you there. I just want to know what you did to her.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I stammered. “She broke my pearls.”

  “Joie wouldn’t do that.”

  “Yes, she did. She broke them, then she tripped. But she only fell down two steps, and she hit her knee, not her head. Daddy, why don’t you believe me?”

  “Fine. When she wakes up, I’ll ask her what really happened.”

  “Do that,” I said, and my hand began to shake. “One more thing, Daddy. Why did you make that comment about my mother? You said I’m just like her. What did you mean?”

  “It wasn’t a compliment, kid. But I don’t have time for that. All I care about is Joie and what you did to her.”

  “I did nothing. But when she wakes, maybe you should ask her about Billy. She was talking to him—no, cooing to him—on her cell phone.”

  Daddy was silent. Then he said, “Billy is her dog. A freaking Chihuahua.”

  I sucked in air, then shut my eyes.

  “First Shelby,” he said. “Now you. If God isn’t punishing me, I don’t know who is. Never mind. I’ll be at the hospital with Joie, but like I said, do not come near her.”

  I set down the receiver, then put one hand over my eyes. Tears spilled through my fingers, hitting the table.

  “Renata?” said Honora. “I know you’re beside yourself…but I get the feeling that you haven’t told us everything. Who’s Billy?”

  I spread my fingers and looked up at her.

  “An old lover?” Isabella nodded sympathetically.

  I swiped a finger under my eyes and said, “Billy’s a Chihuahua.”

  “Oh, dear. I’ll put the kettle on,” said Honora. “A good, strong cup of tea is what we need. My mother used t
o say that tea soothes just about any upset.”

  “I’d rather have champagne,” said Isabella. “And two Tylenol, if you have it. My head is bursting. It feels like somebody put those growing Magic Rocks inside my brain. I don’t think I can walk home.”

  “Not in them high heels,” said Gladys. “Take them off, girl.”

  “Honestly, Gladys,” said Isabella. “If you weren’t my best friend’s maid, I’d bite you.”

  Chapter 16

  A CUP OF CHAMOMILE TEA

  The scent of chamomile drifted above my head while I told the women about Joie’s phone call and how I’d assumed Billy was her lover. While I talked, Honora turned on the stereo, and Vivaldi’s La Tempesta di Mare began to play. She poured another round of tea, then passed the sugar bowl. “If only you hadn’t left behind that damn pearl,” said Isabella. “Then I could call Robert Stack—is he still alive? Well, never mind, I could ask him to put Joie on Unsolved Mysteries.”

  “Humph, we can figure this out ourselves.” Gladys put her chin in her hand. “When Joie broke your necklace and fell down them stairs, could she have hit her head?”

  “I don’t think so.” I stirred my tea. “It happened so fast. But no, it wasn’t my impression that she hit her head. She did scrape her knee, but it didn’t even break the skin.”

  Isabella made no comment. She lifted her cup, her pinkie crooked, and took a swig of tea.

  “Maybe after you left,” said Gladys, “she started back up the stairs and just tripped on the pearl and bashed her own head in? And she was all confused and just wandered outside.”