I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to take slow, deep breaths. The face of the girl persisted no matter how tightly I closed my eyes. Small nose. Small ears. Silver ear cuff. I didn’t recognize her. For that I was grateful.
Bertha clapped one of her big callused hands on mine. “I’m okay, now. Just had to catch my breath. Oh, Allie, that poor, poor child.”
I raised my head and faced Bertha. The color of her skin had subsided from purple to its normal sunburned ruddy hue.
“Do you recognize her, Bertha?”
She shook her head. “The sea’s cruel, Allie. Who knows how long the poor child’s been in the water. Who on earth could it be?”
Who could it be?
I hadn’t recognized her, but I hadn’t looked carefully. I was too afraid of what I’d see. But something again pulled me to my feet.
“You’re going to look at her again?” Bertha tone was querulous, but had a disapproving edge.
“I saw something unusual.”
I edged along the side of the boat, keeping my eyes trained on the pink bracelet, a cuff of leather, wide and studded. Seaweed coiled around her arm and hand. I was glad I couldn’t see her fingers because I was pretty sure some were missing. Somehow the cuff had caught on the trap so one arm was raised over her head. Pink leather banded the gray wrist above the tattoo. Centered on the band was a carved medallion.
An engine’s sputter and voices, Bertha’s and a man’s hailing us, edged into my consciousness. The medallion caught the sun and came into focus. The image carved into it was a wolf’s head.
* * *
The Coast Guard boat brought Bertha and me to the Lazy Mermaid dock. A small group of people waited, Aunt Gully front and center, easy to spot in her bright pink Lazy Mermaid apron.
Customers buzzed around the door to the Mermaid. Red, white, and blue bunting draped one side of the building. Two cardboard boxes spilling over with decorations stood next to a ladder propped against the roof.
Aunt Gully surged forward and wrapped me in an Ivory-soap-and-lobster-scented hug as I stepped onto the dock. Behind her, Lorel twisted her hands. Bit Markey and a lanky boy with buzz-cut brown hair leaned their skateboards against their knobby, scabbed knees. A Mystic Bay ambulance nudged through the crowded parking lot as Bertha stepped from the Coast Guard launch.
A man wearing the beige Mystic Bay police uniform pushed through the crowd—Officer Petrie, a regular at the Lazy Mermaid. His face turned serious when he got closer to Bertha and me.
“Allie,” Officer Petrie said. “Too crowded here. Why don’t you come up to the Plex to make a statement? Won’t take long.” Mystic Bay’s police station, the Community Public Safety Complex, was called the Plex for short.
I squeezed Aunt Gully’s arm and forced a smile. “I’ll be back soon, Aunt Gully. You and Lorel hold the fort here.”
“Sorry you won’t be back on Queenie till the staties get the body.” Officer Petrie nodded toward the ambulance. “Bertha, we’ll get EMS to check you out.”
Bertha reared back. “No need. I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle.”
“Bertha, just let them check you out. It’ll only take a few minutes,” Aunt Gully said. Bertha snorted, but let Aunt Gully lead her to the ambulance.
Officer Petrie turned to me. “Heard about the body. Sorry you had to see that.”
Me, too.
Bit Markey edged forward and wrapped his skinny arms around my waist. “I’m sorry you found another dead person, Allie.”
Bit’s friend elbowed him. “Well, remember, the first one she found wasn’t dead yet.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”
Tears welled, but I blinked them back. “Thanks, Bit.”
Chapter 5
An hour later I returned to the Lazy Mermaid, thankful that many of the usual staff at the Plex were at the Police Academy in Meriden for training. None of the subs had made the connection between me and the disaster that followed the Mystic Bay Food Festival in May. I filled my lungs with fresh air, glad to escape the Plex’s suffocating beige walls, dusty fake plants, and fluorescent lights.
Hilda and Aunt Gully hovered around me like mother hens on speed. They made me sit at the splintery picnic table behind the lobster storage shed, away from the customers. Most were tourists and had no idea about my grisly discovery out by Cat Island, but locals would’ve heard the news by now and would be dropping by, angling for details. Gossip in Mystic Bay traveled at light speed.
Aunt Gully had somehow read my mind. Even though the lobster shack didn’t serve hamburgers, she’d grilled up a huge double burger with everything for me—cheese, pickles, lettuce, and tomatoes.
A yellow hybrid Mystic Bay taxi drew into the lot and Bertha got out. She shoved money at the driver then gingerly settled onto the picnic bench across from me.
“Gosh darn worrywarts. Blood pressure this and stress that. Though it did give me a turn, Allie.” Bertha shook her head. “By God, pulling up that girl gave me a turn.”
Aunt Gully bustled from the shack and set a lobster roll in front of Bertha.
“Just the ticket, Gully.” Bertha sighed.
Hunger overwhelmed me. I gobbled half the hamburger, but then images of the girl’s face surfaced. Dread settled on me like a weight. I swallowed hard and set the burger aside. Aunt Gully rubbed my back.
Hilda brought mugs of tea.
“Thanks, Hilda.” I wrapped my hands around the warm mug.
“Thank you kindly, Hilda, but I’ll need something stronger than tea.” Bertha dabbed her lips. She rooted in her baggy jacket pocket and tipped a flask into her tea mug. The flask was decorated with a skull and crossbones and the words “Surrender Yer Booty.” She held my eye and raised the flask. I shook my head. God only knew what Bertha had in there.
Hilda patted my shoulder then returned to the kitchen.
A long gray De Soto complete with fins rounded the shed and pulled up within a foot of our picnic table.
“Hell on the half shell, that nut almost hit us!” Bertha shouted.
The driver leaned from the window. “Allie! Are you okay?”
My best friend, Verity Brooks, jumped out of the car we called the Tank. She didn’t bother closing the door before she threw her arms around me so hard she almost knocked me over.
“I just heard! Some lady came in and started talking about how some guy’s body had been pulled up by a lobsterman and how the same girl who solved the last Mystic Bay murder was hauled in to the police station, so I knew it was you.” Verity’s eyebrows arched over large, round Gucci sunglasses that matched her vintage seventies burnt-orange pantsuit and neck scarf. She took a deep breath. “Hello, everyone.” Verity parked the sunglasses on her head in her thick black curls. “Oh, Bertha. Lobster woman. What happened? Are you okay?”
Aunt Gully raised a hand. “Now, now, Verity. Give Allie a moment.”
Verity’s presence was so real, so soothing. “No arrest, I just gave a statement. Who’s watching your shop?” I sipped my tea.
Verity took a bite of my hamburger. “Can’t remember her name,” she mumbled. “They never stay long. Some college kid I hired. Told her I’d be back in ten.” Verity owned Verity’s Vintage Shop by the town green.
“Your customer got it wrong. It was a girl.” Bertha knocked back her tea and poured more murky brown liquid from her flask into her empty mug.
“Did you recognize her?” Aunt Gully said quietly.
It was hard to find my voice. I noticed I was wrapping the same strand of my coppery red hair around my fingers over and over. I tucked my hair behind my ear and took a deep breath. “Well, young woman, twenty-five to thirty? Maybe our age or Lorel’s age. Petite. Short black hair, in kind of a pixie cut.”
Lorel ran out of the shack and wrapped an arm around me. “Sorry, sis, had customers. This is ghastly.” For a second, I was glad to see her. But then part of me wanted to shout, It’s your fault! You should have found her. Not me. I let my cheek rest briefly against her shoulder
and felt my anger deflate. Shake it off, Allie, it’s not Lorel’s fault.
“Poor, poor thing.” Aunt Gully tidied the plates.
“Do you think maybe it was a tourist who drowned?” Lorel asked. She put her phone on the table.
“That’s a good point. They don’t know the waters here and all the riptides,” Verity said.
Bertha nodded. Her black eyes and square jaw made me think of her recently deceased bulldog, the Boss. “Especially the one off East Point, past Cat Island.”
I shook my head. “But she wasn’t wearing a bathing suit or a wetsuit. She had on a sweatshirt and jeans. With flowers embroidered on the legs.” The river behind us slid unhurried and peaceful into the Sound. “She must have fallen off a boat.”
Verity hugged me. “I wish I didn’t have to leave but I have to get back to the shop. I’ll talk to you later.” Verity hurried back to the Tank and peeled out of the parking lot.
“Best get going.” Bertha stood and dropped one of her heavy hands onto my shoulder. Her black eyes glistened. “At least we got her out of the water, Allie.” Bertha’s words slurred. “Now she can be reunited with her family.” For all her tough talk and no-nonsense ways, Bertha was surprisingly weepy. Though probably it was the alcohol.
“That’s a good thought, Bertha.” I gave her a hug. Bertha stiffened, then relaxed and patted my back. She turned to Aunt Gully. “Stand-up girl, Gully. She took charge when I took a bad turn on the boat.”
The creases in Aunt Gully’s forehead relaxed. “She’s a keeper.”
Our chef Hector hurried out the kitchen’s screen door and wrapped his muscular, tattooed arms around me. “Just got a free minute. What rotten luck, Allie! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I love Hector, but all this concern was starting to get on my nerves.
Bertha said, “I’d best head home.”
“Would you like Lorel to give you a ride, Bertha?” Aunt Gully said.
Lorel’s head jerked up from her phone.
“No, thank you kindly, Gully. My nephew’s coming to get me. I want to get in my rocking chair with Bruce, Rosalita, and Big Man and then get a good night’s sleep.” Bruce, Rosalita, and Big Man were Bertha’s cats. “And I have to unload the lobsters I caught today. The Coasties left the buckets on the dock.”
“I can help with that.” Hector whistled. Bit Markey stuck his head out of the kitchen door. “Hey, Bit, give us a hand.”
“Okay.” Bit waved and joined Hector as they walked down to the pier.
“I’ll walk with you.” Aunt Gully and Bertha followed.
Hilda emerged from the kitchen door of the shack, carrying another mug of tea.
“If I stick around here, I’ll get tea poisoning,” I muttered. I was itching to move. I checked my phone. Three o’clock. I had a costume fitting before rehearsal. No time for a swim.
I crossed my arms on the picnic table and laid my head on them. The girl’s profile, speckled with sand and water droplets, surfaced in my mind. “Ugh.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’ve got to go.”
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Allie.” Hilda set down the tea. “You must be exhausted. Going lobstering so early this morning, then finding a body, then talking to the police this afternoon. Maybe you should go home to bed.”
“Thanks, Hilda. But if I close my eyes—” I shuddered. I didn’t want to see that girl again. All I could do was hope that word of my discovery hadn’t made it to the Jake yet.
Maybe the news would take longer to reach the theater complex, set among farms north of town, where most of the cast were out-of-towners keeping in touch with friends in Boston and New York. Maybe I’d get through my fitting and rehearsal without anyone mentioning this girl or looking at me with big sympathetic eyes, like Hilda. I just wanted, no I needed, to dance.
After a quick good-bye, I took Aunt Gully’s van to the Jake.
I pulled behind the Box Barn, our smaller theater building where Ondine would play. The big red barn hosted the Broadway by the Bay performances of crowd-pleasing musicals.
Ondine was different. Really different. The show had been created for a German opera singer none of us had ever heard of. Our artistic director, Mac Macallen, actually called it a happening. It was scheduled for three days only. Sales were surprisingly good for something so far out of the box.
I shouldered my dance bag and hurried into the Box Barn.
Throughout my fitting, warm-up, and rehearsal my body moved without conscious thought. My mind was numb. As we stepped onstage, I relaxed. Well, as much as I could. Most of my “dancing” took place in an aerial harness. It was a blast—after I’d gotten over the fear of dangling a dozen feet above the stage and flying even higher on entrances and exits. Tonight I was glad that my role required me to be alone on a giant fake rock. I just didn’t want to talk about what Bertha and I had found.
Instead of hanging out with friends after rehearsal, I threw on a sweatshirt and hurried to the van. As soon as I stepped out of the theater into the dark parking lot, the warmth and camaraderie of rehearsal evaporated. The van started with a shudder and a plume of smoke. I headed home.
The night flowed by my open window as my mind replayed scenes from early morning: Bertha at the wheel, the boat listing to starboard, the water streaming off the girl’s body, the gulls shrieking overhead.
For a moment on the dark road along the shore, the sea was flowing in the window instead of air. The wind through the window that stirred my hair was the hand of the girl on the lobster pot. I shivered and threw a look at the rearview mirror, but the backseat was empty. I rolled up the window.
Suddenly I was in the driveway at Gull’s Nest, unsure how I got there. I put the van in park, staring at the reflection of my headlights on the garage door’s windows.
Aunt Gully banged through the screen door, trailed by Lorel. “Allie! Are you coming in?”
My legs and arms felt like lead. “I’m so tired, Aunt Gully.”
Aunt Gully opened the door of the van. Lorel reached over me and turned off the ignition.
“And I bet you haven’t eaten anything,” Aunt Gully muttered. “Bowl of soup and then up to bed, young lady.”
I didn’t argue. But after only a spoonful of soup I let Aunt Gully and Lorel lead me to my bedroom. I curled onto my bed, praying that the awful images of the girl on the lobster pot that flickered through my mind would stop.
Chapter 6
Thursday, July 2
The next morning I crawled from bed exhausted. I pushed myself through my usual workout, stretching on the floor, and through a modified ballet barre, not seeing the purple and pink braided rug Aunt Gully had made for my tenth birthday, the poster of Mikhail Baryshnikov over my bed, or the row of Trixie Belden books on my old bookshelf. Just foaming gray seawater the moment the girl’s body broke the surface.
The aroma of coffee brewing drew me from my reverie. I headed downstairs.
“Are you sure you want to go to work?” Aunt Gully set a plate of blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs in front of me.
Suddenly, I was ravenous. I nodded and dug in.
“Remember Hilda, Hector, and I are going to Harmony Harbor to train Stellene Lupo’s staff today.” Aunt Gully bustled around the kitchen tidying the pink Formica countertops. “Lorel’s over at the shack doing prep work and has plenty of help, so you take your time.”
“Full report when you return, okay?” I said through a mouthful of eggs.
Aunt Gully hung her apron on a peg. Instead of her usual Bermuda shorts and polo shirt work combo, she was wearing a light pink shirtdress with a lobster-print scarf and pearl studs, not her usual dangling earrings.
“Are you sure you’re okay, honey?” she said.
“I’m over the shock.” The familiar warmth of Aunt Gully’s kitchen and her presence calmed me. “I just feel so sorry for that girl. I hope her family finds her soon.”
“They will.” A car horn honked. “Oh, that’s Hector and Hilda.” Aunt Gully poufed her g
ray bob and slid on cherry-red sunglasses. “I wish I didn’t have to run.”
I didn’t want to spoil Aunt Gully’s excitement about visiting Harmony Harbor. I pasted on a smile and pushed her toward the door. “Scoot! Nobody keeps Stellene Lupo waiting!”
“Oh, don’t forget, your dad’s renting out the Mermaid Motel for the Fourth of July weekend. A nice military family’s taking it,” she called as she hurried down the front walkway. “If you want anything you’d better run over now.”
Hector held the door for Aunt Gully as she squeezed into the back of Hilda’s green VW Bug.
Hector folded himself back into the car. Hilda waved.
“Have fun!” I called as they took off.
I returned to my half-finished pancakes, but my appetite had disappeared. I’d forgotten that Dad was renting our house, which we all called the Mermaid Motel.
Another change.
My mother, Miranda, died giving birth to me. My dad, Robert, whom everyone called Bibb, had never seriously dated after that. But a few months ago, he’d met a Brazilian widow named Esmeralda Lima who’d made a grand entrance to Mystic Bay on a ninety-foot yacht. Lorel and I called her the Firecracker.
At Esmeralda’s suggestion, Dad was renting out our family home while they went on a dream trip to the Galápagos Islands. Renting generated extra cash. The Firecracker was good with money.
I’d moved most of my stuff to Aunt Gully’s since I was working at the shack. Living with Aunt Gully meant never having to cook a meal. Lorel had her condo in Boston. I’d shared a house in Boston with other dancers before my injury. We’d both flown the nest.
With Aunt Gully gone to train Stellene’s staff, my calm evaporated as I tidied the kitchen. Maybe feeling the beach sand under my toes would calm my jangled nerves.
I slipped into a swimsuit and walked down the road to what we called the Kiddie Beach—a broad half-moon of sand with shallow water perfect for children. A mom was setting up a camp of beach chairs, blankets, and umbrellas as her two little boys gathered pebbles by the water’s edge.
I took off my high-tech cast. It was waterproof, but felt smushy if I did get it wet. I stepped carefully into the water and dived in. I didn’t push it with any serious swimming. I let my body and my mind float for a few minutes, until a strand of seaweed laced around my ankle. Images of the dead girl flashed through my mind. I shook off the seaweed and hurried out of the water.
Against the Claw Page 3
