Against the Claw

by Shari Randall

  A few minutes later Patrick’s powerful engine roared down the street. I went to the window. “Where’s Lorel?” I muttered.

  The back door opened and closed quietly. I dove back onto the couch.

  Aunt Gully put her feet up on the coffee table and crocheted placidly. Her face was bright pink. “Lorel?” she called. “Gonna eat something, honey?”

  Lorel walked slowly into the living room, her head bowed.

  “Not hungry.” Lorel put her purse on the side table. “You two will be happy to know that I’ve broken up with Patrick.”

  “What!” Even I didn’t think I sounded convincing.

  Aunt Gully put down her crocheting and started to get up. “Let me—”

  Lorel held up a hand. “I don’t want any tea or book club brandy. I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll let you know when I want to talk about it. If ever. He’s just not the man I thought he was.”

  He was exactly the man I thought he was. Aunt Gully and I shared a guilty look.

  “See you in the morning. Big day tomorrow,” Lorel muttered. I listened to her bare feet pad down the hallway to her bedroom.

  For a few minutes I wrestled with my emotions, then got up to follow her. Aunt Gully put a warning hand on my arm. “Let her be, Allie, let her be.”

  Chapter 13

  Saturday, July 4

  There’d been talk about making Aunt Gully and me grand marshals of the Fourth of July parade, in recognition of our roles in solving the crime that had roiled the town just a month earlier. But since the high school girls basketball team had won the state championship, the honor went instead to the Mystic Bay High School Lady Mariners.

  Thank goodness. Their banner read: STATE CHAMPIONS. I could only imagine what the banner on the Lazy Mermaid float would’ve said: “Serving Up Murder”? “Lethal Lobsters”? “Claw and Order”?

  Lorel had been surprisingly calm this morning, composed but distant. I hoped this would be the last we’d hear of Patrick Yardley. I texted Verity to share this news, plus break it to her that Stellene Lupo had sent only three passes for her Fourth of July event—for Aunt Gully, Lorel, and me.

  I’ll Drown My Sorrows in Uncle Emerson’s BBQ, Verity texted back.

  We cheered as floats and bands passed by the Mermaid. Per tradition, kids with bicycles decorated with red, white, and blue streamers were the penultimate group, then the Pup Parade brought up the rear. Bit and several friends pulled a wagon of mutts sporting powdered wigs and a sign that read: THE DOGCLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. We laughed as pooches dressed in star-spangled hats, bows, sweaters, and tutus trotted by, then we hurried back to open the Mermaid’s doors.

  The day passed in a blur of lobster rolls, red, white, and blue T-shirts, and selfies with lobster-loving tourists. At five o’clock, Lorel and I helped Aunt Gully make last-minute additions to the equipment we were bringing to Harmony Harbor for Stellene Lupo’s Fourth of July bash.

  “You’ll get to see the Extra Fireworks from Harmony Harbor,” Hilda said.

  Like most locals, I’d been spoiled by the Extra Fireworks. Mystic Bay had a fireworks display every Fourth of July. Stellene had one on the Saturday night of the weekend closest to the Fourth. Mystic Bay kids knew that if the Fourth fell on a Saturday, all you had to do was find a vantage point—a boat on the bay worked best—and you’d have fireworks to the east and west—two spectacular displays of dueling fireworks. Just like this year.

  A parade line of Aunt Gully’s friends in matching red, white, and blue T-shirts bedazzled with GULLY’S GALS streamed in. When had Aunt Gully had time to make them? “Here we come, Gully! The cavalry’s here!” Half of Mystic Bay was taking a shift at the Mermaid.

  One friend had a megaphone programmed with various excruciatingly loud soundtracks. He aimed it at the ceiling and sounded the bugle call played at the racetrack, the “Call to Post.”

  “And we’re off!” Aunt Gully laughed and waved.

  Aunt Gully, Lorel, and I got into the van. I turned the ignition. Gray smoke plumed from the rear and the van shook. Aunt Gully and I exchanged glances. After a few seconds, the gray smoke subsided and the shaking stopped. We breathed a sigh of relief.

  Harmony Harbor! Excitement surged through me. Sure, I was going there as waitstaff and not a guest, but I’d be inside the doors of one of the most exclusive parties in New England.

  “Do I have everything?” Aunt Gully rummaged through her tote bag. She turned to Lorel in the backseat. “I have my basket, right, Lorel? With your fresh Lazy Mermaid T-shirts?”

  “All taken care of, Aunt Gully.” Lorel scrolled on her phone.

  I eased the van through the parking lot. Aunt Gully’s friend with the megaphone ran alongside the van. The first bars of “The Stars and Stripes Forever” blared and reverberated in my chest. Customers in line laughed and pointed. Some kids covered their ears.

  “Harmony Harbor, here we come!” Aunt Gully said.

  Chapter 14

  It had never rained on Stellene Lupo’s fireworks display. Mother Nature herself wouldn’t dare disappoint the woman known as the Star Maker, whose modeling empire put gorgeous faces on magazine covers and reality TV shows around the world.

  Harmony Harbor was a short drive from Mystic Bay, but another world, tucked within the Mystic Bay Nature Preserve well away from envious eyes. It wasn’t the biggest or the most secluded home in Mystic Bay—that was the mansion on Orion Cove—but Harmony Harbor was easily the most expensive. Stellene’s husband, media mogul Kurt Lupo, had styled it on Rosecliff in Newport. He’d not only founded the Harmony Harbor Yacht Club, but also poured millions into charities, including the local libraries, Broadway by the Bay, and Mystic Bay Hospital.

  In the rearview mirror I saw Lorel smile. I caught Aunt Gully’s eye.

  “Well?” Aunt Gully turned to Lorel.

  Lorel shrugged. “I feel pretty good. Breaking up with Patrick was the right thing to do. I’m starting a new chapter.”

  “Do you want to tell us—”

  “No.” Lorel turned her head. “And no I-told-you-sos, okay?”

  I told you so. Aunt Gully and I shared a guilty look.

  We drove past vibrant green parkland hemmed in by the gray stone walls of the nature reserve. The scenery was calming. I felt myself relax.

  Soon the stone walls grew taller, the trees thicker. The road narrowed and twisted. We passed a line of luxury cars stopped by broad-shouldered men at a towering black iron gate, the kind you’d find at a palace. This was the main entrance to Harmony Harbor.

  We craned our necks as I drove slowly past. The gate guards scrutinized the drivers’ invitations before letting them enter.

  Lorel scanned the papers Zoe Parker had sent. “We have to go on another half mile and turn for the tradesman’s entrance.” The road curved and forked. “Go left here.”

  I pulled up to a guard shack by another black iron gate, this one half the size of the other.

  “Papers.” A beefy, clean-shaven man in sunglasses, dark jacket, and white shirt took Lorel’s papers. His handheld scanner beeped. Two black boxes mounted on the gateposts caught my eye. Security cameras.

  “Papers,” I whispered. “You’d think we were crossing the border to Austria.”

  “Crossing into the land of the one percent.” Lorel’s lovely face glowed. “The security’s unreal.” Security was a turn-on for Lorel.

  “Follow the drive to the left. Park under the porte cochere,” the guard said. The cast-iron gate swung open. We rolled past emerald-green lawns smooth as a golf course to a gleaming white marble mansion. “It’s like a fairy tale.” Aunt Gully sighed. I pulled under the porte cochere covered with red climbing roses.

  Two women, one tall and angular, the other short and plump, in black dresses and immaculate white aprons, stood on the stone steps. Their hair was parted exactly in the middle and slicked back into a low bun. Each had a small red, white, and blue rosette pinned to her bodice.

  “All these special conditions. I�
��m surprised they didn’t ask for a blood sample,” I muttered. “That reminds me, Lorel, you never did say why Stellene wanted me and you to serve—”

  “Oh, that.” Lorel cleared her throat. Aunt Gully and I turned to face Lorel. “Stellene thought it would be, ah”—Lorel reddened—“fun for us to dress up in special costumes.”

  “Special costumes?” My voice rose. “What special costumes?”

  “Don’t make a scene, Allie.” Lorel avoided my eyes as we got out of the van. “It’ll be fine.” She greeted the two women as I hefted Aunt Gully’s plastic laundry basket.

  “I don’t mind not wearing this T-shirt,” I said. “I’m used to the dumb clamshell jokes.” Our Aunt Gully-designed T-shirts had two strategically placed clamshells on the front and NO FUSS FINE FOOD across the back.

  “Stellene’s known for her wonderful taste.” Aunt Gully’s eyes widened as she took in the marble statues and ornate lamps under the portico. I shook myself. We were all drinking the rich lady’s Kool-Aid. What on earth kind of special costumes would we have to wear? Was that even legal? Maybe she wanted us in the maid’s uniforms. That was better than a clamshell bikini T-shirt.

  The taller woman spoke. “Welcome to Harmony Harbor. I’m Yasmin. This is Tara.” Tara, plump and smiling, bounced on her toes. “Please come with me to the kitchen, Mrs. Fontana. The footmen will unload your van. Young ladies, please follow Tara.”

  “Footmen. She said footmen!” Lorel’s eyes sparkled. My sister and I don’t have much in common, but we’re fans of any British crunchy-gravel television show set in a stately home.

  “This is truly a stately home,” I whispered.

  Two guys in understated navy blue suits hurried toward us. Stellene’s footmen were handsome, their trousers skinny, their hair perfect. Probably off-duty models from her stable.

  “Let me take that, miss.” One of them took the laundry basket from my arms.

  I leaned toward Lorel. “When she said footmen I expected powdered wigs and knee breeches.” I was almost ready to forgive Lorel. “I wonder what she wants us to wear. We look all-American in our T-shirts and shorts. That’s as all-American as it gets.”

  “Stellene’s party has a vintage carnival theme.” Lorel smoothed her hair but looked away.

  Lorel’s evasiveness was getting under my skin. “Did you tell me that before?”

  “Didn’t I?” Lorel was busy taking in the sweeping view across the emerald lawn to the water, the expensive vehicles parked by the eight-bay garage, the marble statues of stalking wolves, jaws agape, flanking the entrance. Lorel was used to wealthy tech people but this was a whole different level of wealth. She was dazzled.

  Heck, I was dazzled.

  We followed Tara through broad carved wooden doors. At the end of the hall, palm trees and white-painted metal furniture glowed under a tall glass ceiling. A pyramid of white boxes tied with red, white, and blue ribbons towered on a table.

  I nudged Lorel. “A conservatory! Mrs. White with the candlestick in the conservatory.”

  All this wealth would be balm to my sister’s soul. Couldn’t have anything better happen to get over Patrick Yardley than spend time with the one percent.

  Lorel and I followed Tara down a narrow corridor to the right. Tara’s black rubber-soled shoes whispered along the marble floor. She pushed through another carved wooden door into a narrow whitewashed corridor.

  Tara opened a plain oak door and waved us in. “Costumes and crowns are on the bed.”

  Crowns? Costumes?

  Tara closed the door quietly behind us. A single bed with a white chenille coverlet, a simple oak bureau with a mirror, and a straight-back chair were the only furnishings.

  “No expense spared in the staff quarters.” Lorel opened the box on the bed.

  “Did she say crowns?” I turned the box so I could read the label. SIDESHOW MERMAID. “Lorel! Sideshow mermaid?”

  I lifted the lid and my jaw dropped.

  I looked at Lorel.

  She looked at me.

  We burst into giggles.

  Stellene’s fashion-designer friends had confected fantasy mermaid costumes for Lorel and me. The headpieces weren’t bad. Who was I kidding? “This is absoutely gorgeous!”

  I lifted a wreath of sea-green wire netting sprinkled with miniature jewels, shells, and pearls, then a matching glittery bra top. Mine was turquoise, Lorel’s pink.

  Next I unfolded a length of shimmering green fabric. At least Stellene wasn’t putting us into real mermaid bottoms. Iridescent fabric fish scales wrapped like a sarong. I put it on. Tight but manageable.

  “Nothing says Fourth of July like a clamshell bikini top and a mermaid crown,” I said.

  Lorel hooked her top and sighed. “We’re sideshow mermaids.”

  “I kind of like it.” I turned side to side in front of the mirror. “Except for the bra. You fill your shells better than I do.”

  Lorel rummaged in the top drawer of the bureau and pulled out a pair of scissors.

  “Come here.” Lorel snipped my straps and knotted them into a halter. “Better.”

  Lorel’s gold scallop-shell earrings caught the overhead light.

  “You knew about this costume business, didn’t you, Lorel?”

  “Hmmm.” Lorel looked away, placing the scissors on the bureau.

  I folded my arms. “Spill.”

  Lorel shrugged. “When someone like Stellene Lupo wants something, you give it to her. Besides, I’ve seen you wear a lot less than this onstage in front of hundreds of people.”

  Well, that was true. And I did like the costume. I wound my hair into a loose braid.

  “It’s great contacts and publicity,” Lorel said. “I thought it was worth a few hours in a mermaid getup.”

  “Two hours of creepy rich guys leering at my clams and scales?” I asked.

  “Enough for a new van for Aunt Gully?” Lorel knew she had me.

  I caught sight of my reflection. The costume was, I had to admit, beautiful. Maybe it would be fun. “Pass me my crown.”

  Chapter 15

  Two humid hours carrying a heavy silver tray of lobster rolls made me glad I was wearing little more than a bathing suit. Sweat dampened my chest and back. I longed to dive into the water off Harmony Harbor’s beach or into the spectacular marble pool.

  Off the beach, Stellene’s fleet of vintage wooden Chris-Craft motor launches ferried guests from their yachts to the estate. On the vast green lawn, revelers whooped on carnival rides. There was even a miniature Ferris wheel. Guests ducked in and out of several white tents—a fortune-teller, arcade games, feats of strength. The strongman was an actor from Broadway by the Bay. He twirled his moustache at me.

  In the throng of Stellene’s New York friends were models from her agency, pop stars, sports figures, a TV doctor who couldn’t keep his hands off my fish-scale sarong, and pro athletes. At first the guests played it cool, but then everyone was taking selfies with everyone else.

  A jazz combo provided background music as I went from group to group among the carnival rides and tents, offering my tray and lingering when conversation interested me. Most of Stellene’s party guests were used to being waited on. They just kept talking when I materialized with my tray of lobster rolls.

  “You going to Stellene’s big fund-raiser for organ donation in September?” A tall woman by the shooting gallery signaled me for a roll.

  “Never miss it. It’s her husband’s foundation. Kurt’s life was saved by a kidney donation all those years ago.” A man with her scooped up two rolls. “Using a living donor made all the difference.”

  The woman continued. “Remember how he insisted that some teenaged boy take a kidney that had originally been meant for him? The boy would have died without it. Kid was a nobody, but Kurt believed that organs should go to the sickest first. He said he’d wait his turn. Almost died, but he stuck to his principles.”

  Screams of laughter rang from the Tilt-A-Whirl.

  “That’s why the
y called him Saint Kurt. You know how Stellene and Kurt met? Stellene was his nurse after a skiing accident in Tahoe. A man of his age shouldn’t have been skiing but he never took no for an answer.”

  “That’s one thing he had in common with Stellene.” The man’s eyes followed Lorel appreciatively as she hurried past then ducked behind the fortune-teller’s tent. A few moments later, a muscle-bound bald guy followed, head swiveling. He continued down the lawn. Was that guy stalking Lorel? I hurried after him, but was stopped by a crowd of hungry partygoers.

  The sky deepened with lush shades of purple and orange, setting off strings of fairy lights that lit paths between the white tents. The carnival rides glittered like jewels in the dark.

  Guests gathered by the torchlit pool deck and under the marble colonnade that ran the length of the mansion. Zoe Parker, glowing in a white sundress, sat at the center of a circle of admirers. She beamed as they raised champagne flutes to her. “Congratulations to our new director of marketing!” Zoe smoothed her hair and smiled.

  From running Stellene’s errands to director? She’d sure flown up the career ladder quickly.

  I caught sight of Lorel, but didn’t see her stalker, thank goodness. We circled the pool several times. I longed for a quick dip but reminded myself I was working. I consoled myself with the scenery. Many of Stellene’s exceptionally good-looking male and female modeling clients ringed the pool.

  One young man stood out, not just because of his wiry, tattooed frame and sun-streaked blond hair. He cannonballed off the side of the pool and dog-paddled over to me as I offered lobster rolls to two skinny women who waved me away. In one smooth motion, he climbed out of the pool.

  “I’ll take ’em all!” The young man swooped the tray out of my hands, showering us with droplets of cool water. The women shrieked but laughed.

  “Henry Small! You’re crazy!” one said.

  A gorgeous guy who took a shortcut to the food by swimming across the pool? Just my type.

  He handed my tray back and took a lobster roll in each hand. He winked. Drops of water slid from his broad shoulders to his sculpted pecs. I was too dazzled to speak.