Murder Hooks a Mermaid (27 page)

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.

I crossed the deserted room, detouring around thickets of tiny cocktail tables and scattered chairs.

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.

I reached as far as I could, feeling only cable. I rested at the surface for a moment, my face turned up to the few inches of airspace. I drew a couple deep breaths, then one final breath, held it, and dived down along the wall.

I felt my way along, keeping one hand on the cable as I went deeper.

From the outside, I had guessed the tank at eight or ten feet deep. But as I moved down the wall I knew that was wrong. From the outside, the top several feet of the tank weren’t visible, hidden behind panels to create the illusion of a solid wall of water.

I let out a tiny stream of air bubbles and dived deeper, searching for the end of the cable. I finally found it near the sandy bottom.

A sensor probe had been fitted to the end of the cable. I grabbed the probe and tried to twist it. It didn’t move. I felt carefully around the edges, straining to feel how the probe attached to the cable.

My lungs clenched, and I clamped my lips together to combat the impulse to breathe. I’d only gained a few seconds, but I hoped it was enough.

I pulled at the connection with all my strength. It moved slightly, but I couldn’t stay down any longer.

I shot up the tank, one hand stretched above me to keep me from hitting my head on the top of the tank. My fingers
touched the cover, and I braced my arm, bringing my body to a sudden stop. My face broke the surface of the water, and I knew I had avoided a collision by only an inch or two.

I thought about what I’d felt at the end of the cable: heavy rubber insulation with a metal band crimped around the end. Pulling had yielded a tiny movement, but it had moved.

I just had to find a way to do more.

Repeating my breathing, I dived back down. This time I could move down swiftly, knowing where I was going.

I touched bottom and reached out for the cable, locating it almost immediately. I took my key ring from my pocket. With the cut side of one key, I sawed at the insulation. After a few strokes, I felt one of the cuts snag on the rubber, tearing away a chunk of insulation and exposing bare wire.

Weakened by the loss of insulation, the wires succumbed to a rapid series of bends and tugs. The probe came away in my hand, and I shot for the surface, my lungs burning with the need for oxygen.

One. I had disabled one sensor. I had no idea how many more I needed to disable, or how long I could continue exerting myself before exhaustion forced me to quit.

I just knew I had to keep going.

I rested at the surface, breathing slowly, feeling my heart return to a more normal rhythm.

Then I went looking for another sensor.

There was at least one sensor on each concrete pillar.

When I found the next one, I headed for the bottom, but there was no probe anywhere I could find. I came back to the top and started down again, feeling my way along the cable. The sensor was down about ten feet, still several feet above the bottom of the tank.

Two dives later I had disabled the second sensor.

When I returned to the surface this time, the air felt thicker, as though it didn’t contain as much oxygen. I told myself it was my imagination, fear and cold playing tricks on my mind.

I moved along the wall, past another expanse of glass. I dropped beneath the surface, straining to see into the restaurant, hoping someone would appear and I could get their attention.