The Mermaid's Secret (28 page)

Sheila is super chatty with me. She tells me just how darn happy she is to hear my voice and wants to know all about what I'm doing these days, and whether I'm planning on going back to school in the fall, which means Sheriff obviously has been talking to her about me, as well as lying to himself about my prospects for the future.

“Where is he on patrol?” I ask her.

“Honey, you know I can't say. You want me to call him on the radio?”

“No,” I say. “I'll just drive around looking for him. It'll only take a few hours. I'll find him.” For effect, I add, “Eventually.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Sheila sighs, the pity almost audible. “All right, I'll tell you where he is.”

Sheila, heart of gold, arms of rubber.

“He's running a speed trap out on Ocean Road. He's parked at the bend by Sweet Water Tavern. You can find him there.”

“Thanks, Sheila.”

“You take care, honey.”

*   *   *

I open the passenger door of the cruiser and hop in.

“Is everything all right?” Sheriff asks, looking nervous.

“I need to talk to you about Mom.”

He sighs deeply and puts his hands on the steering wheel. “Jess, I know you want to believe that she's coming back, but we've got to face the facts. She's cut off all communication. She doesn't want to be found.”

“I know where she is,” I blurt out.

He turns to face me. “What? Did she contact you? Is she all right?”

“She's good.”

“Where is she?”

My stomach turns in knots. This is going to be even harder than I thought. “It's complicated. I'll tell you where she is. But first, I need to tell you how I know.”

“So, tell me.”

Suddenly, the radio crackles and Sheila's voice is on. “Unit ninety-nine.”

Sheriff pauses. He wants answers. But he's a cop first. “Go ahead,” he says into the radio receiver.

“Report of a B and E, fourteen Magnolia Court at Smith's Point. Witness says property stolen. No suspicious cars reported in area.”

“Copy that,” he says into the radio. Then to me, “Where's Barbara?”

“It's a long story.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Fine. We'll talk later. Right now you've got to get out of the car. I need to respond to this call.”

“But I need to talk to you.” I have four days left. I can't waste any more time.

He glares at me as he presses the radio button, “Proceeding to Magnolia.” He releases the button. “Get out of the car, Jess. I'll swing by later.”

“No,” I say. “I'll wait in the car. Then we need to talk.”

The veins on his temple throb. “Well, then, buckle up.”

I buckle my seat belt and Sheriff does about ten things all at the same time. He puts the lights on, hits the siren, hangs up the radio, punches something into a computer, pulls a U-turn, and heads down Ocean Road toward Smith's Point.

Lights flashing, we race down the middle of the road.

*   *   *

Fourteen Magnolia is a grand stone house on Smith's Point, a few doors down from the Sinclair mansion. It fits in with its elite neighbors, shielded from the outside world by iron gates and old money. Sheriff keeps the blue lights on and checks his belt—firearm, cuffs, pepper spray.

He opens the cruiser door. “Come with me,” he says. “I want you to see this.”

I follow Sheriff to the house. He bangs the brass lion door knocker, but no one answers. He knocks again.

When the door opens, an old woman is standing in a satin dressing robe. She wears heavy makeup that gathers in the wrinkles of her face.

“Officer Creary,” she says in a frail brittle voice. “I was hoping it'd be you. Come in.”

“Mrs. Peterson, this is my daughter, Jess. She's helping me out today.”

“Hi,” I say, a little uncertain.

“How lovely,” Mrs. Peterson says, her cloudy eyes fixed on me.

We walk through the marble foyer into the cluttered living room. It smells of mildew and cats. The velvet couche sags and water stains spread across the ceiling.

Sheriff walks around, inspecting. “No shattered glass anywhere, Mrs. Peterson. That's a good sign. What makes you think you had a breaking and entering this time?”

She pulls her robe tight across her neck. It's got a hole in the sleeve and the hem is frayed. “It's the sterling, Officer Creary.” She leads us into the kitchen. Her hands shake as she shows us the evidence—an empty silverware case opened on the old wood table. Forks, spoons, and knives laid out in pairs across the worn surface. “Two dessert spoons are gone,” she says.

“Two dessert spoons?” Sheriff repeats.

“The entire set is ruined now.”

I pick up a fork, turn it over. Tiffany stamp on the back.

“When did you get to the island, Mrs. Peterson?”

“Last week.”

“Anyone here to help you?”

Her mouth quivers. “Oh no. Everyone is positively overburdened. Mary is in the city and her children are in camps. Dennis and William are busy at the firm. I'm out alone this summer, I'm afraid.”

“Have you noticed anything else missing?”

She thinks, her mind drifting. “One of the fitted sheets to the east guest room. The flat sheet is here, but the fitted sheet is gone. At least they didn't get the flat sheet. Do you think the thieves are still here? In the house?”

Sheriff puts a hand on her shoulder. He helps her to the living room.

“Have a seat. I'll check it out. Jess will keep you company.”

I glare at him, shoot him a look that says,
We've got more important things to do
. I need to tell him about his wife who's missing for real, unlike the silver spoons and fitted sheet, which the old woman has obviously misplaced.

He returns my look. “We need to take care of Mrs. Peterson right now.”

Sheriff disappears up the stairs and I sit nervously across from the old woman, fidgeting.

“Your father is a good man,” she says.

I smile and look at the pictures of yachts on the wall. Another rich yachting family. Another thing I won't miss about Ne'Hwas when I'm gone.

Mrs. Peterson smiles. “He saved my son, you know.”

“Who did?”

“Your father. Back when he was lifeguard all those years ago. I remember it well, indeed. I always felt comfortable letting the little ones swim with him in the chair. My William got caught in the rip current one summer. I was terribly frightened. Your father saved him. He would have drowned otherwise.”

I think about the time I was five and Kay was eight and I got pulled out in the rip. “He saved me from a rip, too,” I say, although I was never close to drowning. I remember how it felt, like the sea had cradled me. Like I was a dolphin crossing the ocean, and how I felt safe the entire time.

She crosses her frail legs. “I would have lost William that day. He's a real hero.”

“I guess so.”

She smiles and stares at me some more. “Are you training to be a police officer, too, then?”

I laugh. It sounds snarky and I wish I could take it back. “No. I'm not cop material.”

“Oh. I assumed you were in training.”

“I'm just along for the ride today.”

“That's too bad. I bet your father would enjoy working with you. I miss having my children around me.”

I look away, not sure what to say. I notice the photos of kids and grandkids cluttering the shelves and tables, lining the grand piano. All those privileged people with lives somewhere else, while Mrs. Peterson is here, alone, in this decaying mansion that's crumbling around her. I feel her loneliness like a shot in the arm.

Am I doing the same thing to Sheriff? Will he be just as helpless when I leave? What makes me think I'm any better than her absentee kids?

After a while, Sheriff returns. “Everything looks shipshape, Mrs. Peterson. I'm sure those missing items will turn up.”

She takes his hand. “Thank you, Officer Creary. Can't you stay a little longer?”

“I guess we could have some tea,” Sheriff says.

Mrs. Peterson leaps out of her chair with surprising agility, to get a kettle boiling.

*   *   *

Once we're back in the cruiser, after a cup of tea and some long, boring stories about all of Mrs. Peterson's grandchildren, I turn to Sheriff. “Why did you bother checking out the house? Obviously she made up the burglary.”

Sheriff puts the cruiser in gear and pulls out of the circular drive. “She's lonely.”

“No kidding.”

“Husband left her years ago for a younger woman. Her kids are too busy to help her out. In the end, she's all alone.”

“But it's not your job to babysit. She's got a family, and plenty of money.”

“It's my job to make her feel safe, Jess. Loneliness can be the most terrifying thing of all for some people.”

I twist my hair. How lonely will Sheriff be when I leave?

“So, tell me. What did you find out about Barbara?” Sheriff says.

I take a deep breath. “Did Mom ever tell you about the legend of Ne'Hwas?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “I know the legend. Two sisters. They become mermaids. You said yourself I'm more interested in your Native American roots than you are.”

“But did Mom ever talk to you about it?”

He pauses, thinking. “Once. When we first met. She said there were lots of legends from the Passamaquoddy.” He half smiles, his memory racing.

“What did she say about Ne'Hwas?” I ask, twisting my hair into a knot.

“She said it was a legend. Said she didn't hold with that sort of thing.”

I look into his eyes. “Well, I think it's fair to say that she holds with that sort of thing now.”

 

T
WENTY-FIVE

“I've been here before,” Sheriff says.

We're standing at the heavy wooden door, the
TRUTH WITHIN
sign dangling precariously on its nail.

“I bought your birthday present here. Remember it? The comb made out of sperm whalebone. The Passamaquoddy symbol for strength. It's from this shop. The owner picked it out for me. Told me you'd like it. Insisted on selling it to me.”

It's the most Sheriff has said since I started telling him the unbelievable story of my summer. I talked, and he listened. He didn't tell me I was crazy. He didn't think I was making up some fantasy, the way Matthew does. He asked a few questions. He wanted to know about Barbara. How she was acting, when was she planning on returning? Mostly, though, he listened.

Of all people, I never expected Sheriff to be the easy one to convince. Even Sammy doubted it, and she believed in the tooth fairy until she was nine.

But Sheriff believed me. He accepted the legend of Ne'Hwas as truth. Maybe it's because he's always celebrated that part of me and Kay that belonged to my mother. Our native heritage. And maybe because that part of me belonged to my mother, he cherished it even more.

“The comb is at the bottom of the ocean right now. I used it to fight off a shark the first time I transformed. I probably would have died without it.”

Sheriff exhales deeply, shakes his head. “I don't think I want to hear the details of that one.”

“Fair enough.”

“And you think the woman in this shop knows why this is happening to you? She can help you stop it?” Sheriff asks, jerking his chin toward the
TRUTH WITHIN
sign.

My stomach drops. In all the confusion, I realize I still haven't actually told Sheriff that I'm leaving for good. That I'm choosing fins over legs; the sea over him.

“I don't know. She's the one who told me about Ne'Hwas. And I get the feeling that she knows a lot more.”

Sheriff straightens his stance. “Maybe she'll be able to sort this out for us.”

“Maybe,” I say, feeling less certain.

“We'll see what we see,” Sheriff says.

I nod.

“Do you think she can help us get Barbara back?” he asks.

His optimism spears me with guilt. I pull a creeper off the vine and tear it into shreds. “I don't think Mom
wants
to come back, Sheriff.”

*   *   *

The old woman is sitting in the bent-hickory chair by the window, hunched over a pair of knitting needles, when Sheriff and I walk in. She looks up from her work and peers at us with those hazel-rimmed eyes.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks calmly.

“This is my father, Jim Creary.”

The metal needles clink softly as she knits. “I know who you are.”

“We've met,” Sheriff says. “I bought the comb from you a couple weeks ago. It was a present for Jess.”

The woman is silent, and Sheriff and I exchange a glance. He continues. “I appreciate the recommendation. Apparently, that comb came in very handy. Isn't that right, Jess?”

“Yeah.”

“You're Barbara's husband,” the woman says abruptly.

“I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.” Sheriff advances toward her with an outstretched hand.

She laughs, and keeps knitting.

Sheriff puts his hand down, unperturbed. “Jess says you're a seer of sorts.”

“Sit down. Tell me what it is you seek.”

I take a seat on the low stool next to the old woman. Sheriff remains standing, stiff in his uniform, hands resting on the belt of tools and weapons.

“Last time I was here, I told you I was a mermaid, and you told me the legend of Ne'Hwas. Do you remember?” I start.

Click, click, click
go her needles. I look at the tattered maps on the walls. The Maine and New Brunswick coasts. Cape Cod. Islands I cannot place. In a dark corner of the wall is a map of Ne'Hwas that I hadn't noticed last time I was here. There's an X has been marked in black pen, at Tutatquin Point. Is it new? Added since my last visit?

I turn back to the seer. “My mother is out there. She found me. She's a mermaid, too. I think she's been watching me the whole time. Did you already know that?”