Siren's Secret Read online

  Whack. A burst of pain had slashed hotly against a cheek.

  “Put that down,” Mom had screamed. The globe slipped from his grasp onto the cheap linoleum and rolled. The wooden base broke off.

  Could this really be the same one? Melkie picked it up and squinted at the pedestal.

  “I hot-glued it back on,” Tia said. “That hot glue gun was the best damn thing I ever bought. That, and duct tape, pretty much holds everything together around here.”

  He carefully placed it back on the coffee table. “You remember that day?”

  Tia shrugged. “Yer mama is not an easy woman to forget. Heard she died of the cancer a few years back.”

  Amen and thank heavens for that.

  Tia sat across from him, folded hands in her lap. “So what brings you back here?”

  Her eyes were smoldering coals, even beneath some weird kind of film at the corners. Probably cataracts, he guessed. Melkie shifted uncomfortably under the direct gaze. He hated anyone looking at him, especially close up. His fists tightened. Why, he ought to cut out those eyes.... He forced himself to focus and pointed at the globe. “They real? Mermaids, I mean.”

  “Oh, they’s real awright.” She clicked her tongue. “Saw one when I was a teeny girl. I was picking up sharks’ teeth on the beach when somethin’ made me look up. And there she was. A beautiful redheaded siren not far from shore. Nekked from the waist up. When she caught my eye she winked and flipped her tail fin up in the air afore she dived back in the sea.”

  Tia closed her eyes, a dreamy smile on her wrinkled face. “I ain’t never forgot her, neither.” She opened her eyes. “You seen one?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Where at?”

  “None of your business,” he snapped. Nosy old woman.

  “You’ve turned into a bitter, angry person,” she said after a moment of silence. “You’ve got a red aura with black streaks in it.” But there was no real bite in her voice, more a dispassionate observation. “Can’t says that’s a surprise. Given yer background and all.”

  Melkie scowled. “Never mind my background, witch.”

  “That’s no way to talk to an ol’ woman. ’Specially if you want information.”

  Melkie reached in his wallet and slapped a twenty on the table. “Talk.”

  “You a real smooth one,” Tia said, scooping up the money and stuffing it into her bra. “Whatcha wanna know?”

  “Everything you know about mermaids.”

  “That won’t take long.” She settled back in her rocker and took a dip of snuff. “Lots of folks ’round here claim they done seen mermaids. ’Course, not nearly so much over the last ten years. What with the increase in shrimping and the oil spills.”

  Melkie frowned. “Don’t see why shrimping matters none. There’s always been family shrimping boats trolling the bayou.”

  “Think about it. All those nets in the sea bother more’n just dolphins. Could be trouble to any sea creature afraid of being trapped.”

  “And you think the oil spills out here can harm them, too.”

  Tia spit into a plastic Coke bottle that served as a makeshift spittoon. “Been killin’ all kinds of wildlife out here including birds and crabs. No reason for nothing to hang around the Gulf no more.”

  So why would a mermaid hang around? he wondered.

  “Could be they’s done grown attached to this place.”

  Time to get to the real matter at hand. “Is it possible for them to come on land? You know, grow feet or something?”

  “I done heard a such. Usually ’cause they think they’s fallen in love with a human. Love’s a powerful thing.” She stopped rocking and leaned forward. “Have you fallen in love with a mermaid? That why you here?”

  Melkie snorted. “Love? You really are crazy.”

  Tia picked up the mermaid globe and pressed it into his hands. “A little something to remind you of yer mermaid.”

  He scowled but kept it. “Tell me more. Ever hear of a mermaid living on land?”

  “Used to be when I’s a little girl, some sailors claimed to have got them a mermaid, brought them home, and made them their wife. Usually didn’t end up so well for the husbands. Mermaids may leave the sea, but it always calls to them. Sooner or later, they’ll go back.”

  “But they’re half human, too, and must have human needs.” Melkie ran a finger over the cold mermaid globe. “Maybe they wouldn’t have to leave. Not if they lived close to the shore. They could split their time, have the best of both worlds.”

  “I suspect you’re right,” Tia agreed. “Back in the old days, locals believed mermaids lived amongst them, ’specially beautiful women new in town were looked on with suspicion. One of my papa’s friends, he was a fisherman, said he once saw a woman jump off a boat and turn into a mermaid. She swam away and never came back.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Why not? I done seen plenty a strange things in my lifetime.” She stopped rocking and tilted her head to one side. “I think lots of folks done forgot why the bayou’s called ‘La Siryna.’”

  “Thought it was some French word.”

  “I don’t know if it was Frenched up, but it’s named for the sirens.”

  Melkie wrinkled his brow. “But you said the bayou was named after mermaids.”

  “Same thing. Folks used to say the mermaids—sirens—could sing so’s a man would fall instantly in love with her.”

  Melkie pictured the mermaid at sea. He couldn’t deny what he’d seen with his own eyes. He’d better face up to it and find her before she got him in trouble.

  Tia lashed out weathered hands, scarred at the base of every finger, and caught his right one in hers, exposing his palms. He flinched at the contact and tried to pull away, but the old woman’s hands were surprisingly strong. Tia moved a callused finger over his palm lines before letting go. Those perceptive eyes blazed at him.

  “Yer filled with hatred and rage,” she warned. “Learn to control yourself or the anger inside will be yer death.”

  “And you’re full of crap.” Melkie seethed with resentment. He didn’t like being touched, especially when it was unexpected. He slammed the door on the way out.

  He would have to find a way to test the waters himself with the mermaid. Try to fish her out or scare her into admitting she was the one who saw him dump the body.

  Halfway home, inspiration struck.

  Chapter 4

  Purloined coins and copper vases

  Portraits of striking female faces

  Antique swords and silver spoons

  Artifacts filling every room.

  Shelly picked through the seafood platter of sautéed shrimp and clams, scraping the baked potato, corn and bread sticks off to one side.

  “I see you’re not much of a vegetable person,” Tillman said after a bite of his potato.

  “’Fraid not.” She forced herself to take a bite of corn. Truth was, her diet consisted almost entirely of seafood. Anything else pretty much tasted like sawdust. Besides, she was too nervous to eat much. Which was ridiculous, really. Yeah, her dates had been few and far between since she’d moved to Bayou La Siryna three years ago. But part of it was because she didn’t relish the thought of dating any of Lily’s leftovers. The beautiful siren mercilessly enthralled the opposite sex. Lily had pretty much used and discarded the best the bayou had to offer, and Shelly wasn’t interested in being a consolation prize for Lily’s lovesick exes.

  “Eddie’s enjoying your sessions together at the pool.”

  “He’s come a long way. At first, he wanted nothing to do with me. Splashed around and did his own thing with minimal interaction.” She smiled, enthusiastic about her work.

  “How’d you win him over?”

  “Patience. I have lots of experience with special-needs persons. They need time to know you’re safe and that there’s a predictable pattern in what you ask of them.”

  “He needs predictable routine, all right.” Tillman nodded. “Any little
change in his routine throws him out of whack.”

  She stared at him thoughtfully. “It must be tough dealing with Eddie on a daily basis.”

  He shrugged. “It can be. But Eddie’s also my best friend. We go fishing at least a couple times a week and he never laughs at my off-key singing or rolls his eyes at my bad jokes.”

  “And I bet he’s an excellent listener,” she added with a grin.

  “The best.”

  “Let’s hope others appreciate his good qualities, too, because I hope eventually Eddie can move to a group session. Socialization skills are important. Of course, I’d start him off slowly, just add one or two other people to his session and then gradually add more.”

  Tillman frowned. “It’s hard for him to be around groups of people. Too much noise and he gets overloaded. I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” He reached in his pocket as his cell phone went off. “Angier speaking.”

  Shelly ate a few more clams as Tillman carried on his conversation.

  He half rose from the table. “Excuse me, it’s work. Let me take this outside a few minutes.”

  She waved a hand. “No problem.” She watched him head across the restaurant, noting the way his jeans hugged a very nice-looking ass. She hoped his invitation tonight wasn’t just to thank her for her work with Eddie.

  A middle-aged woman decked in polyester approached. “Lily,” she said, “what are you doing here all alone?”

  “Lily’s my cousin—I’m Shelly.”

  The woman lifted a well-manicured hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. The resemblance is uncanny.”

  “Happens all the time.”

  “My apologies. I’m Lulu,” the woman said, extending a hand. “Be sure and tell Lily I said hello. Your cousin is an absolute genius with hair.”

  “She is,” Shelly agreed. “I’ll tell her I ran into you.”

  Tillman returned, worry lines creasing his brow. “Sorry about that. Occupational hazard. One of my deputies had a question about a due process hearing at the jail.”

  “Sounds like you never really get away from your job.”

  He shrugged. “Comes with the territory. Does that bother you?”

  “No. I know what it’s like to put your heart and energy into a job. I care about my clients.” She gave him a pointed stare. “And I won’t push them to do anything I don’t think they’re ready for.”

  Tillman held up a hand. “I believe you. No harm in trying out the group thing with Eddie.”

  “If I see it’s a problem, I promise I’ll back off.” Shelly took a long swallow of wine, curious if he had any news about the body she’d found. Maybe he could tell her something to ease her fears. She was not pumping for information. Well, perhaps a little...but what was the harm in that?

  “It can’t be easy for you, what with the latest body turning up a couple of days ago.”

  His jaw clinched almost imperceptibly. “This will be the last one.”

  “Really? That’s good news.”

  “No such thing as a perfect crime. We’re closing in on the sick bastard.”

  Shelly’s heart pounded. The sooner the better. She waited for him to continue but he concentrated on his shrimp platter.

  “Any good leads?” she prompted.

  “A couple.”

  “I hope you find him soon. It’s nerve-racking knowing he’s out there. If I leave work after dark, I’m looking over my shoulder in the parking lot.”

  He frowned. “Our office is working hard. We’re doing everything we can to end the fear in our community.”

  At his grim face Shelly touched his hand. “Nobody doubts that.”

  “Give me your phone.”

  “What?”

  “Just let me see it a minute.” He grinned. “I’m not going to read your texts.”

  “I didn’t think you were.” She retrieved it from her purse and handed it over. Tillman punched in some numbers before giving it back.

  “I put in the number to my office and my personal cell number. Call if you feel threatened or see anything that makes you nervous.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” Probably one of the nicest gestures she’d had from a man in ages. Uh-oh, she’d better guard her heart with this one.

  Tillman touched the ring on her right hand. “Nice emerald.”

  Shelly knew he was evading specifics on the case. Mata Hari she was not. She only hoped he was right about finding the killer. She glanced at the ring. “This belonged to my mother. She died while I was in college and I’ve worn it ever since.” Mom told her she’d recovered it from a shipwreck somewhere in the Baltic Ocean. Shelly liked to think it might once have belonged to a Russian princess. The gem quality was truly that rare and magnificent.

  “I’m sorry about your mother. How did she die?”

  A sharp pang cramped her stomach at the concern in his warm gray eyes and she had to fight past the lump in her throat to speak. “Car wreck. A drunk driver hit my parents as they were returning home from a movie.”

  He nodded. “That had to be tough, losing them both at the same time.”

  She managed a small smile. She doubted the fierce pain would ever ease and she’d feel like an orphan even as an old lady. She imagined rocking on the front porch, alone, gray-haired and forgotten, staring at the vast expanse of the ocean while her only blood relations were out there somewhere frolicking under the sea.

  “My dad died two years ago, I guess about the same time you came to this town. It was tough, we were close. I looked up to him,” Tillman said.

  “He couldn’t have been that old. What happened?”

  “Heart attack. I’m sure the pressures of work and home contributed to it.”

  “I’m sorry, Tillman.” She touched his hand and felt warmth travel up her arm at the brief contact.

  “He was sheriff here. When I got the news he died I left Mobile and came back home. They wanted me in the Sheriff’s Office, and Mom and Eddie needed me, too.”

  Shelly’s heart clinched. “Do you plan to stay in Bayou La Siryna or is this assignment temporary?”

  Tillman hesitated. “There’ll be an election next year for the job. I don’t see things changing on the home front.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Eddie’s a handful.”

  “True, he’s on the severe end of the autism scale, but I’ve seen worse.”

  “You haven’t seen Eddie at his worst. And Mom...” His voice trailed off and he shifted in his seat. “She can’t deal with it.”

  Shelly recalled Portia Angier’s pale, delicate face, the way she rubbed her temples, how she often dropped off Eddie and called Tillman to pick him up from the Y. Probably suffered the classic Fragile Southern Belle Syndrome. “You’re a good man to help your family.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m no saint.”

  Shelly smiled inside. She certainly had no use for saints. Her fantasies of Tillman were far from saintly.

  * * *

  It had all been so easy.

  A quick search on the internet at the public library to find her photo and name, and then one click for her personal address. Their names were listed on the hair salon’s business license. There had even been a picture of them at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for the shop years earlier. Lily Bosarge had long blond hair and the other, Jet Bosarge, was taller and had dark short hair that barely covered her ears.

  Lily was his target.

  Melkie parked his car down the road, careful not to be seen, before approaching the large Victorian home with its wraparound porch. The silent darkness of the house reminded him of a cemetery. He peered through the windows and listened for the faintest sign of life inside. Convinced they weren’t home, he searched and found, behind some dense hawthorn shrubs, a small unlocked utility window. Donning latex gloves and a black skullcap to prevent loose hairs from falling, he squeezed his wiry body in the small opening and landed in the basement.

  Melkie crept upstairs, entering the living room.
He stopped every few seconds to check for sounds or the beam of approaching car headlights from the driveway. Taking out his penlight, he explored. He’d never seen anything like it. Coins and clutter oozed in every cubbyhole, spilled over the tops of pricy-looking furniture, and lined walls were stippled in rich tones of burnt umbers and corals. He stuffed his pockets, indiscriminately shoving handfuls of coins and little doodads that gleamed in the dark. That couldn’t be real gold, could it? What little hope he had of finding his knife vanished. Needle in a haystack, baby.

  A laptop computer lay on the kitchen counter, the monitor asleep. Melkie jiggled the mouse and the screen came to life. He clicked on the email icon, grinning at the thought of leaving a message. He’d keep it short and succinct.

  Die, freaking mermaid bitch. Boatman.

  That should scare her out of hiding.

  He headed upstairs, the pine steps creaking like a coffin opening in the midnight emptiness of a morgue. Portraits of strikingly beautiful women in old-fashioned dresses from different eras lined the walls on both sides. The old house had six bedrooms and three bathrooms on the top level. The three stale bedrooms with no signs of life he quickly dismissed. He wanted hers.

  One bedroom definitely had a lived-in look. Clothes, mostly jeans, shorts and T-shirts, draped the bed and antique dresser. Melkie opened drawers, found more T-shirts and plain underwear and poked around papers and books on the nightstand. Nothing useful there—used tubes of ChapStick, old yellow-stained maps. Probably the short-haired Jet’s room, although he couldn’t rule out that it might be the bitch’s room.

  The next bedroom was slightly neater, although its dresser was littered with expensive-looking glass perfume bottles and an elaborate silver comb and mirror set atop a mirrored plate. Its closet was jammed with sundresses and lacy negligees in pastel hues that shimmered like ghosts in the darkness. Melkie fingered several—their soft, feminine fabric gliding against his callused skin like the promise of sex, of tangled bodies in twisted silk sheets. He imagined fashioning a length of that silk, wrapping it around a fragile neck, jerking and pulling until she lay broken, that neck red-welted and raw from the smooth fabric. His erection was immediate and painful; all mixed with outrage that she had seen him and knew who he really was.