Murder Hooks a Mermaid (7 page)

“I think you better talk directly to Karen, Riley.”

Karen wiped her hands on a dish towel, her face twisting into a scowl at my words. “What?” she said to me.

I just shook my head and held out the phone. I didn’t want to be involved in this conversation, although I knew I would be.

I served dessert and poured Felipe’s coffee. I paused a moment, then poured a cup for myself.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 8

WE PICKED AT OUR CAKE, TRYING NOT TO LISTEN TO
Karen’s end of what was clearly a distressing conversation. I knew what Riley was telling her, but I couldn’t share it with Felipe and Ernie. That was Karen’s choice, although the news would be all over town by morning.

When she finally came back to the table, her scowl had deepened, twisting her face into a mask of anger. And fear.

Ernie reached out and wrapped his long fingers around her arm. “What is it, darlin’? You look like you been hit with some powerful bad news.”

“Yeah. It just”—she pulled herself together with an effort—“just doesn’t get much worse.”

Ernie loosened his grip and rubbed her arm. “It’s all friends here, girl. You can tell us.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said, but the fear in her eyes told us she maybe could believe, though she didn’t want to.

“That was Riley,” she said unnecessarily; they’d all heard me call him by name. “Bobby’s back in jail. Bail revoked.”

“But that really isn’t your problem, is it?” Ernie was genuinely puzzled. “It means you’re off the hook for the bond. And you said Riley would pay you back for the fee.”

“He will, for all the good it did him. But that was never the issue.”

“Then what
is
the issue?” Felipe blurted out.

“There’s no bail this time because he’s charged with murder. One of Bobby’s diver clients was just found behind The Tank with a gaff hook in his chest.”

Felipe turned a sickly green at her description.

I looked down and found myself staring at the dark brown-red of the red velvet cake. My stomach roiled, the dark black coffee suddenly turning to burning acid, and I pushed the cake away. I couldn’t bear to look at it.

“Oh man! You didn’t need to know that,” she moaned. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, no,” Ernie murmured, still stroking her arm. “You can’t keep something like that bottled up inside.”

I got up and moved around to stand beside Karen’s chair. I put my arm around her shoulders and she leaned against me, as if she couldn’t hold herself upright.

“So what do we do now?” I asked her.

She hesitated, and I knew what her answer was. Riley needed her, and she needed to go.

“I’ll clean up,” I said. “You go do whatever you need to.”

She looked up, clearly relieved. “You sure?”

“Sure I’m sure,” I answered. “It’s family. You need to go.”

It took another few minutes for Karen to gather her
shoulder bag, which bulged suspiciously, like someone had stuffed in a change of clothes. The ruse wasn’t lost on Felipe and Ernie, and as soon as she was out the door they were on me like ticks on a hound, wanting to know what
exactly
was going on.

“I don’t know
exactly
,” I said. It was the truth. I had some suspicions, but no real confirmation. “It’s clear that she and Riley are still close, maybe closer than I thought. But this is about family. Karen has her own family, true, but the Freeds made her part of their family long before she married Riley.

“I always figured that was a big part of why she and Riley stayed so cordial after the divorce: his folks would have lost their only daughter.

“Now I’m not so sure there weren’t other reasons.”

I cleared the table while I talked. Ernie came over and started loading the dishwasher, and Felipe stowed leftovers in the fridge.

Our cake sat on the table, still untouched.

“You should take that home.” I dug out some plastic containers from the bottom cupboard and rooted around to find the matching lids. But this was Karen’s kitchen, and I finally settled for stretching pieces of plastic wrap over the tops.

Karen did have a cover for the cake plate, a diner-style pedestal that echoed the mid-century design of her dinette. I slid her untouched piece back onto the plate and put the dome over the stand. It looked right at home in the middle of her chrome-and-Formica table.

It was still early by our Thursday-night standards when I got home and unlocked the back door. Julie had set the
alarms I’d installed after the break-in last fall, and I disarmed and then reset them.

I walked up front, intending to make a quick tour of the shop and then head upstairs. To my surprise, Bluebeard was awake, as if he’d been waiting for me to come home.

I crossed the dimly lit shop, pale shadows thrown across the displays by the faint light filtered through the front windows.

Only a few months earlier, I’d found the shop trashed and Bluebeard waiting for me. Tonight, even with nothing out of place and everything locked and secured as it should be, I had a strange sense of foreboding.

But instead of speaking up, Bluebeard hopped off his perch onto my arm and nestled his head under my chin, a sure sign he was upset and needed comforting.

“What is it, Bluebeard? What’s wrong?”

In spite of several minutes of cajoling, he refused to speak. He ate a biscuit, then hopped back into his cage and tucked his head into his chest. He was going to sleep, and he had nothing to say.

Somehow, his silence was spookier than anything he could have said.

I think.

I needed some comforting myself, and there was one person I could call any time, day or night. Linda Miller. A friend of my mother’s and my foster mom after my parents were killed, she was like the older sister I never had, and she was always there when I needed her. Like right now.

Linda picked up on the second ring. I could feel her concern through the phone the instant she recognized my voice. “You don’t sound so good,” she said.

How did she get that from
Hello
?

Before I answered, she went on. “I heard about Bobby getting himself in hot water last night. How’s Riley holding up?”

I didn’t have to ask how she’d heard. Gossip was a time-honored tradition in small towns, and Keyhole Bay did its part. In fact, I’d have been surprised if she
hadn’t
heard.

“He’s been better,” I answered. “You have a minute? It’s been a bad night, and I could use someone to talk to.”

“I’ll be right over.” She hung up before I could stop her. I could have called her back, told her we could talk on the phone, but the truth was I would be happier with her there.

A couple minutes later, she tapped at the back door.

We went upstairs, and Linda immediately put a pot on the stove. It was her universal cure for every ailment: a cup of hot cocoa. Even if the cocoa didn’t do any actual good, there was something incredibly comforting about her fixing it for me.

I could feel her watching me as she stirred the cocoa. She had questions, but she was willing to wait until she could sit down and give me her full attention.

“Now,” she said when she handed me a steaming mug and joined me on the sofa, “tell me what’s bothering you.”

“It’s Bobby. They revoked his bail, and he’s back in jail.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said.

“Unfortunately, it does.” I tried a sip of the cocoa. Still too hot to drink. “Riley called about the time we finished dinner. One of Bobby’s customers was killed. They found him behind The Tank, and the cops think Bobby did it.” I left out any mention of the gaff hook. It was just too gruesome to think about.

Linda stared at me in shock.

“That’s really all I know. But I can’t imagine Bobby doing anything like that. He wasn’t a fighter; he’d try to talk his way out of whatever trouble he got into.”

“And if that didn’t work,” Linda said, “he’d get his big brothers to help him out.”

She shivered. “Chilly in here.” She dragged a quilt off the back of the sofa and draped it over my shoulders. She was cold, so I needed a blanket.

“I suppose,” she continued after she had the quilt arranged to her satisfaction, “Riley put up the boat to get him bailed out. At least he’ll get it back now.”

So she hadn’t heard everything after all. “Not quite. The boat was impounded, and the bondsman wouldn’t accept it as collateral. The boat’s forfeit if it was used for smuggling.”

I nearly used some of Bluebeard’s saltier vocabulary, biting my lip to keep the frustrated curses from streaming out. “Which is ridiculous! I really, really can’t believe Bobby did that. Not knowingly.”

“Then how did he make bail?”

“Karen pledged her house.” The cocoa had cooled slightly, and I took a sip, letting the hot, sugary liquid slide down my throat. As the warmth spread through me, exhaustion dragged me down.

Concern drew Linda’s eyebrows together. “You think that was a good idea?”

I shook my head. “I honestly don’t know. She still thinks of the Freeds as family, and what I think really doesn’t matter.”

She took the cup from my hands and set it on the table. “Go put on your pajamas,” she instructed.

Too tired to argue, I walked into the bedroom and did as
I was told. Linda had been telling me what to do since I was four, and obeying her came naturally.

When I opened the bedroom door, she was waiting. She shooed me toward the bed. “Crawl in,” she said. “I’ll let myself out once you’re asleep.”

I didn’t argue. There are times, even when you’re thirtysomething, that you just need someone to watch over you.

Chapter 9

FRIDAY MORNING WAS DREARY, FOG CREEPING IN
off the bay and shrouding the entire town in a soft, gray cloud. Sound didn’t carry, and without the sun I couldn’t tell if it was morning or afternoon.

The day dragged on, my normal activities a mechanical ritual of routine chores and occasional customers. I listened to WBBY. The substitute newscaster had taken Karen’s place for the day. She wasn’t usually off on Fridays, but I think this qualified as a family emergency. Question was, whose family?

I shoved the question of Karen and Riley to the back of my brain and tried to concentrate on work.

Late in the morning—the only way I knew was by looking at the clock—Linda came over from her shop next door. Linda and her husband, Guy, owned The Grog Shop, the liquor store on the east side of Southern Treasures.

“I just came to see how you’re doing, honey,” she said, wrapping me in a big hug. I hugged her back and assured her I was okay.

“Are you sure? You had enough trouble with that Parmenter boy to last a lifetime. I don’t want to see you mixed up all this.”

“I’m not. Riley is, and Karen, and they’re my friends. That’s all.” I hoped it was the truth.

“Have you heard from Karen? That other guy was doing the news this morning.”

“Haven’t heard. I’ll give her a call later today, find out what the latest is.”

“Well, you let me know if you need anything, y’hear?”

I assured her I would.

Karen called shortly after noon. She was at the Freeds, and it was clear she hadn’t been home all night.

“We cleaned up and put the leftovers away,” I assured her, “and Ernie left the dishwasher running. All you have to do is put the clean dishes away.”

“Thanks,” she said, sounding distracted. “I really appreciate it. Did one of you take the cake? It shouldn’t sit there and get stale.”

“I covered it.” I had an idea. “How about I go get it and bring it over there after I close up?”

“It’s a good idea, but you don’t have to do that, Glory. You’ve already done so much.”

I really hadn’t, but it was sweet of her to say so.

“Anyway, I have to go home in a little while. I’ll just bring the rest of the cake back here with me.”

Despite her initial distraction, she seemed inclined to chat, and I settled down in the tall chair behind the counter. “How are the Freeds holding up?”

“About as good as could be expected, I guess. Riley’s mom is tore up pretty good. His dad isn’t saying much—you know how the men around here are—but he looks about a million years older than when I saw him last week.”

She’d seen Riley’s dad last week? I filed that information to examine later.

“Tell them I’m praying for them.” It was a polite fiction. I wasn’t much given to praying—not since my parents were killed by a hit-and-run driver—but it was our way of saying we cared.

“I do have a question, though, Karen. You said Bobby hooked up with these guys at Mermaid’s Grotto. I can’t figure out what he was doing there. I thought The Tank was more his style.”

I could almost hear her shrug over the phone. “Beats me,” she said. “He usually hangs out at The Tank with the rest of the crew, but Riley said he’s been stopping in at the Mermaid every couple nights. Riley didn’t know exactly why, either.”

“Just seems odd,” I said. “I can almost understand the tourists going to a tourist bar and thinking they can find a charter—they don’t know any better—but the locals almost never go in there.”

She agreed, but she didn’t have any explanation to offer. We talked another couple minutes, but soon she had to go.

“We’re trying to find a lawyer for Bobby,” she explained. “You don’t happen to have a good criminal attorney up your sleeve, do you?”

I chuckled, then felt guilty. Finding Bobby a good defense lawyer was serious business, and I shouldn’t be laughing.

“Sorry, but no. The only lawyer I know is Mr. Clifford Wilson. He’s my family attorney, but I think he mainly does wills and estates and stuff, not criminal law. And he’s about a million years old.”

It was only a slight exaggeration. Mr. Wilson—I couldn’t imagine calling him by his first name—had been Uncle Louis’s attorney when he was still alive, and he’d taken care of my family’s legal affairs for three generations.

Karen sighed. “We’re going to have to go down to Pensacola to find somebody,” she told me. “And we’re looking for any recommendations we can get.”

“I’ll let you know if I think of anything,” I promised before hanging up.