Page 13 of The Mermaid Murder

“I don’t know. That’s the truth,” I said. “But her mother’s worried, and I promised I’d…” I didn’t finish.

“Should I tell her she’s being investigated by her psychic aunt?”

“You know better than to use that word.”

“Sorry. Her not-fucking-psychic aunt?”

I thinned my lips and speared him with a glare. He just grinned, but then the smile died. “Misty… she’s changing, I think. She’s been super busy, really distracted, but at the same time… I don’t know. Excited. Animated. Her voice is full of energy, higher pitched, and she talks faster, as if?—”

“As if she’s on drugs?” My eyes went wide.

He let his head fall forward as if his neck had gone liquid. When he looked up again, dead serious, he said, “I think she’s happy. And busy with something she’ll tell us all about when she’s ready. I’m trying not to be all insecure about that, and I think that might be a good thing for you and her mom to try, too.”

“Oh.” I blinked slowly. I couldn’t tell him about the dead twins dream, and the mermaid apparition would just sound crazy to anyone but Mason. Mason had heard my craziest shit and had yet to run screaming. Fucking guy wanted to marry me.

Myrtle gave a little bark, and I used the term loosely. With a bulldog it’s more like a snuffly sneeze-cough combo, usually accompanied by a fart of equal volume. Jeremy looked at me, brows up. “She never barks.”

“It’s new. She’s developing an independent streak, too.” I fed her a blueberry from my muffin. “What do you think it is, keeping Misty so busy, distracted, and happy?”

“I don’t know yet. And if you want to know, you should ask her yourself.”

“That’s exactly what I plan to do when I see her this weekend.”

“You’re going out there to spy on her?”

“Actually, I’m going to try on wedding dresses in a chi-chi boutique my sister found.”

“To spy on her.”

“Well, I might say hello while I’m in town.”

He sighed, slid off his stool and rose all tall and strong in his uniform. “I have to go, Aunt Rache. But seriously, just talk to Misty directly. Okay?”

“I will. I promise.” I got up with my fingers crossed behind my back, walked him to the door, and waved goodbye as he got into the white Chevy Suburban with “SHERIFF” on the side in red, and Broome County underneath. It had two diagonal bars behind the front tire, black and red, with a gold border between. Not a bad ride, for a rookie.

As soon as he was out of sight, I closed the front door, picked up my phone and called Christy. It went straight to voicemail, so I said, “Something is up with your sister. Call me.”

* * *

MISTY

Misty was sitting at the bar with a diet soda when Mr. Mackey left his office and headed back to the bathroom at the end of the hall that only he was allowed to use. He went in there at about this time every day, and he never came out for at least twenty minutes.

“I left something upstairs in the locker room,” she said, sliding off the barstool, not even checking whether Taylor, the bartender, was listening.

He was, it turned out. “Not with my glass, you’re not.”

“I’ll bring it back.”

“Nobody ever brings them back.” He tapped the gleaming bar surface with a forefinger and his blond side bang fell over his forehead.

It reminded her sharply of Jeremy’s hair, before he’d cut it for the police academy. It was growing back now that he was a working cop, but that young-guy look was history.

He’d broken the news as gently as he knew how, which had been something like, “Sorry, hon. But I won’t intimidate many criminals with a Bieber bang.” She remembered how he’d flipped his hair off his forehead when he’d said it and flashed that sexy smile of his. He had inherited the Brown family dimples.

She’d mourned his hair for a solid week.

Thinking of Jeremy made her heart turn warm and gooey in her chest. Her twin would call her whipped. But she was just in love. It was a challenge, being so far apart, but they were making it work, and college wouldn’t be forever.

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