Page 30 of The Mermaid Murder

I kept looking around. It seemed like a typical indoor pool. Cement apron all the way to the walls, with a door marked LOCKERS on the right side, and another in the center of the rear wall marked EXIT.

Then I saw the It’s a Wonderful Life retractable pool cover and relived that moment from my vision, when, as a mermaid, I’d bashed my head into an inexplicable ceiling. I felt it again, and my heart contracted with the memory. This had to be the same pool. How many pools had those closing covers over them? And why the hell hadn’t they been outlawed? I spotted the control panel for the deadly device near the locker room door— a gray metal box with a lever.

I closed my hand on Mason’s upper arm, and his bicep flexed. It was a reflex, he wasn’t showing off. He could, but he wasn’t. Something about that firm muscle under my hand, grounded me. I took a few steadying breaths. He put his hand over mine.

Two beautiful young women were sitting poolside in swimwear. One had milky white skin and fine, long hair of strawberry blonde with eyebrows to match. The other had dark brown skin and multiple braids that hung halfway down her back. They were both dangling their feet and looking down into the water.

“The pH feels low, to me,” one said to the other.

“If that means the water burns your eyes, then yeah,” Christy said, and they both turned our way, frowning. Christy cleared her throat, and shifted to Misty voice as she waved a hand our way. “My aunt and uncle,” she said, not bothering with our names. “Jasmine and Echo,” she said, nodding at each in turn. “Those are their mermaid names.”

“Oh, your family’s in town,” Jasmine said, hopping up to her feet. “No wonder you’ve been acting so odd.”

“Did your twin sister come with them?” Echo asked. I kept thinking how amazing her long braids had been in the water.

You kinda want to stay for the next show, don’t you?

Yes, Inner Bitch, I kinda do.

They both came over to where we stood. Echo gave us a nod and a pleasant smile but kept going past us to hit the lever on that gray box. The floor closed over the open tank, pushing a half inch of water ahead of it. Its motor made so much noise I wondered if it could be heard downstairs in the dining room. Closed, it made for a much bigger room and a completely sealed off tank.

“How um… do you breathe down there?” Mason asked. “I saw bubbles coming from some of the plants. Are those?—?”

“Yeah, they have air tanks attached by hoses,” Christy said. “There’s a hidden trigger on the stem.”

“Clever,” I said. “And the tanks are where?”

“In the control room, off the locker room in back.”

“Very cool,” I said. “And what happens if the floor gets closed accidentally while a mermaid is still inside? Is there like an escape hatch, or…?”

Christy gave me a wide-eyed stare. Actually, everyone else was looking at me the same way.

“That could never happen,” Jasmine said. “There’s always someone else here.”

“That’s a horrifying thought,” Echo said, and she rubbed her arms as if she had chills.

“Sorry,” I said. “My mind goes to dark places sometimes. Anybody want dessert?”

“Not me,” Christy said. “I have plans.”

“But we still don’t know where your sister is,” I reminded her.

She shot a look toward her co-mermaids, then back at me. “Christy doesn’t want us to know where she is. And it’s only for the weekend, Aunt Rache.”

“But—”

She held up a hand and kept talking, just like I sometimes did when I was on a roll. I wanted to smack her and hug her at the same time. “I’m gonna make a few calls tonight. I know some of her friends. We all hang out when I— when she comes to visit. I’ll find out what I can, okay?”

“Something’s up with your sister?” Echo asked. “Is there anything we can do, Misty?”

Christy didn’t have to make up an answer, because a woman in black spandex and a neon green windbreaker came out of the locker room. She was older than the merfolk, like mid-thirties, lean and tall with gold-blonde hair in a short, layered cut. And she looked pissed.

She held up a phone, on which a video of Christy’s performance was playing. “What the hell do you call this?” she asked Christy.

I stepped in front of my niece, as one does when a barracuda is speeding toward her with blood in its eye. The woman came to a halt and lifted her brows. “And who the hell are you?”

“I’m her aunt. Who the hell are you?”

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