Page 43 of The Mermaid Murder

“Best in the biz,” the manager said proudly. “They own their own images, characters, names. They have to consent to anything we use in publicity. And they’re paid by the show, but they also get a cut of the take on any night they perform, and a big bonus when the VIPs come in.”

“I apologize for jumping to conclusions.”

“I don’t write the contracts.” He snatched the folder, shoved it into the drawer, and slammed it closed. Then he went to stand in his doorway, sideways, and waved one arm outward to tell us to leave. I glimpsed something on my way by—a photo in the shadows under his desk, of a man gazing at Eva Quaid. Wait, was the man a younger Mackey? The glimpse was brief, as I passed, and I was seeing it from a narrow angle.

But it felt right.

Mason was standing on the other side of the door when we came out, and I was relieved to know he’d had my back. He always had my back. Jeremy was right beside him.

“Excuse me,” Mason said to Mr. Mackey. “We’re just here to pick up the girls. Girls?” He extended a hand.

We let the guys hustle us through the place and out the front doors since they were the closest. Mason walked a couple of steps behind us, keeping himself between us and mean Mr. Mackey.

“I didn’t get her address,” I said when we were clear. We still had to walk around behind the building to get to our vehicles.

Mason quickened his steps, coming up between us. “I got a little bit. She worked here for seven years, and her maiden name was Mendosa.

“How the hell do you know that?” We’d circled around to the parking lot in back.

“We didn’t really go outside,” Jeremy said. “We went back into that private room while you were in the office.”

Mason picked up from there. “I took the photo off the wall and flipped it over. You’d be surprised how often you find information that way. It was printed on the back. Eva Mendosa with the date she started and the date of her final performance.”

We were getting into our cars. Myrtle didn’t so much as pause in her chewy bone chewing. Christy said, “I can’t be much help today. First show’s at 1:30.”

My spidey sense was tingling, and I didn’t know why. “I think I should stay. Keep an eye on you.”

“Mackey’s not gonna let you lurk around before we open. You didn’t exactly make friends at your first meeting. Besides, you’re meeting my mom at noon to try on a dress.”

“Tomorrow,” I said.

“It got moved up.” She turned her phone toward me.

Sandra: Why isn’t your aunt answering texts?

I grinned, then frowned. “How does she know you’re here?”

“What? I’m visiting.”

I lowered my head. “We’re gonna have to tell her what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on. Misty’s taken up crime-solving and wanted a weekend to herself to do some shady sleuthing shit. I’m taking her place as a mermaid for the weekend. That’s it.”

“Except that she left her phone behind,” I said.

“And except that she left me, too,” Jeremy said.

I scowled at him. “It’s just a break.”

“I’m worried I left that photo of Eva hanging crooked as hell,” Mason said. “When I heard Mackey come in?—”

Christy said, “No worries, Uncle Mace. I’ll slip in and straighten it.”

“Be careful,” he replied. And she nodded. “I’m going to head over to the local PD, then.”

“Tell me you’re not going to report my sister missing, Uncle Mason.”

“No. For the record, I think you’re right. She’s out playing detective.”

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