Page 6 of The Mermaid Murder

“When you’re right, you’re right, Inner Bitch.” I decided my coffee could wait just a little bit longer, shed the robe, and went to join Mason in the shower.

Chapter 2

I hugged Mason for a little longer than usual at the door and found the bulge of his sidearm comforting. I didn't feel right. Something was up.

My sister’s EV had slipped in, silent as a ninja. She was already steps from the front door. Sandra was younger than me physically, older in every other way. Her hair was currently multiple shades of blond and curved inward at mid-neck. She wore white capri clam-diggers, strappy gold sandals, and a baggy T-shirt that said “Not today, Satan” on the front. A big straw shoulder bag with a hot-pink Shasta daisy woven into it hung heavy from her shoulder. The thing was large enough to hold her worldly possessions. “Get a room,” she called, while I kissed my man goodbye.

He grinned at me, and I rolled my eyes, then he said, “Have a great day,” and headed down the driveway.

When he passed Sandra, he leaned in and muttered something, then he headed to the Beast, a restored, black ’74 Monte Carlo, and got in. When he started it, I could feel its rumble in my chest.

Sandra stepped into my line of sight, then, to hug hello while Mason drove over our long, narrow dirt road back toward the relative civilization of Whitney Point, NY, “Best by a dam site!” Seriously, that was our town motto, because there was a dam, which created the reservoir I saw whenever I looked or stepped outside my house.

If you have to explain it, Inner Bitch began.

“Hey, Sis, it’s a gorgeous morning,” I said. “Let’s take your wedding brochures down to the dock, okay?”

“You don’t know that’s why I’m here.”

“Don’t I?” I nodded at the three-ring binder I could see through the top of her gaping, overstuffed bag. “Don’t I, though?”

She rolled her eyes and pivoted toward the dock. “There are homemade donuts in here too, so?—”

“I’ll be right out with the coffee.” I leaned down and scratched Myrt’s head. “Wanna go look for froggies?”

“Yarf,” she replied, and bounded out the front door on her own.

“Sandra!” I was so startled by Myrt’s behavior I sort of barked too.

Sandra crouched down to intercept my runaway bulldog. “Well, what’s set you on fire today, Myrt? Come on, I’m right here, come to Aunt Sandra.”

My dog wiggled her way to my sister, who scratched her head and said, “I’ve got her.”

“Okay.” I ran back in for our coffees, and minutes later we were sitting in Adirondack chairs with thick cushions, big footrests, and wide arms to hold our snacks. Myrtle was upright and alert in between us, because she might be blind, but my bulldog had a nose like a bloodhound. And my sister’s homemade donuts were one of her favorite smells.

I ate a bite and fed one to my dog, as one does. “Ohmygod, that’s fucking amazing.” I did not say the words voluntarily.

She took a long, slender box with a tiny pink bow on it from her bag and handed it to me.

“It’s like you’re bribing me with this shit. Donuts and a present?”

“Maybe I am.”

I gave the box a little shake. “It’s heavy. You don’t need to bribe me to plan my own wedding, you know.”

“You can drag your feet all you want on your own wedding,” she said.

“I’m not dragging my?—”

“I need your help with something else. And it’s not that big a bribe, just a little thing I saw online. I got the girls each one. Gave it to them their last visit home. Of course, instead of thank-yous, I got eye-rolls, but whatever.”

“They’re brats. In your twenties, you think you know everything. I promise I will not roll my eyes.” I took the lid off the box and stared in at a two-and-a-half-inch long, tacky metal mermaid.

A fucking mermaid. Like in my dream.

Inner bitch hummed the X-Files theme inside my head. Myrtle looked up at me, like she could feel the ice-water chill that danced up my spine.

“Isn’t it cute?” Sandra took the thing from its box before I could.

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