Page 7 of The Mermaid Murder

“It’s adorable,” I said. “What the fuck is it?”

“It’s a Crisis Companion.”

“Well, obviously.” I might’ve been too heavy on the sarcasm. Then I read the flyer—A young woman’s best friend in the cold, cruel world.

Not sarcastic enough, Inner Bitch said.

It was stainless steel. Sandra started unfolding things from the mermaid like it was one of those Boy Scout knives. “This is a rape whistle. This one will cut right through a seatbelt. See? That’s a razor blade in the crevice.” I nodded so she’d move the thing back out of my face. “This one will break the windshield glass, you know, if your car goes in the water and you can’t get out. You just hold it up to the glass, push this button, and…”

She pushed the button and a little metal bolt popped anticlimactically out the end. She pushed it back in with a click. “And this one’s a tire pressure gauge. And this one’s?—”

“That’s really thoughtful, Sis. I’m going to keep this in my car at all times.”

Yeah, in the glove compartment. Out of sight.

“No need. It comes with a chain, so you can wear it like a necklace. That way you’ll always have it if you need it. And it will make me feel better knowing you have it, because I love you and I never want anything bad to happen to you.”

I heard the unspoken “again” behind her words, but to her credit she didn’t say it aloud. And honestly, for the past couple of years it seemed our energy had shifted. Nothing awful had happened in?—

Don’t jinx it! Inner Bitch screamed in my head, but I felt to my toes that it was already too late.

I pulled off the pendant I was wearing, an iridescent opal, and tucked it deep into my jeans pocket. Then I draped my sister’s offering around my neck.

I leaned over my chair to hug her. “Thank you. It’s the most practical, thoughtful, loving gift ever, and I will cherish it.”

But why a mermaid? Inner Bitch asked.

“What made you pick a mermaid?” I echoed.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It spoke to me.”

“What did it say?”

She frowned as if I’d lost my mind, so I laughed it off.

We ate our donuts and sipped our coffee while it was still hot. The sun was bright on the water, frosting every ripple in neon white and flashing in our eyes every now and then.

Eventually, she said, “I’m a little worried about you. Covid is over. All the reasons to delay the wedding are gone. And yet, you don’t seem very interested in getting it planned.”

I’d closed my eyes a few words in so I could feel her. She was deflecting.

“That’s not what’s bothering you,” I said. And then, “God, these are good,” as I finished the last bite of donut and wondered how bad it would be to have a second. But back to my sister. “Christy told me that you’ve been over-protective lately. And that rape whistle, survivalist do-all-tool?—”

“Crisis Companion,” she corrected.

“—seems to support her claim. What gives?” Because I’d dreamt about my nieces being dead, and my sister was having over-protective mother’s intuition vibes. Something was definitely up.

Sandra sighed and gave Myrtle the rest of her half-eaten donut. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Since they moved out on their own, I just worry all the time.”

“I bet that’s normal,” I told her. “They’re away from home in a way that feels permanent.” Misty was in her sophomore year and living on campus at Skidmore, two and a half hours away by car. My sister acted like she’d moved across the country. Christy had a job in retail, an apartment in nearby Binghamton, and was taking online classes in whatever struck her interest. Sandra wasn’t thrilled about those choices, either.

“I don’t know if that’s it, but I do know that Misty’s keeping secrets.”

“How do you know that?” Screw it. I ate another donut, gave a tiny piece to Myrtle, then I said, “All gone,” and brushed my hands together so she could hear it.

“She’s never home,” Sandra said. “She’s always distracted. She’s refusing calls all the time. I mean, she usually texts me back after a little while. She’s barely coming home anymore, not even on weekends.”

Myrtle sighed as if heartbroken and wandered off the dock and down to the edge of the water for a drink. It was unusual for her to get far from my side. I did not like this independent streak.

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