Chapter 1
On any given weekday evening, the dog beach on the small barrier island known as Turtle Beach, North Carolina, was typically occupied by two Dalmatians, six or more octogenarians, and any number of canines of dubious origin.
Plus one mermaid.
Make no mistake, Molly Prince, the mermaid in question, was every bit as human as the aforementioned octogenarians. Mermaiding was simply Molly’s day job, but sometimes she wore her costume home instead of changing out of her emerald-green sequined fishtail and clamshell bustier. For modesty’s sake, the bustier was attached to a flesh-colored body stocking adorned with a sprinkling of rhinestone starfish and draped with no fewer than six strings of pearls. Getting out of the thing was no easy task.
Molly would get to that once she and Ursula, her Cavalier King Charles spaniel puppy, got to the quaint oceanfront cottage they called home. Ursula was a recent addition to Molly’s life and due to the puppy’s extreme separation anxiety, she rarely left Molly’s sequin-clad side. The little chestnut-and-white spaniel was also prone to bursts of the zoomies, hence their regular stops at the dog beach after work.
“Look at that little dog go.” Ethel Banks, resident of Turtle Beach Senior Center and one of Molly’s favorite octogenarians, peered over her purple-framed bifocals and grinned as Ursula charged at a flock of sandpiper birds chasing waves along the shoreline.
Three aluminum walkers were lined up in front of the smooth wooden bench where Ethel sat alongside Opal Lewinsky and Mavis Hubbard—or, as everyone in town called their little trio, the OG Charlie’s Angels. Nibbles, a teacup Chihuahua, sat shivering in the basket of the walker belonging to Mavis.
“Ursula really loves other animals,” Molly said. “You should have seen her today at the aquarium. She sat right in front of the shark tank, totally rapt.”
Opal snorted. “Like Mavis and her new boyfriend Larry every night whenJeopardy!is on.”
Molly bit back a smile. Was it weird that her senior citizen friends seemed to have more active social lives than she did?
Mavis muttered something in response—laced with snark, no doubt—but whatever it was went into one of Molly’s ears and right out of the other one. Her attention had snagged on a man wading knee-deep through the waves, just beyond the shallows where Ursula pawed at the tiny silver fish that always skittered through the foamy water.
“Do any of you know who that guy is?” Molly felt herself frown.
The dog beach was too close to the crest—local speak for the southernmost tip of the island—to be safe for swimming far from the shore. The surf close to the crest was rougher and the riptides stronger, due to warm water from the bay spilling into the salty depths of the open sea. Swimming past the sandbar wasn’t allowed, for humans and dogs alike.
Opal, Mavis, and Ethel narrowed their gazes in the stranger’s direction and then shrugged in unison.
“Where’s his dog?” Molly did a quick inventory of the canines enjoying their freedom on their small designated strip of sand. She’d been here enough times to know precisely who each dog belonged to.
“All the pups here are accounted for,” Ethel said. Clover the corgi woofed in agreement at her feet.
Weird. What was he doing at the dog beach, dogless?
“He’s staring into the water like he lost something.” Opal pressed a hand to her heart as a wave rocked into the man’s chest. “He really shouldn’t be so far out there.”
Mavis shook her head. “Definitely not.”
Ursula romped back toward them and spun in excited circles around Molly’s mermaid tail.
Oh, yeah…the costume.
Super. Molly was going to have to go out there and warn the stranger about the riptide while she looked like Daryl Hannah straight off the set ofSplashin 1984. Not ideal, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Molly certainly didn’t want the guy to drown, and she was currently the only person in sight who was fully ambulatory. The dog beach was dotted with more walkers and electric scooters than actual canines. Where were the Dalmatian owners? They always helped bring the median age at the dog beach down by a decade. Or three.
“He’s drifting farther out,” Ethel said. “Molly, maybe we should do something.”
“I’m on it.” Molly took a deep breath and headed toward the shoreline in urgent-yet-tiny footsteps, since her fishtail was almost as confining as it was glittery. The costume was never a problem on the turquoise vintage Vespa she used to get around the island. Of course, she didn’t normally have to rescue swimmers on the way home from work.
Ursula romped after Molly, just like she always did.
“Don’t worry. We’re just going to stand right at the edge of the water and yell at that guy to come back to the shallows. We’ll be on the couch in front of theGreat British Baking Showbefore you know it,” Molly said, not altogether sure if she was talking to her dog or herself. Possibly both.
But just as they moved from the sugary sand of the dunes onto the damp shore, the tide rushed in. The man bobbed up and down in the water, and he finally looked up as he seemed to realize how far he’d wandered offshore. A wave smacked him right in the face.
Oh no.
Molly’s stomach tumbled. “Hey, are you okay?”
Ursula paced at the water’s edge, leaving a trail of frantic, tiny paw prints in her wake.