Читать книгу Siren's Secret - Debbie Herbert - Страница 9

Chapter 3

A mermaid—really? Can this be?

A creature of part land, part sea.

Mustn’t let a siren’s call

Make me falter, make me fall.

Melkie cruised the back roads, Rebel drooling and snorting by his side. He had no particular destination, but after hearing on the local television news that a second body had turned up on the beach, he’d been going increasingly mad at home. He kept waiting for a knock at the door, his paranoia growing with every second enclosed in the shotgun house.

How had that body gotten to the shore? That woman—that thing—must have put it there. Melkie found himself on a road leading to Murrell’s Point. Rounding a bend, he spotted half a dozen police and sheriff’s vehicles gathered on one side of the road.

Right there. That must be where they’d found it.

He was suffocating, the truck’s interior closing in on him. The old truck’s dying AC was no match against the pepper-hot heat. Maybe the cops were here waiting for him to return to the crime scene. They already knew he was the one. His life was over. He’d rot at Holman prison on death row. His breath came in painful, jagged spasms and his body knotted with tension.

The wet sensation of tongue on his right forearm broke through the paralysis. Rebel licked and whimpered, attuned to Melkie’s panic. The dog’s eyes, despite their disarming milky haze, pierced Melkie with pure love.

He caught his breath and patted Rebel’s hairless flesh. What would happen to his dog if they took him away? He had no friends or family. And everyone found Rebel repulsive, even though he was worth more than the rest of that sorry-assed lot of humanity.

Melkie turned his head from the cops and kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. The azure-blue of the sky met the gray-blue of ocean in a horizontal line. The moment passed, and he looked out the rearview mirror at the uniformed police scouring the area.

Fucking pigs. Where were they when he was getting punched around as a kid?

The familiar rage tamped down on the residual panic.

“How about you and me getting a little treat?” he asked Rebel, who yipped in excitement.

He pulled into the drive-through at the hamburger shack in town and ordered cheeseburgers and fries for both of them, plus a chocolate milkshake for himself. The fat-and-sugar rush sated his gnawing anxiety. Why had he been so freaked out? There was nothing that could tie him to the murders. He was safe.

He was contentedly gulping the last of his shake when a purple-and-pink sign slammed into his consciousness.

The Mermaid’s Hair Lair.

What the hell?

Mermaid. The word was a red neon light burning in his brain.

He’d lived here all his life, been down this main street forever, but had never paid much attention to the beauty parlor or the large water fountain in the court square with a figure of a mermaid sculpted in copper.

The image of the thing in the water arose. Melkie slammed on his brakes and parked at the first empty spot. Rebel gazed at him quizzically, panting onion breath.

Wouldn’t hurt to look in the window. Melkie put a leash on Rebel and knelt down to whisper. “We’ll just walk real casual-like, okay?” He stood, took a deep breath and sauntered by the shop. The ever-present smell of bilge and shucked oysters assaulted his nose.

In the salon window he saw old ladies in chairs, gray hair tightly bound in perm rollers, with bubble dryers over them, a few younger clientele getting bleach jobs. The interior was painted in shades of coral, with paintings of mermaids hung all over the walls.

He knew just how it would smell, the stinky ammonia fumes and peroxide in the air so strong it would make your eyes water. His stomach rumbled and he was back in that dumpy house, Mom and her whore friends dyeing each other’s hair and preparing for the night’s work.

“There’s little Melkie,” one of them would coo, beckoning him over with long red nails.

His face aflame, he’d have to go into the gaggle of whores. Nine years old and the stupid bitches would pull down his shorts and giggle.

“Let me feel that cute little pecker.” They’d grab him and fondle and laugh at the predictable response.

Especially dear old Mom.

She’d refused to allow him to cut his hair. She and her posse of bitches teased him about his thick, wavy hair and would put rollers in it and paint his face. A few years later he decided it was worth the ass whupping to disobey Mom and cut it short.

Even now, the memories churned his stomach. That cheeseburger wasn’t such a hot idea, after all.

The sight of a woman with long blond hair caught his attention. She stood behind a chair, wielding a pair of shears with grace and authority. Her hair was unusual, a thick honey-gold confection with streaks of the palest pink and lavender. On her, the highlights looked natural, not like on the phony Goth teenagers you saw in Mobile these days with bold colors against black hair.

His mermaid that night had long hair, but impossible to make out the color other than it was light. It had hung down the front of her torso like a second skin.

What if...what if this was her? Maybe she had the ability to be on land and sea. It wasn’t such a stretch to think the thing had some kind of mutation abilities. He recalled those eyes of swirling colors. Melkie peered intently at the woman’s reflection in the mirrored walls. The eyes were a perfectly human shade of blue, not that freaky cat-eyed glow he’d seen.

He would seek out Tia Henrietta. The hoodoo witch down in the boondocks might know something. He’d never placed any faith in the old woman’s tales but his mother and sisters and all their buddies swore by her occult powers.

If anybody knew something about mermaids or sea creatures, it would be her.

* * *

Shelly leaned back in the beautician’s chair and let Lily massage her head and neck as she washed her hair. It was after hours at the shop, but when Lily had heard about her date, she wanted Shelly to come on in and get gorgeous.

“Your neck muscles are tight,” Lily said. “Relax.”

Lily’s soothing voice failed its usual magic. As did the varying shades of coral, rose and ivory on the walls that a local artist had painted to their specification. The effect of the pearly tones usually soothed Shelly—it was like being enveloped in the shelter of a giant conch shell.

Shelly opened her eyes and met Lily’s in the mirror. “How can I relax?” The half-moon dark circles under her eyes and the faint lines of worry on her brow were new. “I’m scared to death that psycho will find one of us.”

“You’re here with us now.” Lily pressed her strong fingers on a trigger point at the base of Shelly’s skull. “Nothing’s happened.”

Jet looked up from the desk. “Good thing you have a date tomorrow night. Nothing like a man for distraction. Just don’t let it get serious.” Her fingers resumed their clicking on the adding machine. Thank goodness Jet actually enjoyed working with numbers, since Shelly and Lily avoided it as much as possible. At the shop Lily was in her element and had earned a reputation for her talents. Jet handled the business end of things and filled in as shampoo girl when needed.

Shelly groaned. “I haven’t been on a real date in two years. I’m a nervous mess.”

Lily laughed. “Just have fun. A man’s attention will get rid of a funk every time.”

The adding machine’s clicking stopped. “Attention, hell,” Jet said. “We’re talking sex.”

“You’re almost thirty years old, in your sexual prime,” Lily continued. “I couldn’t go without it more than a couple of weeks myself. And it’s been months since I’ve been with a merman.” A dreamy look clouded her eyes. “Nothing like sex with a real merman.”

Shelly eyed Lily curiously. As a full-blooded siren, her cousin responded instinctually to the call of an annual spawning ritual. Mermen and mermaids gathered at a remote South Pacific island for a week of orgies. Those inclined to produce a litter of merchildren built undersea nests in beds of coral for fertilizing and hatching their newborn.

Shelly had no desire to attend a reproduction ritual. Not that she would be allowed—that right was reserved only for the full-blooded. Raised as a landlubber in a human family, the whole thing sounded bizarre and unappealing. Regular sex, right here in the bayou, would be exciting enough. She shut her eyes, imagining Tillman’s naked body against hers. It had been so long since she’d desired a man.

“Little cuz is blushing,” Jet said wryly.

Lily rinsed Shelly’s hair. “No teasing,” she scolded. Lily placed a warmed towel over Shelly’s head and rubbed. “Any special style requests?”

“I leave it all in your hands. Even if I don’t like it, it will grow out in no time.”

“Our hair is a pain in the fins,” Jet said, her eyes still on the numbers. “Easiest thing to do is just keep it hacked off like mine.”

Lily and Shelly shared a secret smile. Their mermaid hair grew at a rate of nearly an inch a week and their nails grew so fast weekly manicures were a must. “I like the long layers you have in it now,” Shelly said. “Just give it a good trim and blow-dry it.”

Shelly relaxed as the warmth and noise of the blow-dryer eased her tension. Everything was going to be okay. They had done what they could to help the police identify the killer by putting the body on land. Well, almost everything. She still had the knife.

Her mind drifted to the date. She’d had her eye on Tillman for quite a while. But she didn’t think he even noticed her. He was always so remote and professional the few times he’d picked up Eddie. Shelly imagined those gray eyes darkening with desire for her and squirmed.

Stop it. You’re way past the age to be so nervous about a date. It’s just...sex and companionship. That’s all she could hope for since that was all she could offer. No man wanted to love a freak; it could only end in disaster. Her parents’ stormy marriage was proof of that. All the tears, the shouting, the fundamental differences that stifled her mother’s mermaid desire to be at sea and frustrated her human father, who resented that his love wasn’t enough to make her happy. The answer lay in a long-term affair of mutual affection. Sure, she risked him finding out her secret. But she was tired of being alone. She knew her cousins were there for her, but it wasn’t the same. It could never be the same. She was part human...they weren’t.

Jet interrupted her thoughts. “Tell us about this guy. How did you meet him?”

“He’s the older brother of Eddie, one of my clients at the Y.”

Jet crossed her arms over her chest. “Could be awkward if you break up and you have to keep running into him.”

“Always the pessimist,” Lily murmured. “Just think of having a good time for as long as it lasts.” A smile tugged her lips. “In fact, pass him on to me when you’re done with him. I cut Gary loose a couple days ago.”

Jet yawned and headed to the break room. “I need coffee.”

“You’ve only been seeing Gary a month and you’re already bored?” She shouldn’t be surprised; Lily went through men like crazy. A wonder there were still men left in town she hadn’t already had an affair with and then dumped. An unexpected burst of jealousy reared its head. “Is a man named Tillman one of your exes?”

Lily patted the top of Shelly’s head. “I prefer the bad boys, not Boy Scouts who take care of their little brothers.”

Jet returned, coffee cup refilled. Lily turned to her sister. “Learn from Shelly. Get yourself back out there and find you a man.”

“Don’t need ’em,” Jet said, settling back down to the books. “There’s always a one-night stand if I’m in the mood for sex.”

Shelly and Lily eyed each other with a knowing look. Jet had never gotten over Perry and his betrayal. Almost three years had passed since he’d been put in some South American prison for stealing sea treasure and Jet still ached. She’d never admit it, but Shelly suspected her cousin’s life was on hold until Perry showed up again. If he did.

But who was she to judge her cousins? She’d made a mess of her own past love life. Never again would she tell a man her secret and be called a freak. That college experience still rankled. She’d passed off her confession as a drunken fantasy but Steve had dumped her shortly afterward.

Her cousins—and their attitude toward men—was what it was, just as she was a product of her parents’ mixed genetics.

* * *

Melkie drove the endless stretch of sandy back roads that seemed to be never-ending paths to nowhere. Finally he rounded a corner and found Tia Henrietta’s shack.

A scraggly orange tabby came out from behind a bush, arching his back at Rebel. The dog barked and jumped out the truck window before Melkie could stop him.

A screen door banged open. “Call off yer dawg.”

The old woman glared at him with eyes dark as midnight. Under the purple turban her olive skin and faintly almond eyes made her something of an enigma. Melkie wasn’t sure if she was distantly related to the many Vietnamese who worked in the fishing industry, Creole or black, or perhaps a mixture of several races.

He whistled and Rebel slunk to his side, tail tucked between his legs. Melkie patted his head in reassurance.

Tia Henrietta approached. “What you doing way out here?”

“You’re the psychic. You tell me.”

She turned and walked back to the house, surprisingly spry for her age. “You always were a smart-alecky little ’un. C’mon, then.”

They walked to the porch, Melkie motioning Rebel to stay before he followed the old woman inside. For all the unkempt appearance outside, the inside was neat, if shabby.

The place hadn’t changed in the past two decades. Dozens of Jesus and saint candles glowed atop several mini altars of seashells, crystals and peacock feathers. Small pieces of folded-up paper were tucked among the altars. People seeking divine help for their problems. What bullshit.

The same mysterious, earthy scent of smoked herbs pervaded the sitting room.

Tia Henrietta snapped off the small black-and-white TV in the corner.

“Sit.” She gestured to a grandma floral-print sofa that looked like a 1950s thrift shop throwaway.

Melkie carefully sat on the edge. Even with his wiry five-foot-eight-inch frame, he wasn’t confident the crappy furniture would hold. His eyes darted to a glass globe on the end table.

Still there.

He remembered coming here at age eight with his mom and two of her drunken whore friends. They’d stumbled in with their high heels and teased hair, dragging him along like a rag doll. Anita, his mom’s closest friend, had downed tequila shots all morning before deciding it would be a hoot to have Tia foretell her future.

Melkie had picked up the globe. Instead of the usual plastic orb with a trapped Santa Claus and snow swirls, this glass object had a mermaid figurine suspended in blue-tinted water. He had picked it up and shaken it, sending white-and-pink sand swirling around the mermaid.

Whack. A burst of pain had slashed hotly against a cheek.

“Put that down,” Mom had screamed. The globe slipped from his grasp onto the cheap linoleum and rolled. The wooden base broke off.

Could this really be the same one? Melkie picked it up and squinted at the pedestal.

“I hot-glued it back on,” Tia said. “That hot glue gun was the best damn thing I ever bought. That, and duct tape, pretty much holds everything together around here.”

He carefully placed it back on the coffee table. “You remember that day?”

Tia shrugged. “Yer mama is not an easy woman to forget. Heard she died of the cancer a few years back.”

Amen and thank heavens for that.

Tia sat across from him, folded hands in her lap. “So what brings you back here?”

Her eyes were smoldering coals, even beneath some weird kind of film at the corners. Probably cataracts, he guessed. Melkie shifted uncomfortably under the direct gaze. He hated anyone looking at him, especially close up. His fists tightened. Why, he ought to cut out those eyes.... He forced himself to focus and pointed at the globe. “They real? Mermaids, I mean.”

“Oh, they’s real awright.” She clicked her tongue. “Saw one when I was a teeny girl. I was picking up sharks’ teeth on the beach when somethin’ made me look up. And there she was. A beautiful redheaded siren not far from shore. Nekked from the waist up. When she caught my eye she winked and flipped her tail fin up in the air afore she dived back in the sea.”

Tia closed her eyes, a dreamy smile on her wrinkled face. “I ain’t never forgot her, neither.” She opened her eyes. “You seen one?”

“Maybe.”

“Where at?”

“None of your business,” he snapped. Nosy old woman.

“You’ve turned into a bitter, angry person,” she said after a moment of silence. “You’ve got a red aura with black streaks in it.” But there was no real bite in her voice, more a dispassionate observation. “Can’t says that’s a surprise. Given yer background and all.”

Melkie scowled. “Never mind my background, witch.”

“That’s no way to talk to an ol’ woman. ’Specially if you want information.”

Melkie reached in his wallet and slapped a twenty on the table. “Talk.”

“You a real smooth one,” Tia said, scooping up the money and stuffing it into her bra. “Whatcha wanna know?”

“Everything you know about mermaids.”

“That won’t take long.” She settled back in her rocker and took a dip of snuff. “Lots of folks ’round here claim they done seen mermaids. ’Course, not nearly so much over the last ten years. What with the increase in shrimping and the oil spills.”

Melkie frowned. “Don’t see why shrimping matters none. There’s always been family shrimping boats trolling the bayou.”

“Think about it. All those nets in the sea bother more’n just dolphins. Could be trouble to any sea creature afraid of being trapped.”

“And you think the oil spills out here can harm them, too.”

Tia spit into a plastic Coke bottle that served as a makeshift spittoon. “Been killin’ all kinds of wildlife out here including birds and crabs. No reason for nothing to hang around the Gulf no more.”

So why would a mermaid hang around? he wondered.

“Could be they’s done grown attached to this place.”

Time to get to the real matter at hand. “Is it possible for them to come on land? You know, grow feet or something?”

“I done heard a such. Usually ’cause they think they’s fallen in love with a human. Love’s a powerful thing.” She stopped rocking and leaned forward. “Have you fallen in love with a mermaid? That why you here?”

Melkie snorted. “Love? You really are crazy.”

Tia picked up the mermaid globe and pressed it into his hands. “A little something to remind you of yer mermaid.”

He scowled but kept it. “Tell me more. Ever hear of a mermaid living on land?”

“Used to be when I’s a little girl, some sailors claimed to have got them a mermaid, brought them home, and made them their wife. Usually didn’t end up so well for the husbands. Mermaids may leave the sea, but it always calls to them. Sooner or later, they’ll go back.”

“But they’re half human, too, and must have human needs.” Melkie ran a finger over the cold mermaid globe. “Maybe they wouldn’t have to leave. Not if they lived close to the shore. They could split their time, have the best of both worlds.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Tia agreed. “Back in the old days, locals believed mermaids lived amongst them, ’specially beautiful women new in town were looked on with suspicion. One of my papa’s friends, he was a fisherman, said he once saw a woman jump off a boat and turn into a mermaid. She swam away and never came back.”

“And you believed him?”

“Why not? I done seen plenty a strange things in my lifetime.” She stopped rocking and tilted her head to one side. “I think lots of folks done forgot why the bayou’s called ‘La Siryna.’”

“Thought it was some French word.”

“I don’t know if it was Frenched up, but it’s named for the sirens.”

Melkie wrinkled his brow. “But you said the bayou was named after mermaids.”

“Same thing. Folks used to say the mermaids—sirens—could sing so’s a man would fall instantly in love with her.”

Melkie pictured the mermaid at sea. He couldn’t deny what he’d seen with his own eyes. He’d better face up to it and find her before she got him in trouble.

Tia lashed out weathered hands, scarred at the base of every finger, and caught his right one in hers, exposing his palms. He flinched at the contact and tried to pull away, but the old woman’s hands were surprisingly strong. Tia moved a callused finger over his palm lines before letting go. Those perceptive eyes blazed at him.

“Yer filled with hatred and rage,” she warned. “Learn to control yourself or the anger inside will be yer death.”

“And you’re full of crap.” Melkie seethed with resentment. He didn’t like being touched, especially when it was unexpected. He slammed the door on the way out.

He would have to find a way to test the waters himself with the mermaid. Try to fish her out or scare her into admitting she was the one who saw him dump the body.

Halfway home, inspiration struck.