Mermaid Moon

by Colleen Coble

  “We need to find out how your dad paid for that boat. The first thing to do is find out who sold it,” Kevin said. “There should be some record of the check.”

  “Did that already.” The sheriff shifted his bulk on the chair. “It was sold by a marina in Portland. I’ve got a call in to the manager to see if I can find out more, but he’s on vacation and won’t be back until next week. I got a warrant and requested copies of Edmund’s bank account. I should have them anytime. I’ll have someone track where that money came from before it hit his bank account.”

  “Someone else at the marina can’t help you?” Mallory stirred her coffee. “We can’t wait that long.”

  “Maybe. I’ll call back and request more urgent assistance.”

  Kevin tried to fit all the pieces together from both deaths, but it was like trying to force a puzzle piece into a place where it almost fit but wouldn’t quite snap together. An execution-style murder and a murder connected to nearly a quarter of a million dollars had to be linked somehow.

  The sheriff’s gaze met his. “I think we need to delve into your parents’ backgrounds more fully, Mrs. Davis. We’re missing something.”

  She took a sip of her coffee. “I’m sure it’s not what it seems.” Her eyes held defiance. “My parents were good people, the best.”

  The sheriff inclined his head. “I always thought highly of your dad. I never really knew your mother well.”

  Gwen handed the drawing to the sheriff. “This is your property, Sheriff.” After putting her case back on the floor, she studied Mallory. “You don’t have the same bone structure as your mother. Do you resemble your father more?”

  Mallory’s hand shook a bit as she set her coffee on the table. “I’m adopted. I’d thought to try to find my birth parents in case my adoption had something to do with my father’s death, but it seems to be immaterial now.” She leaned back in her chair and exhaled. “I just don’t know what to think.”

  Kevin wanted to comfort Mallory in some way. Every family had secrets, but most of them didn’t end up dead because of them. How did they go about uncovering all those secrets, especially after the fire? Everything was ashes there.

  Gwen stood and smoothed the lines of her jacket. “If you’re finished with me, Sheriff, I really should get going. Feel free to call me if you have any other questions.” She smiled down at Mallory, and her expression held sympathy. “I’m sorry this was such a shock. I hope you find out what’s going on and can come to some closure.”

  “Thanks for your help with this,” Mallory said.

  Kevin looked through the big window out on the water as he mulled it over. “Has the insurance started any kind of cleanup at the cottage?”

  She shook her head. “Not as far as I know. The adjuster has left several messages, but I haven’t had a chance to call him back.”

  “Let’s dig around in the ashes ourselves and see if we can find anything. The more I think about the fire, the more I believe it was meant to destroy some kind of evidence. It clearly wasn’t meant to kill you. There had to be a reason he torched the place.”

  “It will be a dirty job.”

  “It won’t hurt us.” He rose and picked up his coffee. “No time like the present. We’ll call Carol on the way and ask her to get the girls from school.”

  The shock of seeing the blackened rubble after such a stressful day brought tears flooding to Mallory’s eyes, but she blinked them back as she picked her way through the ashes. “We should have brought boots. My sneakers are going to be ruined. Your shoes too.”

  Kevin stooped to pick up a ceramic flower pot. “Mine are old anyway.” He dropped the item and looked around. “There’s a lot more left here than I imagined. Lots of things just smoke damaged and not destroyed. I’m hopeful we might find something useful.”

  She wanted to believe him, but observing the destruction made her feel hopeless. The upstairs over the kitchen had collapsed, but the part with the bedrooms seemed fairly sound. “You think it’s safe to go up?”

  He frowned. “Let me check it out first.” Stepping cautiously, he moved up the stairs and disappeared from sight. It felt like an eternity before he came back to the top of the stairs. “Seems safe, but watch where you put your feet.”

  She nodded and went up to join him. The walls were still standing, but fallen insulation and pieces of plaster choked what used to be the hallway to the bedrooms. As she passed, she peered into her bedroom and was surprised to find her bed frame and dresser still standing. “I wonder if the contents are unharmed.” She detoured into her bedroom and looked around.

  Soot blackened everything from the pictures left on the walls to the bedding and the rug. A heavy coating of black covered her fingers when she tugged open a dresser drawer. Her underwear lay in neat rows inside. They weren’t even blackened.

  For the first time she felt a surge of hope. Maybe Kevin was right. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of coming out here, but there might be more to salvage than she’d thought.

  She shut the drawer and turned to her cedar chest at the foot of her bed. “I have some old pictures and other mementos in here.”

  The latch with its water and soot damage resisted her efforts, and she moved aside to let Kevin force it open.

  He lifted the lid, then stood back to let her rummage through the contents. “It’s all yours.”

  She knelt on the soiled rug and began to lift things out—a music box her grandmother had given her, a picture album from her childhood, a scrapbook from high school. All treasures she had nearly forgotten existed. Her heart felt near to bursting with the job of finding them still all right.

  Kevin squatted and flipped through the photos. “There might be a clue to something in these pictures.”

  “I think they’re just pictures from my first year. Me with my grandparents and Aunt Blanche.” The cedar chest was empty now, and there didn’t seem to be anything earth shattering inside. She rubbed her finger on the front, and the soot came off on her finger. “I think this can be salvaged. My mother said it was an important part of my history.”

  Kevin closed the album. “What did she mean by that?”

  Mallory frowned. “You know, I’m not sure. She never said. I assumed it was an antique or that my grandfather had made it.” She studied the lines of the cedar chest. It was rectangular with ornate etchings on the front and stood on rounded feet. “I’d guess it was made in the forties.”

  “Me too.” Kevin stood and moved closer. “Let me turn it over and see if there are any identifying marks.”

  Mallory went to one side and helped him roll it over on its side. “There’s a plate back here.” She squinted to read it in the dim light. “It was made by Baxter and Son. And there’s another plate below that’s engraved with the name Hugon.”

  “Could be the original owner.” Kevin jotted it down in his notebook, then rolled the chest back into place.

  After checking the rest of the drawers and the closet, they moved to her father’s room. It seemed wrong to be poking into her father’s personal belongings this way, but she carefully went through every drawer, pushing aside socks and T-shirts, lingering over an old wallet she remembered and his well-worn belts. The bottom drawer held a plethora of cuff links, ties, and old watches, though she’d never seen him dressed up enough to wear cuff links.

  Kevin was going through all the boxes in the closet, but all he seemed to be finding were shoes and old slippers. Every bit of her mother’s things had been removed from the bedroom.

  “Nothing here of your mom’s. Where might Edmund have put those things?”

  “I remember him sending some things to Goodwill, but surely he would have kept some mementos.” Frowning, she tried to remember if she’d seen any jewelry or other items that had belonged to her mom. “You know, Dad had a little chest in the office that he kept in the bottom drawer of the desk.”

  They moved down the stairs to the first floor. A large pile of debris barred the way to the offi
ce, and Kevin helped her over it and into the room. Timbers hung low and charred in the office. The fire had been hottest here, as if that was where the fire started.

  “Careful,” Kevin warned. “I’m not sure how safe it is in here. Lots of damage. Tell me where to look and you stay where you are.” She nodded and pointed to the front of the desk. The drawers all hung open, and the soot on the handles had been smudged off. “Someone has been searching for something in here. Open that drawer and see if there’s a little chest in it.”

  He squatted in the debris and ran his hand to the back of the drawer where the small chest used to be. “Nothing here. There might be prints though. I’ll ask the sheriff to send over a tech to check.” He paused and fired off a text message.

  She glanced around and tried to decide where to look.

  Kevin’s back was to her and he bent over. “Is this it?” He turned around with a little brass chest in his hand.

  “That’s it!” She stepped closer so she could take it in her hands. “The lock has been smashed.” She opened it and stared at the empty inside. “It’s all missing. I know there were things in here because Dad used to look at them. Mom’s watch, her wedding rings, that kind of thing.”

  He put his arm around her. “It’s getting late. We’ll come back another day. Let’s take the pictures and scrapbook with us.”

  “And this.” She hugged the brass chest to her. It was a little piece of her family, all that was left to her.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The blood rushed to Kevin’s head from his upside-down position on the Twister board. The warm glow from the lamp added a cozy feeling to the evening shenanigans. Thanks to Carol and the girls, dinner had been ready when they’d gotten back. After dinner Haylie had wanted to play Twister, a game he hadn’t thought of in a thousand years.

  His right arm entwined with Mallory’s, and his right leg was over her left one. One or both of them were going to go down in a heap any second.

  Haylie stooped down and peered into his face. “I could tickle you.”

  “You would face swift retribution,” he warned.

  “Your face is all red.”

  “Yours will be red from tickling if you make me fall.”

  She wiggled her fingers at him. “I could tickle you now.”

  He grinned back. “And I could take you outside and dunk you in the water trough. Sadie, hurry up and spin. I’m dying here.”

  Sadie spun the dial and Carol, their official Twister referee, called out where it landed. “Right hand, red.”

  “Not going to make it,” he gasped as he saw how far he would have to go.

  Their girls had thought the game great fun, but the scent of Mallory’s sweet perfume kept his head filled with the impossible—like deliberately falling so he could take her with him and kiss her until they were both breathless.

  He focused his thoughts and reached with all his might for the closest red square. His sweaty hand slipped on the plastic Twister sheet, and he fell hard onto the floor. He reached out and snagged Mallory as he fell, and they lay breathless in an entwined heap. He was on his left side, with his left arm under her, and their legs were tangled together.

  He stared into her mesmerizing dark eyes. He’d always loved her eyes. A line of gray circled the deep chocolate brown, and there were tiny flecks of light in the irises. She was so soft in his arms, and she stared up at him as if she wanted to stay right where she was.

  Haylie stood over them. “Hello? Earth to Mom. You won. Kevin made you fall. Can we have hot chocolate and popcorn?”

  “Yay, popcorn!” Sadie jumped up. Fiona barked and raced around her with her tail wagging hard enough to leave a mark.

  “I guess I should let you up.” Kevin made no move to do any such thing. “Or not.” He grinned down at her. He’d like to stay right where he was the rest of the night.

  “I guess so.” She smiled but didn’t try to get up either.

  Carol stood and clapped twice. “Girls, come with me, and you can help make the popcorn and hot chocolate. I might even be persuaded to get out stuff to make s’mores in the fireplace.”

  The girls squealed and followed Carol to the kitchen where much clanging and banging ensued. Kevin reached up and wound a long strand of hair around his finger. It was so fine and thick in his fingers. Her eyes drifted shut, and she turned her chin up just a bit.

  “Do I dare kiss you? Haylie will see us,” he whispered.

  Her lids fluttered open, and her eyes were languid and dreamy. “I suppose we’d better go help.”

  He pressed his lips to the strand of hair he’d commandeered. “I’m surprised you never cut your hair. It’s so beautiful.”

  Her gaze sharpened and her jaw tightened. “Mom talked me into growing it long when I was sixteen. She said it was the most beautiful thing about me. I’ve started to cut it off to the middle of my back a few times, but every time I think about it, I just can’t do it. It’s like that one little piece of her left.”

  He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his left hand as he stared down at her. “Your mom wouldn’t want you so bound up with guilt that you’re paralyzed, Mal. You’re beautiful with long hair or short. With makeup or without. You’re beautiful inside and out.”

  Her cheeks heated. “Maybe someday I can believe that.” She looked away. “What did you think of what Gwen Marcey said? Someone shot my mom. I still can’t quite believe she’s right.”

  “I’ve seen her credentials. She’s one of the best in her field. I think she knows what she’s talking about.”

  “All these years I thought I killed her. And maybe I still contributed to her death. What if she ran out of gas and was left unable to get away when drug runners approached? That’s the only people I can think of who might have shot her.”

  Her theory held validity, but he still shook his head. “I think we’re missing something. It can’t be a coincidence that both your parents were murdered. I think the office held the answer, but with the fire, it’ll take a lot of digging to ferret it out.”

  “We have to figure it out. Whoever is behind this doesn’t seem to be giving up. I’ll be next, or Haylie.”

  “Over my dead body. I promise you that I’ll find this guy and stop him.”

  “I hope we can.” She sat up and ran her fingers through her long hair. “Here comes our hot chocolate.”

  Mallory ran the window of Kevin’s SUV back up as he parked in front of her aunt’s house. “Thanks for coming with me on your day off. Seeing Aunt Blanche is not exactly the most fun way to spend this gorgeous day.”

  “Aw, our movie isn’t done yet,” Haylie said from the backseat. “Can we stay in the car and watch it?”

  “You can finish it on the way home. Aunt Blanche is looking forward to seeing you.”

  “She barely knows me,” Haylie grumbled as she got out. She held the door open for the dog to jump out and for Sadie to scoot across the seat and stand too.

  Mallory shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare and looked at the house. She hadn’t been here in years, but the small story-and-a-half cottage hadn’t changed. The dingy white paint was still peeling, and the shutters had faded so much they barely held a tinge of green.

  Her aunt opened the screen door and beckoned to them. The wind caught her long white hair and blew it around her angular face.

  Mallory took Haylie’s hand, and for once, her daughter didn’t pull away. Aunt Blanche could be intimidating with her beanpole height and extravagant hair.

  “I made cookies,” Aunt Blanche said in her gravelly voice. “I remembered you liked gingersnaps, Mallory.”

  “I still do.” Mallory led the small troupe inside.

  The house smelled of cookies and lemon furniture polish. The wood floors, though scratched, gleamed from a recent cleaning. And her aunt had painted the walls at some point. Mallory liked the welcoming pale-lemon color.

  “I’ve got milk poured for the girls at the kitchen table.” Aunt Blanche pointed throug
h the door, and the girls went that way with the dog. “I’ve got some cookies and tea for us in the living room. I don’t get company very often.”

  Mallory perched on the old sofa, the same brown tweed from when she’d been a girl. The cookies were irresistible, and she didn’t even try to resist. She bit into a still-warm cookie. “These are just as wonderful as I remember, Aunt Blanche.”

  Kevin settled beside her and grabbed a cookie too.

  “You said you wanted to talk to me about your mother.” Aunt Blanche had never been one to beat around the bush. “That seems a rather odd thing to talk about after all this time.”

  Mallory swallowed the last of her cookie, then took a sip of tea. “We had some news yesterday about Mom’s death.”

  “Well, that’s certainly remarkable. What is it?”

  Mallory launched into the story of the forensic artist and what she’d discovered.

  Aunt Blanche put down her tea. “Shot? That’s seems unlikely.”

  “The sheriff is investigating, but it appears both my parents were murdered. There has to be some connection.”

  “I wouldn’t know what it was.”

  Kevin leaned forward with his small plate of cookies balanced on his knees. “I think whoever set fire to the cottage was trying to burn up evidence in the office. Any idea what that might be?”

  “None at all.”

  Mallory searched her aunt’s face. Maybe she really didn’t know much about the murders, but she must know something that could help them. “I found some old letters before the house burned down. They were from my birth mother.” She told her aunt what her father had said that indicated her mother might have been responsible. “What do you remember from my adoption?”

  Her aunt pushed her long white hair out of her face and frowned. “I hardly see where this is relevant now, Mallory. That all happened a long time ago. Edmund and Karen were good to you. Are you going to go digging up all that birth parent nonsense?”