The Keepers: Christmas in Salem: Do You Fear What I Fear?The Fright Before ChristmasUnholy NightStalking in a Winter Wonderland (Harlequin Nocturne)

by Heather Graham

  A few long strands of black hair escaped from the torn garbage bag. Shelly ran her fingers through her own honey-colored locks. She had never come so close to evil and death. It wasn’t right to leave the body this way. Too disrespectful. Unable to resist, she touched the victim’s forehead, noting the heart-shaped face and delicate, arched eyebrows above the gaping wounds.

  I am so sorry this happened to you. So sorry.

  She tucked the long black strands back into the plastic, trying to bestow some dignity and kindness on the dead woman. I’ll come back for you, she promised as she placed the body in a wedge between a large outcropping of limestone rocks.

  The sharp pain from the tip of her tail fin broke through the shock and grief. She looked down and saw a small stream of blood oozing out in swirling, crimson eddies. The killer’s knife had stuck into her fin. Damn. In the split second her tail had been exposed, the killer had managed to stab her. She pulled out the knife and this time the pain was excruciating. Had this been what he used to kill his victims?

  I have to stop him.

  She forced herself back up through the black depths of water, gripping his weapon in her right hand. Nearing the surface, she found the rusty boat still rocking from her downward dive. Flat-bottomed and only fourteen feet long, the rusted aluminum boat was not the best choice for anything but the calmest of waters. Although the style was popular in the bayou for leisure fishing, and easily navigable in the winding backwaters threading along the bayou shoreline, the killer was out of his element so far from land and with the increased wave action of the sea.

  His engine sputtered as the killer tried frantically to restart the old worn-down motor. He was on the scrawny side, but his biceps bulged as he yanked the pull cord over and over.

  As the boat’s motor sprang to life, the waters churned and roared around her. Too late to knock him overboard now. The motored blades could slice her to pieces if she came too close.

  Her fingers gripped the knife’s handle in frustration as the boat raced off.

  She fought against the instinct to fling it away and leave it on the ocean floor. Maybe the killer’s identity could be traced through the weapon.

  Certain he was gone, Shelly lifted her torso higher out of the ocean and spotted a dingy white baseball cap floating on the boat’s wake. She grabbed it and submerged undersea again.

  Home. There she could think, form a plan. And get her cousins’ advice.

  “Anybody out there?” Shelly pushed air out of her lungs, sent the vibration of her voice in a compressive wave motion, similar to the high-frequency elocution of dolphins but minus the clicking sound. “Lily? Jet?” If they were anywhere near, they’d pick up her message and respond. Underwater sound traveled twice as fast as on land and four times as far.

  Shelly strained to hear an answer but only caught the snapping of crab claws and a few toadfish whistles.

  She swam home, each flick of her fin sending shooting sparks of pain through her body. Please, no sharks. She focused on keeping an eye out for opportunistic predators attracted by bloody smell—a mermaid’s worst nightmare. She feared hungry sharks more than the killer returning. No way could that man get near her so many fathoms deep.

  At last she swam through her home’s undersea cave portal with its narrow tunnel climbing upward, and broke surface. The tunnel led to land, the opening covered by a hurricane-proof steel structure shed erected after Hurricane Katrina. It replaced the dilapidated tin building that had stood in this exact spot ever since Shelly was a teenager visiting her cousins on summer vacation. Some such structure had stood for decades at this portal, providing cover for her ancestors as they came and went to the sea.

  Dark, humid air rushed into her lungs and she paused at the portal’s slender opening, about the size of a city-street manhole. Arms clinging to the edge of its sandy surface, Shelly braced to raise her tail fin out of the water.

  This was going to hurt like hell.

  The transformation from tail fin to legs usually lasted about thirty seconds with only minor discomfort as oxygen bubbled through her veins. But tonight’s stab wound was a bitch. Already tired and in shock, it took all Shelly’s energy to pull her body out of the sea. When her breathing slowed a bit, Shelly stood on her left foot and cautiously put weight on the injured right one. It was bearable. She limped to the left wall of the shed and fumbled for the flashlight, kept for these late-night swims. Once she shifted from mermaid form, her night vision decreased to that of an average twenty-nine-year-old.

  The halo of light revealed a deep puncture wound, but the bleeding wasn’t as bad as she’d first feared. She hoped that was a good sign. She removed the sporran always belted to her waist during swims. It contained her knife, useful for cutting her way loose from fishing nets and as protection against dangerous predators.

  Shelly had thought the human world a much safer place.

  Until tonight.

  The moonlight made her feel exposed and vulnerable as she hobbled to the house. Once inside, she quickly locked the door behind her and leaned against it. Home. It had never felt so good to be home.

  The smell of grilled seafood and the musical babbling of her cousins in the kitchen hit her with such relief it made her knees wobble.

  She meant to call for her cousins, Jet and Lily, but she was too spent for her voice to carry. She stumbled into the kitchen and leaned an arm against the table. Her long hair dripped, forming a puddle on the Spanish-style tiled floor.

  Shelly drank in the domestic scene. Jet put down a platter of extremely rare grilled shrimp and crab claws while Lily rolled up chopped fish in seaweed for sushi rolls. From the back, Lily’s long blond hair, so similar to her own, fell in graceful swirls down to her hips. Jet noisily pulled out knives and forks to set the table. The colored glow from an antique Italian chandelier cast variegated prisms of light dancing across the walls.

  “It’s not like Shelly to get home so late,” Jet said, running a hand over her cropped black bob. “And she’s the one who insisted on grilled shrimp tonight, too.”

  “I’m here,” Shelly said weakly. Neither could hear her over the kitchen rattling and a small TV playing the evening news.

  “It’s a full moon,” Lily said. “I’m sure the tug of the tide called her. I plan on a long swim myself after dinner. Care to join me?”

  “I said I’m here,” Shelly managed, louder this time.

  They turned as one to look at Shelly standing there, dripping and shivering from a combination of fear and cold. Jet strode over and shook her arm. “Shelly? Are you hurt?”

  Shelly gazed at her injured foot and pointed a trembling finger.

  Jet knelt down for a look. “Holy shit, girl. How’d you get this?”

  “Kn-knife wound,” she stuttered.

  Lily gasped and dropped a handful of the seaweed wrap. A glob of raw fish plopped against her pedicured toes.

  “How’d you manage that?” Jet asked.

  Lily hurried across the kitchen. Stepping over the dropped sushi, she grabbed a chair and set it behind Shelly.

  She sank into it gratefully and stared at the worried faces of her cousins, the only family she had left in the world and the only ones who truly knew and understood her. Being mermaids, the trio pretty much kept to themselves and protected one another from outsiders.

  The enormity of what she had just witnessed hit Shelly like a tsunami. If she was in danger, so were her cousins. So was every mermaid, few as they now were in the Gulf Coast. The toxic oil spills had chased away most of those lingering in the area.

  “I saw a body being dumped about three miles out in the ocean, near the mussel beds.”

  “You mean—a dead body?” Jet asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath and spoke again, the bottled words tumbling out. “I felt the pulse of the water change and when I looked to the surface I saw a tall object falling. And...and there was a boat, too, but it left.” Her mouth quivered violently and S
helly clamped her jaws, trying to still her chattering teeth.

  Lily laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’re okay now,” she murmured in a voice that held the echo of an ocean wave.

  Shelly nodded. “I knew, as soon as it dropped, that it smelled human even though it looked all wrong. You know? Just a long, cylindrical object with no arms or legs moving.

  “I dragged the thing up and realized the plastic had interfered with my sense of smell. When I tore open the bags, the human smell overpowered me and I saw...” Her whole body convulsed. “I saw a face with missing eyes.”

  “Just like the body found a few months ago,” Lily whispered. “Oh, honey, no wonder you’re so upset. How awful.”

  “That’s not the worst part,” Shelly confessed. “I was seen. In mermaid form.”

  A stunned silence settled in the kitchen.

  “Don’t tell me the killer saw you,” Jet demanded.

  Shelly hung her head. She’d screwed up big-time. “He got close enough to stab me in my tail fin as I tried to get away. The damn thing stuck.”

  Jet’s hands fisted at her sides. “Son of a bitch. Wish I’d been the one who killed him.”

  They thought she’d killed him.

  “Don’t be upset.” Lily stroked her arm. “You did what you had to do. It’s over now.”

  “It’s not over,” Shelly confessed. “He got away.”

  Jet slammed a fist down on the kitchen table. “He can’t know our secret. I’ll take him out myself.” She took a determined step toward the back door. “Just tell me what direction he went and I’ll find the bastard.”

  Lily stood. “Let me do it. I’ll sing to him. No man can resist me when I sing. It’ll be easier that way, and less violent.”

  “But he’s gone.” Shelly stood, grimaced at the shooting pain in her right foot and sat back down. “Besides, you don’t know what he looks like.”

  Jet faced her, hands on hips. “So. Describe him and the boat.”

  Shelly shook her head and lowered her lashes. “It’s too late to do anything about it now.”

  “So...what? Are we supposed to sit around and chance that he’ll find us?” Jet paced, running her hands through her short hair.

  Lily’s musical voice interrupted. “He doesn’t know who we are. It was dark. A human’s eyesight isn’t as good as ours. We should be safe.”

  Shelly again felt the killer’s fierce eyes boring into hers. “Maybe,” she said doubtfully. “But Bayou La Siryna is a pretty small town and he got a close-up view of my face. What if I run into him on the streets? Will I have to watch my back every day for the rest of my life wondering if he’s recognized me?”

  “We’ll find him first,” Jet said. “Find him and kill him.”

  Shelly regarded her cousin warily. Jet’s bloodthirsty nature surfaced at the first threat of danger to her family. Once aroused, Jet was more like a tiger than a mermaid. She didn’t resemble a typical mermaid anyway with her tall, athletic body and bold brown eyes.

  Lily, on the other hand, was all feminine grace and mystery. A petite but voluptuous body, golden hair to her waist and large ocean-blue eyes that could be kind with her family, coy with the men and a bit calculating with everyone else.

  Lily’s eyes fixed on Shelly as she tapped her full lips with graceful fingers. “We don’t have to find him ourselves. We’ll let the police do it for us.”

  Jet snickered. “They didn’t catch him the first time. What makes you think they will now?”

  The first stirrings of hope warmed Shelly. “Because we’ll lead them to the killer,” she said slowly, with a slight smile at Lily. “I know where the body is and I know what he looks like.”

  Jet was already shaking her head. “We can’t go to the police. No way. They’ll either think we’re the killers or that we’re some kind of accomplices. Besides, what can you tell them? Hey, I was out swimming miles from shore, alone at night, and—guess what?—I found your killer for you.”

  “We can do this,” Shelly said, with more enthusiasm. “I haven’t told you the best part yet. That knife he stabbed me with? I’ve got it. Along with a hat that blew off his head. Maybe with all that, the police can find him.”

  “Those local yokels? Don’t bet on it.” Jet folded her arms across her chest and sighed. “I guess it’s worth a try. But I’m still going to do some searching on my own.”

  “Don’t. Please don’t,” Shelly begged. “I’ve got you both in enough danger already. This is my fault. I have to fix it.” She pictured Sheriff Angier. Remembered his intense aura and tall, lanky body that moved slowly but with deliberation and controlled energy. The few times she’d run into him at the YMCA, picking up his brother, she’d been reluctantly intrigued by him. “Besides, you’re not giving enough credit to our local law enforcement.”

  Jet interrupted Shelly’s thoughts of Sheriff Angier. “Where are this hat and knife?”

  “The shed.”

  “I’m going to get them.” Jet dashed off, ready to take action.

  “Don’t get your fingerprints on anything,” Shelly called out. “Bad enough mine are already on there.”

  Lily placed a hand on top of Shelly’s head. “I’m going to get a towel for your hair, fix you a cup of chai tea and then see to that foot of yours.”

  Lily’s image blurred from unexpected tears. Shelly was overcome with exhaustion as the adrenaline rush left her body. “You and Jet have been so good to me since I came here.”

  “We’re lucky to have you, silly.” Lily bent over and gave her a quick hug. “If you haven’t noticed, Jet can be a real pain to live with sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I kinda noticed.” Lily’s kindness lifted her spirits. “I don’t know what I would do without the two of you.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, hair wrapped and sipping chai tea, Shelly watched as Lily finished cleaning the knife wound.

  “It could really use a couple of stitches, but if you’re dead set on not going to the E.R., it ought to heal okay with the butterfly bandage,” Lily said, sitting down at the table with Jet and Shelly, each wearing yellow Playtex gloves.

  “I’m fine.” Shelly lifted the soggy hat Jet had placed on the table. “‘Trident Processing and Packing.’ Terrific. That’s not going to help us find him. Half the people who live here either work in the plant or have relatives who work there.”

  They stared glumly at the white baseball cap with the blue Trident logo emblazoned on the front.

  “It may give the police something to work with,” Lily said.

  Jet picked up the stiletto knife. “This won’t. The make is mass-produced. And thanks to being in the water, I’m not sure there’s going to be fingerprints. Was he wearing gloves?”

  Shelly closed her eyes and pictured the killer, seeing again those burning hate-filled eyes. That was the first thing she would always remember about him. She forced her mind to roam the larger picture, trying to pick up details. She opened her eyes abruptly. “Yes, he wore those heavy rubber gloves up to his elbows that fishermen sometimes wear when it’s cold. But I say the knife could still be a clue for the police.”

  “Don’t see how.” Jet examined the blade. “Don’t see any markings.”

  Shelly watched the metal blade flickering under the chandelier’s light and shuddered. He had used this at least twice now to gouge out the eyes of his victims.

  “Sick bastard.” Jet dropped the knife back on the table. “So we’re in agreement. I’ll retrieve the body and put it on shore for the cops to find.”

  “No. You’re not doing it. I am. I’m the one that got us into this mess. If he comes back I’ll take care of him like I should have done in the first place.” Shelly hoped her voice sounded convincing. She couldn’t kill a human but she could, if necessary, injure the killer and help the police capture him.

  “I’ll do it,” Lily said, rising to her feet. “It will be easier for me since I’ve got the voice that can mesmerize if we run into him. Most useful in
sinking a boat.”

  Shelly was startled. Lily sounded as if she had experience in doing just that. Long ago, there were a few pockets of mermaids known for violent protection of their sea territory, but the decrease in the mermaid population coupled with human advances in science and sea travel had forced mermaids to abandon such bold, public tactics. No, Shelly shook her head slightly, she was wound up tonight and reading too much into Lily’s words.

  “Guess it’s going to take all three of us,” Jet reluctantly agreed. “Drive the car to Murrell’s Point and park around the bend. This time of night, teenagers will be making out in parked cars, too busy to notice us. By morning at least, a fisherman will discover the body. When we poke our head out of the water, blink the headlights once if the coast is clear, twice if not. We’ll put it on shore with the knife and hat.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell you exactly where to find the body. It’s secured undersea between two large rocks in that huge limestone outcropping three miles southwest from our house. The dead human smell will lead you right to the victim.” Shelly hesitantly picked up the weapon by its handle. “Maybe we should keep the knife.”

  Her cousins stared at her in surprise.

  “Why would we want to do that?” Jet asked.

  “Say the police are suspicious of our guy, but there’s no physical evidence to tie him to the murders. We could plant this on him.”

  Jet shook her head. “But I told you, there’s nothing special about this knife. Even if they found it on him it doesn’t prove anything.”

  Shelly smiled—they were buying into her plan to frame the killer instead of tracking him down on their own and meting out their own form of mermaid justice. “Not yet it doesn’t,” she said softly. “But if we learn his identity we could carve his name and the victim’s initials on the blade and plant it for the police to find. They’ll think it’s some kind of sick trophy.”

  Jet blew out a whistle. “That would be some damning evidence.”

  Lily ran a long, manicured fingernail across Shelly’s cheek. “Now you’re thinking like a true, full-blooded mermaid.”