Moondance Beach

  As soon as the question escaped Polly’s mouth, she realized how insulting it had sounded. She raised her shoulders and winced. “Oops.”

  No one was gazing at the mermaid now—they were all glaring at Polly.

  “I’m sorry, okay?”

  “I think we need to do some kind of sensitivity training. You know, as a group.” Abigail Foster peered through the pale pink light into the faces of the eight members present. “Should we take a vote?”

  “Sensitivity?” Izzy McCracken seemed puzzled. “I think we’re all plenty sensitive as it is. I mean, I suffer from gluten sensitivity. And I know Barbara can’t use those kitchen gloves because of that stuff . . . Oh, what’s that called, again? You know, what condoms are made of?”

  “Latex?” Barbara Butcher offered.

  “Right.”

  “I have sensitive skin.” Layla O’Brien seemed happy to join the conversation. “Every brand of sunscreen I’ve tried breaks me out.”

  “And that’s not even counting emotional sensitivity,” Izzy added. “I cry every time that Folgers commercial comes on. You know the one I’m talking about.”

  “Oh, for the love of all that’s holy.” Polly pushed her wig back into place and rested her fists on the waistband of her spandex mermaid tail. “Just say it, Abigail. You don’t want to fix our group. You want to fix me! Last fall I needed anger management. Last festival week you wanted me to stop using the F word. Last winter you told me I needed to sit under a full-spectrum sunlamp because I become a raging bitch after every Thanksgiving, like clockwork.”

  Abigail crossed her arms under her coconuts. “Your mood swings are more accurate than the TV Guide, Polly.”

  “That’s a symptom of menopause, you know,” Izzy offered. “But that ended forever ago for you, didn’t it, Polly?”

  “I wish Darinda were still here.” Mona couldn’t believe she’d said that aloud! Tentatively, she raised her eyes to see each of her fellow mermaids cringing with guilt. She had not intended to take a passive-aggressive jab at them. It wasn’t her preferred way of dealing with conflict, but she was clearly off-balance that morning. “I apologize,” she told her friends.

  “No.” Barbara approached Mona and took her hands in hers. “We are the ones who are sorry. We let you down, Mona. You finally got a break from serving as president, and then Darinda up and quits.”

  “It wasn’t like she wanted her mother to break her hip.” Izzy’s cheeks flushed. “She had no choice but to move back to the mainland. It’s what any of us would have done.”

  “Yes, but not a single one of us offered to serve out the rest of Darinda’s term.” Abigail pursed her lips. “We just assumed Mona would do it.”

  “And that wasn’t right.” Barbara squeezed Mona’s hands tighter. “One of us should have stepped up. You’ve carried this organization for nearly half a century, and you should be allowed to retire.”

  “She’s right!” Layla scanned the faces of the other mermaids for support. “She has her grandbabies now, and Duncan is home, and then there’s the Frasier issue.”

  “He’s not still dating Sally, is he?”

  Polly shook her head at Abigail. “Open mouth, insert fin.”

  Everyone got quiet. The only sound to be heard was the tinkling of the fountain, the cries of seagulls, and the distant whisper of the ocean. Mona wandered over to a bench and sat down, suddenly more exhausted than she had a right to be. The other mermaids followed, unnaturally silent, finding places to sit or stand near Mona.

  “Have you talked to him since his birthday?”

  Mona chuckled at Abigail’s question. “No.”

  “Is he still calling you?”

  Mona shrugged. “Calls, flowers . . . He even wrote me a ridiculous poem about sea spray and mermaids and shoved it under my front door.”

  Polly nearly choked. “A whaaaat?”

  “My question is, why all of a sudden? I think it’s because he embarrassed himself in front of the family with the whole Sally thing,” Mona said.

  “Ha! He should be embarrassed! What an ass!”

  Mona continued. “Honestly, I think our marriage is beyond repair. I’ve been thinking I should call a lawyer later this week and file for divorce—three years is a long time to be stuck in limbo.”

  “I know what you mean!” Layla smacked her palms against her spandex-covered thighs. “I was stuck in Lubbock with my ex for three years and I nearly lost my mind!”

  “We will be with you every step of the way, Mona.”

  Everyone agreed with Barbara.

  “And Duncan? Is everything all right with him?”

  Mona put on a brave smile. “He’s great. I believe he’s going to make it back to active duty. It’s been remarkable to watch how focused and determined he is, and I’m happy for him.” She paused, careful to put a lid on her disappointment. “Really—I am. I am happy whenever my children are happy. I just wish that he would have discovered something—someone—worth staying for.”

  “Oh, no!” Izzy slapped a hand over a coconut. “He can’t go!”

  Mona sighed. “We gave it our best shot.”

  “Lena’s painting . . .?” Barbara didn’t have to finish her question.

  Mona shook her head. “I replaced it with another one and he took that one down, too. Number three is in there now, covered with a beach towel. He says they give him headaches.”

  “Aha!” Abigail nodded knowingly. “He is not completely immune, then. Maybe there’s still time.”

  “No.” Mona placed a hand along the side of her cheek, rubbing her temple. “Neither of them are in the right place. Duncan is already gone to Afghanistan, if not in body then in spirit. Lena has gotten lost in her art—I’m not sure how much of that magical little girl still lives inside her—and she’s shown no interest in him at all. It’s just not working.”

  “But they are each other’s heart-mate!” Izzy began crying, pulling a tissue from her shell to blow her nose. “Ever since they were children! It’s the truest of true loves!” Izzy appeared panicked. “We’ve got to stop Duncan from leaving!”

  Mona shook her head. “He is blind, and she will not make the first move. This has all been for nothing.”

  Layla gasped.

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Mona said, hearing the despair in her own voice. “Sometimes I look back on the last forty years and wonder if I was a fool to spend so much of my life in the service of love.”

  Polly struck a match on the park bench and lit another cigarette. She took a puff, blew the smoke over her shoulder, and lowered her chin. “I’m just going to spit this out—all right, girls? I’m gonna be blunt, and I might offend some of you.”

  Abigail feigned shock. “Say it isn’t so!”

  Polly ignored her. “The writing’s on the wall, maids. We’re old. We’re cranky. We’ve got grandkids and wayward husbands and a whole range of illnesses—hell, even our bowels are irritable! We’ve hit a dead end.” She took a drag on her cigarette. “We’ve tried for years to get somebody—anybody—under the age of forty to join our society, but our recruiting efforts have failed. Who wants to hang out with a bunch of whiny old hags in mermaid outfits? We’re a throwback to another time and place. We’re irrelevant.”

  “Absolutely not!” Abigail stomped her Easy Spirit walking shoe onto the bricks. “Who will coordinate the festival? Who will register Island Day vendors and hold auditions for the children’s play? Who will decorate for the Mermaid Ball?”

  Barbara shrugged. “This thing has become way bigger than us. The Chamber of Commerce and the festival board of directors run things nowadays. They don’t need us anymore.”

  “But we are the festival!” Abigail seemed shocked that no one was taking her side. “If we disappear, who will testify to the power and mystery of the Great Mermaid? Without her—without the heart and soul of the legend—then what’s it all for?”

  Everyone lowered their heads.

  “Let’s face it,” Pol
ly said, her voice just above a whisper. “None of us was even willing to serve as temporary president when Darinda left. Rowan, Annie, and Evelyn have repeatedly refused to consider joining—hell, Rowan and Annie have made fun of us since they were kids! There isn’t a soul on earth to lead the next generation of mermaids!”

  No one had a comeback for Polly. Layla used the back of her wrist to wipe away tears. Izzy stared down at her Birkenstocks. Mona sat on the bench, watching the pale sunlight hit the faces of the Mermaid Society members the way it had for one hundred and twenty-seven years.

  Was Polly right? Was this really the end?

  The Great Mermaid stared out to sea, as stoic and unchanged as the day she was unveiled. She never grew old. She never doubted herself in the face of change. But she was made of bronze, of course—not flesh and blood—and though she might possess mystical knowledge of true love, she would never know the human heartache associated with losing it.

  “Polly is right,” Mona said. “Without some kind of miracle, the Bayberry Island Mermaid Society is dead in the water.”

  Chapter Seven

  Duncan’s eyes popped open with the sun. He lay still for a moment, aware that something had changed. First off, he was sore as shit. Six miles had been too much, and he would need to rest his hamstrings and calf muscles for a couple days. But the change went beyond physical. Something had shifted in his mood. He was excited to begin something. It was almost as if he had a new mission . . .

  The water woman! There was no way she had been a dream.

  Duncan rose from the bed and took a quick shower—well, quicker. In just over a month, he had managed to reduce the time required for grooming and dressing from forty minutes to twenty minutes. Not bad. He caught himself humming as he slipped his feet into his favorite old Docksiders and headed down the back stairs to the kitchen.

  It was a typical summer morning, ovens filled with baked goods while trays of fresh fruit, bacon, and scrambled eggs were ferried out to a noisy dining room by the summer waitresses. It was controlled chaos, and the controller was Imelda Silva.

  “Não, Svetlana! That’s the cottage cheese. We need cream cheese for the bagels!” Mellie rolled her eyes and shooed her summer employee toward the walk-in refrigerator. When she turned back, she caught Duncan reaching for a miniloaf of banana bread right off the cooling rack. She smacked his hand.

  “Good morning, dear Mellie.”

  “Get!”

  “But I’m starving.”

  She pointed to a stool at the large butcher-block table in the middle of the room. “Then sit down like a person. Have coffee and juice and maybe some eggs.”

  Duncan couldn’t help but smile at her showmanship. Mellie liked to pretend she was annoyed with everyone and everything, but Duncan had always been able to see the laughter in her dark almond-shaped eyes.

  Wait.

  Those eyes. They looked familiar. They were similar to the eyes of the witchy-woman mermaid painting.

  He went still as a strange heat radiated from his chest, through his body, and out to his limbs. He knew he was staring at Mellie but couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  “What’s this all about? You’re acting strange today. Now, sit down.” She poured him a cup of coffee and fetched the container of half-and-half, then threw together a breakfast plate. Duncan dug in, realizing that the word “starving” may not have captured just how hungry he was.

  His plan was to eat and get out of there. Looking into Mellie’s eyes was suddenly way too uncomfortable.

  “You good?”

  “Absolutely. Thank you for breakfast.”

  She frowned. “Where are you headed in such a hurry at nine in the morning?”

  “I gotta go see Clancy at the station.”

  “Hmm.” Mellie sat down across from him, folded her hands on the table, and looked him up and down. “Something is different with you today. What is it?”

  Duncan shrugged, giving Mellie a quick, reassuring smile. “I’m feeling a lot stronger. I ran almost six miles last night, and I’m looking forward to my meeting with the captain next week.”

  “That’s not it.” Mellie shook her head and waved her hand at him. “It’s not your running and it’s not your captain.”

  Duncan laughed, wiping his mouth with a napkin and finishing his coffee in a single gulp. “I gotta go, Mellie. Thanks again for breakfast.” He grabbed his dishes and placed them in the large sink, then kissed her cheek on his way to the side door.

  He could feel her eyes on his back, and the sensation lingered long after he’d left the kitchen.

  It was a twenty-minute walk to the Bayberry Island Police Department and Jail complex—if two old, weather-beaten clapboard buildings held together by a breezeway could be called a complex. But Duncan enjoyed the sunshine and the cool morning air. He cut through a few alleys and parking lots once he got to the oldest part of town, knowing the shortcut to his destination. A bell jingled when he opened the front door and the assistant chief of police, Chip Bradford, looked up from his paperwork, his face breaking out into a big smile.

  “Duncan! How you doing?” Chip stepped out from behind the desk and gave him a hug. “It’s good to see you, man. You’re looking wonderful!”

  “Thanks, Chip. Whoa!”

  Something made a sharp barking sound and leaped up to the level of Duncan’s chest. He caught it in midair and came face-to-face with what reminded him way too much of an Ewok from the Star Wars movies. He stared at it for a moment, laughing. “Is this thing supposed to be a dog?”

  Chip laughed. “Yeah, but that’s all we know about her. She’s a stray—no tags, no microchip, no collar. She was hanging around the back door last week, and we let her in when it started raining. She was soaked. We think a tourist dumped her.”

  “Classy.” Duncan put the creature down on the old wood floor, shaking his head. “My brother is too soft. He should have called Animal Control.”

  “We did, but when Fred got here, Clancy told him never mind, that we were going to keep Ondine.”

  “Who?”

  “Ondine. I named her that after the water sprite from mythology, you know, because she was nearly drowning in the rain.”

  “Of course.” Duncan decided if he didn’t divert Chip to some other topic, he could be there until nightfall. “Listen, is he around?”

  Chip inclined his head toward the hallway. “In his office. He’s finishing shift scheduling for festival week and told me not to bother him. Our moonlighters will be here soon.”

  The dog began sniffing and scratching at Duncan’s shoe. He ignored her.

  Chip went on. “Just between you and me, we got some new scheduling software, and it’s a wicked piece of crap. Your brother’s probably not in the greatest mood.”

  “Roger that.” Duncan knew that every summer the Bayberry Police Department beefed up its force in order to deal with festival-week crowds. Most of the temporary guys were Clancy’s buddies from his Boston PD days, more than happy to spend their vacations making triple overtime.

  The scraggly little dog had just finished rolling around on her back, her tongue sticking out of her little mouth. Now she sat staring up at Duncan with big puppy eyes.

  “It needs a bath,” he told Chip.

  “It’s a she.”

  “She needs a bath.” Duncan let himself through the gate that separated the public part of the station from the offices. He tapped on the chief’s door, then pushed it open.

  “Whoa!” He shut it and backed down the hallway. That wasn’t meant for him to see—his brother pressing his wife down onto his desk, kissing the hell out of her, her legs wrapped around him. Duncan wandered farther down the hallway and leaned against the wall, deciding how best to apologize for the intrusion.

  Thank God all they were doing was kissing.

  Evelyn exited her husband’s office first, her eyes averted. Clancy was right behind her, buttoning up his shirt, his eyebrows raised in annoyance at his brother.

 
“Very sorry about that.” The worst part was Evelyn. Would she be angry at him? Embarrassed? Sure, he saw her often enough, but they weren’t particularly close. Duncan wasn’t even sure how it worked with a sister-in-law—he’d barely spoken to Clancy’s first wife.

  Right at that moment, he felt like a real tool.

  “Evie, I didn’t see anything. Really. And you have nothing to be ashamed about.”

  Evelyn kissed her husband good-bye, whispering, “See you tonight, Chief.” As she passed Duncan, she winked at him. “Get your own girl,” she said.

  “See you at home, sweetheart.” Clancy watched his wife exit the station, a shit-eating grin on his face. Honestly, Clancy looked just as dopey-in-love now as he had the summer he was fourteen, when a pretty, brown-haired festival-week tourist named Evie McGuinness stole his heart. As soon as the back door latched shut, Clancy’s demeanor changed.

  “What the hell, bro?”

  “Sorry. Really. But I need to talk to you.”

  Just then the skanky little dog squeezed under the old swinging gate and came skittering down the hall, ears flying back, eyes focused on Duncan.

  “Want a dog?” Clancy asked.

  “Thanks, but no.”

  “She likes you.”

  “It’s an unrequited thing.”

  Clancy laughed. “Well, come on in.” He began tidying up a mess of papers scattered everywhere. They probably had been in order before the police chief rolled around with his wife on the desktop.

  “Everything okay with Ma? Everybody at the Safe Haven good?”

  “Yes. Sure.” The dog was at his heels.

  “So is this about Da? Have you talked with him lately?”

  Duncan couldn’t believe how annoying the dirty ball of fur was. She was bumping up against his right ankle. “No, no. It’s not about Da. I just have a few questions I need to ask you.”

  “This better be worth the interruption.”

  “Yeah. Again, I’m very sorry about that.” Duncan sighed heavily and sat down in the chair across from his brother. The dog sat next to Duncan’s foot. “Look. Do you know Adelena Silva very well?”