“Not really, but”—Chip hesitated—“there’s been some scuttlebutt about the fugitive and the abducted juvenile, but we’re getting conflicting reports.”
Clancy’s heart flew into his throat. “What do you mean?”
“Well, someone on the morning Nantucket ferry called to say she saw the suspect come on board and get dragged out by an undercover police officer. But her husband said she always overdramatized things, that it was just a typical vacation marital disagreement. He said the lady’s husband came on board to tell her to stop with all the drama and come back to the hotel.”
“You don’t say?” Clancy set the milk carton on the kitchen counter, then went to find a couple eggs, his pulse going crazy. “Did the woman make an official statement?”
“No, Chief. She said she didn’t want to get involved.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. Witnesses were an interesting bunch. Two people at the same place at the same time could see two completely different events. Sometimes, a witness with valuable information had to be subpoenaed to ensure justice was done. In this case, Clancy was glad the woman was skittish.
“How did you follow up on this, Chip?”
“I called Old John, the conductor working that run, and he said he had no idea what the people could be talking about. He said there was no record of a woman and child fare from Bayberry. He said he’d fax over the manifest.”
Clancy leaned his head back and closed his eyes in gratitude. Not only had his longtime friend held up a departure for Clancy, he’d covered his ass without even being asked. He owed the conductor a big favor, and he knew just what it would be. Since his wife had died, Old John had become so desperate for companionship that he could drive passengers crazy with his aimless chatter. Clancy decided he would invite him to the house for a meal, a game of checkers, and a leisurely chat.
“Well, there you go.” Clancy tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Since we don’t have an official witness statement, let’s not bother the FBI with it—I’m sure they’re completely overwhelmed with rumors at this point. Oh, and speaking of the case, are there any FBI updates?”
“None at the moment.”
“Ten-four, Chip. Thanks for checking in. I’ll be there a little before eleven. Are the boys causing you any trouble?”
“Nah. Mostly just sleeping.”
“Excellent. See you soon.”
“Chief?”
Clancy’s finger pulled away from the END CALL button. “Yep?”
“Is everything all right? I mean, I don’t mean to pry, but this morning you seemed real upset about something, and, well, I can’t remember the last time you forgot to check in. Is Mona all right? Has something happened to Duncan?”
“Everything’s good with the Flynns, Chip. No worries. I’m just running low on sleep. You know how it is during festival week—and my canine alarm clocks sure aren’t helping.”
Mercifully, Chip seemed satisfied with his answer and said good-bye.
Clancy pulled out the electric skillet, started some sausage patties, and began to whip up the batter. Just then, the bathroom door opened. He heard little bare feet run across the floorboards.
“I know you. You’re the policemans from the water!”
He smiled down at the cute little girl. Her short dark hair smelled like shampoo and her eyes sparkled. She was dressed in another unisex kind of T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. He wasn’t sure how to play this—would he continue pretending she was a boy? Could he call her Christina? Should he stick with Chris? He couldn’t help but think that if this was a challenge for him—a grown man—it had had to be confusing as hell for a little kid her age. Yet she seemed perfectly at ease.
“That’s me, kiddo. On land and on sea, I’m always a police officer.” Clancy let his eyes flash to Evie. She looked refreshed, too. Her face was smooth and dry, and for a woman in her thirties wearing no makeup and being hunted down by the feds, she looked damn good. Rosy and soft—but not exactly relaxed.
There were deep grooves between her light brown eyebrows. Her pretty mouth was pulled tight. And she stood about as stiff as a mainsail. It was then that Clancy remembered he was in uniform.
“Anybody a vegetarian?”
“Not us,” Evie said softly. She cautiously entered the kitchen space and picked up Christina, propping her on a perfectly shaped hip. Clearly, Evie didn’t want to let the little girl out of her sight. “Is there any way I might use your washer and dryer?”
“Please do. They’re right in here.” He nodded to the mudroom. “The load in there right now will be done shortly.” Clancy gave Evie a friendly smile, and she responded with a small upward twitch of her lips. In an attempt to break the ice a bit, he pushed a kitchen stool to the sink and retrieved a colander from an overhead shelf. He turned to Christina. “Would you like to help with the blueberries?”
“Yes! Yes! I love blueberries!” She wiggled out of Evie’s grasp and climbed up on the stool. Clancy placed the pint of fresh blueberries in her hands and wrapped her fingers around the cardboard container. “Can you dump all the berries in here?”
She hurled those suckers in the colander without a second of hesitation. Clancy laughed. “That was wicked good, kiddo. Now your next job is to take this sprayer”—he pulled the faucet extension as far as it would reach—“then sprinkle the berries until they’re clean.” The kid yanked the nozzle out of Clancy’s hands.
“Chris likes to help in the kitchen,” Evie said from behind the butcher block. Clancy noticed that she’d used the genderless name and continued to keep her distance.
“We cook a lot together, and we always make pancakes on Sundays back in . . .”
Clancy pretended he hadn’t noticed her awkward pause. He busied himself with flipping the sausage while keeping an eye on his kitchen assistant, who was drowning the living hell out of those berries. He began talking to himself, hoping Evie would share in the conversation. “This is freshly ground turkey sausage from a butcher here on the island. No antibiotics or growth hormones, free-range kind of bird raised on the mainland. Perfectly spiced, too.” He glanced over his shoulder. “There’s even fresh sage . . .”
Evie had taken a seat at the butcher-block island. She had her hands gripped together and her head lowered. The sight of her shoulders hunched like that hit Clancy hard. He studied the elegant line of her neck, bent low, and couldn’t imagine how desperate and afraid she must feel. If everything went well, Clancy would know soon enough. He’d know everything. And he would do whatever he could to help her.
“The blueberries look good, Chef Jellybean.”
“Hey! That’s my name!”
“I know!” Clancy grinned at her. “Now let me turn this off, okay?” He had to wrestle the faucet from the death grip of his sous chef. For the next fifteen minutes his assistant was indispensable—she helped set the table, flip the pancakes, and pour the milk, all while Evelyn sat in silence, trying to smile pleasantly when it was obvious she was about to lose it. They ate at the island, but since he had only two stools, Clancy had to pull up a dining room chair for himself. He sat so low that his chin barely cleared the butcher-block surface, which Christina thought was hilarious. Her aunt said almost nothing through the meal.
When they’d finished eating, Evelyn volunteered to clean up, which gave Clancy a chance to grab the sheets from the dryer and make the guest bed. With that task completed, he had to go. Roll call was in just a few minutes.
“Evie, may I have a quick word with you, please?”
She turned slowly from her work at the sink. Christina was busy at the dining room table, humming to herself as she used a dishtowel to dry every plastic cup or bowl Clancy owned, though not a single one had been used in the course of making breakfast. Evelyn was a smart cookie.
She joined him at the juncture of the hallway and living room, but immediately circled around so that sh
e would have both Christina and the front door in her line of sight. Clancy raised an eyebrow. Did she think this chat was a trap? Maybe she still thought this whole thing was a trap, and that he was setting her up.
He sighed and smiled sadly. “Look, Evie, I have to go into work and I don’t know when I’ll be back. I never know, unfortunately. But I want you to know you are welcome to stay. I want you to stay. Just don’t answer the door or the phone and you’ll be fine.”
Evelyn raised her ethereal green eyes to his, and Clancy saw tears begin to form. She shook her head.
“So? Will you be here when I get back?”
“I”—she looked around his house—“I don’t know.”
“Fair enough,” Clancy said.
“We don’t have anywhere else to go at the moment, but I . . .”
Clancy stretched out his hand to hers. He didn’t know what the gesture meant or even why he did it, but it seemed she needed to be reassured. Softly, he stroked her fingers with his, and he was astonished when she unfolded her palm to his touch. If there was a word big enough for what this woman did to him, he’d never heard it. There was a power circling him whenever she was near. Her presence somehow made everything sharper and sweeter. Clancy felt as if he knew her—and not just as the fuzzy memory of a long-ago summer fling. He understood her. She was familiar to him. It almost felt as if she were supposed to be here, in his house and in his life. But there was just one little problem . . .
“I’m going to need to know everything, Evie. You can’t hold anything back if I’m going to help you.”
She pulled her hand away.
“I can’t force you to stay, but if you do, you must tell me exactly what’s going on. No more secrets. There’s too much at stake here.”
Her eyes darted quickly toward Christina. “I . . . right. I understand.”
“If you’re gone when I get back, I will keep you in my thoughts, always. I hope everything works out for the best for you.”
She nodded but said nothing.
Clancy headed to the front door, patting Christina on the head. “See ya later, alligator.”
“Bye!”
The rain had stopped and the sun was making its debut, which was excellent news for Island Day. Clancy tried to focus on that. He had a job to do today. He had a responsibility to this island.
He was harboring a fugitive.
“Jesus, what am I doing?”
As Clancy headed for the Jeep he heard crunching gravel on the drive behind him. He spun around.
Evie rushed forward. She kissed him. Hard. She popped up on her toes and cradled his head in her hands and just laid one on him. Then she hugged his body so tight his spine cracked. Then she stepped back. It ended just as abruptly as it began.
Clancy felt dizzy. And deliriously happy. He found himself laughing. “Now that was a wicked sick kiss.”
“Glad you liked it.” When Evie made eye contact with him, Clancy could see how torn and sad she was. “I need to go back inside with Chris.”
“Wait.” He touched her upper arm. “Is that your usual ‘have-a-good-day-at-work’ kind of kiss? Because if it is, I can pretend I forgot something, go back in the house, and come out again.”
She did manage a smile, but it didn’t spread to her eyes. It was a start, though. And he’d take it.
“I think that kiss was a first. I just wanted you to know . . .” Evie didn’t finish her thought, but she didn’t have to.
“I feel the same.” He brushed the back of his hand down her cheek. “Despite everything and no matter what happens, I am grateful we got to see each other again.”
Chapter Eleven
“Gather ’round, ye ’maids.” Mona gestured for everyone to sit. “As we know, the Island Day opening has been delayed two hours. This has thrown us off schedule.” She inclined her head toward Darinda Darswell. “Thankfully, Darinda has reworked our assignment flowchart. Darinda?”
Mona knew she was being sly. Every member present would notice that seemingly innocent statement and it would be fun to watch their reactions. Slowly, it began to dawn on them. Some women dropped their jaws. Some scrunched their faces in confusion. Some looked as if their eyeballs would spring from their sockets.
By turning over festival-week scheduling to Darinda, Mona had made the first, blatant indication that she was ready to step down. After thirty-six years, she had decided this tourist season would be her last as the president of the Bayberry Island Mermaid Society. In Darinda, she had finally found a natural leader who both understood the sacred nature of the job and possessed the skills to pull it off.
Most important, she had agreed to put her name on the ballot.
“What the fuuuh . . . ?” Polly Estherhausen caught herself, slapping a hand over her mouth.
At least she was trying. Mona recently received a formal complaint about Polly’s language penned by Izzy McCracken and signed by eight other members. They claimed curse words had no place in the spiritual domain of the mermaid. They said Polly’s fondness for the “F” word, in particular, tainted their rituals and diminished the sacred nature of true love itself, although her frequent use of the “sh” word and the “a-hole” word weren’t so great either.
Abigail jumped to her fins. “Shit just got real up in here, people!”
“For crying out loud!” Izzy threw her hands around in exasperation. “I give up. Maybe this group should abandon all pretense of decorum. I know—let’s forgo the costumes and run around in obscene T-shirts. Something like . . . YEAH, WE GOT A FUCKIN’ MERMAID.”
After a moment of stunned silence, Layla O’Brien raised her hand. “If you order twenty or more you can get a discount.”
Darinda glanced at Mona with a wide-eyed and worried expression.
“You’ll do just fine,” Mona whispered to her, patting Darinda’s hand. “But it does look a little different from this angle, doesn’t it?”
Darinda nodded.
“Hold up.” Polly stiff-armed the room as a whole. “Let’s get back to the point. Mona—what’s going on?”
Mona took a deep breath and turned to address her dearest friends in the world. “Ladies, I think the time has come for a transition. Darinda is thirty years my junior, full of energy and wonderful ideas, and she has excellent organizational skills. She’ll be on the ticket come our October election. I am going to hang up my shells.”
It took a while for the general shouting, jumping, and hugging to stop so that Mona could continue. “We’ve talked about this many times, ’maids. The leadership role has become too much for me, and God knows Rowan has no interest in continuing the tradition and taking over as president. She doesn’t even want to be among our general membership.”
Abby laughed. “Am I the only one who finds that ironic? Rowan is with her heart-mate because of the Great Mermaid’s intervention. As a matter of fact, so is her best friend, Annie! We authenticated both cases, did we not? And yet they both still refuse to believe!”
Sadly, Abigail was right. Despite benefiting directly from the mermaid’s good works, the young women had no desire to join the Society. While it was disappointing that Annie Parker wasn’t interested, it was a tragedy that Rowan felt that way.
As the only Flynn woman of her generation, Rowan should have been the next Mermaid Society president. It was a tradition that stretched back to the 1890s, when the eldest daughter of Rutherford and Serena Flynn created the society in her mother’s honor. Since neither of Mona’s sons were anywhere near married, Rowan was the only one who could continue the unbroken line of Flynns to serve the mermaid.
There was no convincing these young women that their good fortune was the handiwork of the sea goddess. Rowan and Annie believed that garden-variety coincidence and good luck were behind their love stories. How flat it must be for them to go through everyday life without the spark of the Great Mermaid
’s magic. How dull it must feel.
All that said, Mona had finally accepted that there was no reaching them. There was no forcing it. The decision to open oneself to the mermaid had to come from the heart, like all life’s most worthwhile choices.
Izzy raised a finger. “I do have one small question.”
“Me, too,” Polly said. “Is this meeting going to go on indefinitely? Because I gotta pee like a pregnant racehorse.”
Mona gave Izzy the floor while ignoring Polly.
“I don’t question Darinda’s abilities or dedication—I truly do think you’ll be a wonderful president—but do our election eligibility guidelines allow us to put a former fairy on the ballot?”
A hush went through the room. This was a sensitive topic for the society. Many years back, several members defected, deciding to create a new organization, one that honored the alleged existence of woodland fairies in the island’s nature preserve. Most mermaid devotees considered it a slap in the face, and possibly even a tongue-in-cheek lampoon of the island’s sacred legend.
Darinda cleared her throat. “I was a member of the Fairy Brigade when I first moved here, but it didn’t last.”
Polly headed for Mona’s bathroom. “Well, nobody else has shown the slightest interest in being on the ballot for the last three decades! So fairy or not, I say we let the girl chase her dream.”
Layla jumped up and hugged Darinda. “I think you’ll be terrific!”
Mona agreed the matter was settled and asked Darinda to proceed with scheduling. Just before the meeting ended, Mona placed her hand upon the stack of colorful brochures on the coffee table. “Please remember that in addition to the beauty of the legend itself, these brochures are our best recruiting tools, and I don’t have to remind you that we are in desperate need of new members.”
Abigail sighed. “We know, Mona.”
The meeting adjourned and the mermaids scattered to their Island Day assignments. As Mona closed her front door, her thoughts went to Clancy’s visit that morning. If she said anything to him about this, he would tell her she was a fruitcake, but the fact remained—her son’s vibration had undergone a dramatic change in just twelve hours.