rev1 tarot & tea, a siren says mystery chapts 1 thru 7 by marina ferrari

Tarot & Tea, A Siren Says Mystery Chapt 1 thru 7 by Marina Ferrari

Chapter 1

It was both chilly and foggy this late winter morning on the coast, so I was happy to be snugly

ensconced in an office chair. Sipping a satisfying cup of our chef’s hot chocolate, spiked with a

orange and cayenne, I was checking my tarot reading schedule on the teahouse’s computer.

We had a good many walk in clients, given that Siren Says Tea was a tourist destination, but =

was surprising how many locals also came for readings. Many preferred to come through the

back door, either before or after closing. I related overly well to those who had to have a reading

on the sly. Their reasons ranged from controlling spouses, nosy townsfolk or just the plain,

understandable desire to keep one's business as much to oneself as possible.

The first appointment wasn’t until early afternoon, so I'd lend a hand for the Friends of the

Library monthly luncheon today. Until then, I took advantage of the quiet to update my web

advertisements and then logged onto the California Tarot Readers web group. It was the email

group for a state-wide professional association. Among other things, it served as a way to warn

each other about con artists, bullies and other undesirables either posing as readers or as clients.

Scanning the messages on the site, a subject heading caught my eye:

Alert: New Client Asking Too Many Personal Questions

The body of the email described a male client who had asked a reader way too many in-depth

personal questions, and she became so uncomfortable that she ended the reading early and

wouldn't accept payment from him. She described him as mid-thirties, with a receding hairline,

bleached teeth (she was in southern California, so I bet she knew how to spot that!), an athletic

build and overly casual demeanor. I made a mental note, logged off and changed into my serving

outfit and headed toward the kitchen.

Tarot & Tea, A Siren Says Mystery by Marina Ferrari

Siren Says Tea was owned by my older sister, Elspeth, and her British-born husband Nigel.

They’d bought and converted an old Mexican restaurant, a Spanish Revival house built around a

tiled courtyard that featured a burbling fountain in the middle. A one story structure, it had a

traditional white stucco exterior with a terracotta roof and several towering chimneys. The front

offered a welcoming arcade, which is a series of roofed arches supported by columns. In warmer

weather it offered comfortable outdoor furniture and in the winter we only kept the large mosaic

planters filled with bright flowers, a colorful contrast the white building and the gray skies. The

interior’s graceful arched doorways were outlined in old painted tile. The walls have been

painted in sea colors – blues, aqua and seafoam. Elspeth and her husband Nigel had decorated it

with a combination of art deco antiques and beach memorabilia. Our mascot, the Siren, was a

painted mural on the entrance wall. She was a Jazz-age mermaid, a brief fringed top, her hair in a

pageboy, a smiling Clara Bow mouth and seahorse and starfish headband. Attached to this was a

graceful seaweed fascinator. With bubbles and fish in the background, it was an amusing,

evocative scene.

Elspeth and the teahouse manager and chef’s wife Fina push through the back door, laughing

and chatting. I joined our pre-lunch huddle where we ironed out last minute details with Chef

Joaquin. The next few hours passed in a rush of activity, serving the Friends of the Library

luncheon. Before I knew it, it was time to change into fortune telling garb and see tarot clients. I

put on an emerald velvet jacket over black velvet palazzo pants and sapphire colored satin shell,

adding a twist of white freshwater pearls at my throat. My blonde curls were in a loose bun,

escaping tendrils artfully framing my face. I tucked a peacock feather fascinator into the top of

the bun, completing the vintage look I favored.


The cozy, exotic alcove where readings were conducted was plush and charming. It featured a

stained-glass overhead lamp, blue sari cloth covered table and aqua green cushioned banquettes

that also served as storage space. The setting was richly reminiscent of the sea, as the rest of the

teahouse was. From one of the banquettes, I removed a well-used tarot deck, small recorder and

microphone.

Two hours and three clients later, Elspeth came hurrying over to me, her hazel cat eyes flashing

under arched brows and delicate blonde wisps escaping from her French twist. She wasn’t quite

her usual soignee self. “Lina, can you take a walk-in? He’s not a local, but he’s looking for a half

hour reading. He just finished his tea service, so I told him I’d check with you.”

“Sure, let’s do it. I promise to have him out of here by closing.”

“Oh, that’s no problem. It’s just, well, there’s something maybe off about him. Or maybe he’s

just nervous, I don’t know.” She threw up her hands and shrugged her slender shoulders, the

large diamond band on her left hand winking in the lamplight.

“Do you think he’s trouble?” I asked, my mind flashing on the email I’d read from my web

group about the client asking too many personal questions.

“Nooo, I – I’m probably just jittery due to the moon. I haven’t had much time this week to

meditate. Just push the panic button is there’s a problem, okay?” There was a panic button built

into the banquette where I sat, and if activated it would ring a bell in the kitchen and the office.

Ellie’s husband Nigel had insisted it be installed, and while I’d never had to use it, I was glad it

was there.

I nodded and smiled. “I’ll bear that in mind, Ellie. Thanks for the warning.”

“Okay, I’ll bring him back right now.” She blew me a kiss, moving efficiently in her sparkling

white Keds. In a minute, she was back, followed by a tall, fit man who moved with a confident


air. He wore trendy glasses, a business casual striped button down shirt and chinos, standard

dress code for men in Silicon Valley.

“Lina, this is Garrett. He mentioned that he’s never had a tarot reading before, so he’s a bit

nervous. He’s all paid up, so you’re ready to go.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “You’re in

good hands. Lina’s an excellent reader. Enjoy.” She strode off toward the front of the house.

I gazed up at my new client, and gestured for him to take a seat. “Welcome, Garrett, it’s nice to

meet you,” I said warmly while he got comfortable. He looked around and managed a tentative

smile.

“This is pretty exotic – and so are you. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

I smiled back. “We try to blend elements of the exotic and the unique so that it’s a memorable

occasion, hence this tarot nook and my outfit. Now let me outline for you what I do. I have a CD

in place to record our session for you as a keepsake, at no additional cost. I can either do a

general reading or we can look into specific issues, whichever you prefer. Since you’ve never

done this before, let me just say that divination with tarot cards is a useful method, but there are

many interpretations. That’s where I come in; I use my intuition, along with the cards, to offer

illumination.”

“That makes sense, actually.” He took a breath and expelled it. “Okay, let’s record the session. I

guess I’d prefer that you to do a general reading, you know, give me a sense of what this is all

about and I’d like to know what you see.” He leaned forward for a moment, staring down at the

table. Then he glanced up at me and smiled, revealing a set of very well cared for teeth. “My

sister swears by the tarot, but me, well, I’ve never been interested in it til recently. It’ll be fun to

compare readings with her.”


“That’s a good start, if you’re comfortable sharing the results with her. It’s not a big investment

of your time or money, so if you don’t like it, you don’t ever have to do it again.” I grinned at

him and shrugged. “Shall we get started?”

“Sure. Just tell me what to do.” He returned the grin, his boyish and attractive, but I noticed that

his teeth were unnaturally white. Uh oh. I knew what my sister meant about something being a

bit off with this guy. He came across as unassuming, he didn’t give off any threatening vibes and

he wasn’t behaving oddly, but still, there was something that I couldn’t put my finger on, besides

the Hollywood dentition. If he was the man asking all of the personal questions, it made sense

there’d be something a little off about him.

I took a breath, refocused and responded, masking my thoughts.

“For a first time, I think it’s good to have a look at the cards, notice which images catch your

eye, then you shuffle them until you feel they’re ready.”

“Until the cards are ready, or until I am?” He picked up the tarot deck and began to look

through them.

I shrugged again. “That’s a good point. Until both you and the cards feel ready. I’ll start

recording now.” I turned the recorder on and once he finished shuffling, I quietly said his name

and the date. I fanned the cards out across the table and instructed him to pick as many as he felt

compelled to and hand them to me one by one. He took a few minutes, thoughtfully pulling a

number of cards and handing them to me. I laid each out and right before I swept my glance over

them, which is when the first intuitive hit usually came, I felt a sense of deep foreboding. I took a

couple of breaths, but the feeling didn’t dissolve. Garrett was waiting politely. I looked down at

the spread; it progressed from a number of pentacles and cups – indicating making his way in the

world and his relationships with others – to a lot of swords – including the King of Swords,


Knight of Swords, both the Eight and Ten of Swords, as well as clashing wands, The High

Priestess, The Hierophant, The Moon and The Devil. In a word – wow.

Tarot readers need to strike the balance between being honest with their clients and being

positive. I’d learned to do so, not just diplomatically, but sincerely. I strove to do so now,

focusing on what I saw in his character, his surroundings and what mattered to him. There were

positive aspects, such as his family, his friends, that he was gainfully employed. But the sense of

foreboding remained and when I got to The Moon, it intensified even further. Suddenly, I could

hear the sea roaring in my ears, the waves slapping the shore, the cries of circling gulls. A squall

is coming, I thought to myself. A big, messy squall. The moon the moon the moon is full, it

circles like the gulls, it pulls like the tide, never revealing its mysteries. Hitch the wagon up to

the starry skies, the starry beach, the gypsy wagon of mysteries.

My hands were clammy and my cheeks were hot, but I found that my voice was steady when I

said with authority, “Here on the coast you’re trying to unravel a mystery. But some answers

can’t be forced, they come over time. You’re learning which mysteries can be forced and which

ones can’t. The one you’re immersed in cannot be forced. You must use caution even though

guile has been your main tool. Please, proceed with carefully.”

I looked up from the spread to find him staring at me, mouth open. “You’re kidding me. The

cards are telling you that?” I nodded. He looked around, as if expecting to find an audience.

He ran his hands through his hair, which was sandy blonde, thinning on top. “Okay, well, uh,

some of it was pretty accurate. But what you just said, I don’t know what you mean, exactly.”

Bullshit, you know exactly what I mean, you’re just pulling out the guile, like you usually do.

No wonder you piss off so many of your girlfriends! Whoa, where did that come from? I asked

myself. I cleared my throat and looked him in the eye. He blinked first. “It’s not my job to pry


into your business. But from the middle through the end of your spread contain a big warning to

be cautious. All of these swords and wands indicate clashing ambitions, a lack of peace for you,

and that a lot of mind games are in play. The Major Arcana cards”- I pointed toward them with

my index finger – “show that there is a lot of mystery, there are also temptations or indulgences

and there are several male authority figures – the King of Swords and The Emperor, as well as

the Knight of Swords. I see you in this reading as the Knight of Swords, someone who brings

information to others. That’s the first card in this spread and it makes sense that it represents

you.”

“So in spite of all these cards I chose, the take away message for me is to proceed with

caution?” He asked, looking at me quizzically.

“Yes, I’d say that’s the priority. The rest of this – this mysteries, clashing ambitions, and

powerful men – they are secondary to your safety.”

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. Well, I gotta get going. Thanks a lot, I appreciate your time and

insight.”

“You’re welcome.” I removed the CD from the recorder and labeled it, slipped it into a jewel

case and handed it to him. “Take care, Garrett.”

As he rose from his seat and walked away, I decided that I’d better try to figure out if this was

the nosy mystery man while my impressions were still fresh. I hurried toward the office and

logged back in to my tarot group and reread the message about the suspicious person. I sent

Lydia, who originally posted the message, an email asking for details about the man’s

appearance. Then I sat back, thinking everything over for a minute. The feeling of dread that

came over me during the reading was pervasive. Could it have been caused by my recognizing,

on some level, that Garrett may be this mystery man? But even if he and the suspicious man


were the same person, that didn’t fully explain this feeling. No, I decided, the feeling was due to

the reading itself, not the client. Sighing, I logged off and got up, grabbed my purse and headed

toward the kitchen to say my good-byes.

Joaquin, Fina and Elspeth were almost done with clean up and were just waiting on a few

customers lingering over their tea.

“Thanks for your help today, Lina. Those library types can be brutal!” My sister blew out a

breath and finished putting dishes away.

“They loved my hot chocolate and my soup, and that’s all a humble cook can ask,” Joaquin said

with a wink at Fina. The Friends of the Library were notoriously picky, made up of self-

important locals who loved being fussed over.

Fina thwacked Joaquin with her dish towel. “Ha, you get your ego stroked and get to flirt every

time they’re here,” she teased, rolling her eyes.

“Someone has to fawn over the blue hairs. After all, I used to mow all of their lawns when I

was in school, so I recall their finer days,” he teased back.

“They had finer days, did they?” I asked archly. “That’s news to me. If they could get away

with it, they’d ignore the fact that you went to culinary school, Joaquin. They’re self-important

snobs.”

“That may be true, but their money is as good as anyone else’s, and for all the trouble they

cause, they tip well. And let’s not forget that they’re so busy thinking about their importance that

they don’t pay much attention to us,” Elspeth wagged a finger at me. “I’m grateful.”

“Speaking of nosy, Ellie, that client was a bit odd. If you see him around, will you let me

know?”


“Sure thing. But what exactly do you mean?” she asked, knowing that my heightened senses at

the full moon made my readings more memorable. I noticed that Joaquin and Fina were both

paying attention.

“It might not be anything, but someone in my online tarot group issued a warning of sorts for a

man that matched his description. He said his name was Garrett, right, but we don’t know if

that’s true. The warning was that he was asking a lot of personal questions and it made the reader

uncomfortable. I’ve emailed her asking for more details, so I’ll keep you in the loop. Look, I’m

not nervous the way I’d have been a few years ago. For heaven’s sake, I’ve changed my name

and my appearance enough to throw anyone off the trail and you go by your married name. No

one here calls you Elle like when we were younger.” I looked at the three of them. “Or do you

think I shouldn’t feel so safe?”

Joaquin sighed. “’Mija, we can’t tell you how to feel. No way should you be a nervous wreck,

but you can’t get too complacent, either.”

“I don’t think she’s complacent, Keen. Look at her – she paid attention to this guy, she’s trying

to get more information and she takes daily precautions,” Fina voiced her opinion.

“Fina, I’m just trying to say that it’s a hard balance, and I, for one, am here to help protect her.

We’ve all gotten used to being on our guard, but that doesn’t mean no one’s looking for her.” He

gazed at me, his face very serious, something that wasn’t common with this smiling, happy man.

“I think we all know what you mean,” Ellie soothed. “Look, let’s keep our eyes peeled for this

guy, in case he’s hanging around. Fina and Keen, you both saw what he looked like, so that

means there’re four of us who’ll be on the lookout. Lina, let us know what your contact says.

And make sure you park in the garage, turn the alarm on, and keep things locked here if you’re


alone. We all know the drill: keep the back door bolted at all times, report anything suspicious,

and most of all, don’t take safety for granted.”

Fina grinned and the tension was momentarily broken, “Look at the bright side: it’s more likely

that people will figure out that we’re mermaids than Lina’s ex will find her. Am I right?” After a

moment, her grin faded. “I guess that’s not exactly the bright side, is it?”

Chapter 2

“No, Fina, I wouldn’t call that the brightest of sides. We don’t need our secret discovered nor

do we want McStalker around here,” my sister declared.

“McStalker? Someone’s been watching too much TV,” I chided lightly.

“Anyway, there’s safety in numbers. We only go to the beach once a month and the men have

our backs, don’t you?” I looked over at Joaquin.

“Yep, we do. You ladies are entitled to your monthly wine night at your cottage,” he replied

teasingly, marking wine night in quotation marks with his fingers. He gathered up the rest of the

used kitchen towels and deposited them in the laundry bag that would be picked up early in the

morning. “C’mon, it’s been a long day. I’m looking forward to my time off,” he finished,

referring to our off-season closed days of Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Summer and fall we were

only closed once a week, winter and spring two days a week.

We parted ways with Fina and Keen, Ellie seeing me home – which was just across the

backyard of the teahouse. I lived in the Spanish Revival cottage behind the business, surrounded

by a lovely, stucco-walled garden where flowers bounced and shimmied in the sea breeze. It was

a refuge for the hummingbirds, bees and butterflies that came to feed it had become a much-

needed refuge for me. The musical trickle of the wall fountain was a constant companion and

offered the songbirds a place to bathe and drink. The interior was charming and warm, filled with


many windows, French doors, fireplaces in both the living room and my bedroom. Nigel and

Elspeth had updated it, so there was a wonderful mixture of its original art deco meets Spanish

design and sleek modern comfort. I was the first to admit it was a charmed existence, especially

because my work commute consisted of a walk across the yard that stretched between the

teahouse and my garden. My sister and brother-in-law lived around the block, directly behind

me, and there were two old oak gates set in the brick wall dividing the properties, one obvious

and one hidden on my back patio, making it easy for them both to come and go from the

teahouse.

Instead of leaving me at the front door, Ellie actually walked through the cottage, making sure

all was safe. I locked up and set the alarm when she left, then puttered around, watering plants,

folding laundry and making an artichoke dip for tomorrow. Like Fina and Ellie, I was restless,

my senses more keen with the moon nearly full. But I was also nervous, and I thought about

what Fina had said, imagining various scenarios and losing all sense of perspective. It helped to

finally sit down with a cup of mint tea and dig out a much-thumbed, old book from a small press.

Ladies of the Sea is how the title had been translated from the original French. It was illustrated

by both color plates and line drawings of mermaids from around the globe, many of them

fantastical images that I doubted were historical. But there were also accurate illustrations,

featuring women just like Fina, Ellie and me – our predecessors, and some were even likely to be

our direct ancestors. Ellie and I were French from both parents, going way back to the Gaulish

Celts according to the oldest records. Most Americans didn’t have knowledge of their extended

family lineage but we did, thanks to group of mermaid elders – The Collective – who oversaw

our continuity. Our maternal and paternal grandparents had moved to the United States during

World War II after centuries in France, dating back to our aquatic ancestor, the Melusine.


Both sets of grandparents were part of a sprawling but rather insular community who’d

relocated to the Napa and Sonoma Valleys, getting involved, like many of the Italian, Hungarian,

Alsatian and other European immigrants, in wine and agriculture.

Looking at the old pictures and reading the accompanying stories about the mermaids was

soothing and inspired me to bake a loaf of banana nut bread, rearrange my lingerie drawer and

build a fire in the main bedroom. Then into bed amidst a clutch of comfy pillows to catch up on

what I’d DVR’d, a warm chunk of fresh bread slathered with cream cheese next to my fresh mug

of mint tea.

The next thing I knew, I woke up with the television remote digging into my hip and my mouth

tasting like a virgin banana daiquiri. What was that noise that woke me up? It sounded like

someone was outside the bedroom, not far from the French doors. I listened closely and

definitely heard soft footsteps on the wooden deck. My hearing was enhanced from the waxing

moon and would remain that way for a couple of days, waning until it reached its normal state.

So I knew what I’d heard was actually pretty quiet and if someone was creeping around they

were actually quite stealthy. Maybe it was Ellie or Nigel? The gate behind the cottage that led

into Ellie and Nigel’s yard was purposely camoflauged, creating a secret escape route from here

to their place. Maybe there was an emergency and they’d used the quickest route to get to me? If

that was the case, I should hear a knock at any moment. But I didn’t – I just heard another soft

footfall.

I froze momentarily both in panic and with trying to listen, then remembered to breathe, and

reached toward the panic button beside the bed. My phone rang- the landline, its ringer loud in

the silence. Then my cellphone sounded, the strains of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” coming

from the bedside table and competing with my home phone. I ignored both and dashed to the


French doors, galvanized and angry. I opened them and saw a figure running toward the fence

next to Siren Says. I could tell it was a man in a black stocking cap and dark clothing, something

clutched in his gloved hand. A gun or a flashlight?

“That’s it you coward, run away and don’t come back or you’ll say hello to my little friend!” I

screamed. The landline stopped ringing, then my cellphone stopped, then it started again,

Cohen’s voice drifting through my bedroom, out into the night fog. My visitor didn’t even veer

toward the locked front gate, but scampered over the fence comfortably, like it was something he

was used to doing. That made me even angrier and I took off after him in my stocking feet, no

jacket, no weapon, not even my phone. My escalating rage propelled me across the deck, over

the small patio and through the side yard to the gate. If I could just see what sort of vehicle he

drove…I fiddled with the lock, finally wrenching it open and took a calming breath.

What if he was hovering around? Nah, he wouldn’t be that stupid. I didn’t hear a car engine

start up, so I crept outside the gate, moving fast in my now soaking wet wool socks. As I

followed along the side of the teahouse, I hugged the wall, reached down and picked up a

handful of the decorative river rocks along the path. Then I heard a car about a half a block away

start up and take off to the south. I stepped out into the street, squinting at the tail lights, but all I

could discern was that it was probably a truck or an SUV.

I headed back to home and began to shiver in the cold, my feet numb. I heard shouts from the

cottage – Nigel and Ellie sounded frantic. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I called out to them and hurried

my steps. They met me half way and Elspeth grabbed me.

“You’re okay? What happened? We called you but you didn’t answer. How come the motion

detector lights aren’t on?” She was right. Their house, the cottage and the back of the teahouse

were all outfitted with lights that went on when someone came within certain distance of the


buildings. None of them were working on this property, but I could see them lit up in Ellie and

Nigel’s backyard.

“Uh, I-I dunno. I didn’t notice, it all happened so fast.”

“Lina, let’s get you inside. The police will be here in a mo’ and you need to warm up,” Nigel’s

gentle, plummy tones broke in. He shepherded my sister and me into the cottage, locking the

French doors behind him. I peeled off my wet socks, put on a fresh pair and crammed my feet

into my warm Ugg boots. Stomping back into the living room to get my circulation going, I told

them more of what happened when we were interrupted by the arrival of the police. Ellie and I

could smell their testosterone, which arrived before they did. Nigel only heard them come

through the gate, flashlights confidently in hand. He turned on the porch light.

“We canNOT tell them about Kyle or the past stalking. If we do, word will get out and if he

doesn’t already know where I am, he soon will, based on this investigation,” I hissed urgently.

“Remember, we keep this to ourselves until we know more.” I scanned both of their faces and

stared at them fiercely until they both nodded in agreement. Good. They understood the

ramifications of telling the cops about my history with Kyle Hastings. My ex-boyfriend, my

stalker, was the reason I moved to Europe to finish college. He was also the reason that my life

had been in upheaval for a long time. Until this past year (which had been fun, safe and

enjoyable, with laughter, trusted friends and family, enjoyable work and a lovely home), my

adulthood had been marred by the very real trauma of harassment, threats and having to

constantly look over my shoulder. I wasn’t ready to lose my new-found peace and fulfillment

because of this jerk from my past. I was angry earlier when confronting the intruder and I was

angry now. Even a garden variety burglar could inadvertently start a chain of events that resulted


in something much worse than the loss of my possessions – the loss of my hard-won safety and

privacy.

But that was the unknown, and right now, there were two cops at the door to be dealt with, both

in their thirties and looking competent and serious. The bigger one introduced himself as

Sergeant Tanner and the slightly younger one was Deputy Elmlund. Hearing that I witnessed a

car leave right after the prowler escaped, one of them immediately stepped away and radioed in

the information.

The sergeant explained to us, “All officers in the area will be on the lookout for a lone male

driving a truck or SUV. Unfortunately, with the highway running through town, it makes it more

difficult, but we’re all keeping our eyes open. Now tell me the rest of the story while Deputy

Elmlund examines the house and premises. Sir,” he asked, looking at Nigel, “Do you mind

accompanying the deputy so that you can tell him if you see anything out of place?” Nigel

nodded and followed the subordinate deputy outside, leaving Elspeth and me to explain just the

happenings of tonight, leaving out the events of the past that had me living amidst motion

detector lights, panic buttons and alarms, just yards from my family and workplace.

As I recounted the events I ignored the feelings of guilt that accompanied my giant whopper of

omission. The security expert that I consulted years ago taught me that in order to prevent gossip

one had to keep quiet when authorities were involved in events that weren’t definitely involving

the stalker. It had taken me awhile to trust this advice, but after several leaks had led Kyle back

to me, forcing me into hiding, I had learned that it was the lies of omission that kept me safe.

With this foremost in mind, I recounted the events of tonight and ended with reiterating the car

leaving. The sergeant watched my body language as well as listened to what was said, and even


though his expression changed to one of mild surprise when told I’d chased after the prowler, he

didn’t say anything.

As he took notes, it occurred to me that I hadn’t had to call the police since moving to Skybay.

Maybe that meant Kyle Hastings had given up his hunt for me. But tonight’s incident led me to

believe that wasn’t the case. Was Kyle tonight’s prowler? I didn’t think so. Kyle loped

gracefully, with the economy of movement of the athlete he’d been in college still evident the

last time I saw him. He was also taller with wider shoulders and the slightly pigeon-toed stance

common in baseball players. Tonight’s bad guy moved with focus, like a long distance runner or

someone with military or police training. Then my mind lit on a possibility: Could that have been

my client Garrett, hired by Kyle? I wouldn’t put it past Kyle to hire someone, but couldn’t be

certain that the man was Garrett.

As my thoughts swirled with the possibilities, I tried to focus on what Sgt. Tanner was asking

me. I kept my answers succinct, organized and as unemotional as possible. When he finished

with me, he gave me a speculative look. As the other deputy returned to us, Tanner asked, “Any

signs of vandalism or anything missing?” Elmlund shook his head.

“It all looks fine,” Nigel said. “It may just be a nasty coincidence that the outdoor lights aren’t

working.”

“Dominic, why don’t you and Mr. Upjohn give his yard a quick check, too, okay?” The

sergeant spoke to the deputy but included Nigel in his tight smile and nod. Deputy Elmlund

briefly raised his eyebrows but nodded and he and Nigel both headed back outside.

Once the other men were out of earshot, Sgt. Tanner rocked back on his heels and rubbed his

hand over his brush cut. He swept a piercing gaze over Ellie, then me. “Okay, ladies, this is the

deal,” he began. “I know all of the signs and I’m sorry as hell that I can’t do more to help. But


this is what I can do.” He pulled two business cards out of his pocket and wrote on the back of

each one. “Here’s my cell number. If you need help again, call me – night or day. Of course, if

it’s an emergency, call 911. But it if has to do with the complexities of dealing with a stalker, call

me.” I glanced at Ellie and her mouth had dropped open. I cleared my throat but stayed silent.

“No, really, I get it,” he continued. “My wife was the victim of a stalker before we met and she

had a similar setup, down to the panic button and always parked her car in the garage. That’s

how I met her – she became a victim advocate. She still does volunteer work with the county,

helping victims stay safe and sane. I can put you in touch with her if you want. Think about it,

please.” And he winked at me. “You’re tough, you’re smart and you’re strong. Your family loves

you and is trying to keep you safe,” he nodded at Elspeth and she nodded back and gave him a

wan smile.

“For the record, my report will state that there was a prowler, but no known suspects. No one

else will know about this conversation, so there won’t be any law enforcement gossip.” He

handed us each a card. “But make sure you get those motion detector lights fixed pronto.”

“I-I, well, I’m not sure what to say. Thank you,” I stuttered a bit and tried a smile.

“You’re welcome. I understand. Oh, one more thing – unfortunately, the report will have your

name on it,” he said sympathetically, watching me.

“It sure sounds like you do understand. I changed my name. My sister no longer uses her

nickname nor her maiden name. So far, that has made all the difference.”

“What about your social security number?” he asked.

“Both of us moved to Europe before we got ours, and we changed our names before we applied

for them,” I told him.

He nodded in approval, “Let’s hope he never figured out the name changes.”


“We haven’t seen or heard from him since I moved back to the U.S. Ellie did her post graduate

work and got married in the U.K., then came here. I finished all of my schooling abroad, after I

changed my name. So far, so good – but we’re still careful,” I said, filling him in.

I continued. “I should tell you this: I think the prowler may have been one of my tarot clients

today.” Elspeth’s head shot up and she looked at me with wide eyes. “He made me a little

uncomfortable, and my sister had the same reaction. But he wasn’t rude or out of line at all, it

was more subtle than that. And earlier I read an email warning about a similar sounding guy so it

may have been someone my ex hired to find me,” I finished.

“Did he pay cash?” The sergeant asked.

“Yes! He paid with a fifty and a twenty – it was the only fifty in the register today,” my sister

responded. But we have a lot of twenties.”

“That’s okay. If you can get me the fifty, I’ll have it finger-printed.”

“I have it right here in my pocket,” Elspeth said. She reached inside her coat and pulled out an

envelope with today’s receipts.

“Okay, let me take that stack of bills.” Ellie handed the envelope to Tanner. He retrieved an

evidence bag, found the fifty dollar bill, took the stack of twenties, bagged it all and gave Ellie a

receipt. “Don’t worry, this is all part of the prowler case, there won’t be any mention of your past

problems,” he reassured me.

Thus a bit reassured, he and Deputy Elmlund took their leave while Nigel, Ellie and I did a

quick huddle. They tried to convince me to stay at their place, but I was feeling stubborn and

refused. “I have the panic button, the house and garage are alarmed and we’ll get the outdoor

lights fixed asap. I’ll call you as soon as I wake up,” I told them. They finally relented and bid

me good night.


I tried to settle down after resetting the alarms, left the porch light on and had a cup of

chamomile tea. As I slipped into an uneasy sleep, my last thought was that I felt oddly

strengthened by the sergeant’s awareness of my situation and that his wife helped people like me.

Chapter 3

The next day I’d planned to run errands and then give a few phone readings. But first I rose

early and meditated, trying to clear myself of last night’s events. Further clarity was achieved

over coffee, lemon curd on reheated walnut scones and a thorough reading of the local weekly

newspaper, The Coastal Clarion. As usual, there was a focus on the local economy: the weather’s

impact on fishing, how to lure tourists to the coast during the cold, wet late winter and interviews

with newcomers. I’d been happy when, with Elspeth’s help, I managed to avoid an interview

with the Clarion when I moved to Skybay. The last thing a mermaid needed – a mermaid who

still had to look over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being stalked – was an interview in a

local newspaper that also had an online version and would therefore be retrievable for the

forseeable future. Yes, I’d changed my name and altered my appearance to a certain degree, but

nothing was foolproof, and my stalker was no fool. Ellie, Nigel and I had all become obsessive

about not having any photos put online. Sure, pictures of the teashop were fine, just not of us.

We also stayed off of LinkedIn and Facebook. To keep in touch with family, Nigel had his own

website while Lina and I used that old-fashioned instrument, the telephone. I belonged to a few

professional associations, but didn’t use my whole name for those – that was the great thing

about the tarot world – you could get pretty far without having to publicly even use your last

name. Ellie and I had worked out a pretty safe financial arrangement with the help of a good

accountant, and we’d arranged to make it look like I’d relocated to Chicago to teach and pursue


research. These were all solid reasons, besides the physical protection we’d created, that I felt

pretty safe most of the time and had been able to relax, sleep well and start enjoying life again.

But that enjoyment of life seemed to elude me at the moment; a the morning progressed, my

meditative peace evaporated and I became restless and nervous. The restlessness was pretty

normal as the moon waxed and our evening at the beach was imminent. But the nervousness was

due last night’s prowler. I wondered how long it would take to get the fingerprint results back, if

any. I wondered if my mysterious client was the prowler. So I opened my laptop, logged on to

my tarot reader’s group and found a note awaiting me from Lydia, the member who’d posted the

original message.

Dear Lina,

Thank you for your email – it’s good to know that you were alert. From your description, it does

sound like the same man. But you didn’t say if he asked a lot of invasive questions.

In my area, the readers are a fairly tight-knit group and each of us who’ve read him have been

subject to a lot of personal questions from him and we all felt uncomfortable about it, to varying

degrees. The name he used with me was Gregory, and he also used the names Gavin and Gary –

just that by itself is strange. Why the various names and all of the personal questions? He

wouldn’t be the first to want total secrecy, but it’s all of the questions he asked of us that was

weird, like he was looking for someone but was being furtive about it. Anyway, if you see him

again, can you please let me know?

Thank you,


Lydia

I found the email interesting, especially the bit about him using a variety of names. What was

Garrett looking for, and what was he hiding? I pondered this for the rest of the afternoon,

growing more nervous by the hour and unable to decide if I should write back and mention the

prowler. Instead, I wrote a short note thanking her for the additional info and promising to let her

know if I saw him again. Then I puttered about, getting ready for Fina and Ellie.

When they arrived, I tried to fake it. I’d put on the soothing tones of Julie London, the house

was clean and inviting, there were delicious nibbles of indulgence, a rich red cabernet from

Sonoma and some fun bubbles from Italy.

Fina sailed into the kitchen with a gleam in her eye. “Am I ever ready to relax and rejuvenate

with my fishy friends!” She giggled and grabbed a caramelized onion and goat cheese puff

pastry and popped it into her mouth. “How nice not to cook, clean or work at all tonight.”

“I agree. Thanks for setting out the lovely spread, sis,” Ellie said, giving me a questioning

glance and lift of her brows. I knew that she was asking if I’d yet told Fina about last night’s

ordeal. I shook my head slightly. So she just leaned in for a quick hug, her lovely scent of

tuberose and sandalwood wafting around her like silver and smoke. “You’re vibrating like mad!”

she said in a light tone, giving me an opening.

I heaved a deep sigh. “Yep, I know. I can’t help it. Here, let me take your coats. Grab some

goodies and then we’ll talk.” I took Ellie’s leather pea coat and Fina’s lined camel trench and

hung them in the small living room closet.

We settled down with plates of food and I opened the bottle of prosecco, pouring us each a

glass.


“To a lovely, private swim tonight,” Fina toasted from her cozy plum colored velvet bean bag

on the floor, always her favorite spot when visiting.

“Here here!” Ellie and I clinked glasses with her. I nibbled on apple and cheddar slices and felt

myself beginning to relax.

“Are you ready to tell us why you’re so high strung tonight, Lina?” Fina asked, her black

Mexican gypsy eyes wide and serious.

“Sure,” I began slowly. Best to save the worst for last – the prowler and my suspicions it was

Garrett. “I heard back, via email, from the woman who sent the post to my tarot group about the

client asking so many questions. Apparently, the questions were personal enough to make a

number of readers uncomfortable, and he used a bunch of different names, all starting with G.

With us, he used Garrett.”

“Huh. Men’s names starting with G aren’t all that common.” With that observation, we

proceeded to speculate on who he really was and what he was up to.

“His reading was disturbing and without violating confidentiality, I can say that it worried me.

But he didn’t ask me many questions about myself, so I can’t complain,” I finished, taking

another sip of my crisply fizzing Prosecco.

“Maybe you can’t complain, but you can be worried about what he’s really up to,” Fina

observed shrewdly, her curtain of long, glossy hair swirling about her shoulders.

“Yes, and that’s where the scary part comes in,” I said, glancing at Ellie. “I had a visitor last

night, outside. Instead of being paralyzed with fear, it galvanized me and I chased him off.”

Noticing Fina’s dropped jaw, I hurried my next words. “I suspect that it was Garrett. The height

and build were the same, and something about the way he moved. But I can’t prove anything.”

At that, Ellie and I answered Fina’s questions and we told her the whole story, from start to


finish. I included what the police sergeant told us about his wife and how he was leaving my

history of being stalked out of his report so that there wouldn’t be any gossip about it. Fina

became quiet and serious, and I could tell that she was turning it all over in her mind.

“Are you worried about your safety, and Joaquin’s?” I asked. “I could take some time off you

know, just do phone readings to not draw any more attention to the teahouse,” I suggested.

Fina laughed dryly. “If Garrett’s connected to Kyle, then the cat’s out of the bag. You do

whatever you think is best to stay safe. We have those portable panic buttons that we can carry in

our pockets and of course, Keen has his knives,” she finished with a wink.

After that, we finished our snacks, bundled up against the biting wind, grabbed our flashlights

and walked over to the beach. I thought again about taking a leave for a while. I could just

disappear for a bit, solo, to Hawaii, with only the three of us knowing where I was headed.

Hawaii sounded good because the Pacific was much warmer there. Well, I’d think about it more

tomorrow, maybe check out some travel sites.

We needed to be at the water’s edge as the moon grew fuller overhead, as that’s when our

transformation happened. This was one of the hardest parts – being on the shore where it was so

cold, enduring the frigid temperatures while we waited, hands linked together, teeth chattering…

And so it began.

First, our legs began to feel the pins and needles sensation that occurs when you move your

limbs after they’ve “fallen asleep.” This prickling increased until we felt both numb and warm

from our hips to our toes. It was during this time that we shed our shoes, shocks, pants and

panties. Scales began to pop up here and there on our skin in a seemingly random pattern,

accompanied by the feeling that we were being lightly touched, or as if our skin was being

brushed by feathers. Once the scales started to appear, the transformation increased in rapidity


until our legs fused together and became just one large fin, whose color varied from season to

season. In winter, they were a pale silvery color, like a reflection of the sovereign moon above.

Since it was winter, our scales were silvery pearl, and had a faint glow that blended in with the

fog. Once our bottom halves had transformed, we dropped hands and pulled our top layers off,

all of us in halters. Sure, fully naked would be nice, but would you really want rocks and sand

rubbing your sensitive upper areas?

We let the incoming tide wash over us, unresisting to its forward pull toward the sea. Slapping

our tails on the shore, we assisted the ocean in its closer embrace until we were submerged.

Joy shot through me, from head to tail. All of my senses were enhanced – I could see

underwater, even though it was night. I didn’t know how far away I could hear, but I’d estimated

it at about a mile. I wouldn’t need to come up for air until almost dawn, as the moon set.

Fina and Ellie swam up to me, smiling. We communicated by voice and hand gestures and took

off for deeper waters. During the cold months, there weren’t many whales, dolphins or porpoises

to swim with and we preferred to stay away from sharks, but there was so much to see and

experience it didn’t matter right now. It was only a month since we’d been underwater, but it felt

longer than that.

We headed out toward the Farallon Islands, which were first recorded in history by Sir Francis

Drake. Nearly thirty miles west of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, they were a wild,

jagged multitude of granite croppings that had previously been exploited for seal meat and fur.

As tempting as it would be to race there and back, it was a known hang out for great white sharks

and the sea lions who feasted on them. The former were dangerous to us because we were food

to them and the latter were dangerous to us because they were territorial. The Farallones also

stunk to high heaven since they were covered with bird and seal dung. So we swam


approximately a third of the way there – northwest, and then headed out due west. It felt

marvelous to exercise my whole body, throwing off the accumulated winter doldrums of the past

few weeks and the stress of the last few days.

It’s hard to describe what it’s like to roam the ocean after transformation. It’s like coming

home, because it is our home when we’re in this state. But it’s also both a blessed relief and a

wicked release. All of the sensations building up as the moon waxes, the heightening of our

intuition and our increasing awareness of our wildish nature makes it difficult to pay attention to

our day to day responsibilities and our pre-transformation reality. Often, we vacillate between

irritability and distraction. So once we’re swimming, it’s like breathing deep and easy after only

being able to take shallow breaths. And speaking of breathing, we do, underwater. The only

internal physical evidence that we’re not like everyone else is that our lungs are larger and have

the capacity of an elite swimmer’s. But we don’t train every day and only get this respiratory

workout roughly once a month, unless the merm is also a swimmer in their everyday life.

For me, one of the best parts of these moonlit swims is the exquisite focus I have, made richer

by contrast to my recent distracted state. Underwater in the chilled, shadowed depths of the

Pacific, I can pick up on what’s going on around me for miles. The behavior of other sea life, the

state of the water and my keener sense of hearing help me to identify both approaching danger

and approaching adventure. The dangers are mainly various sharks and the less friendly whales –

anything that eats seals is likely to try to kill us. Sometimes sea lions can pose a threat to us, too,

but we can usually sense that and avoid them. This leaves us with plenty of creatures to play with

and they seem to enjoy it as much as we do.

Our favorites to play with of course are dolphins and porpoises. Their intelligence, friendliness

toward humans and capacity for shared joy made them playmates that we always looked forward


to. It was doubtful at this time of the year we’d run into any, though, so we’d resigned ourselves

to just interacting with each other and the smaller fish.

Eyesight enhanced, hearing increased, unfeeling of the cold and able to breathe underwater, we

raced through the chilly depths until we began to tire. Slowing, we still explored and played,

floating in circles, flapping our tails, drifting behind rocks and into the more inviting looking

caves.

Around the same time, Ellie, Fina and I began to feel that it was time to head back, so we

turned nearly in unison and made our way back to Skybay. The trip back seemed to go more

quickly, even though we were swimming more slowly and surfacing occasionally to catch

glimpses of the approaching dawn. The sky was stained with the coming light, as if a reverse

twilight hung over the sea and melding with its edges. We swam east, toward the seam of sea and

sky where we knew the land lay quietly, still slumbering in late winter. The hardest part was

dragging ourselves back on shore in the near dark, shivering our way through the transformation

process and then naked, finding our clothes that we tried to keep far enough away from the water

to stay dry. We were always a bit clumsy on our literal land legs, very cold as we fumbled back

into our clothes once we located them. Putting shoes on just seemed plain weird after having a

long, elegant tail, but we had to. In the winter, we wore Uggs and in warmer weather we had flip

flops. None of us could stand tight clothes after our freedom in the sea, so no skinny jeans for us

– baggy sweatpants and oversized hoodies did the trick until we felt comfortable inside our own

skins again. This sometimes took all day to readjust – it was sort of like not wanting to dress up

on Saturday after suiting up in business clothes for a long workweek.

This morning I didn’t even bother pulling my socks on – I just stuffed my pale, numb feet into

my Uggs and readjusted the hood of my sweatshirt to keep the biting wind off of my cheeks. The


three of us made our way up toward the sidewalk, both tired and exhilarated from another

wondrous night in the waves.

We arrived at the teahouse first, where Joaquin patiently waited in his Ford Escape, the moon

and fading stars behind him. Squeezing our hands and smiling serenely, Fina wordlessly hopped

into the car, pecked Joaquin on the cheek and they were off with a wave. Ellie and I walked into

the cottage and I punched in the alarm code. She once again checked everything out, even the

closets and the garage, before she made her way to the French doors in my room. She peeked

outside and then closed and relocked the doors.

“Well, it’s off to bed for us both. I’ll check in with you later, okay?” She pulled my hood down

playfully. I rolled my eyes at her.

“Thanks, El. I’m going to hit the shower, then go to bed.”

“I’ll do the same. Sweet dreams.” And she was gone.

I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it, stripped and hopped into the blast of warmth.

Sometimes I couldn’t bear to wash the dried salt off of my skin and just went to sleep minus the

shower, dreaming of fish, undulating waves, dolphin chatter and the light reflecting off of my

scales. But I was so cold this morning that I needed the warmth of the shower. I stayed in only

long enough to thaw out, and then I threw on clean flannel pajamas and slid between soft sheets.

Chapter 4

When I awoke, I thought it was strange that I couldn’t recall dreaming. Without fail – until this

morning – my dreams after a sea adventure had always been memorable and marvelous. I kept a

dream journal that reflected the increasing vividness of them as the full moon neared. The

morning after transformation and swimming always rendered a deep, refreshing sleep and

incredibly lovely dreams. I became alarmed when, even after coffee, granola with yogurt, fresh


fruit and toast with almond butter (hey, you try swimming all night and see if it doesn’t increase

your appetite!) no memories of the morning’s dreams rose to the surface of my consciousness. I

pulled my journal out, entered the date at the top of the page and wrote, “No dreams??!!” and

underlined those two words.

I took another hot shower and dressed in loose clothing. Outside I spotted electrician checking

out the motion detector lights with Nigel. I made sure to check the street from the safety of my

car before I left the driveway. I also had my fully charged – and legal in the state of California -

stun gun and a small canister of pepper spray. A girl must not be late for her monthly massage

and pedicure because she was busy arming herself!

Having my toes painted a lovely scarlet and my muscles stretched and pressed into utter

relaxation went a long way toward forgetting the stress of the night before last. My appetite was

renewed after all of the pampering, so I stopped at my favorite roadside taqueria and enjoyed

nachos with extra jalapenos and a pineapple agua fresca.

Finally, sated on nearly every Rated-G level possible, I headed back to my car, a blue Audi

coupe that I loved. It handled the roads on the rugged coast wonderfully well and it made me a

better driver. The overcast had cleared and while the air was chilly, the sun was warm, so I

wrapped my scarf snugly around my neck and rolled down the windows. Turning on the stereo, I

enjoyed Tori Amos singing about mermaids and mermen. I made a mental list of chores I could

safely do outside behind my garden walls in order to get the best out of the unexpected sunshine:

transplant some perennials, and clean the outdoor fire pit. I was even optimistic that if the

weather held, I could enjoy hot chocolate by an outdoor fire this evening.


Arriving home, I unlocked the front gate next to the teashop and headed toward the cottage. Out

of my peripheral vision, to my left, I saw movement. I nearly jumped out of my skin as I turned,

but it was only Elspeth at the gypsy wagon – they’re called vardos - and called to her.

“Ellie- hey, I was just thinking about you. Do you and Nigel want to come over for hot

chocolate by the fire tonight? We could use the fire pit.” No response. “Elspeth? What’s up?” I

headed over toward her. She didn’t even turn to look at me, but remained in place, up on the tiny

front porch of the vardo, leaning in through the door. I jumped up onto the step stool and patted

her back. “Hey, El, what’s up?” I asked again, trying to calm the instant panic that rose with a

fast shudder in my chest.

Ellie screamed, so suddenly and so shrilly that I fell off the step stool onto the grass.

“Holy crap, what’s going on?” I picked myself up. “Are there rats or the chupacabra or

something in there?” I looked up at Ellie, who was now staring down at me, her lovely face a

rictus of fear and pale as curdled milk. She was shaking all over, badly. I climbed up again and

peered over her shoulder into the darkened interior. It was lit by the small, battery-operated

lantern hanging just inside the entrance. I couldn’t see much, so I turned my attention back to

her.

“Hey, Ellie, I’m going to check this out. Here, you wait on the lawn.” I gently led my normally

take-charge sister, unprotesting, off the steps and onto the grass. Then I braced myself, took a

deep breath and charged back up the wooden steps, onto the tiny porch. The phrase “The gypsy

wagon of mysteries” flashed through my mind. Where did that come from? I slowed and

cautiously entered the vardo, pausing just inside the door to let my eyes adjust and not step in

anything nasty.


And nasty it was. A man lay slumped on the limited floor space, his upper body propped

against boxes of supplies that lined the walls, directly facing me. Light from a small window

streamed across his face, creating a horrifying chiaroscuro that featured the rest of his body in

shadow. His face, a frozen grimace of pain and horror, reflected a lifeless gaze. His mouth was

stretched wide and crooked, looking as if his tongue had swelled. Impulsively I started forward

to help him, then stopped, my eyes fixated on the long spear jutting out from the left side of his

chest. Given that his body, from the shoulders down, was mostly hidden by shadows, it was hard

to see the spear at first glance. His shirt was drenched with blood and its scent hung heavy in the

air. The cloying iron smell was nearly overwhelming in the tight space. Blood pooled under him

and had soaked the bottoms of the cardboard boxes that he was leaning against. Staring at him,

my legs like lead and my heart pounding an increasing tom-tom, I felt dizzy and sick. I forced

myself to bend my knees, and then I leaned over, hands on thighs and forced myself to take slow

breaths. As I began to calm slightly, I realized that the dead man looked familiar. I gasped and

stood up so fast that I felt dizzy all over again, but helplessly just stared at him until I could put a

name to the now dead face: it was Garrett, the mysterious tarot client/possible prowler I had met

just two days before.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of gruesome, disjointed tableaux: the police,

firefighter/paramedics were the first responders, then the crime scene technicians arrived and

finally the county coroner formed an ever-growing crowd. Nigel, Elspeth and I were another

tableau, as helpful as we could be but totally bewildered and clumsy. Around the periphery was

the third tableau – neighbors, passersby and townspeople, ranging from the concerned to the

plain nosy. Our view was only partial, blocked somewhat by the garden wall. Those in the third

tableau were kept outside the front gate, fueled by rumor and supposition.


Through this last group a man came loping along, a tall stranger who moved with the graceful

economy of coastal residents who spend a lot of time outdoors but in the confined spaces of

boats and working docks. This body language was shared by fisherman, sailors and even the

yachting set – anyone who was comfortable with the juxtaposition of watercraft on the vast sea.

He had longish wavy black hair, thick and glossy and sun-darkened skin that looked burnished

even in the watery winter light. He paused and took off stylish sunglasses and rolled up the

sleeves of his oatmeal colored Aran Irish sweater. As he noticed the cottage, his eyes settled on

my living room windows. I couldn’t tell if he saw me staring at him from my seat on the couch.

Nodding slightly - to himself or to me – I couldn’t tell - he continued toward the uniformed

officer who stopped him. The stranger showed him his ID, the deputy smiled professionally and

let him pass. I lost sight of him then, so I sat back and sipped my hot tea.

As soon as the police had arrived in response to my panicked phone call, they had separated

Ellie and I, then grabbed Nigel as soon as he came through the gate from his yard. As far as I

could tell, Nigel was back at their place being questioned while Ellie was in the teahouse with

homicide detectives. I’d also been questioned by a patrolman who was flanked by another silent

officer. I was now waiting to be interviewed by the homicide team, my thoughts swirling. Who

killed Garrett and why? How long had he been dead? I suddenly lit on one main question: Were

we being set up? And that started an avalanche of connected questions – were we suspects? What

about our alibi last night? Did anyone see us going to and from the beach? The three of us did

have a standard alibi: We were at my place late having snacks and drinks, we took a walk to see

the full moon, at midnight and Fina slept over, then we rose early and took another brief

constitutional before Joaquin picked her up. We’d settled on this alibi when I moved here, to stop


any wagging tongues or awkward questions if anyone saw us headed toward the beach late at

night or at dawn.

Out of necessity, I’d become an adept liar, but I lied to those who didn’t matter, to those who

might contribute to my harm. But how well could I lie to seasoned homicide investigators? I got

up from the couch and began to pace, trying to get ready for the interview. My fingers itched to

call Ellie’s mobile phone, but I resisted. Finally, turning on my heel, I walked into the kitchen to

make coffee.

I was sipping from a mug when there was a loud knock on the door. And so it begins, I thought

to myself. Why not intimidate the finders of the dead guy? After all, they may be the killers. I

tried to keep my face blank as I answered the door to a dark-haired man and a red-headed

woman, both dripping with authority and the former with asperity as well.

“Evangelina Teasdale?” the man asked, holding up a county badge. I nodded and stepped back

to let them in. The male detective had a strong, prominent nose, clear green eyes, pale skin, and a

thick mustache. His receding hairline began with a widow’s peak and rippled back, dark and

glossy. He had a physical presence that was startlingly masculine. He also reminded me of a bird

of prey, staring at me with a gaze playing at polite but that really was swiftly assessing me, his

surroundings and – ooh, what was that? Ah, a slip of the etiquette mask, revealing a more

predatory look, his energy reaching out to tweak mine. I forced my body to relax and met his

gaze, letting him know that I was assessing him as well, on my turf. He lifted a brow and his

mustache twitched with the tiniest of smiles. He’d gotten the message. Since I’d made my point,

I stepped back and let him in. The detective entered carefully, almost like the threshold and I

were a crime scene, staying well away from me.


“I’m Detective Saoirse Ryan,” the flame-haired woman said, following the bird man of

homicide into the house. She pronounced her name “Sorsha” and handed me her card. She

looked like the ass-kicking lovechild of Danny Bonaduce and Tori Amos. She also had a strong

gaze and a bit of a schnozz on her, but of the Irish variety. Her fair skin was freckled and her

curly hair was pinned up in a businesslike fashion. She got props for her pantsuit that she wore

with a bit of insouciance and it went well with the dark coral lipstick that didn’t clash with her

hair.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked me, almost archly, as she noticed my appraisal of her.

“Uh, no, sorry. You just really resemble Tori Amos,” I said.

For a moment it seemed she’d roll her eyes, but stopped herself. “Yeah, I got that more when I

was in college.” She decided to put me at ease. “This is a nice place. And I’m sure that you’ve

had quite the day. Why don’t we get started?”

“Yes, certainly. I just made a fresh pot of coffee. Can I get you some?” I asked.

“That would be great, it’s cold out there.” She looked at her partner.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, giving me a tight nod.

I walked into the kitchen, wondering if they knew how obvious their good cop/bad cop routine

was. But I didn’t have much time to think about it because bad cop bird man was right there, on

my heels. His mask of civility was firmly in place, the green of his eyes keen but polite.

“I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Detective Sergeant Nick Tramontana.” He handed me his card,

which I set on the counter.

“Milk and sugar?” I asked blandly.


“We both take ours black,” he said and took the mug I proffered. I noticed that he made sure we

didn’t touch. I poured some for Det. Ryan and myself, pausing only to add a slug of milk to

mine. “Do you live here alone?” he asked. I nodded.

“Nice skylight,” he said, looking up at the large ceiling window that made the kitchen seem so

airy and light. “Even on gray days you get a sense of spaciousness.” I nodded again and headed

back into the living room. I handed Det. Ryan her coffee.

“Okay, Ms. Teasdale, we know the preliminaries, but please take us through everything that

happened, starting with the discovery of the body,” Sgt. Tramontana instructed. “We’re going to

record this,” he said and set up a small tape recorder.

I started with the time of my return home today and seeing my sister at the vardo and finished,

uninterrupted, with my call to 911. It wasn’t easy to recount finding the body and I had to choke

back tears when describing the scene.

“Okay, give us a timeline of your activity for the last twenty-four hours,” the sergeant said and I

did so as smoothly as I could, lying easily about what Fina, Ellie and I did after having wine and

snacks. I concluded with telling them that Garrett had been in the teahouse two days prior and

that I suspected he was the suspicious person mentioned in my tarot group. That drew raised

eyebrows from both detectives. I made no mention of my harrowing past as a stalking victim, but

I told them that I also thought that the prowler the other night was Garrett. At that, Det. Ryan

leaned forward and she suddenly reminded me of a dog – a Jack Russell terrier - with a new

bone. Sgt. Tramontana sat straight up, then leaned back and quirked an eyebrow while that tiny

smile of his lifted one corner of his tight lips almost imperceptibly. This subtle rearrangement of

his features once again revealed his more predatory nature and I felt like I was being interviewed


by two smart, alert, fast-moving animals – a giant bird and a tenacious dog - with impeccable

instincts.

They took me through the rest of it, including the arrival of the first responders. My voice

faltered when I described the prowler and when I saw the body. They took note of my reaction

but the only sympathy offered was that Det. Ryan’s voice became a bit softer and gentler.

At the detectives’ request, I booted up my laptop and showed them the post in the group as well

as the correspondence between myself and Lydia. Det. Ryan printed out a copy and then

forwarded it all to Sgt. Tramontana and herself.

I thought that we were done at this point, so I sighed and leaned back, looking out of the

window. The overcast had deepened and I saw the treetops moving briskly in the wind.

“Okay, let’s go over this again, Ms. Teasdale.” I looked back at Det. Ryan, whose face was

professionally blank. “We find it helps to go over events several times with witnesses, in case

they remember something or we have additional questions.” Tramontana nodded. I guess I didn’t

get a vote.

Sighing again, “I understand.” And I did. So the second time around, the events were the same,

and their questions were similar to the ones they asked the first time, but were reframed and

refocused on more details. Finally, we were done – again. Or so I thought.

“All right, this is great. Ms. Teasdale, you’re a big help. We just need to go over everything one

last time. When we’re done, I’ll collect all of the receipts you have for the places you’ve been

today. If it’s okay with you, I’ll make you a copy here on your little copier.” I nodded my assent.

“But first, let’s take a break. May I use your restroom?” she asked. Again I nodded, resigned to

the knowledge that she’d likely snoop as much as possible. I would do the same in her position.

“Yes, it’s at the end of the hall.” I pointed her toward the hallway. “I’ll get more coffee.”


She smiled brilliantly and headed down the hall. My new bff. I brought the pot in and refilled

everyone’s cup so that I didn’t have to be followed around the kitchen again by the hulking bird

of prey. I reclaimed my seat, wrapped my hands around my coffee mug and took a sip, putting

everything but the coffee out of my mind. The rich, strong taste flooded through me, familiar and

soothing. I didn’t say anything, allowing the silence to build between the sergeant and me. Det.

Ryan quietly reappeared after a few minutes. She took gulped coffee, shot her cuffs, actually

carried it off quite well, then sat down again on the couch next to Tramontana. I remained quiet,

taking a stubborn, picayune comfort in silence amidst strangers in my own home. If they wanted

to talk, they could, but I certainly wasn’t going to behave like a nervous suspect. And truly, I

really was upset. Finding Garrett was horrifying and my mind kept darting to thoughts of his

family. In my imagining, they were tight knit, traditional, rather staid, very dependable and

utterly devastated.

Finally, breaking the silence, Det. Ryan cleared her throat. “Shall we?” She asked. I tore my

mind away from his imaginary family and nodded. We both put down our coffee, while

Tramontana held his cup in one long fingered hand. He took frequent sips, his beak of a nose

twitching slightly in approval each time he brought the cup to his mouth. Finally sitting back, he

crossed an ankle over his knee, put one arm along the top of the couch and gave me a hooded

glance. Clearly, he was trying to rattle me. Good luck with that, I thought.

Without looking at him, Det. Ryan fiddled with the tape recorder, turning it back on and leaning

toward me. The dichotomy of their opposite physical language wasn’t lost on me; after all, so

much of human communication is nonverbal and subconscious. This, however, was nonverbal

and totally conscious. It was like some cop power ballet, the partners moving well with each

other as if they rehearsed every day, minus the toe shoes and tutus.


This third – and I hoped – final time, Det. Ryan focused on Garrett’s behavior during the tarot

reading and the prowling incident, asking me more in depth questions about the prowler’s

description and the getaway car. Sgt. Tramontana added little, observing the proceedings and

maintained his deliberately laid back demeanor. Suddenly, he asked me if I was sure that I’d

never seen Garrett before. His interjection startled me, but it didn’t rattle me as I suspected he’d

hoped. I repeated that I was fairly sure I’d never seen Garrett before, but that I wasn’t positive.

The rest of the interview went smoothly, with no other interjections from the sergeant. Once

done, Det. Ryan even gathered up our coffee cups and carried them into the kitchen while

Tramontanta excused himself to use the bathroom. The doorbell rang, startling me. When I flung

the door open, I found a stranger standing there – the same stranger in the Aran sweater who’d

strode into my yard two hours earlier, who’d stood out because he didn’t look like any of the

county’s emergency responders or crime scene staff.

He nodded at me. “I’m looking for Sgt. Tramontana and was told he was here.”

I nodded back, and remembered my manners. Whoever he was, I doubted it was his job to try to

catch me in a lie so I didn’t need to be on the offensive or defensive. “Yes, he’s here. Please,

come in.” I swung the door open wider and let him enter. He stepped through and I offered my

hand. “I’m Lina Teasdale.”

He clasped my hand with his cold, somewhat calloused one. “Dez Morgan. Nice to meet you.”

His eyes swept behind me and a smile broke out. “Uh oh. Here’s trouble,” he teased. I turned and

saw Det. Ryan standing there.

“Hi Dez, sorry we had you standing out in the cold.” He shrugged. “Sarge will be out in a

moment.” She shot me a glance. “Ms. Teasdale, Dr. Morgan is a marine biologist who’s nice

enough to help us out sometimes with crimes on the coast.”


I knew I shouldn’t pry so I remained polite. “Ah. And it certainly is cold out there. Would you

like a cup of coffee?” I asked. He smiled again and I noticed his eyes were a light gray color that

stood out against his tanned face and he appeared to be in his early thirties.

“That would be nice, thanks. Just black.” I moseyed off to fetch yet another cup of coffee,

black. By the time I was done pouring, Tramontana came down the hall. Either he had digestive

problems or he was a bigger snoop than Det. Ryan. I joined the trio back in my living room and

handed Dr. Morgan his hot drink. He smiled his thanks and took a swig.

“Dez, did patrol and the coroner fill you in?” Tramontana asked.

“Yeah. I just need to check him out myself.” He drank more coffee. “Just say when.”

“I think we can do so now.” Tramontana turned to me. “Thank you again for the coffee. I know

that this has been a difficult day. We’ll follow up if we have any more questions.” Yes, I knew

he would – have more questions and follow up. I just gave him a brief nod.

Det. Ryan gave me a tight smile but actually shook my hand.

“Call us if you remember anything, no matter how unimportant it might seem.”

I shook her hand. “Certainly.”

Dr. Morgan gulped the rest of his coffee and handed me his coffee cup. “Thanks so much – that

was exactly what I needed. Take care.” And the trio took off toward the vardo. I closed the door

behind them and collapsed into my favorite chair. After a few minutes, I grabbed my cell phone

and called Fina. She just lived a few blocks away so she may already have heard about the

murder. Gossip in Skybay moved faster than the fog.

Fina answered the phone and I launched into the story. She hadn’t been out and about so she

hadn’t heard a thing. So she gasped and interrupted only to ask if she should come over, but I

told her to stay put. I figured that we would not be able to open for business tomorrow but that


we could all get together and figure out what the heck was going on. I hung up, sat back and

closed my eyes in silent meditation. Five minutes later, I felt mildly refreshed and decided it was

time to circle back with Nigel and Ellie. I sent her a text asking if she could talk. After a

moment, my phone buzzed and the screen flashed with her message reading “Yes. At home.”

I threw on my coat and headed toward the door, but then I flashed on Dr. Morgan’s appreciative

smile and hurried to the bathroom to freshen up. Okay, the appreciation was for the cup of

coffee, not me, but still. He was handsome and didn’t have that “married or otherwise taken”

look that most men acquire. In other words, he looked slightly undomesticated and very virile. I

smoothed down my blonde curls, touched up my lipstick and added a swipe of glassy gloss.

Chapter 5

I headed over to my sister’s place, feeling self-conscious among the county cops and crime scene

techs bustling about. I noticed some glances tossed my way and I didn’t think it was for the lip

gloss. Just as I turned toward the gate that led from the teahouse backyard into Nigel and Ellie’s,

I saw Dr. Morgan come out of the vardo, his face rigidly set. He hurried down the steps and ran

his hands through his wavy hair, simultaneously shaking his head. He saw me and sauntered in

my direction, head down.

“That was just terrible. You found him?” he asked.

“My sister did, actually, and I walked up just a minute later. I’m sorry that you had to see that,”

I said sympathetically.

“Me, too and I’m even sorrier that someone died like that.”

“Can I ask why you were asked to check out the deceased? I know a spear gun was used, but it

doesn’t take a marine expert to figure that out,” I observed.


He hesitated. “I can’t specifically say at this point, but it looks to be more involved than the

wound implies. It’s a strange crime scene.”

“Well, a body being in a gypsy wagon is weird enough, without it becoming even more

complicated.”

“I’d say that’s the best way to put it: it’s a complicated murder scene. Can I ask you something,

off the subject?”

“Sure,” replied cautiously.

“Have you been in town long?” he asked, merely looking curious, but the rigidity had left his

face and his expression was neutral.

“No, just since last year, but my sister and brother-in-law have lived here much longer. In fact,

Nigel grew up here,” I left it at that.

“Yeah, I do remember Nigel’s family. They came from the UK, right?” I nodded.

“It’s just that you look sort of familiar. You remind me of a woman I knew in France, years ago,

when I was an exchange student in high school. But it couldn’t have been you – you were just a

kid then,” this last bit he said lightly, teasing me.

In France? I found that startling, but didn’t say so. “Well, I am French on both sides, so maybe

it’s an ethnic resemblance. There are a lot of fair blonde French women.”

“True. Maybe that’s it. But there’s quite a resemblance! She was the oldest daughter of my host

family and she was away at university when I was there, so I only met her a few times. Boy,

could she swim like a fish! It was while I was there that I decided to become a marine biologist.

See, I was staying in a small seaside village…” his words died away and he cleared his throat.

“Uh, sorry about that, I got carried away,” he said apologetically.


“No, no, really, it sounds very interesting, truly. It’s just, well, you know, I have to get over to

my sister’s and it’s been a tough day. I don’t think we’ll be able to open tomorrow so we have a

lot to figure out.” I didn’t mention how much his story startled me. A woman from his past who

looked like me – and could swim like a fish? I struggled to refocus on him. “I would love to hear

more about your time in France. I’ve spent a lot of time there, too.”

“Oh! I’m half French, which is why I wanted to go there. Well, hey, I don’t want to keep you

any longer. How about coffee or a drink tomorrow?”

Once again I was startled, but in a nice way, which was unfortunately all too rare for me. Why

not? I asked myself. Then I could ask more about this fish girl in France and even find out more

about the murder scene. But I didn’t want to come across as that ruthless - after all, he was also

good looking, and seemed both charming and interesting. I was glad that I’d freshened up, so I

looked him in the eye and smiled. “I’d like that.” I waited a moment.

“Cool. Can I get your number?”

I pulled one of my cards out of my pocket. It merely read, “Lina Teasdale, Possibilities and

Prognostications”. He glanced at it and grinned, raising his eyebrows.

“Okay, I’ll ask you tomorrow to explain the card.”

“You’ve got a deal. Au revoir!” And I slipped away, knowing that I was leaving him wanting

more.

At Ellie and my brother-in-law’s, I found the usually upbeat Nigel very serious and my

generally every-cloud-has-a-silver-lining sister nervous and upset. More than I wanted to admit, I

related to both of their moods. I flung myself down on a comfortable divan and accepted a

smoky glass of single malt whiskey from Nigel. For me, alcohol was normally something that


enhanced a celebration and wasn’t used to steady the nerves. I quickly developed a new respect

for its medicinal properties, however.

“Fina and Joaquin are headed over. We need to make sure we’re all on the same page,” my

sister declared.

“What happened while I was gone earlier? How could someone get killed in the vardo without

me hearing anything?”

“Or even if the poor fellow was killed elsewhere and moved there, that’s a lot of carrying and

dragging. On the heels of the prowler the other night, it was especially foolish,” observed Nigel,

pacing the large living room with a tumbler of the amber whiskey in his hand.

“However foolish, they got away with it,” my sister retorted. “Maybe whoever it was had no

idea about the prowling incident. But we know so little about the victim, we can’t even speculate

competently.” Instead of a glass of whiskey she had a feather duster in her and was restlessly

dusting the window ledges and bookshelves.

“You’re both right, actually. Ellie, did you notice if the vardo’s lock was broken?” I asked.

“I only noticed that it was unlocked, but I just figured I forgot to lock it last time.” She

shrugged. “But I heard the police say it had been tampered with.”

“I’d hope that if any of us were going to plan a murder, we wouldn’t be stupid enough to do it

here,” I said a bit absently. Both of them shot me wordless looks of horror.

“What?” I said defensively. “You both know that I’ve had to learn to think in a, um, an

unorthodox manner.”

“Yes, we know that, Lina. But it’s a big jump from self-defense to murder,” Nigel said gently.

“Not really,” I argued, having thought about this a lot. “Planning a cold-blooded murder can be

a form of self-defense, in the long run, even though the law doesn’t view it that way. So yes, my


mind has gone there – I have been desperate enough to think about it, but not as a viable option.

But that’s not the motive for most killings and we all know that. My circumstances have been

somewhat unusual. As to the matter at hand, I didn’t hear a thing even with my enhanced

hearing.”

There was silence for a minute as we all thought about what I’d just said. I was fairly

comfortable being honest with my family about cold-blooded murder as a type of self-defense.

After all, they’d not only watched me be terrorized, they’d also experienced harassment and

intimidation from Kyle. But what was important right now was Garrett’s homicide. How had it

happened without me hearing anything? I was closer to the vardo than Ellie and I hadn’t sense

anything amiss.

The doorbell rang and Nigel let Joaquin and Fina in. The shed their coats and scarves and Nigel

handed out more cocktails. Sighing, Fina sat down onto the couch and crossed her slender legs.

She wore black leggings with black Ugg boots and a berry colored tunic that set off her dark

complexion, especially her glittering dark eyes under delicate brows.

“So is the victim really the guy Lina read for the other day?” She asked, looking at the three of

us scattered around the room. Joaquin quietly sat down in a plush recliner and took a slow sip of

his drink.

“Yes, it is,” Ellie answered.

“And this is the man that freaked you out and that you think was your prowler the other night?”

Joaquin focused his intelligent gaze on mine.

“Yes. Well, remember, it was his reading that was disturbing, not his behavior. But I’m pretty

sure he was the prowler, even though he wore a ski mask. It was his size, body language- I know

that’s not definitive, but that’s my overall impression.”


“That is good enough for me,” Fina declared and Joaquin nodded.

“Yes, but it may not matter what we think, it matters what the police think,” Nigel said in his

precise by mild-mannered way. His body was found on our property – property that we all have

access to, after the three of you saw him in the teahouse the other day. It doesn’t bode well- it

makes us more than merely the property owners or the ones who found the body. It makes us all

suspect.” He stared out the window toward his back fence, behind which the investigation was

probably still happening.

“That brings up a practical point – can we open tomorrow?” I asked.

“We’re still waiting to hear from the detectives, but I think it would be disrespectful to open,”

my sister stated. Nigel nodded his assent. Elspeth continued. “Before you all arrived, we

discussed it, and even if we could open tomorrow, we’ve decided to remain closed for the rest of

the week, to show our respect and cooperation. It’s also a matter of discretion. If the police need

access again to the property, do we want them showing up when we have customers?”

“Isn’t a week too long?” I asked. I knew that was a lot of lost revenue.

“Weeeell, we can use the time to tweak the menu,” my sister said and I saw a small gleam in

her eye, which was a good sign.

“This is our proposition,” Nigel took over smoothly. “Joaquin, how about you and Fina have

the next two days off, paid, and then we meet with you and put our heads together to design

some later winter/early spring specials? When we re-open, the focus can be on our menu, not the

murder. What do you think?”

Joaquin swallowed a slug of his drink and nodded vigorously. “It’s a great idea. It’s not summer

yet, but I’ve been thinking of a teahouse version of a mango quesadilla I can put together - in a

popover.” Fina rolled her eyes, but smiled her approval. She loved it when Joaquin talked food.


In fact, she and Nigel got on like a house on fire when it came to food and drink. But it gave me

a somewhat eerie feeling.

“Can we back up just a sec?” I asked. “I don’t mean to be rude and certainly, I respect the

mango popover idea,” I continued, while this time, Fina rolled her eyes at me and chuckled. “But

we need to handle the business with the body first, as unpleasant as it is, and then deal with

teahouse business,” I declared.

“Indeed,” Nigel agreed. “I’m sorry for the tangent.”

Ellie looked around at all of us. “I know we all trust each other but Lina’s right. Let’s handle

the immediate business and then discuss Siren Says and the time off. I’ll start, since I’m the one

who found the poor guy.” In her normal efficient manner, Ellie went over what happened. Then I

took up the story, starting with how I spent my day and ending with the arrival at my door of Dr.

Morgan, Marine Biologist. His appearance caused a fair amount of speculation on everyone’s

part as to why he’d been called in to consult.

“He’s a nice chap,” Nigel observed. “A bit younger than me, very bright as I recall, and he was

a good student and a fair athlete. He was always more interested in being out on the water

instead of the athletic fields. Of course, I didn’t know him until high school,” he said, referring to

when he’d moved to SkyBay. “I think he was gone at least part of the year, he studied

somewhere on the continent,” he mused further.

“I didn’t know anyone still called Europe ‘the continent,’ ” I teased.

“Oh, yes, and obviously, I do, even though I’ve been here in the colonies for many years now,”

Nigel teased back with a brief grin. I chuckled at his use of the term “colonies,” and chewed on

what he’d said about Dez Morgan.


“Yeah, he told me he’d gone to France for a student exchange program and that’s when he

decided to be a marine biologist,” I finished.

“But is he good looking – that’s the important question?” asked Fina, wagging her brows at me.

“He’s not half bad,” I said. “But of course, my mind was more on the murder and the questions

from the cops. That Tramontana is a tricky one. I think he nosed around my bathroom.”

“I’m sure he did, otherwise, he wouldn’t be doing his job,” Joaquin said staunchly. “I’m sure

he’ll be contacting us soon.”

“Yeah. I’m ready for the tricky cop. We all have an airtight alibi for the other night. As for the

murder, it depends on where and when, but Keen and I have been together ever since he picked

me up from your place, Lina.” Fina finished. “We don’t know anything about the dead guy,

really, so we can’t be that much help. But of course, we’ll help however we can. What I’m

worried about is if this was a crime conveniently committed on your property, or was it done

there deliberately or the body moved there to make one of us look guilty?”

“That’s what we’ve been thinking about, too,” my sister agreed. “Excuse my circular thinking,

but I keep coming back to Kyle because I can’t think of anyone else who would want to hurt us

this way – after killing someone.”

“We need to find out more about Garrett, who he really was and what he was doing in this area

– because I don’t think he was a local. But the police didn’t even give us his last name,” I

lamented.

“No need to ask them, I have his last name,” my brother-in-law casually mentioned.

“What! You do? What is it?” I asked, while Ellie stared at him.


“While you were waiting for the first responders, I went in to see if he might by chance still be

alive. I discovered that of course he wasn’t, so I checked his driving license in his wallet,” Nigel

said with a mixture of sheepishness and pride.

“Wait, my normally law abiding husband checked the I.D. of a corpse?” Ellie shrieked.

“Yep. And I used my handkerchief, so no fingerprints. I also started a load of wash, whites, as it

were, so it’s already clean.” That statement had a definite note of triumph in it.

“So, tell us his name, for pity’s sake!” I exclaimed, leaning forward in my chair.

“It’s Green, Garrett Green. From Santa Monica.”

I texted his words into the notes section of my phone. “Huh. Never heard of him,” I said. “Have

any of you?” They all shook their heads. “Okay, well, while you’re all working on menu

specials, I’ll dig into this guy’s background. But let’s do a safety tree every few hours, okay?”

I explained to Joaquin and Fina was a safety tree was, and they nodded in agreement. “I’ll start

by texting you all tonight at 11:00pm before bed and then resume at 9:00am tomorrow. We’ll go

from there, say, every two hours til 11:00pm until further notice.”

“Good idea. I’m sorry that we have to do this again, but I agree, it’s the smart thing to do,” Ellie

added.

The safety tree was something Ellie and I did years ago when Kyle was stalking me and

harassing her. We contacted each other every couple of hours, by phone and email. When she

and Nigel became a couple, we included him in it as needed – and unfortunately, it was

something that we needed a few times over the years. But we hadn’t had to do it since I’d moved

to Skybay. Using cell phones to text made it much more convenient and once in the habit, it

became almost second nature. I just set up alerts on my smartphone to remind me to check in

every couple of hours.


“I’m sure you’re all as tired as I am, so I’m going home. Ellie, are the police going to let you

know when they’re done with the property?” I inquired.

“Yes. Hopefully, it’ll be soon,” she responded.

“Okay. You’ll all hear from me later tonight.” I arose and began to walk toward the kitchen

with my drink glass, but Nigel plucked it from my fingers.

“We’ll walk you to your door, chica,” Joaquin said, rising also and pulling Fina up from her

comfy spot. “We can take the back way.” He meant the second gate that went straight to my back

door. Ellie walked over and gave me a peck on the cheek and I gave Nigel’s shoulder a squeeze.

Once delivered safely to the cottage, I entered through the deck doors and disabled the alarm at

the pad in my room. I started a comforting fire to help with my jangled nerves and shredded

senses. Numbed by the monotonous police questioning and my senses dulled by the liquor I

drank less than an hour ago, I started closing the blinds to help put distance between myself and

the outside world. My mind was a tumble of the horrifying image of the dead man, new names

and faces, despite the liquor.

When I got to the living room window, I saw someone outside on the patio and the dullness

disappeared in an instant. I peeked out and saw a slender female figure get up from a patio chair

and rub her mittened hands together. She was swathed in layers of outdoor clothing, so I couldn’t

see her clearly, but my impression was that she was petite. Behind her, beyond my fenced yard, I

caught glimpses of the crime techs still at work, klieg lights throwing them in bright relief like a

stage set. Two uniformed deputies stood guard. But if they were supposed to be keeping the area

secure, how did this woman get into my yard? Keeping myself hidden from her view, I adjusted

the blinds slowly until they were nearly closed. Suddenly, she turned toward the window, saw

that the blinds were cranked closed, nodded to herself and marched toward my front door. Her


booted feet made a purposeful sound and she clearly wasn’t trying to skulk. Before she could

knock or ring the bell, I spoke.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. My name is Vinnie Prescott and I need to talk to you. I’m a private investigator and it’s a

matter of some urgency.” Her voice was measured and calm, confident and accented. She

sounded like a Brit.

“A matter of urgency about what?” I asked.

“About Garrett Green, the dead man in your yard. May I speak with you face to face?” Still

confident, still a Brit accent, still calm. I wasn’t falling for it. Yet.

“How did you get in here, anyway?” I asked, while deciding what to do. I heard a sigh,

unaccented, but still calm.

“I know Deputy Norris, the black guy closest to the gypsy wagon. He let me in.”

“He did, did he? Well, if you want to talk to me, bring him over here so that he can vouch for

you.”

A pause. “Very well, I’ll be right back.” And she was, with the slightly embarrassed deputy in

tow.

I opened the door, hands on hips and gave him a hairy eyeball. “What would the homicide team

think about you letting a private eye in here?” I demanded.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to disturb you. But my sergeant cleared it, so I let her in. She will show you

her identification.” Dutifully, she took out her license and showed it to me, then gave me a

business card and waited politely for my response.

“How much longer are you going to be here?” I asked Dep. Norris.

“About an hour, ma’am.”


“Okay, I’ll talk to you,” I said, looking at the investigator. “Then your friend here can show you

out.” She nodded and gave me a professional smile and the deputy wandered back to his post. I

opened the door wider and let her in.

Chapter 6

Now exhausted, the last thing I wanted to do was be polite, hospitable and answer questions,

but none of that was her fault. I told her to get comfortable in the kitchen and made us a pot of

tea. I used this time to study her, as I knew she was doing with me. She was breathtakingly

beautiful, her face both exotic and timeless. She looked to be of mixed South Asian descent, with

a thick braid of glossy black hair coiled and pinned neatly atop her head. Her huge dark eyes

were made up dramatically with mascara and kohl and I could see that she used makeup to good

effect. She had plum lip gloss on and a smile of incredible whiteness. I bet her teeth weren’t

bleached. While she had to know that she was dazzling, she came across as matter of fact about

it, which I found refreshing. It was like some of the old money people I’d met who were so

comfortable in their own skins it didn’t matter if they were chatting with aristocrats or field

workers, wearing old Wellies or bespoke slippers.

She also had a sensual air about her, like a cat stretched before a fireplace, totally natural and

unstudied, which I found curious for someone in her profession. It informed her every move and

mixed with her beauty so much that I found myself curious about her and I wondered if she put it

all to good use.

I threw some cookies and walnut bread onto a plate with a glob of cream cheese and small

pitcher of milk – all courtesy of the teahouse. When I had everything ready she gracefully

jumped up to help. We settled back down and I waited for her to begin the conversation. She


sipped her tea, nibbled a cookie and seemed comfortable in the silence. Oddly, I felt relaxed with

her; she didn’t set my teeth on edge like Sgt. Tramontana.

“Thank you for seeing me without an appointment. I’m sure today has been uncommonly

upsetting for you,” she began, looking at me frankly. “Sergeant Tramontana had to let me in,

because his lieutenant pressured him to. My father is influential and I’m not above using his

influence when needed. Unfortunately, today was one of those days. I knew Garrett and

identified his body.” She looked away and her lovely face crumpled a bit.

“I’m sorry. I know that must have been hard. I only met him once.”

“That’s what I was told.” She drank more tea, looked around my neat kitchen, then set her cup

down. “Garrett was one of my college instructors, when I went back to school to learn

investigation techniques. I also took self-defense classes from him. We lost touch when I moved

to the Bay Area, except for the occasional email or informational phone call. I’d heard he’d

changed, took on some jobs that were questionable, worked for some unsavory people.” She

really used the word unsavory, which I thought was excellent.

“Then when you found the body, Sgt. Tramontana called me - my card was in Garrett’s wallet

and my number was in his cell phone call log. But I hadn’t heard from him recently, so I’m not

sure why I was in his call log or what was going on. I thought maybe you could tell me your side

of things and between what you know and I know, maybe it’ll help the police.” She delivered

this last pronouncement innocently enough, but I had to wonder. Did private investigators really

work well with the cops, or was it like in books an in the movies, all hostile rivalry? I decided to

go along with her suggestion for the time being.

“I can tell you what happened. You can talk to my sister, too, if you need to. But like I said, I

didn’t know him, I only met him the other day.” I wasn’t sure if I was going to mention the


prowling. To bide my time while I decided, I added some lemon to my tea and spread some

cream cheese on a chunk of bread, then took a sip and had a bite. Finally, I wiped my mouth with

my napkin and decided to tell her what I knew about the dead man, including the prowling. I

launched into my story for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. I finished with, “It’s all in

the police report and it sounds like, if you have influence, then you can get a copy.” I gulped

down more tea and looked at her. She finished taking notes and sat back in her chair.

“Yes, I can get a copy of the report. What was it about the prowler that made you think it was

Garrett?” she asked.

“His build, you know – height and weight – as well as his body language. It was within twelve

hours of meeting him, so my impression of him was pretty fresh.”

She sighed. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re right – Garrett was your prowler.”

I gasped, “You do think it was him? Why?” I didn’t know many people who’d admit a friend of

theirs was guilty of a crime, even if they admittedly had contacts with “unsavory people.”

“Well, for one, I’m a realist, and like I said, he had some questionable contacts.” At my

questioning look she obligingly continued. “Mostly clients and informants. With this poor

economy, he was scrambling like a lot of self-employed people.”

“Do you scramble for work?” I asked, having a hard time picturing that.

“Hardly,” she said with a slight smile and one lifted brow. “But I’m tied in well to Silicon

Valley and have a lot of corporate clients. Garrett- he was more of a lone wolf, rather difficult to

get along with at times. I think that instead of the recession bringing out his more, ah,

cooperative side, it just pissed him off and made him more stubbornly committed to work for

himself.”

“That sounds like it may have been a fatal mistake,” I observed.


Draining her tea, Vinnie nodded. “Yep, it does. But I’m heading down to southern California to

nose around. He wasn’t so much of a lone wolf that he was without friends and colleagues.” She

stood and picked up her plate, teacup and saucer, setting them by the sink. “By the way, it was

nice to drink out of a proper teacup instead of a cardboard cup – thanks.”

I smiled tiredly at her. “You’re welcome. It’s nice that you noticed.”

“My mother taught me well, I just don’t always have a chance to observe all of the social

niceties,” she twinkled at me.

“Hah, I bet. Well, it was nice to meet you. I really am sorry for your loss. I have no idea what

Garrett was doing in that gypsy wagon.”

“I don’t, either, but I intend to find out. And look, about him being the likely prowler – I know

it’s a moot point now, but I doubt he intended to harm you.”

Now it was my turn to lift a brow. “Really, you don’t say?” I responded cynically.

“Seriously, Garrett did have a code that he lived by and it was one he passed on to his students.

It was a version of the golden rule. He always said that even when it wasn’t our job, we’re

obligated to protect the innocent whenever we can, even if all we can do is not harm them.”

“That’s a great way to live and it sure sounds nice, but what if he didn’t think I was all that

innocent?” Vinnie stared at me for a long moment, seeming to take me measure.

“I’m young, but I’ve lived in a lot of places and seen more than my share of the human

condition. People hide who they really are, I’ve found. But a surprising number of them do so

because they either don’t have a choice or the choice they have extracts a high price. But overall,

even most of those hiding aspects of themselves don’t do much harm – it’s not in their nature.

I’m sure you have your secrets – what worthwhile woman doesn’t? But I know how rigid Garrett


was with his code and even if he had a reason to hurt you, he wouldn’t go about it like that. He

wasn’t a violent guy and only believed in defending himself.”

“So you don’t think that the recession made him financially desperate enough to want to do me,

uh, or anyone, harm, you know, for the right price?”

She tilted her head to the side and stared at me again. “Ah, yes, indeed, you do have your

secrets,” she replied softly, and as I heard it, sympathetically. “But no, not Garrett. He’d take a

job in private security before he’d take a job like that.” She turned and headed toward the front

door. “Oh, here’s my card. I’m pretty stealth about my work, but I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

She handed me a cream colored card on heavy stock. I pulled one out of my pocket and handed it

to her.

“Here’s mine. If you have other questions or anything, please let me know.” She nodded and

opened the door.

“Take good care of yourself and your secrets,” she smiled at me sadly and I found myself

responding.

“I promise, and you, too, Detective Prescott.” She saluted and walked toward Dep. Norris, who

waved at me from his post. I waved in return, stepped back inside and tucked her card into my

purse.

Thinking about all that we’d discussed, I loaded the dishwasher, turned it on and then wandered

back into my bedroom and poked at the now smoldering fire. I added a log, changed into my

pajamas and got ready for bed. I walked through the house making sure everything was locked

up, doublechecked the garage, set the alarm and went back to my room. There I texted my sister

and Fina to let them both know that all was well and that I was turning in for the night. I forced


myself to sit and meditate, knowing that it would help me sleep better, when what I really

wanted to do was read an escapist novel.

I stared into the orange and yellow flames, quieting my thoughts gradually. It wasn’t easy, but

I’d been taught well by my spiritual mentors (in mermaidenry they were referred to as the

Mavens) and I was disciplined. So were Fina and Ellie, who’d also been mentored. All mermaids

were, as it was a crucial part of our ability to accept and integrate our fishy side. The Mavens

oversaw the mentoring of new mermaids and made sure we were kept safe. They were a crucial

help when Kyle’s harassment became stalking. Through them, I’d received training in self-

defense. They’d also arranged tutoring for me with someone who was an expert in ending my old

life and restarting a new one by changing my appearance, my name and my profession. Elspeth

and Nigel also accepted help from the tutor so that they could blend enough of their old life with

their new one without sacrificing all of their relationships. This had been made easier by our

spies keeping us informed as to Kyle’s whereabouts and when he went to live in Japan, we fully

implemented our plan. I returned from France and launched my new life on a trial basis. Ellie

also changed her last name and kept it when she married Nigel, whom she hadn’t met when Kyle

started his campaign to possess me. Together, she and Nigel off-ramped their higher profile

Silicon Valley lives. Nigel let his engineering job to become an architect and they moved to the

coast, where Nigel had moved to in his youth. This was where we were vulnerable in some ways,

I thought – all of us moving to an area where one of us had lived. But there was also strength in

numbers and something to be said about living in a small, tightknit community who had many

residents whose families had lived there for generations. Even with its limited influx of Silicon

Valley wealth and ongoing tourism, Skybay’s population remained steadily below 15,000.


I must have meditated a good thirty minutes before I felt a sense of true calm. Reluctantly, I

finished and got into the warm shower, my thoughts drifting back to the Mavens, mermaid

community and our traditions of privacy. Since mermaidenry manifested first in moods and

behavior before the actual physical change, most parents were alerted in time to make sure their

daughters were counseled, coached and supported through their transformation. When the

physical changes did happen for the first time, there was often a rite of passage where the new

mermaid changed with older mermaids and guided out to sea with them. Ellie had gone through

it first, and she and our mother kept it a secret from me until I began to experience the behavioral

changes – the heightened senses, the restlessness, the sudden desire to swim at night and a deeper

connection to the moon, the tides and natural forces. When they noticed that, they took me aside

and explained what was happening to me. It took some convincing and I didn’t fully believe until

I saw Elspeth and my mom change one chilly spring night. For the majority of my childhood, my

tightknit and otherwise traditional French American family had kept Ellie and I both rather

sheltered. It wasn’t until my first night swim that I completely understood why. Even when

young women had their rite of passage, the other women who showed up to offer their support

often used a pseudonym for reasons of privacy and safety. New mermaids were charged with

keeping the secrets and since these secrets were familial, it wasn’t hard to keep them.

As I thought about all of this, I suddenly shook the cleanser off of my face, blinking the past

away. What if it was no coincidence that Garrett was killed by a spear gun in the yard of

mermaids? Was it some sort of veiled threat or warning? Did someone dangerous know who we

really were? I chewed on this possibility while I washed and conditioned my hair, deciding it

was a theory best to sleep on and revisit in the morning. If it still held, I’d talk to Ellie and Fina

and perhaps even contact the Mavens.


Finally, after an incredibly long and arduous day, I snuggled into bed, looking forward to sleep.

But it eluded me much of the night, as my thoughts again and again returned to images of

Garrett’s gruesome death, the spear protruding from his chest, his face frozen in horror. There

was something off, though, about his face, I dimly realized as I exhaustedly tossed and turned. I

figured his tongue had swollen, that’s what seemed so odd about the horrifying tableau. Even in

the crowded confines of the vardo I hadn’t wanted to get close to the body or damage evidence

more than we already had, so I didn’t pay much attention to his face. But now something about it

was trying to swim to the surface of my lagging consciousness and I couldn’t grasp what it was.

I finally got up, padded into my bathroom and took an over the counter sleeping aid. I saw that

was after 2:00am but the pill did its trick and lulled me into sleep.

Chapter 7

I awoke with a mild hungover feeling, but nearly a half gallon of coffee, cinnamon and honey

oatmeal and some yoga stretching helped a great deal. I looked out over the yard after

completing my stretching routine and was depressed by the crime scene tape and plants bettered

down by so many feet the previous day. It took me a moment to realize that there was a police

officer sitting at a cheap table with fold out legs outside the vardo, wearing gloves and a thick

uniform regulation coat. I was surprised and disconcerted that it was necessary to have him man

the post. So I got dressed and trotted over with a big mug of coffee and some reheated scones.

As I approached, the officer rose and offered a tight smile. “Good morning, Ma’am.”

“Hi there, you looked like you could use a little pick me up,” I said, handing over the plate and

mug.

“Thank you, that’s really nice.” He took a sip of coffee and then gave me a real smile. “Wow,

that’s good stuff, better than 7-11.”


I laughed and replied, “My father always said that weak coffee was a sign of weak character.”

He nodded. “I agree. I’m sorry that we’re still here, but well, you know, until further notice.”

“I understand. Listen, my sister and her husband should be at the teahouse, so just knock if you

need to use the facilities. I can collect the dishes later, just leave them on your table.”

“Great, thanks again.”

Back inside, I texted Fina and Ellie, letting them know all was safe and sound at the cottage and

not to be surprised if a uniformed cop needed to use the teachouse’s facilities. Fina texted back

that they’d be there for a couple more hours and I could come by if I wanted. But I felt penned in

after the events of yesterday and decided to hit the road. I didn’t have any readings scheduled

today and with the small arsenal of legal weapons in my purse, I’d be pretty safe leaving the

house.

I left my blonde hair in its loose braid, added some mascara, eyeliner, blush and a deep rose

lipstick. I dressed in black suede narrow-legged pants tucked into flat black boots, a black

cashmere turtleneck that had been a gift from my parents, and topped it off with a beret and pea

coat, both in rose colored wool.

I texted my sister & Fina and told them that I was heading out to Now Read This!, the village

bookstore. It had a fun connecting café called Now East This! which was good competition for

the teahouse, but their focus was more on coffee, live music and author events.

I waved to the policeman and took off in my coupe. Normally, I’d walk, since it was just half a

mile away, but given recent events I decided it was safer to drive. As I slowly made my way

down the quiet streets, I revisited my theory of the night before – that Garrett’s method of death

was somehow a message or a threat for us mermaids. I knew that leaving without talking to Ellie

and Fina about this was impulsive and I was a little surprised at myself. In order to successfully


cope with the changes in my life brought about by the stalking, I’d become a more disciplined

and structured person by necessity. I was even methodical about not establishing a set routine,

which is a big part of why I’d chosen to live a seemingly bohemian life as a tarot reader. People

unwilling to change their daily and weekly routines were easier to spy on. But living and

working so close to family made me less vulnerable, as did working from home some of the

time. By design, I was able to create a lifestyle that allowed me to change things up – dining out

one night, staying in for meals during a busy holiday weekend, scheduling personal

appointments at any time of the day that suited me, and meeting friends for tea and sandwiches

across the yard. But I’d also deliberately not made many new friends here, with the exceptions of

Joaquin and Fina, who’d been friends already with Nigel and Elspeth. The two ladies had

discovered that their mermaidenry rite of passage had happened at the same time and place, so

they had actually met as adolescents. This, and their shared love of food, tea culture and of

course, the ocean, had created a deep bond between the two. When I moved to Skybay, Fina and

Joaquin had invited into their lives without hesitation, while understanding my need for caution

and protection. I felt nurtured and sage and able to offer the same to my new friends and family.

Lately, I’d wanted to widen my circle of friends a bit, but was proceeding very cautiously. My

work at the teahouse offered great opportunities to meet nice people, both locals and tourists, so I

had hopes that soon I’d be including a few new friends.

This line of thought led me to ponder the people I’d met just yesterday – the police officers, the

homicide detectives, the private eye and the marine scientist. My mind stayed on Dez, his warm

smile, confident physicality and his interest in me. Pulling into a parking space by the bookstore,

I caught sight of myself in the rearview mirror and noted that I had a Mona Lisa smile on my


face. Hadn’t Dez said that he’d contact me today about getting together? Why, yes, indeed, he

had!

Speaking of which, I turned my ringer volume to vibrate and entered the store. It was quiet

inside; wanting to preserve the companionable silence, I merely nodded and smiled at Paul, the

owner who was at the front, cataloguing books.

Wandering the rows, I settled on checking out local fiction. As a tourist town, I’d learned the

books on local flora and fauna, cooking, history and fiction by locals or about the Bay Area were

housed here. It had become my favorite section because I’d learned so much about the area from

books here. I’d also been impressed by the number of local authors who lived in the county,

writing about everything from agriculture to zoology. I picked up a volume on California olive

oils written by two San Francisco nuns whose convent raised money through olive oil sales. I set

it down and noticed one on sushi, featuring a colorful color with a handsome, beaming, macho

looking chef. I glanced through it, curious if it had a section on fugu. Yep, indeed it did. I’d been

interested in the poisonous pufferfish ever since I’d read that it was a key ingredient into creating

zombies in Haiti. In Japanese culture, fugu was a pricey delicacy coveted by the most daring and

macho of men…and the most stupid, as far as I was concerned. This was the species that killed

Captain Cook’s men when they’d been stranded on an island in the Pacific. I’d never been

remotely tempted to try it, although in my travels I’d come across it being offered at some high

end restaurants. In the staying-on-top-of-Kyle part of my life, I’d learned that he’d opened a

series of successful restaurants in Tokyo. Fugu had been a big deal to him back in the brief time

we spent together. This minor obsession suited him, as fugu was a manly man pursuit for most.

Even though a safer version of the dangerous delicacy was now being aquacultured, it was still


apparently sexy enough to include in this brand spanking new sushi tome. On impulse, I bought

it, thinking it might give me something compelling to talk to Dez about.

Speak of the doctor! My phone vibrated as I reached my car and I saw his name on my LED

screen. I answered, trying to infuse my tone with that ephemeral je ne sais quoi but actually

sounding like I had too much ennui for breakfast.

“Lina? Hi, it’s Dex – I, uh, we met the other day and we talked about meeting up today.”

“Yes, hi. Sure, today’s pretty slow for me.”

“Okay. Well, how about lunch if it’s not too last minute? I could meet you somewhere

downtown?”

“That sounds nice. How about sushi? I love the remodel they did at Skybay in the Raw.”

Somehow sushi seemed to me to be a good connector between his expertise, sharing lunch and

the murder scene.

“I do, too. I’ve been running errands downtown, so I can meet you there anytime.”

“Oh, well, that’s good, because I just left the bookstore. Fifteen minutes?”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you outside.” We disconnected and I popped into my car to freshen up and

figure out a line of questioning that didn’t come across as too nosy.

Skybay in the Raw was just a few blocks away, so I walked at a leisurely pace and enjoying the

warmth of my turtleneck and coat. A few locals gave me speculative looks mixed with polite

smiles and I nodded politely but didn’t stop to chat with anyone.

Spotting Dez outside the doors of the restaurant, I took a moment to observe him from afar. He

was indeed handsome and had a presence that fit in anywhere, from a dive bar to the deck of a

boat. He turned at my approached and moved forward to meet me, smiling broadly.


“Hi Lina. You look great on this chilly day!” he exclaimed. My cheeks reddened a bit and I

smiled back at him, noting that the gray of eyes looked bluer in the winter daylight. “Shall we?”

he asked and opened the restaurant door for me.

“They did do a great job with the renovation,” Dez observed as we sat down with menus. A

quiet server glided up and placed a stoneware pot of green tea on the table and Dez nodded his

approval.

I glanced around, pleased at our surroundings. The space was exotically decorated with Thai

and Balinese woodcarvings and art. A fountain made from a giant conch shell with a slate base

trickled quietly in a corner. The tables and even some of the chairs were made from rough-hewn

slabs of slate and drift wood. The entire effect was of muted earth-tone colors with startling

shapes and textures. Ellie, Fina and I loved to come here, as it was the perfect contrast to the

teahouse. We usually had an early dinner the evening after our swim, loading up on ocean

delicacies and nourishing udon.

Dez and I politely discussed our favorite dishes, finding many in common and deciding to share

dishes instead of ordering bento boxes. We ordered and then sat back with our green tea. He

looked up, checked our surroundings, then bent his head toward mine, handsome face serious

and quietly asked, “How’re you doing?”

“Well, I feel better than I should, considering. But it’s hard to put it out of my mind. I keep

thinking of his family, how awful it is for them to get the news.”

Dez nodded and touched my hand lightly with his warm one. “I know. My nightmares last night

involved his family, but I don’t even know where he was from, or if he had family.”

“He lived down south somewhere.” The words were out before I could stop myself.

“Really? Did you know him?” Dez asked, his eyes wide.


“No. He was a customer in the teahouse, so Ellie and I had met him, but um, I met a friend of

his last night and she told me where he was from.”

“Really,” he repeated, but this time as a statement, not a question. “Was she his girlfriend?”

“No, I think he’d been something of a mentor to her in the past.”

“Interesting, and now he’s dead.” He paused as trays of beautifully presented sushi were set on

the table. “This looks great,” he enthused. We both dug in and I decided it was almost the perfect

time to pick his brain.

“I had sushi on the brain – look, I just bought this,” I said, pulling out the book I’d just

purchased.”

Dez set his chopsticks down and took the proffered book. “This looks interesting. I’m part

Japanese and I’ve taken sushi-making classes. It’s fun, but to do it right requires real artistry.”

“You’re part Japanese? Really?”

“Yes, half. My Japanese and my dad’s French.”

“Then where does the surname Morgan come from,” I asked curiously.

“Oh, that’s a good part of our history. My family is Breton, and there was a time when Welsh

fisherman emigrated to Brittany. Some of their names renamed intact even though they

intermarried with the local women.”

“That’s great that you know your history,” I mused, then grabbed a roasted and spiced mussel

from its shell.

“Our family, as you can imagine, was hit very hard by World War II, so it’s been imperatives to

my parents’ generation to keep our history alive. That’s also a reflection of both Japanese and

Breton culture – the past is very much a part of the present and is used to plan for the future.”


“I agree that it’s important. So sushi is part of your culture, I reckon,” grinning at him and

gesturing to the plates of food with my chopsticks.

“Yes, but as a marine scientist, I’m also sensitive to overfishing, so I try to maintain a balance.”

“Have you ever tried fugu?” I asked. “That book has a section on it.” I glanced up and noticed

that his mouth had thinned and he was frowning slightly. “What? What’s wrong?”

He picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth and took a sip of tea, all without meeting my eyes.

“Maybe I should ask what you know about fugu,” he replied dryly.

“I don’t know that much about it, but I’ve seen it in restaurants abroad. I have to say, I’ve never

been tempted to order it and I find its macho mystique puzzling,” I said lightly. Why did he seem

so pissed off at the mention of fugu?

“Ah ha. So what, you decided to invite me to Japanese food, show me the sushi book you just

happened to buy, then ask me about fugu?” Now he at me and I was surprised to see how angry

he looked.

“Yeah, sort of, but technically, you invited me to lunch. I told you, I bought this book, so I had

sushi on my mind when you asked where we should lunch,” I emphasized that this was his idea.

“We don’t need to talk about fugu at all, it just made sense because of your background,” I

finished. Instead of lifting up a piece of nigiri, I stabbed it with a single chopstick and stuck it in

my mouth, chewing it quickly and washing it down with a slug of tea. “We can discuss anything

– your job, my job, what you want for Christmas,” I finished with a humorous note, hoping to get

things back on track. “I know, your name, let’s get back to that. Is Dez your full name?”

“No, it’s actually Destan,” he replied, sounding more pleasant. “Everyone calls me Dez, even

my students – well, they call me Dr. Dez.” He laughed and it was a pleasant sound. “What about

you – you said you’d lived in France?”


“Yes,” I responded, relieved that we were back on an even keel. “Both Elspeth and I did,

although she ended up spending more time in the UK while I remained in France.”

“I take it you didn’t major in tarot studies,” Dez joked and I chuckled.

“No, art history, which is somewhat less useful. It was a wonderful place to immerse myself in

the subject, then I ended up guest lecturing at universities as well as tutoring rich French kids in

English.”

“What’s your specialty,” he asked, diving back in to the sashimi plate, all rancor forgotten.

“The history of art in European mythology.”

“You don’t say? That sounds fascinating.” Dez poured more tea into my cup and then his own.

“It is, and that’s how I got into tarot. I studied it first as an academic, then in Italy learning it as

a practitioner. I love it,” I finished. Actually, to my ears, I sounded like, at worst, an academic

weirdo washout, at best an artsy eccentric academic washout.

“Do you think that you’ll do back into academia?” he questioned.

“Yes, I do. I decided that when I moved back here to be around my family to do something

different, et voila! I became the teahouse tarot reader. Given the economy, it was actually a wise

move. I’m writing a paper on the role of divination in art history, and that just might be the right

entre back into academe.” Fine, I sounded like a snob, but in some ways I was. Better to sound

like a snob than admit that my career had been derailed by a nasty stalker. I consciously

cultivated the worldly, artsy, slightly Bohemian image I now projected, handsome scientists be

damned.

“That just might be,” Dez agreed. “Look, my intention is not to denigrate your current career.

But frankly, most people in university circles, as you know, leave to have kids, take a more

lucrative job in the private sector or they wash out. You’ve done things differently, and I think


that’s cool.” He actually looked sincere. “Plus, I’ve never had a tarot reading, so I can’t criticize

something I know so little about.”

I helped him here. “Well…there is good reason to be skeptical. There are a lot of con artists and

flakes in the field. But humans communicate with systems of symbols, and tarot is just one of

them. Its mystique is there for many reasons, but either symbols assist us in communicating with

the world around us, or they don’t. Tarot is a perfect example of symbols that work well. The

mysteries of humanity are still with us and I appreciate the link that tarot provides between the

modern age and the past,” I finished.

“That’s a great way to put it. Thanks for that, now it makes more sense,” Dez gallantly offered.

“I’ll have to try it sometime.”

“There are a lot of good readers around here, so you’ve got your pick!” I added and ate more of

my lunch.

“I’m sorry about my reaction earlier, I thought you knew, and that you being cagey,” Dez

admitted, but I didn’t know what he meant.

“Being cagey?” I repeated. “About what?”

“Yeah, you really don’t know,” he said, and sighed. “Okay, this is weird.”

“Okay, please, just spit it out, and I don’t mean your lunch!” I laughed.

“The fugu, it’s just strange that you brought it up. You didn’t even know I’m half Japanese.” I

shook my head at him, still puzzled. “The murder victim’s mouth was stuffed with fugu. That’s

why I was called in,” Dez finished, let out a breath and his shoulders slumped.

“What? That’s crazy!” I exclaimed. “How come I didn’t see it?” I wondered. “Wait, I do recall

thinking that his tongue was swollen.”


Dez nodded. “Yes, his mouth was packed with it, so it did look like there was swelling.” He

paused, then leveled a look at me. “Okay, please, be completely honest. Did you know about the

fugu connection and just wanted to pump me for information?”

I shook my head. “I had no idea that he had fugu in his mouth. I didn’t get a great look at him,

and I was concerned about messing up the crime scene. But the book, eating here, that is all

really just a strange coincidence. When I met you yesterday, I thought your expertise was being

sought because that spear in Garrett’s chest looked like it came from an underwater spear gun.

But, um, I did plan to pump you for information,” I continued, only a little embarrassed.

At his raised brows, I defended myself somewhat righteously. “It behooves my family to know

all we can about what happened. I live just yards away and it’s my sister’s property, for heaven’s

sake. Surely you understand that information is power in a situation like this.”

Dez slowly lowered his brows and then scooted his chair in closer. “When you put it like that, it

makes sense. I’d be pretty unnerved if I lived there, too.” He smiled briefly at the server who

brought the check and whipped out a credit card before the man had even stepped away.

“Besides, I like it when someone casually throws “behooves” into their sentence.” He winked at

me and I warmed up to him once again. It wasn’t hard, given his good looks, sincere charm and

generosity – after all, he paid for lunch.

We stood and exited into the winter chill. While it was only early afternoon, the fog was rolling

down the street in misty plumes. I shivered slightly and buttoned my coat. “Can I buy you a cup

of hot cocoa?” I asked, not wanting our time together to end, and not just because I wanted to

find out more about the fugu connection.

Dez grinned at me, his gray eyes lighting up. “Sure, but don’t you mean ‘sipping chocolate’, as

the tourists say?”


“Yes, that’s right…our tourists are too good to serve mere cocoa powder and water to. It must

be sipping chocolate!” he declared with a grin.

I paused a moment and leaned in toward him, smelling something clean and spicy, plus a hint

of ocean. “So that’s a yes, I take it?” He nodded enthusiastically and we turned as one, heading

toward Cherie’s Chocolaterie on the next corner.

Cherie’s was a newcomer run by an oldtimer, a crotchety older Frenchwoman everyone called

Cherie. Right before I moved to Skybay, she’d suddenly come out of retirement and

commandeered an empty storefront up for lease. With a palette of blue and green bordered by

chocolate brown, she’d transformed the place into a tempting enclave for young and old, local

and tourist alike. It’d become one of the hang outs for the school kids who considered

themselves more sophisticated than the ones who frequented the convenience store and deli.

Cherie reminded me of the abrupt, stubborn diabetic played by Judi Dench in the film version

of Chocolat. Her truffles were an edible work of art, but I preferred to linger over a small cup of

liquid chocolate and one of her macarons. She had known my mother and grandparents back in

the day, but I never spoke to her of my family given that I’d changed my name and wasn’t

anxious to rekindle old connections. Nevertheless I was fond of her, and reported in to my mom

about the goings-on at Cherie’s.

There was a surprising bustle going on inside the richly-scented shop. Well-dressed women

were picking up a large number of boxed cookies and chocolates. As we got into line behind

them, Dez gently put his hand on the small of my back. I noticed two of the women – both with

flashy diamond rings on their wedding fingers - giving Dez rather hungry looks. I boldly

watched them until they grew embarrassed and turned away. I was amused and he seemed

oblivious, studying the menu above us.


Cherie came out of the back room, and as soon as she spotted us, her lined face broke into a

huge smile. “Ah, Destan, bon jour!” she exclaimed and blew him a kiss. He blew one back and

she asked for our orders. I gave mine in French, which earned me a nod of approval from her.

We settled into seats by the window with our sipping chocolate – mint for me, spicy for Dez –

while Cherie and her employees waited on the crowd. When things had slowed down, Cherie

came over to join us for a moment, resting a hand on Dez’s shoulder, wreathed in smiles. He

introduced me and she reached out to shake my hand.

“I have seen you here before. Thank you for your patronage. You are the sister of the Elspeth,

no?” she inquired.

I nodded and had to stop myself from launching straight into French. “Yes. We both love your

shop and it’s great to see how popular it is.”

“Yes, it’s both luck and hard work,” she winked at me. “As is the teahouse, which is my

favorite local respite, besides the beach. Well, I must get back to the kitchen to my two new

apprentices. They are here for six months and so far, they are tolerable,” she finished. I grinned

at her. “Dez, you and the lovely Lina take care of each other. That horrible business is far from

over, I suspect.” Before we could respond, she was gone, back into the kitchen. We looked at

each other.

“I wonder what she meant by that”? I asked.

“I don’t know, but I’ll have to ask her when she’s not so busy,” he responded and drained his

cup. “Funny how just a few ounces of this stuff can be so satisfying.” I nodded and finished

mine. Together we arose and he walked me back to my car.


“Lina, I have to say, I feel a little guilty having such a great time today, given how we met.” He

took my hand in his for a moment, then gently let it go. “I hope you might feel the same?” he

asked, then he chuckled. “Not about the guilt, of course, but about today.”

Smiling up at him I answered, “Thank you for a the lovely lunch. And yes, I do feel the same.”

With that I slipped into my car and gave him a little wave. Just like yesterday, I knew that I was

leaving him wanting more.

.


rev1 tarot & tea, a siren says mystery chapts 1 thru 7 by marina ferrari

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