Murder Hooks a Mermaid by Christy Fifield Page B

slid her untouched piece back onto the plate and put the dome over the stand. It looked right at home in the middle of her chrome-and-Formica table.
    It was still early by our Thursday-night standards when I got home and unlocked the back door. Julie had set thealarms I’d installed after the break-in last fall, and I disarmed and then reset them.
    I walked up front, intending to make a quick tour of the shop and then head upstairs. To my surprise, Bluebeard was awake, as if he’d been waiting for me to come home.
    I crossed the dimly lit shop, pale shadows thrown across the displays by the faint light filtered through the front windows.
    Only a few months earlier, I’d found the shop trashed and Bluebeard waiting for me. Tonight, even with nothing out of place and everything locked and secured as it should be, I had a strange sense of foreboding.
    But instead of speaking up, Bluebeard hopped off his perch onto my arm and nestled his head under my chin, a sure sign he was upset and needed comforting.
    “What is it, Bluebeard? What’s wrong?”
    In spite of several minutes of cajoling, he refused to speak. He ate a biscuit, then hopped back into his cage and tucked his head into his chest. He was going to sleep, and he had nothing to say.
    Somehow, his silence was spookier than anything he could have said.
    I think.
    I needed some comforting myself, and there was one person I could call any time, day or night. Linda Miller. A friend of my mother’s and my foster mom after my parents were killed, she was like the older sister I never had, and she was always there when I needed her. Like right now.
    Linda picked up on the second ring. I could feel her concern through the phone the instant she recognized my voice. “You don’t sound so good,” she said.
    How did she get that from Hello ?
    Before I answered, she went on. “I heard about Bobby getting himself in hot water last night. How’s Riley holding up?”
    I didn’t have to ask how she’d heard. Gossip was a time-honored tradition in small towns, and Keyhole Bay did its part. In fact, I’d have been surprised if she hadn’t heard.
    “He’s been better,” I answered. “You have a minute? It’s been a bad night, and I could use someone to talk to.”
    “I’ll be right over.” She hung up before I could stop her. I could have called her back, told her we could talk on the phone, but the truth was I would be happier with her there.
    A couple minutes later, she tapped at the back door.
    We went upstairs, and Linda immediately put a pot on the stove. It was her universal cure for every ailment: a cup of hot cocoa. Even if the cocoa didn’t do any actual good, there was something incredibly comforting about her fixing it for me.
    I could feel her watching me as she stirred the cocoa. She had questions, but she was willing to wait until she could sit down and give me her full attention.
    “Now,” she said when she handed me a steaming mug and joined me on the sofa, “tell me what’s bothering you.”
    “It’s Bobby. They revoked his bail, and he’s back in jail.”
    “That doesn’t make sense,” she said.
    “Unfortunately, it does.” I tried a sip of the cocoa. Still too hot to drink. “Riley called about the time we finished dinner. One of Bobby’s customers was killed. They found him behind The Tank, and the cops think Bobby did it.” I left out any mention of the gaff hook. It was just too gruesome to think about.
    Linda stared at me in shock.
    “That’s really all I know. But I can’t imagine Bobby doing anything like that. He wasn’t a fighter; he’d try to talk his way out of whatever trouble he got into.”
    “And if that didn’t work,” Linda said, “he’d get his big brothers to help him out.”
    She shivered. “Chilly in here.” She dragged a quilt off the back of the sofa and draped it over my shoulders. She was cold, so I needed a blanket.
    “I suppose,” she continued after she had the quilt arranged to her