Erin Hart - False Mermaid

The boat was twenty-five feet at least, with a cabin belowdecks and a powerful inboard motor that wouldn’t have made a lot of noise coming in. Why had someone just abandoned it here? She glanced back at Elizabeth and reached for the walkie-talkie, hoping she remembered Cormac’s instructions on how to work it.

“Cormac—come in. Are you there?” She crept closer to the boat, expecting a head to emerge any moment from below.

His voice came crackling through the speaker. “What’s happening, Nora? Where are you?”

“At Port na Rón. There’s a boat tied up at the pier, but I can’t see anyone around. You haven’t heard from Devaney?”

“No. Maybe you should head back to the house—”

“I’m going to see if anyone’s below.”

“Nora, don’t—”

His voice cut out as she clipped the walkie-talkie to her belt, and started down the ladder at the side of the pier. “Stay there,” she called to Elizabeth. “I’ll be right back.”

Down on the level with the boat, she vaulted onto the deck over the gunwale. A pair of sunglasses lay on the ledge above the wheel, but there were no other obvious signs of occupancy. No keys in the ignition. She called down into the cabin through the open hatch door. “Hello—anyone here?” No answer. She unclipped the walkie-talkie and pressed the button to speak. “Cormac, are you still there?”

“What’s happening? Is everything all right?”

“There’s no one on the boat. Nobody around at all. It’s odd.”

“Listen, I’m coming up to Kilcar, and I’m calling Devaney right now. Will you please get out of there? Let me know as soon as you get back to the house.”

“I will—I promise.”

She clipped the walkie-talkie to her belt again and climbed up the ladder, stopping short at the sight that greeted her. Elizabeth stood at the far end of the pier, arms pinned behind her back. The person who held her was Miranda Staunton—the new Mrs. Hallett.

Miranda offered a chilly smile. “What’s the matter, Nora—not the person you expected? Take a step closer, and I’ll break her arms. Don’t tempt me.” Elizabeth caught a sharp breath as Miranda tugged at her elbows.

Nora raised her right hand, signaling her niece to keep still, while her left hand inched closer to the walkie-talkie at her waist. Miranda’s icy voice stopped her: “No, you don’t—drop it.”

There was no choice. Nora slid her thumb across the “talk” button as she lifted the walkie-talkie from her belt, and Cormac’s voice sounded through hissing static. “Nora? Nora—are you there?”

Miranda shook her head. “Too bad you can’t answer. Now kick that thing into the water. Do it!”

Nora tried nudging the walkie-talkie with her foot, hoping she could get it to land on the lower pier, but the rubber casing that rendered the bloody thing indestructible also made it bounce. The walkie-talkie landed in the water with a loud plop.

Miranda began to edge up the side of the ridge above the pier, keeping her eyes on Nora, and Elizabeth in front of her. Nora’s mind raced. If she could just buy some time—

“How on earth did you find us?”

Miranda fumbled for Elizabeth’s backpack and held up a small disk attached to the zipper. “The wonders of modern technology—a GPS kid tracker. Turn-by-turn directions at the touch of a BlackBerry.”

“And you think Peter will be grateful when you bring Elizabeth back, is that it?”

Miranda’s voice was steel: “I didn’t come here to bring her back.” She continued: “Whose idea do you think it was to drag her along in the first place? Her father was going to leave her in Saint Paul. Of course the original plan didn’t include you, but now that we’re all here, I’m thinking this might actually work out for the best. The tragedy will just be compounded. Elizabeth will have an unfortunate accident, trying to escape from her kidnapper—that’s you—and then, in a fit of remorse, you’ll throw yourself onto the rocks. Or maybe you’ll just lose your footing—I haven’t decided. Sometimes it’s better to let things develop naturally.” She continued climbing backward up the hill, pulling Elizabeth along. The ground beneath their feet grew steeper with every step.

Nora knew she had to keep Miranda talking if they were to have any chance at all. “How can you think you’ll get away with this?”

Miranda stopped and beamed with malicious satisfaction. “You mean, besides the fact that I’ve gotten away with everything so far? Including your precious sister—”

Nora watched Elizabeth’s lips move soundlessly: Mama .

“You’re telling me Peter had nothing to do with Tríona’s death?”

“When are you going to get it through your thick skull, Nora? Peter couldn’t hurt a fly—that’s always been his problem. Fortunately, it’s a fault I’m willing to overlook.”

“You put that bottle under my brake pedal.”

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t ruin everything. For Chrissake, Nora, you left the car unlocked. It was practically an invitation.”

“And Natalie Russo? What about her?”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? I knew there’d be trouble when somebody found poor Natalie. It was bound to happen. I just hoped I’d be far away by then. Thought she could knock me out of the trials—”

Miranda was approaching the top of the crag. She stood for a moment, slightly winded, still pinning Elizabeth’s arms behind her back.

“I don’t know how Tríona found out about Natalie, but she did. And she was going to make me pay. You have this idea that she was so perfect, but you don’t know what she was up to—the drugs, going down to the river, screwing her brains out every night. Did you know she threatened to accuse Peter of child abuse if she didn’t get what she wanted? She was planning to take him to the cleaners in the divorce. You have no idea what she was capable of.”

“You sent the note—to get her to meet you out in the woods that night.”

“What do you mean? She was the one who sent me a note about meeting at Hidden Falls.”

“What did you do with it?”

“With what?”

“The note, Miranda—what did you do with the note?”

“I stuck it in my pocket. What does it matter?”

Nora’s thoughts raced. The Galliard sweatshirt—it never belonged to Peter, it was Miranda’s. She’d dumped it after killing Tríona. But there were two notes, one in Harry Shaughnessy’s sweatshirt pocket and one Sotharith the fisherman picked up in the woods. Miranda thought Tríona had sent her the note, trying to blackmail her about Natalie—but Tríona had received an identical note, telling her to go to Hidden Falls, the place where she believed that she had killed Natalie—all at once, the horror of it began to crystallize.

Miranda was just a murder weapon, the blunt instrument Peter Hallett had wielded from a distance. The deviousness, the cunning of his plan almost took her breath away. But she had to speak. “I know how long you’ve loved him, Miranda. Since the beginning, long before he ever met Tríona. Peter knew it, too. He’s been taking advantage of you, using you this whole time. Did you never wonder why he changed? Why, after so many years of indifference, he suddenly took an interest in you? Because you were useful. You could solve a problem for him. I suppose he broke down a few times about Tríona, all the suffering she’d put him through. He depended on you—if only she were out of the way, he’d finally belong to you. But what’s going to happen when you become the problem, Miranda? Because sooner or later, you will. And you’ll disappear, just like my sister. You think he hasn’t got it all worked out? He’s way ahead of you, Miranda. He’s been ahead of us all for years.”