Debbie Herbert - Siren's Secret

“He needs predictable routine, all right.” Tillman nodded. “Any little change in his routine throws him out of whack.”

She stared at him thoughtfully. “It must be tough dealing with Eddie on a daily basis.”

He shrugged. “It can be. But Eddie’s also my best friend. We go fishing at least a couple times a week and he never laughs at my off-key singing or rolls his eyes at my bad jokes.”

“And I bet he’s an excellent listener,” she added with a grin.

“The best.”

“Let’s hope others appreciate his good qualities, too, because I hope eventually Eddie can move to a group session. Socialization skills are important. Of course, I’d start him off slowly, just add one or two other people to his session and then gradually add more.”

Tillman frowned. “It’s hard for him to be around groups of people. Too much noise and he gets overloaded. I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” He reached in his pocket as his cell phone went off. “Angier speaking.”

Shelly ate a few more clams as Tillman carried on his conversation.

He half rose from the table. “Excuse me, it’s work. Let me take this outside a few minutes.”

She waved a hand. “No problem.” She watched him head across the restaurant, noting the way his jeans hugged a very nice-looking ass. She hoped his invitation tonight wasn’t just to thank her for her work with Eddie.

A middle-aged woman decked in polyester approached. “Lily,” she said, “what are you doing here all alone?”

“Lily’s my cousin—I’m Shelly.”

The woman lifted a well-manicured hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. The resemblance is uncanny.”

“Happens all the time.”

“My apologies. I’m Lulu,” the woman said, extending a hand. “Be sure and tell Lily I said hello. Your cousin is an absolute genius with hair.”

“She is,” Shelly agreed. “I’ll tell her I ran into you.”

Tillman returned, worry lines creasing his brow. “Sorry about that. Occupational hazard. One of my deputies had a question about a due process hearing at the jail.”

“Sounds like you never really get away from your job.”

He shrugged. “Comes with the territory. Does that bother you?”

“No. I know what it’s like to put your heart and energy into a job. I care about my clients.” She gave him a pointed stare. “And I won’t push them to do anything I don’t think they’re ready for.”

Tillman held up a hand. “I believe you. No harm in trying out the group thing with Eddie.”

“If I see it’s a problem, I promise I’ll back off.” Shelly took a long swallow of wine, curious if he had any news about the body she’d found. Maybe he could tell her something to ease her fears. She was not pumping for information. Well, perhaps a little...but what was the harm in that?

“It can’t be easy for you, what with the latest body turning up a couple of days ago.”

His jaw clinched almost imperceptibly. “This will be the last one.”

“Really? That’s good news.”

“No such thing as a perfect crime. We’re closing in on the sick bastard.”

Shelly’s heart pounded. The sooner the better. She waited for him to continue but he concentrated on his shrimp platter.

“Any good leads?” she prompted.

“A couple.”

“I hope you find him soon. It’s nerve-racking knowing he’s out there. If I leave work after dark, I’m looking over my shoulder in the parking lot.”

He frowned. “Our office is working hard. We’re doing everything we can to end the fear in our community.”

At his grim face Shelly touched his hand. “Nobody doubts that.”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just let me see it a minute.” He grinned. “I’m not going to read your texts.”

“I didn’t think you were.” She retrieved it from her purse and handed it over. Tillman punched in some numbers before giving it back.

“I put in the number to my office and my personal cell number. Call if you feel threatened or see anything that makes you nervous.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Probably one of the nicest gestures she’d had from a man in ages. Uh-oh, she’d better guard her heart with this one.

Tillman touched the ring on her right hand. “Nice emerald.”

Shelly knew he was evading specifics on the case. Mata Hari she was not. She only hoped he was right about finding the killer. She glanced at the ring. “This belonged to my mother. She died while I was in college and I’ve worn it ever since.” Mom told her she’d recovered it from a shipwreck somewhere in the Baltic Ocean. Shelly liked to think it might once have belonged to a Russian princess. The gem quality was truly that rare and magnificent.

“I’m sorry about your mother. How did she die?”

A sharp pang cramped her stomach at the concern in his warm gray eyes and she had to fight past the lump in her throat to speak. “Car wreck. A drunk driver hit my parents as they were returning home from a movie.”

He nodded. “That had to be tough, losing them both at the same time.”

She managed a small smile. She doubted the fierce pain would ever ease and she’d feel like an orphan even as an old lady. She imagined rocking on the front porch, alone, gray-haired and forgotten, staring at the vast expanse of the ocean while her only blood relations were out there somewhere frolicking under the sea.

“My dad died two years ago, I guess about the same time you came to this town. It was tough, we were close. I looked up to him,” Tillman said.

“He couldn’t have been that old. What happened?”

“Heart attack. I’m sure the pressures of work and home contributed to it.”

“I’m sorry, Tillman.” She touched his hand and felt warmth travel up her arm at the brief contact.

“He was sheriff here. When I got the news he died I left Mobile and came back home. They wanted me in the Sheriff’s Office, and Mom and Eddie needed me, too.”

Shelly’s heart clinched. “Do you plan to stay in Bayou La Siryna or is this assignment temporary?”

Tillman hesitated. “There’ll be an election next year for the job. I don’t see things changing on the home front.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eddie’s a handful.”

“True, he’s on the severe end of the autism scale, but I’ve seen worse.”

“You haven’t seen Eddie at his worst. And Mom...” His voice trailed off and he shifted in his seat. “She can’t deal with it.”

Shelly recalled Portia Angier’s pale, delicate face, the way she rubbed her temples, how she often dropped off Eddie and called Tillman to pick him up from the Y. Probably suffered the classic Fragile Southern Belle Syndrome. “You’re a good man to help your family.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m no saint.”

Shelly smiled inside. She certainly had no use for saints. Her fantasies of Tillman were far from saintly.

* * *

It had all been so easy.

A quick search on the internet at the public library to find her photo and name, and then one click for her personal address. Their names were listed on the hair salon’s business license. There had even been a picture of them at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for the shop years earlier. Lily Bosarge had long blond hair and the other, Jet Bosarge, was taller and had dark short hair that barely covered her ears.

Lily was his target.

Melkie parked his car down the road, careful not to be seen, before approaching the large Victorian home with its wraparound porch. The silent darkness of the house reminded him of a cemetery. He peered through the windows and listened for the faintest sign of life inside. Convinced they weren’t home, he searched and found, behind some dense hawthorn shrubs, a small unlocked utility window. Donning latex gloves and a black skullcap to prevent loose hairs from falling, he squeezed his wiry body in the small opening and landed in the basement.