Strands of Truth Read online

  He pulled out of the drive and glanced at her. “I see the wheels turning. What are you thinking?”

  “I was thinking of the Weeki Wachee mermaids. Could the killer have been a mermaid there? Maybe the same person killed my mom and Judy Russo.”

  He lifted a brow. “That’s a stretch, Harper. They have a lot of turnover.”

  “It might not have been a female mermaid. The attraction hires men too.”

  “Judy died fifty years ago, right?”

  “Something like that. Maybe forty-eight.” She slumped in her seat and closed her eyes in the hot rush of wind through the window. “It’s not likely anyone’s around who was there at that time.”

  Ridge turned at the corner and then turned the truck around. “Let’s find out.”

  14

  Murder was never a pleasant thought. Ridge glanced at Harper, who sat staring out her window. She had to be thinking about what Don had said. Highway workers were mowing the sides of the road, and the stench of gasoline fumes mixed with the scent of grass as he drove along US 19 toward Weeki Wachee.

  He decided to try to turn her thoughts to something else. “I called to check on Dad, and my mom and sister were there. I’m glad I wasn’t around for the fireworks.” He popped in a Tim McGraw CD he’d put together.

  She turned a smile his way. “Fireworks, huh? I’ve felt the sparks of a few of those displays. Oliver and Christina were divorced by the time I met him, but she’d show up on occasion and it was always loud. He never talked about what had happened.”

  “She divorced Dad when I was fifteen. When I asked why, she said they had different goals in life, whatever that meant. He was away on a business trip, and when he got home, his belongings were on the front porch. She’d changed the locks and her phone number. A letter from her attorney was front and center on top of his clothes.”

  She winced. “That’s harsh.”

  “That’s Mom. She’s a shape-up-or-ship-out kind of person. Dad never shaped up to her expectations, so she shipped him out.” He pressed his lips together. “And maybe that’s why he made so many business trips when I was growing up. It’s hard to live under extreme expectations like that.”

  She eyed him. “You never shaped up either? It has to be hard having a psychologist for a mother.”

  “I gave up trying to please her a long time ago. I was either too noisy or I didn’t share enough. I either had the wrong kinds of friends or I wasn’t athletic enough. No one can live up to her high standards except my sister. Willow is Mom’s clone. After the divorce, she went with Mom and I stayed with Dad.”

  “I always tried to stay out of Willow’s way on the rare weekends she came to stay with your dad when I was there. I always thought she was jealous of me.”

  He didn’t tell her they’d had many conversations about how much they disliked her.

  “Maybe those high expectations from both of my parents are what drove me to follow my own path. Neither one of them thought my career as a malacologist was a worthy one. Mom thought I should be some kind of professional like a lawyer or a doctor, and Dad wanted me to join him in the business.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Dad has such a huge personality, and I knew I’d live in his shadow if I wasn’t careful.”

  “That took a lot of discernment. I love your dad, but he can be overwhelming. Do you see your mom and sister much now?”

  “Maybe Christmas and Thanksgiving. Mom is wrapped up in her practice. Every time we’re together I get the impression she’s trying to figure out how I turned out this way. And Willow turns up her perfect nose and tells me I should have done something worthwhile with my education.”

  “I’ve always thought your job was interesting. Maybe because I share the same interest in marine life.”

  He glanced sideways at her as a thought hit him. Had his fascination with sea creatures fueled her own marine biology career? “According to them I wasted my talents.”

  How had they gotten on this subject? Talking about his mother and sister wasn’t something he did—ever. It was like ripping off his fingernail and examining how the rush of pain felt. McGraw began to sing “Live Like You Were Dying,” and Ridge started to sing the chorus without thinking. The lyrics stopped him short though he’d heard the song a thousand times. Was he making the most of his life? What if his own death was right around the corner?

  She turned down the radio a bit. “Does it hurt to talk about your family? If so, I’m sorry I asked.”

  All he was thinking began to spill out like a dam breaking. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. For years I thought things would change. Mom would come back, and our family would be whole again. My sister and I would be best of friends, and my mom would fix Christmas dinner and greet us all with a smile. We’d have family game nights, and we’d be the all-American family. That’s never going to happen.”

  She adjusted the seat belt at her shoulder and looked away. “I know what you mean. I think all of us long for family because it’s supposed to be where someone will love us no matter what. That’s why I decided . . .”

  He glanced at her perfect nose and cheekbones. “Decided what?”

  She turned to stare out the window again. “It’s not important. Looks like we’re at the park. What’s our plan of action?”

  Regret coiled in his belly. When was the last time he’d actually talked to someone like this? Years. He had a few friends at the museum, but the most they did was shoot hoops and go to football games. Over the years he’d drawn more and more into himself. Maybe it was just as well they couldn’t talk about this anymore. It wouldn’t do to get too close.

  He pulled into the parking lot past the tall white sculpture of two mermaids. “We’re here in time for the three o’clock Little Mermaid show.”

  “Do you want to see the show?”

  “I’ve never seen it, but we might not get any questions answered until the show is over. The backstage people will be busy prepping.”

  “Good point. Sure, let’s watch it. I haven’t been since I was a little girl.”

  He bought the tickets, and they joined the line into the four-hundred-seat auditorium. When the doors opened, they found seats in the middle section and only five rows back. The auditorium lights dimmed and the curtains over the observation windows rose. The smiling mermaids swam into view, and Ridge found himself mesmerized by the synchronized swimming and the way the women seemed to enjoy what they were doing. He glanced around at the spellbound viewers and saw little girls on the edges of their seats and parents equally enthralled.

  Turtles and fish swam with the mermaids, and the water was incredibly clear. He might have to come back and dive the springs himself. The show was over in what felt like a blink of an eye, and he guided Harper out into the brilliant sunlight. A line of admirers waited to get autographs and talk to the mermaids.

  Harper grabbed his forearm. “Look, I think that woman is their handler.” She gestured toward a middle-aged woman with faded blonde hair and smile lines around her eyes. She was directing the mermaids into a queue to talk to the children. “Let’s see if she remembers Judy Russo.”

  They threaded their way through the tourists and reached her as she turned to head back inside.

  “Excuse me,” Ridge said. “Could we have a minute of your time to ask about the history of the mermaids?” He introduced them both.

  “I’m Silvia Sully.” Her smile brightened. “Are you with the media?”

  “No, we’re trying to find out information about Judy Russo,” Harper said.

  Silvia’s smile vanished. “What about her?”

  “Did you know her?”

  “I knew all the girls. Look, I have to get into comfortable clothes and take down my hair. Come with me back to my cottage and I’ll try to help you.”

  Ridge took Harper’s arm. “Lead the way.”

  * * *

  Silvia’s cottage was a charming one bedroom just down the way from Weeki W
achee. The yard was a tangle of wildflowers and ornamental grasses that would have been at home in England. The scent of roses wafted to Ridge’s nose, and he shuddered at the overly sweet smell. It reminded him of a funeral home massed with bouquets. Harper wrinkled her nose too.

  Silvia gestured to a round iron table and three chairs. “We can sit out here.” She plopped into one of the chairs and kicked off her flip-flops as Ridge and Harper joined her. “Judy Russo, now there’s a blast from the past. I haven’t thought of her in decades. My mother was a friend of hers, and I remember her beautiful red hair.” She glanced at Harper. “Her hair was about the same color as yours except maybe lighter.”

  Ridge’s gaze lingered on Harper’s fiery hair before he leaned forward. “Maybe you knew Judy’s daughter, Annabelle?” The sun revealed all the gray hair in Silvia’s hair, and he guessed her to be around fifty just like Annabelle.

  “We used to play with our dolls and stuffed animals when she was a baby. I’d line them up and she’d knock them over. I was older than her, six years I think. After Judy died I never saw Annabelle again.”

  “Over the years did you hear anything about Judy’s death?”

  Silvia shook her head. “I was so young. Those days are pretty hazy. Mom might remember more.”

  Harper shifted in her chair. “Is your mother still alive?”

  “Sure. She’s only in her seventies and in pretty good health. She lives with me, but she’s out for her afternoon bike ride. She still does a little mermaid training at Weeki Wachee.” Silvia shaded her eyes with her hand. “Here she comes now.”

  Silvia waved, and Ridge twisted in his chair to see a short woman with dyed red hair lift her hand in response to Silvia’s gesture. She wore yoga pants in pink and purple and rode a blue bike. From a distance she looked like a young woman, but as she neared he saw the map of lines around her mouth and eyes. She didn’t appear like she was in her seventies though.

  The woman put down a foot as the bike rolled to a stop. “It’s hot out there today.” She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. “You have guests.”

  “They want to talk about your old friend Judy Russo.” Silvia glanced at them. “I already forgot your names. Sorry.”

  Ridge rose and held out his hand to the woman dismounting the bike. “Ridge Jackson, and this is Harper Taylor.”

  The woman briefly touched his fingers. “Grace Beck. Why are you asking about Judy after all this time? She’s been dead and buried for decades.”

  Ridge gestured to the empty seat and stepped back. “Harper is searching for her birth father, and that search led her to discover her half sister, Annabelle Rice, Judy’s daughter.”

  Grace sat in the chair Ridge had vacated. “Sweet Annabelle. I lost track of her when she was adopted. I never knew what happened to her.”

  “She lives in Orlando,” Harper said.

  Grace brightened. “Could I get her phone number? I’d love to see how she’s doing. She was the sweetest little thing.”

  “Of course.” Harper fished a pen and notepad from her purse and jotted down Annabelle’s phone number, then tore out the sheet and passed it to Grace. “Did you ever meet Annabelle’s father?”

  Grace fanned her red face with her open hand. “She was very secretive about him. All I know is he was a navy man. With the way she held back, I always suspected he was one of those sailors with a girl in every port. She would sneak out to meet him after our shows. I warned her he was up to no good, but she was smitten.”

  “Any idea of his name?” Harper asked Grace.

  “No, I’m sorry. She just referred to him as ‘my guy.’”

  Ridge sensed Harper’s disappointment, and he put his hand on her shoulder. “What about Judy’s murder? Did you suspect anyone?”

  The woman’s hazel eyes narrowed. “I had my suspicions. There was a young man who helped around the place—Joe Mitchell—who was infatuated with Judy. She caught him peeping in her window. Back in those days the mermaids stayed in cottages out back. It was as hot as blazes with no air-conditioning, and our windows were always open. It was either face the heat or face the mosquitoes, so we took the breeze and hoped for the best. He got fired the week before Judy died. I always thought he might have done it. Joe claimed he loved her and would never hurt her, but he had shifty eyes.”

  Harper leaned back in her chair. “I heard a friend found her. Was that you?”

  Grace propped her elbow on the table and rested her cheek on her palm. “It was. Silvia loved little Annabelle, and we kept her often. I ran her home while Silvia stayed with my roommate. I called out to her, then went inside. I found her lying on the floor in a pool of blood.” She shuddered. “It was horrible. I grabbed Annabelle and rushed her out of the cottage, then called the sheriff’s department.”

  Ridge didn’t think Grace would be able to tell them something they didn’t know. “So you weren’t in there very long?”

  “Just long enough to tell she was dead. Her eyes were open and staring.” Grace shuddered again and clasped herself. “I haven’t thought of this in a long time. The sea silk she’d been making was heaped on the table behind her, and it looked like she’d been working on it all evening, because there was a big pile.”

  Harper straightened. “Sea silk? She knew how to make sea silk?”

  “Her grandparents brought some byssus back from Italy for her the week before she died. They have family there.” She peered at Harper. “Most people don’t know what sea silk even is.”

  “I make it too. The byssus from around here works well.”

  Grace shrugged. “She was wild about it. I still have some of the stuff she made. I always wanted to deliver them to Annabelle, but I didn’t know how to track her down. Would you take the boxes of her mother’s things to her?”

  Harper leaned forward. “I’d be honored.”

  Grace rose and beckoned to Ridge with one finger. “Come with me, young man. I’ll let you carry the boxes.”

  A week ago Ridge wouldn’t have expected to be away from his office investigating his father’s attack and an old murder. And were they even related? He had a feeling they were following the wrong trail.

  15

  Her dad’s identity seemed so close yet so elusive. The houseboat rolled with the tide as Ridge flipped on some lights in the tiny living quarters. Bear, tail wagging, followed him. The boxes Grace had given them sat on the floor in front of the love seat, and while Harper didn’t expect to discover anything about Judy’s death, she hoped the contents held a clue to her father’s name.

  “You don’t have to stay tonight. When you leave, I’ll take my boat a little farther out. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  She’d spent the entire day with Ridge—and she liked it, which was a strange thing to admit to herself. He was an intense kind of guy—far out of her league—but his intensity intrigued her. What would it be like to have his full attention? He lived every minute to the fullest, and she wished she had that ability.

  “I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa.”

  “No. Life has to get back to normal sometime. You go home tonight.”

  Ridge glanced at her. “You seem a little upset. All that talk of blood and death too disturbing?”

  “A little. I don’t know how this will lead to anything about my dad’s identity. It’s been a strange day.”

  Ridge turned back to the small bookshelf and perused the titles there. “You’ve got all the Glee episodes. And the CDs.”

  Her cheeks went hot at his quizzical look. “I see the contempt on your face. Did you ever actually watch it? It’s a great series.”

  He joined her on the love seat, and Bear jumped up into his lap. “That’s not contempt, it’s surprise. I didn’t take you for the singing type. Were you in choir too?”

  “Oh yes. I love music.” The reason rushed out like some strange confessional. “Singing always raises my spirits.”

  No way would she tell him she imagined herself frien
ds with the characters in Glee or that she often felt alone in school, even after Oliver found her a home. She’d been shy and hadn’t made friends easily. Sara was one who had seen behind her reserved exterior and wanted to be friends anyway.

  “An alto, I’ll bet?” He grinned and set Bear aside, then got up and slid a CD into the player. Moments later he pulled her to her feet as the chords to “Glory Days” began to play. He snatched two forks off the table and gave her one, then held the other up to his mouth and sang along with Finn and Puck.

  Aware her mouth was gaping, she closed it with a snap, then chimed in as he reached the chorus about glory days passing them by.

  Was this really happening? She was singing a Springsteen song with Ridge Jackson. Their gazes locked as they “sang” into the forks. A smile curved her lips, and giggles bubbled up until she couldn’t sing at all.

  She collapsed onto the love seat. “You are a man of surprises.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at her and went to pop the CD out of the player. The silence wiped the smile off her face. It felt suddenly intimate and too warm in her little salon. This wasn’t how she acted with men. She was usually too tongue-tied to talk to them, let alone sing.

  She scooped up Bear as protection. “We could check out the boxes Grace gave us.”

  He rejoined her on the love seat. “I was trying to help you forget all that for a while. It’s been a rough twenty-four hours. And to tell you the truth, I’m not so sure you should stay here alone. The guy from the other night could come back.”

  “Like I said, I can move the boat farther away from shore. Or back to the marina.”

  It was hard to trust this camaraderie when they’d been enemies for so long. It left her feeling like she was trying to walk in a carnival fun house and her equilibrium was off-kilter.

  “He could swim out or row a boat out to where you are anchored. If you’re sleeping, you likely wouldn’t hear him with the night sounds and the waves.”

  She leaned forward and pulled the first box to her. It contained old clothing, lots of browns and oranges like the pictures she’d seen of styles in the sixties. She held out a picture. “Look, Judy is swimming with a manatee.”