Free Murder Hooks a Mermaid by Christy Fifield Page A

table.
    I looked at the remains of my salad and decided it wasn’t worth retrieving my hand in order to finish. I slid my plate to the side and took another sip of wine.
    “So where else shouldn’t I go?”
    “The other famous place is the Sea Witch Fish and Chowder. Do you know it?”
    “I’ve seen it. I’ve never been in, never had the time to stand in the lines.”
    “Like I said, it’s famous. At least with people who don’t know better. Then it’s more like infamous. The chowder is mostly potatoes and flour, and the fish is…” I shrugged. “It’s okay, but it isn’t anything special. Especially not when you have to stand in line forty minutes for lousy service.”
    Before I could continue my diatribe, the waitress cameand cleared the table. “Did you save room for dessert?” she asked.
    I shook my head.
    She pulled a check presenter from her pocket and set it in front of Jake. I didn’t give him a chance, quickly letting go of his hand to snatch the bill. If I hadn’t, he would have found some way not to let me pay my share.
    I glanced at the total, mentally figured a tip, and rounded up a couple bucks. I pulled bills from my wallet and slid the folder across the table.
    Jake opened it, and I could see the rapid mental math run through his head. “This is way too much,” he said. “I ordered the wine, and my meal was a lot more expensive than yours.”
    I shook my head. “We shared the wine, and we agreed to split the bill.” When he opened his mouth to protest, I held up my hand. “Besides, you’re always buying my coffee, and you bought dinner the last time we went out. This time it’s my turn.”
    He tossed some bills into the folder and closed it, sliding it to the side of the table. “We probably should let them have the table,” he said, gesturing toward the hostess stand. “They have people waiting.”
    As we stood up, he took my arm. “How about we go over to the bar and you let me buy you an after-dinner drink?” he said. “Strictly research into the local nightlife.”
    “Yeah, right.” But I followed him through the lobby and around to the bar side of the fish tank.
    The light was dimmer in the bar, the blue of the tank more intense in the low light. I’d never been on this side when the mermaids still performed; the bar had alwaysbeen off-limits to kids. But as I watched the brilliant colors of the fish gliding past, I could imagine the mermaids in their glittering tails and flowing hair swimming gracefully by, turning slow loops, and throwing kisses to the men at the bar.
    Jake led me to a small table in the back of the bar, as far as possible from the wooden postage stamp that passed for a dance floor. The small square was packed with young bodies in a wide variety of shapes, colors, and sizes. But no matter the size or shape, the girls wore a standard uniform of short dresses, strappy high-heeled sandals, and dangling earrings.
    I felt impossibly old and underdressed. The jeans that were just fine on the restaurant side branded me as out of touch with the hip crowd in the bar.
    The band was surprisingly good, and I found myself smiling as Jake threaded his way through the crowd to snag Mexican coffee from the bar. He came back with a single coffee, and a tall glass of clear liquid with a slice of lime. “Club soda. I’m driving,” he said, putting the footed glass mug in front of me.
    “So now I know one place not to go,” he said as he sat down, leaning close to be heard over the music. “Are there any places you recommend?”
    “There are a few good places,” I said, scooting my chair closer. “Curly’s makes the best burgers in town.”
    Jake nodded in agreement. “I’ve had theirs a time or two. Glad to know they’re on the approved list.”
    “For barbecue, York’s is the best, and Neil’s has the best pizza.”
    “Outside of your kitchen, of course,” Jake amended, raising his glass in a mock toast. He liked my homemadeversions, and I was