“Oh, thanks.” Olivia took a giant sip without pausing to test the flavor or heat. The detectives had worked late scouring theevidence for any links between Dr. Charles Blaubart, Jax Frost, and their mystery Mermaid Killer, but they were as empty-handed this morning as they were when they’d first had the idea to look for a connection. Bel had fled her house bright and early, desperate for a vanilla latte with an extra shot from everyone’s favorite coffee shop, but it seemed Olivia had fled her apartment even earlier.
“It isn’t a long list.” Gold clicked on the email link as Bel pulled her chair closer to the desk. “But it looks like she included more than just employees. Interns, part-time staff, students who?—”
“Stop.” Bel lunged forward and jabbed her finger against the screen. “Maybe it can be that simple.”
The women stared at the all-too-familiar name printed on the document before them.
“Experience tells me no,” Olivia said. “But it seems it is this time.”
“Come on.” Bel shot to her feet and snatched her keys and coffee off the desk. “I’ll drive.”
“Detectives?”Ursa stormed out of her office to greet the partners below the all-seeing eyes of the mermaid skeleton. “This is harassment, and I will be calling your supervisor. You cannot keep showing up unannounced at my place of business.”
“Here, call the FBI.” Bel handed the tattoo artist Agent Jameson Barry’s business card. “Make sure to tell him Isobel Emerson is the officer harassing you.”
Ursa gawked at the small rectangle, but Bel’s eagerness to offer it up clearly made her rethink her demands. She refused to accept it, and suppressing a smirk, Bel shoved the card back into her pocket. Most people folded when she called their bluffs, and she was in no mood for the shop owner’s defiance. Over a dozen women were dead, and Ariella Triton was still missing. Therewas a horrifying chance she was being held until her mermaid scale tattoos were complete, and Bel would do everything in her power to find the teenager before she lost her life.
“We can talk here,” Bel said, “or we can speak privately in your office. Up to you.”
“Fine, but make it quick. I have a packed schedule.” The tattoo artist spun on her heels and strode down the hallway without confirming that the detectives were in tow.
“Not only is our killer skilled in tattooing, but also embalming,” Bel said as she sealed the trio inside the office. “You’re clearly a very talented artist, but do you know what else you have experience in? Embalming.”
“What?” Ursa froze halfway to her seat. “I do n—do you mean my summer internship at the Bajka Funeral Home?”
“We do,” Olivia chimed in.
“Listen, I can explain that, okay?” The words tumbled from Ursa’s lips. “I went to a birthday party when I was ten, where they gave the kids temporary tattoos, and I’ve been obsessed ever since. I got this the second I turned eighteen, and I mean the second.” She shoved her ankle toward them and lifted her skin-tight black pants to reveal a simple yet faded tattoo of ocean waves. “I haven’t stopped… clearly.” She extended her arms to prove her point, as if she didn’t have delicate beadwork tattoos framing the sides of her face for everyone to see her commitment. “I always knew this was my calling, but even if you’re talented, marketing is the hardest part of every creative job. Before I finished my apprenticeship, I got a part-time internship at the funeral home to cultivate an interesting backstory. Mortician turned artist. People eat that kind of drama up. I had no interest in becoming a funeral home employee, nor did I particularly enjoy handling dead bodies. It was all about creating a vibe. Just like the décor, dark paint, and eerie music in this shop create a vibe. People equate skilled artists with coolshops. I could be the best tattooist in the world, but if I worked out of an office with fluorescent lights and white walls tucked in a strip mall, people’s prejudices would affect business. Tattoos are an art form, but they’re also an experience. The adrenaline rush. The excitement and fear. The hours and hours spent lying on the sterilized bed while the most unique person you’ve ever seen literally drills ink into your skin that you can’t remove. This is more than a business. It’s a lifestyle, and anything I can do to supply the experience my clients crave is worth experimenting with. You won’t believe how many times my mortician days—well, at least my internship days—sneak their way into conversations. I work it into my social media marketing too. People love it, but that’s all it is. An act. A gimmick to help sell myself until my art spoke for itself. I’m not a killer. I didn’t tattoo your dead girls. I didn’t drown them in a lake, and I most certainly didn’t embalm anyone. I prefer living clients who complement my designs… preferably with a huge tip.”
“Are your artists particularly interested in your funeral home days?” Olivia asked. “Or any of your clients? Do they ask a lot of specific questions that seem outside the normal spectrum?”
“My artists wouldn’t kill anyone.” Ursa was adamant. “And as for my clients. I don’t know. They step into my life for a few hours at a time. I couldn’t tell you if any of them took my mortician stories to heart or started tattooing dead girls in their spare time.”
“Well, if you think of anyone, can you call us?” Olivia offered her their cards.
“Detectives, I?—”
“We realize this isn’t a comfortable conversation,” Bel interrupted. “But as a woman, I’m sure you understand the horror of young girls being tattooed against their will before being drowned. We aren’t here to make your life miserable, unless you’re the murderer we’re looking for. We’re just tryingto stop a monster before he drowns another victim. A nineteen-year-old girl went missing two months ago, and we suspect she’s running out of time.”
“I didn’t hurt those girls.” Ursa’s features softened.
“Then prove it,” Bel said. “Help us.”
“Fine.” Ursa accepted their business cards. “If I find something, I’ll call you.”
“Thank you,” Bel said.
“You’re welcome. Now, please leave.” Ursa stepped out from behind her desk’s protection and threw open her office door. “And don’t take this personally, but I hope never to see either of you in my shop again.”
“I hope we don’t have reason to return,” Bel said.
“Well, what do you think?” Olivia asked, throwing one last wary glance at the mermaid skeleton before they left. “Is Ursa guilty or just unfortunate in her coincidences? We theorized the killer is male because of the nudity, but Ursa is definitely not male.”
“She’s an artist, though.” Bel slid into the driver’s seat and waited for her partner to climb into the passenger side before continuing. “Maybe the desire to bare the mermaids’ bodies didn’t stem from humiliation or sexualization. Maybe it was?—”
Crack!
An explosive bolt of lightning ripped through the sky so violently that both detectives flinched, the SUV swerving before Bel regained control.
