“You’re talking about Scuba Joe?” I say, stunned. “Our mermaid-client liaison! This is his place?”
“Well, yes. Weren’t you planning to pretend that you were coming here with questions about the mermaid wedding?” Bulan blinks at me questioningly.
“No. I was planning to be honest.”
“That doesn’t sound like you!”
It’s not, but sometimes, one must compromise their values. I don’t want to hear any rambling that isn’t Grandma-related.
“I’m trying the door,” says Hanry, ever helpful. Grateful as I am forhis diversion, unfortunately, the door doesn’t budge—and if Hanry’s heft can’t do the trick, what can? And I may be new to entrepreneurship, but I can’t imagine closing my shop in the middle of the afternoon during peak season.
“Bulan, can you get in through the pet door?” I ask. “See if anyone’s inside?”
“Much obliged to try!” Bulan pops out of my arms.
A passing tourist points as my pet head vanishes behind the plastic flap. “Cute cat,” she says.
“Thanks,” answers Hanry. “I trained him to be off leash.”
I roll my eyes, evenly irritated at both conversing parties. Hanry has a habit of rolling with the oddities of Salem, rather than finding them grating. My current theory is that New Hampshire isn’t too far from Stephen King’s Maine, so he must’ve witnessed some paranormal horrors in his time, beyond what even Salem can cough up. I have a whole zombie-hunting logger fantasy that Hanry has neither confirmed nor denied.
The door swings open, revealing a familiar whiff of chlorine and a scuba-clad owner. Sure enough, it’s Scuba Joe.
“Hello, Sabby,” he says after removing his mouth from his snorkel. It looks slightly algaeic: both the snorkel and his mouth. “What a nice surprise, seeing you with your coworker! And your noble companion! As I told Bulan here, I’m in the middle of feeding, so my attention might be divided. But come on in!”
“Watch your step!” says Bulan, not quite fast enough to escape the edge of Scuba Joe’s flipper. Poor head.
Predictably, Hanry holds the door for me. I can’t help mouthing “my noble companion” at him. It triggers an adorable blush.
Scuba Joe floppily leads us past the crystals and two walls of diving equipment, backlit by a few empty aquariums, colored LED lighting, and a hint of tropical wallpaper. Through the back door into his office, we find… much weirder aquariums. These are inhabited, but I don’t know by what. Is that a starfish? It has far-too-prominent lips.
Andthatis definitely some kind of a bear with fins, but it’s the sizeof a gummy bear. It growls menacingly when we make eye contact and flings itself at the aquarium wall.
“I’m getting some weird Ursula energy in here,” I whisper to Hanry. He shrugs.
“I hear you. I associate glowing lights with evil,” he admits. “At least most of the lights seem electric-powered.”
“So, how can I help you three?” asks Joe, lifting his mask onto the top of his head. Looking into his dark eyes, unmediated by a reflective layer of plastic for the first time, I gather that he came by his shop’s Caribbean theme honestly. The Jamaican flag pinned to the wall is also a decent indicator.
“I’m curious what you know of my Grandma Rose. Did your shop mean anything to her?”
He thinks. “She helped me source my kelpie kelp,” he says, gesturing to a slime-filled bucket with a concerning stench. “It was a great tragedy she passed. My new supplier overcharges. She wants nail clippings along with my payment.”
“Unacceptable!” cries Bulan, followed by a splash.
This is because he has leapt into the sea bear’s aquarium.
“Whoops, sorry!” says Hanry. He fishes out Bulan, who seemed happy to bob around as the tiny bear-monster beat its claw-fins against his ears.
“How’d Bulan get in there?” asks Joe, concerned. “That shelf is five feet up.”
We arenotgoing to talk about the physical impossibility that is my pet head. “Please, never mind that.”
Joe allows his attention to be drawn back to me.
“Did Grandma come visit here often?” I ask. “Did she rent out this building before you, maybe?”
“No and no. Are you trying to learn more about her life? I’ve gotten skilled at compiling genealogies, should you be interested. I’ve got friends at the Maritime Museum. Salem was once renowned as a maritime town, you know, and my great-great-grandfather—a whaler, in fact—had the strangest experience in the Bermuda Triangle. It’s quite the tale.”
