To fully understand this story, you will need the first part called: "Spending My Summer Underwater". (For those that aren't interested in going backwards, then here's a quick recap of characters: Harry, owner of Harry's Harpoon Tours with a mermaid fetish; Pakel (AKA Pickle), Harry's rival and sometimes co-conspirator; Abby, summer intern turned into mermaid statue; Medora, private detective (uses a wheelchair).

The sneakers even with their soft soles still echo the footfalls on the stairs. The old Spanish villa is walled in concrete and stone on the inside, stucco on the outside. The floors are all tiled or smoothed concrete. The heart of the owner would be assumed to be as cold as the interior of their home, but who's heart could be that cold and empty? Any visitor to the villa would see marine treasures all along the walls making it seem less cold, and give one an indication as to the profession of the owner.

He passes the plastic palm trees on the landing which he purchased at the same store as the rug on that landing made of greens and blues of the ocean. The paintings on the wall are of ocean views or beach vistas. He has seen them thousands of times, so they do not catch his eye today. A visitor might stop to look at them, but he is no visitor and he has a particular goal in mind.

Today is his favorite day of the week. His warm smile breaks across his face, but no warmth works its way down to his heart. He strides across his bedroom at the top of the stairs, turning around and flopping onto the bed to look up. His deep ocean blue eyes stare lustfully at the mermaid statue hanging beautifully from his ceiling.

He takes in the perfect light-brown hair that stretches out across his ceiling like an octopus. The eyes that still seem so full of life, just above that cute nose and tiny mouth. His eyes continue down her body, noting the curves that look shiny and smooth. Her belly button is deep and almost seems too large for her tiny waist. Her tail fin is a beautiful golden color that shimmers and sparkles in the light of the setting Sun.

Laying on his back, he presses a button on his phone that he does not even need to look to know where it is. With a slight whirring sound, the mermaid descends from the ceiling. He can hear the winch hidden in the ceiling bringing his prized treasure closer to him. Like he is underwater and she is coming to him in her natural habitat, he awaits her impatiently, never taking his eyes off her.

Just a foot above him, she stops, shuttering slightly from the full extent of the telescoping poles from the ceiling. He puts his right hand on her firm cheek, holding it gently. His left hand rummages through his pocket for a small packet. He pulls it out and brings it up to his mouth. Gripping the wrapper tightly in his teeth, his gaze never leaves hers as he tears the package open. His nostrils are assaulted by the smell of the cleaner/polisher combination.

He removes his hand from her and takes the moist towelette out of the wrapper. With great care, he wipes her face carefully. He can see her eyes sparkling more now, as her lips take on a deeper red than they had just a few seconds ago after he wipes them off. He moves the cloth down her neck and around it. He then breaks the lock his eyes had to take in the wonderous cleavage, barely covered by the too-small clam shells. He moves his hand in and around them, enjoying the slight squeak of his hand coming in and out between the round, upside-down "hills".

He reminds himself he should change out of his work clothes before he starts to clean her. However, he says that every time, and he never does. The clothes are dirty anyway, so what does it matter a little more. He can feel pressure building below his waist, as he reaches his hand with the cleaning cloth down to her waist. Sometimes he likes to save the bell button "cave" for last, but usually, he does not get to it before he finishes his work and pleasure chore.

The scales bump slightly against his hand, as her hips begin to shine with a new brightness. He reaches his hand around to her butt, and even though she does not have defined butt cheeks, he still feels that part of her body beneath his hand. He leaves the cloth balanced there and reaches his left hand behind her to get it to finish the other "butt cheek". As he brings his hand back around, the pressure in his pants has grown where he is almost in contact with her suspended body.

Bringing his hand with the cloth back up, he pushes his pinky finger into her belly button. He moans softly as his body shivers from the climax. Her body remains unaffected and unmoving through those few seconds. He closes his eyes only briefly, enjoying the wondrous release. She shows no reaction, still smiling with a somewhat open mouth just as she had before she descended to him.

He slides out from under her and works his way to the edge of the bed. He drops the cloth and package into an overflowing cardboard box next to his bed of discarded wipes. He stumbles to the bathroom, removing his "uniform" from the day's work. The sound of the shower water fills the rooms, as he moves to get clean from the day. Before he hops in the shower of brightly-colored tiles, he presses the "up" button on his phone. He never likes to see her rise away from him, so he does it while he is not in the room. As he washes his hair, he is reminded he has not wiped her hair down in a while, and he does not want dust to collect there. Next time, Harry tells himself. It is not like she'll complain, he adds coldly, as the water begins to get hot.

Getting out of the tiny plane was just as difficult as getting into it, Medora tells herself with a huff. Her slender frame fits easily in the small hatch that exits near the rear of the small two-engine plane. The problem, she reminds herself as she grips the sides of the doorframe, is they never intended someone confined to a wheelchair riding on the plane.

The pilot, who is also the flight attendant, keeps the wheelchair steady on the broken asphalt of the small runway. The other passengers are picking up their bags that he just laid there from the cargo compartment, which was an empty space, devoid of seats behind the 8 passenger seats of the small prop plane. The people were in tropical outfits, as they had planned their vacation for months. Medora looked like she had planned for the wrong climate.

Her black leggings slid along the floor of the plane, as she moved closer to hopping out of the plane. Her black tank top was covered by another black loose-fitting shirt. Her ankle boots were probably ruined, even though the soles looked brand new. She hated flying on a normal commercial airline, so having to fly in this "death trap" was a nightmare.

For the second time, the pilot let go of the wheelchair and moved closer to her, as if to pick her up. She waves him away, again, saying, "Just keep it from rolling away...no, no, don't roll it away...closer to...yeah, good enough." Blowing loose strands of her bleach-blonde hair out of her face, she regrips the sides of the door frame. I picked the wrong hair extensions for this trip, she chides herself, I should have just kept my short "man cut" rather than trying to go "island" with my long locks. With a pull and a twist, she does a controlled fall into the wheelchair. The pilot tried to move it again to help, but she had a tight grip on the side handle, making sure her bottom landed in the seat.

He smiles and says something that sounded like English, but Medora could not understand it. While she is fluent in English and Spanish from her native country, this man appears to be Indian or perhaps Asian, so his dialect of English or Spanish or whatever he is trying to speak, is hard to figure out. She waves him away, as she settles into her wheeled seat, pushing her hair out of her face. Her luggage can be hooked to the back of the wheelchair, so everything she owns is basically wheeled.

As he hops back into the plane to do whatever he needs to do, she starts her trek to the terminal. The small building looks like it was built in WW2, and has no air condition, based on the windows being open. She observes a single rental car sign, and with no set parking spots, she figures renting is more like borrowing a local's car for a few days. Her mind begins to process all that she takes in, knowing any detail might lead her to the one person she seeks. With a grunt, she rolls over a rough patch on the runway, "Abby Nash...Medora, Private Investigator, is coming for you."

Pakel did not like her the moment he saw her. Weakness, he thinks as he looks away, she is weak and I hate weak. However, Pakel does not leave the seaside bar, yet. This tanned-skin, half-person has been asking questions and not getting answers. If this keeps up, she may find out about Harry, who will undoubtedly rat me out. Pakel takes another long drink from his cup, knowing something needs to be done. She may try to look like a local, but she is an outsider looking for something she shouldn't. His net and harpoon won't work this time, so he's going to have to try something else.

As Medora ends her conversation with another help-less local, she takes note of the angry man near the bar. He has been watching her discreetly since she got here. Of course, he is not very discreet. Medora knew she was being tailed almost the instant he showed up. Russians can be very stealthy, but this one appears and sounds to be more western than eastern Russian. Making notes on her pad, she figures he was a KGB drop out, so while his training is better than the average person's, it does not measure up to her.

"Yeah, she worked for me for most of the summer," Harry says as he cleans the glass on the bottom of his boat, "Great girl." He makes eye contact occasionally, but he spends a lot of this conversation focused on 'mopping the floor of vomit'. Medora can tell he is hiding something, but whether it pertains to Abby's disappearance, she does not know...yet.

"Her family received texts weekly about the fun she was having," Medora says as if she was reading off of her pad, but she is actually watching Harry's body language, "And of course, you were mentioned as a part-time employer. Care to expound on that?"

Harry puts the dirty mop back in the bucket and brings it out to slosh around over the floor of his boat. He glances up to see the private investigator sitting in her wheelchair on the dock. Her sundress looks like the ones you find in the tourist shop up the road, and her legs look splotchy from her not applying even sunscreen, or is it an issue from her legs not working? Tourist, he snorts to himself, and then says, "Yeah, she wanted a little cash to extend her stay, you know? She came to me and asked about working a few hours a week. I felt sorry for her, you know? So, I had her ride out with me, helping me as I got a one-man operation here." He takes one hand off his mop to wave around the boat.

Medora nods her head and pretends to jot notes on her pad. He's telling the truth about her wanting some extra spending money. He is lying about her asking for the job, as I can tell he pursued her. But, he is telling the truth about the rest. Why does he not want me to know that he pursued her employment?

"Did you know of her spending time with anyone around town?" Medora kept her tone professional, as she caught a glimpse of the pitiful-KGB-spy watching her from behind a tackle shed across the dock. "Any friends? People she saw regularly?"

Harry looks up to the sky, as if he was thinking about it. "Let's see...not really. She showed up for work each day and then left when it was done. I didn't have time to check on her social life. Like I said, one-man show here." He emphasizes the mop as he pulls it across the floor over the same spot he just did.

Guilt. I know those mannerisms, she says to herself confidently. He is displaying guilt, but is it over being responsible for abducting her, or is it over not being able to do anything about it? She nods her head, "Of course, I understand." He smiled when I showed sympathy, which means I might need to turn on the charm at our next meeting. To be sure, he knows more than he is saying, but what?

Medora thanks Harry for his time and roughly wheels herself back down the dock, bouncing up and down at each uneven section of wood. She can barely catch his action of throwing the dirty water overboard, as he disappears in his boat's small cabin. Pickle, as the locals like to call the ex-russian idiot, has moved to a less conspicuous spot, yet still very awkwardly noticeable to her. The tourist dress got me this far, she tells herself as she finally gets back to the concrete section of the dock. Rolling more smoothly, she thinks to herself with a smile, now it is time to turn up the sexy.

Abby the Mermaid floats above the bed, her body suspended from the ceiling with two metal supports. Those support bars are extended now, so she hovers just above the unmade bed. Harry stands in the doorway looking down at her fin. "Is this it?" He asks her as he reaches out to touch her smooth shiny scales. "The combination of human and fish, land and marine? Is that why I love to look at you?"

Abby the Mermaid says nothing, as she is an inanimate object now. She moves slightly to his rubbing of her gold-scaled hips. He moves his hand to the curves of her butt, feeling the tight scales across her body. The slight squeak of his fingertips gives him goose bumps up and down his arm. "You're just perfect...that is what it is. I like to look on perfection, and you are perfection." He brings his hand down her fin where her legs used to be, but he does not recognize that. She is a mermaid now, and in his mind, she has always been a mermaid. He finishes his touch with the thin yet strong tail fin at the end. 

"You were faster than I could ever imagine," he continues as he walks closer to the bed. He puts his hand into her hair, that is stiff like wires, yet still smooth like silk. "And if I don't want to be caught like you were, I have to be faster." As he rests his hand on her bare shoulder, he clicks his tongue loudly in the silent room. "Or, perhaps, speed is not the solution." He looks back at her golden fin, reminded of her agility. He bends down to kiss her stiff shoulder where he just touched her briefly. "Thank you. You are truly an inspiration to me."

He strides out of the room, after he hits the lift button. He can hear the motors turning, knowing his pride and joy will slowly ascend to the light blue ceiling, where she belongs. I don't think I can out swim Medora, even if her legs don't work, he tells himself soberly as he descends the stone steps, she has sensed blood in the water and she will never give up the hunt. Walking to his garage that he uses as a workshop, he mumbles ,"But a shark is not the only predator in the ocean."

Medora laughs loudly, as Harry continues his impression of a squid giving CPR to a tourist on the beach. She makes sure to tilt her upper body down, revealing as much of her cleavage as she can. She reaches out her hand to squeeze his forearm, showing some level of connection. He only needed a couple of drinks and a pink halter top to get a private table with him. It is not a date, she tells herself, but she is not making that known to him.

Pickle and two of his friends sit at the bar of the restaurant next to the one she is in with Harry. Both restaurants are open to the night air, so she can easily and discreetly check on them. The two guys look harmless and maybe locals, but Pickle looks tonight like he is "dill" and not "sweet".

Harry takes another drink from his almost empty cup, as Medora munches on her shrimp sandwich. Need to keep my calories up to make sure I can keep drinking and not be affected by it, she tells herself. She almost has him where she needs him to be. He wants to share his deepest secrets about Abby, and I will get them tonight. As Harry looks longingly at her chest and then at her waist, she hopes it will not involve real intimacy, just the teased kind.

"So, tell me," she asks innocently as she wipes her mouth with her napkin, "How's business been for you?" He continues to smile, but she can tell it is forced now. "Oh, it's been okay, I mean," he says while spreading out his arms in a type of shrug, "Not as good since Abby's disappearance. It puts a cloud over everything, you know?" She can see he is struggling with the words, but is that out of guilt or sadness or both?

"I'm sure," she says while putting her hand on top of his, "You might have been the closest person to her down here, and you feel...responsible." She choose her word carefully, and his reaction was noted by her. He feels responsible for what happened, she tells herself, I'm sure of it. But, he shows no signs of being a psychopath, so if he was to blame for her disappearance, I should have noted something off here. "Yeah, I guess," he says with his head down, "She was all happy on that beach alone, until I showed up and made her my shipmate." 

Medora finds herself believing his story, as she rubs her hand over his shoulder. The last kidnapper I dealt with gave off vibes of no remorse, as he seemed proud of his work. Most murderers I have dealt with want to be caught, or at least be seen as someone dangerous or smart or worthy of fear. They crave attention. Psychopaths have a callous, ever-changing nature that they can only cover up for so long before you know you are in the presence of pure evil. Harry is giving me none of that. 

"It is not your fault," she adds, testing her date one more time. He looks up and leans over to her. The kiss is short, but like a restart on a laptop, Medora finds her investigative powers rebooted, losing sight of what she was looking for in his reaction. "No one has taken the time to listen before," he says with another peck on her forehead, "Thank you." Medora's heart flutters like she was back in high school. Focus, she chides herself, wasn't expecting that but shouldn't have been so surprised either.

She reaches for her sandwich but hits her drink, spilling in on the table and onto their laps. "Woah," he exclaims as he pulls back. Her verbal reaction is more of what you would expect from a sailor, compared to his much tamer response. He wipes it up somewhat as she tries to roll out of the way. He starts to laugh as the waitress brings over a towel. "If you wanted some distance between us, you could have done it in a much drier way," he says in a teasing tone.

"Oh no," she replies, wiping the alcoholic beverage out of her wheelchair's seat, "It is not like that at all." He chuckles as she begins to laugh as well. As the waitress leaves, he says, "Better bring us another round." Medora pretends to watch the waitress leave so she can check on "Pickle" and his goons. They are still there, and not doing a very good job of hiding their observation of her and Harry. He handled that accident better than I thought he might, which makes me wish I would have planned that as part of my testing him.

"Now, where were we?" He asks as he sits back down, his shorts still damp. She opens her mouth to reply, unsure of exactly how she wants this to go, when his phone dings. He holds up his finger, "Hold that thought. That ding is from the marina." He pulls out his phone then stands up quickly.

"I'm so sorry to cut our evening short, but something is wrong with my boat." She asks genuinely, "Nothing serious, I hope?" He shrugs, "I don't know. The marina never texts me this late at night, so I better check it out. Can we do this again tomorrow?" Medora nods her head as the waitress returns with two pineapple-shaped drinks. Tomorrow night will be much better for me, as I'll not be trying to learn about his past actions.

"I guess you will have to finish mine off as well," he chuckles, "I'll settle up when I get back." Medora waves her hand, "No, don't worry about it. I'll get tonight, you get tomorrow. You take care of your boat." He stops, as if to say "are you sure", but she reaches out and squeezes his hand, as if to say "yes, go ahead". As he walks out, she notices Pakel is now engrossed in his phone, while his goons have gone missing. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? She sips from her pineapple, as she contemplates her future relationship with Harry and her next meeting with her primary suspect, Pakel.

As she rolls to her rental car, she knows she will not be going to the airbnb just yet. She had left the "drive assist" in the car, which allows her to drive with just her hands. It is mostly metal and heavy, making it a great weapon. She has used it more than once to fend off attackers. Tonight, she was undercover as the desperate-for-love tourist, and she could not rationalize bringing it. Now, as she roughly wheels in a less-than-straight line to the car, she wishes she had it. The parking lot is nearly black with no street lights, and most people are inside or have gone home. They are coming for her, and I may have to get creative.

Reaching the car, she drops her keys and turns her chair around to see Pickle standing there. "Hello, can I help you?" The way he said 'help' meant the exact opposite of the word. Medora slurs her speech purposefully, "Mmm, ssshhhure." He grins wickedly as he steps closer. Before he can get to her, she hears two thumps, like the release of air into the night. 

She can feel a sharp tug at the edge of the halter top, and Pickel says, "Ow!" He tries to turn his head, but she notices his facial expression going vacant as he stiffly falls forward. His head bangs loudly against the top of the car, preventing him from falling completely onto her. "Oh snap," she hears a male voice say, "I shot them both with the venom." Venom? She thinks with concern.

"Idiot," a different male voice responds, "It's a toxin, not a venom, and you shot twice instead of once. Pakel won't like being shot in the leg." Medora can look down, with her head being concealed from the two men. The orange dart had missed her body, but caught the edge of her stretchy top, pinning it to the back of her wheelchair. Whew, she thinks with a sigh, just missed me.

"I didn't mean to," the shooter says, "The trigger is pretty sensitive." Medora hears another thump like the other two. The non-shooter says, "Give me that before you shoot me." Medora starts to think about her options. I can't get away quick enough to avoid being shot for real, and the drive assist is still in the car. Even if I had not dropped my keys on purpose, Pickle's stiff body would be keeping the door closed.

"Chill, man! The stuff just makes you stiff as a board with no other side effects. Pickle will be fine...in a day or so." The shooter walks closer to the car, while the non-shooter says, "You better hope so. And you better hope he can't hear you calling him that name. He hates it." Medora decides her best bet is to be "shot", and hope for an opportunity to arise where she has the upper hand. She lets her face go to a neutral expression, and she keeps her arms leaning as they were on the armrests of her chair.

Keeping her eyes forward, she can see Pickle being pulled off her, a little trickle of blood coming down his face from where he hit the car's roof. The two men do not seem to notice yet. They look to be young, maybe in their twenties. They have a dark complexion, like the locals, so she figures her first guess was right. Pickle hired them to help him, and they probably came cheap. As they lay him face down on the ground, she adds with a mental smirk, very cheap indeed.

She keeps her eyes faced forward, holding her position like the dart hit her. The non-shooter who has the gun now is rather short and thin. The shooter, who just realized he had put Pickle face down into the concrete parking lot and now attempting to roll him over, is quite tall and overweight, mostly around his gut. Neither seems very skilled physically, she reasons, so I just have to play possum until the opportunity presents itself.

The non-shooter stops in front of her, waving his hand in front of her face. She does not blink, so he says, "Well, you got her, so mission accomplished." She sees him lean down and pull the dart out of her shirt and wheelchair back. "Let's get them both down to the boat, so we can collect our money after success." Medora watches the big man walk over to a small pick-up truck and start it up. He drives near them putting the truck between her and Pickle.

If they load him first, maybe I could wheel myself back into the restaurant, she hopes. But, they grab her under both legs and her shoulders, lifting her easily. Like a package, they drop her into the passenger seat of the truck. "She ain't bad looking," the big one says while putting Medora's left arm down into her lap. "You just think she's got a big rack." The small one steps back, while the big man pushes his index finger into her right breast. As much as she wants to retaliate, Medora holds her neutral expression and stiff pose. "I haven't felt a real one in so long," he whispers, "I forgot how squishy they are."

"Hey, village idiot," the short one yells, "We got to move." Medora can see the big man grimace, then she feels her right hand being manipulated and stuck out the window of the truck as he closes the door. The short man is looking that way and remarks, "Mature...very mature." Medora grins on the inside, as she holds her middle finger extended above her other curled fingers with her arm out the window. Fortunately, they are busy, so she can blink again. These guys came cheap and immature, she thinks while working on a plan, perfect for someone like me to exploit.

She looks in the rear view mirror to see them get her wheelchair and Pickle loaded in the back. There is a short exchange, then they play paper-rock-scissors. The big man says something, then hops into the bed of the truck dejectedly. The short one opens the driver's side door and hops in next to her. He starts to put it in the drive, when he looks over his shoulder slyly. Satisfied, he cops a quick feel of Medora's chest. "Nice...real." 

The ride to their location would have been fine, except for her exposed chest. The driver decided he wanted a "jiggly ride", so he slipped her crop top down, leaving her bare chest sticking straight out. While this would not be the first time riding bare topped in a truck, she grimaces at that memory in college and truly hates both men for what they are doing to her. Every bump, the driver watches her chest bounce and jiggle, as the seat belt runs right between them, holding her body tightly to the seat. He grins like a teenage boy with every bump, which I think he is hitting them all on purpose.

The good thing: they left her arm out the window. If there is anyone watching as they drive, they will remember a woman's hand out the window of a truck giving them the finger. They are making themselves quite memorable, which could play to her advantage later. She just needs to get someone to call the police for any reason, and hopefully, this will stick out to them, like her arm in the night wind.

They drive around in the dark to another dock just up the road. She had not visited it yet, as no one had ever seen Abby at that one. The dock looks smaller than the main one and is deserted of people. That is not good, Medora thinks, I need people to notice me. Other than the driver, she thinks with a mental eye roll as he hits another bump in the road.

He pulls into the loading ramp area and backs close to the dock. Before hopping out, he pulls her top back down over her girls, that are a bit cold from the windy drive over here. Without any fanfare, she is pulled out of the truck by both sets of hands and carried to a small boat. She almost yelps when they nearly drop her, twice, while trying to get into the rocking boat.

Eventually, they get her into the driver's seat. With her back to the dock, she cannot watch them closely, but she can hear them walking away. She quickly takes a look around, seeing them walking back to the truck not far away. There are other boats on the dock, but they are not powered like this one. The lights of the town seem far off, and the one street light nearby is by the other end of the dock. I can't run, but if I could get over the side, I could swim. She takes another look around with them being occupied with Pickle. But, she thinks dejectedly, how far would I have to swim to be safe? If they catch me, it is really over, so let's be patient.

As they carry the stiff Pickle like a board, she returns to her previous pose. The boat rocks violently, as they actually drop Pickle on the floor. He does not react, but if he can remember any of this, he is going to kill both of them, literally. "Good thing the muscle toxin don't wear off until tomorrow." The other nods his agreement, "Yeah, let's set him here while we untie the boat." Using the boat's rear view mirror, she can see them positioning him in the seat back by the motor, so that he is facing front.

"We will head to our boat anchored offshore, then move the boss to it. We will throttle her boat and send it west. The ocean current will carry her far away, and when she runs out of gas, she will be hundreds of miles away...forever lost at sea." They start conversing about other things, but Medora stops paying attention. Up to now, she thought it could be a kidnapping thing like Abby, but maybe she was murdered like Medora is about to be. Life and death here, so the stakes just got higher. I still don't know why, but that really does not matter at the moment, she tells herself.

The big man walks to the front of the boat to untie the line. She can see that the thin one has already got the back line off. Once they get the boat away from the dock, they might have other things to distract them. I can just roll off the seat at the right moment and roll over the side of the boat, she reasons. They might assume I cannot swim and leave me for dead, and then I can backstroke to land and wait for the morning to be found. All that time in the lap pool is about to pay off, she thinks with a smile.

"Line is stuck against the dock," the big one states, slightly winded. "You should have let me untie mine first."

"Hang on, I'm coming," the thin one replies with frustration. "If you worked at a normal speed, yours would have been done already."

He sits the gun down on the rocking dashboard as he walks past Medora. With him and his friend busy with the front rope, she decides to see if there are more darts in the gun. Slowly, she picks it up to check it, not wanting to give away her plan. It is heavier than it looks, but it would seem to work just like a normal hand gun. Thump. Thump. "Ow." "Ow." Wow, that really is a sensitive trigger, she says to herself, surprised she actually activated the tranquilizer gun.

Her three captors are now the only ones not moving on the boat. She turns in her seat to check on Pickle's reaction. He sits and rocks with the boat, holding the same expression he has had for the past hour, with dried blood down one side of his face. She turns to see his henchman frozen stiff as they lean somewhat over the boat. "Whew," she says, "Halfway to freedom."

What happens next also comes as a surprise. A boat had passed by further out a few moments ago, so its wake had not made it to the dock yet. When it does, the boat rocks more than usual, and the two stiff men could not compensate, so the wave has an unexpected outcome. Medora watches as she grips the wheel, both men fall overboard with a splash, not even trying to stop themselves. She rolls onto the floor to lean over the side of the boat. Both stiff men slowly sink below the surface as she watches. "I don't know what toxin that is, but it works really well. He mentioned 'muscular', so maybe it locks up your muscles."

Okay, now what do I do? I don't know how deep the water is here, but those guys won't be moving for a while, so let's not worry about them. She looks around from the floor of the boat. I can crawl onto the dock and drag myself to the truck to get my wheelchair, but how far can I get before Pickle wakes up. It took us at least 20 minutes to drive here, so I will still be wheeling my chair come morning when he shows up with the truck. And if I thought he looked grumpy before, he will be downright enraged then. Were there any houses along the way?

Maybe, she thinks, still seated with her back against the side of the boat, I could pilot the boat somewhere. There are no foot pedals, so I could go back to the main dock at whatever speed I wanted. Liking that idea more than some of the others, she stuffs the gun in a net attached to the chair. "Let's not accidentally shoot myself," she says as she climbs back into the seat.

A quick turn of the key starts the motor. "Okay," she says, "Just like a car." Hopefully, this is just like it is in the movies. "Hang on back there," she jokes. Gripping the throttle lever, she pushes it down. Of course, the movies make it seem like a highly-resistive lever, so she leans into the push. The lever goes all the way down, so the boat lurches forward throwing her out of the seat. She hits the floor hard and rolls back to the back of the boat with Pickle.

When she gets back there, she notices something missing. The bench seat in the back is empty as the boat roughly rides the waves at full speed. She climbs up onto the seat and sees Pickle's stiff body sinking below the waves like his friends behind the speeding boat. I didn't mean to kill them, but I don't have time to worry about that. "Technically, they were alive when I left them officer," she mumbles into the night air, "They were just sinking uncontrollably to the bottom of the ocean at that time." Yeah, that conversation with local authorities won't be a good one, so I need to find a way to clear myself before the bodies are discovered.

The rough seas almost throw her out too, so her fears of the future can wait. Back in the present, she gets onto the floor again. Once on her stomach, she drags herself back to the driver's seat. Reaching her hand up, she pulls the throttle back, slowing the boat. The rocking motion lessens, so she manages to get up into the chair by gripping the wheel tightly. The boat turns as she pulls herself up, but she is in open water, so no fear of hitting anyone or anything. Looking around the pilot's chair, she says in disgust, "No seat belt."

At a much slower and safer speed, she drives the boat to the city lights ahead. The night is cool, and she is chilled by the evening's weather and her ending of three lives. True, she reasons, they were going to kill her, but she had no desire to return their intentions back on them. She tries to control her breathing as she moves closer to a dock.

However, this is not a dock she recognizes. There are houses around this dock, rather than businesses. Hmmm, she thinks, where am I? I must have gotten turned around in the truck or on the boat here. Slowing her speed, she scans the homes for any signs of life. Most of them look to be old, perhaps over 100 hundred years old. They look to have an "old west" or Spanish architecture, mostly made of stone or rocks.

As she nears the dock, she sees someone standing on the second floor balcony of one that overlooks the water. "Excuse me," she yells, "I need some help!" The figure straightens up, sets something down on the railing, and runs back into the house. Hopefully, they are running down the stairs and not running away. The figure reappears at the dock as she tries to slow her collision course.

The boat makes a crunching sound, as she sideswipes into the wooden dock. The impact throws her to the floor again. Panicked, she tries to sit up, as water sloshes over the side, soaking her. The figure lands in the boat and begins to work the wheel and throttle. Medora sits in amazement, as they expertly stop and tie the boat in seconds to the dock. As the figure crouches down, she recognizes his face. "Harry!" She says in relief. He smiles, "I'll bet there is an incredible story to go along with this." She nods her head as he scoops her up into his arms and steps onto the dock like he does this sort of thing all the time.

Medora has always been so sure of herself after her accident. She would not let her life be dictated by the lack of her leg strength. She told herself she would not rely on anyone, and she has been true to herself. Becoming a private investigator was the best thing she ever decided to do. At the moment, hanging onto Harry's neck as he carries her into his house, she does not mind this. Her whole world of control and being sure of herself has been rocked like the boat he just tied off, and she needed rescuing. A week ago, she would have scoffed at that, but maybe her close brush with death has given her a new perspective.

Shaking her head, moving those thoughts out, she gladly allows herself to be set down on his couch. She notes his obvious marine-themed home around her. It's late outside with the open sounds of the ocean, but the home, or villa as the locals might call it, has a solid, quiet feel to it. She straightens herself as he steps away to close the blinds on the windows. He then steps to the door and says, "I'm going to finish the job. I'll send the boat straight out, so there will be nothing to tie him to me...or you." She nods her head, thankful to have met him.

Calming her breathing, she leans back into the couch, letting the soft leather pull her into a deep sleep. Her dreams are dark, like usual, yet she finds relief in the slumber. Her body and mind needed a break from the stress of the job, which she usually enjoys at the end of the assignment. However, she already knows the fate of Abby, so there is nothing to do now but sleep.

She is awakened by a rough hand on her shoulder. She jerks and nearly slips off the couch. Harry holds up both hands, "It's okay, it's me." Medora smiles and breathes out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I know, sorry," she says while rubbing her eyes and raking a hand through her matted hair. He hands her a cup of coffee as he steps back to stand in the doorway of the living room.

She notes the mermaid coffee mug in her hand. She takes a sip and sets it on the squid-like coffee table. Everything has an underwater touch. She smiles inwardly at his "obsession", and then picks up the coffee mug again. The coffee is not very good, but she will not let him know that. "How long was I out?"

He checks his watch and takes a quick sip of coffee from his deep blue mug, "10 hours. I figure whatever happened, that you probably needed the rest." She nods her head. "Yeah, Pakel and his crew tried to send me on a one-way trip into the ocean last night. He all-but-admitted to killing Abby, and based on what they were trying to do, I was to join her. I don't know why, but I now know how."

Harry says nothing for a few moments, then states, "Well, I'd like to say you are out of the woods, but not quite." She jerks her head up as he continues, "Someone saw something, and the police are looking for him and his cronies. Unfortunately, they know my history of hate with him, so they will be here soon, I'm sure. You being discovered here is not good for me." 

She sets her mug down harder than she meant to, making a loud 'klank' echo throughout the house. "I'm sorry, Harry. I did not mean to drag you into this. Sure, you were my main suspect at first, but Pakel has shown his true colors here. I hate to see you dragged down with him." He shakes his head, "Not your fault. I knew he was bad for business. I just didn't know how bad." Medora looks around, thinking she heard something.

"They aren't here yet, and you can't be found here, but," he says with a grim smile, "You stick out in a crowd, hard to hide." She nods her head at that, sipping her coffee again. She had not met a single person in a wheelchair here. Even the old people don't use canes or crutches here, so she was an anomaly in so many ways. "What do we do?" Normally, I'd make a plan, but I feel like a fish out of water, literally.

"If you don't mind being vulnerable, I got a place to hide you until tonight. We can get you off the island then." She balks at his words, knowing vulnerability is not her strong suit. However, what choice does she have? How far could I crawl before someone sees me and calls it into the police? "Well, what is your plan?" He grins broadly.

"This is nuts," she says for the hundredth time. She sits on the floor in his attached garage or workshop. Her limp legs curled under her, as he pushes them into a wet-suit material sleeve. "I think you meant genius," he replies, while working her legs into two separate "tentacles". Medora can see the 8 black "tentacles" around her, with her legs taking up the insides of two of them. He had removed stuffing that was in two of them, making room for her to fill them. "For me to say that, can you explain it again?" He kisses her on the forehead as he stands up.

"Well, everyone knows I collect ocean-themed statues and trinkets. I've got two nearly full-sized mermaid statues in my home, plus other trinkets and keepsakes. I had already been working with my guy for an "Ursula" one. I ran over and got the main pieces this morning, so you can make up the rest of it." She is not sure she believes anyone would buy this story, as she tries to focus on his plan without being distracted by his obvious flirting.

With her legs secured, she sits in the middle of the tentacles, like an octopus on dry land. The black wet-suit material looks shiny and slick. She looks around herself and has to admit that if she was in a movie, she would look like a pale Ursula. Maybe this could work, she thinks, and then asks, "And then?"

He walks around her as he speaks, "We'll get you up on this rock pedestal. I pulled this rock from the ocean floor just off the island. You can pose on top when the police come. They will want to check each room and interview me, and won't even think of you hiding in plain sight. You just hold your place until they are gone. That will be the hard part." He sifts through a box and adds, "Getting you to a boat and off island after dark will be the easiest part."

She nods her head, still marveling at how natural the black tentacles look around her. "These shells might be a bit small, but we can stick them on you to cover your big pearls, and this boat cleaner will bleach your hair to a near white. And I got some body paint to give you a light purple tint." Wow, he really thought of everything. I wonder what his other statues look like, she ponders, maybe I can see them before I'm mounted on the rock.

Mounted. That's a word I never thought about myself. Mounted. The word hits her again, as she watches him lay on the ground near her to get something that fell under the couch. She can see his shirt coming up showing his tight stomach muscles. His biceps already show from the shirt that seems too small for him. How long has it been, and why am I even having these thoughts?

Wanting to take control again, she pulls herself and her tentacles across the floor. He starts to wiggle out from under the couch, as she gets to him. Holding herself up with her left hand, she grabs some of her tentacles and throws them over his legs with her right hand. He looks up in surprise, as she gets the rest of her body on top of him. "How ever can I thank you for all that you've done for me?" She leans down, letting her tentacles fall over his legs. He chuckles at that as she wiggles her body on top of his.

"Oh", she exclaims looking at his face and feeling something pushing against her, "I think someone is excited. This is a serious time," she teases, "And we have no time for that, unless that is the rock you were hoping to mount me to." He grins at her joke, as her wiggling has moved his shorts and underwear around enough for his shaft to expand through and beyond them. "Believe me," he says as she lays on him to kiss him fully on the mouth, "This is very serious business." She decides if this is her last day to live, let it be lived to its fullest. She has never been into roleplay, as that is really a guy thing, but if she survives today, she will want to be Ursula again...and again...and oh yes again.

Two hours later, Medora sits on the rock that is the size of a small chair. Her tentacles play out along the rock like they are alive. Her deep-purple-almost-black clamshells are attached to her girls, providing some support. She really did not need the support, as her nipples were still quite firm from her latest climax. Her skin has a slight purple tint from the paint she brushed on it, while he rubs the cleaner into her hair. She knows time is running out, as he got a text from a friend at the marina that the police were headed his way soon, but she also knows they are nearly done. A thin coat of gloss and she will be a shiny statue, looking nothing like Medora the Private Investigator.

She sits in the main foyer of his villa. He had moved a couple of large rocks out of the house, along with some colorful coral pieces. He had planned a fountain for there in the future, but she will take center stage for now. Why hide, if she is just a statue, right? Let's go bold, he assures her. She agrees as she can see out his front door to the small yard and narrow street. He lives on a dead end street, so there is little traffic. So, she will know exactly how long they have.

"Police car," she says, as he stands up with the leftover paint and cleaner. "Great, the one day they are actually in a hurry," he says dejectedly, "I could use more time." She nods as the car stops right in front of the house. The front door has several small windows in the thick wood, so she feels confident that she can see them but they cannot see her. "Look, I'll put this in the garage really quick and come back. You do the pose, and we will play it by ear." Before she can respond, he rushes out of the front area.

She watches calmly as the two men step out of the small, old car. She could probably push her wheelchair faster than it could go. They look around the houses as they close their car doors. They are not in any hurry, so that means they don't truly suspect him. They are just covering their bases, so as long as Medora is missing too, Harry is off the hook. There is nothing tying me to him, and no one knows I'm here but Harry.

As they near the door, she mumbles, "Time to be Ursula." She puts her left hand down by her tentacles, like she is petting one of them. She puts her right hand above her head, like she might be reaching up to grasp something over her head. She stares at the door and smiles, showing her white teeth to contrast her dark purple lipstick and light purple skin color. I'm the wicked witch of the sea, she voices in her head with confidence.

The knock at the front door does not cause her to move. She is but a statue, so she waits like any inanimate object would do. The two men look into the windows, so there is no going back now. Harry comes into her view with a can and rag in his hands. He yells, "Come in," as he stops to stand in front of her. Well-played, sir, she thinks with a grin.

"Hey, Harry, you got a few minutes," the one says. Harry nods his head as he turns to face Ursula. "Sure, guys," he replies as he dips his rag into the can, "I always have time for the authorities." She holds her pose as he starts to rub the damp rag on her bare skin. She figures he had the can in the freezer, as the cream or polish or whatever he is rubbing on her, feels like an ice cube being pushed onto her skin.

She keeps her eyes focused on his chest as she can see the police officers coming around beside him to look at her. "New addition?" The other police officer says while taking out a notepad from his pocket. Harry nods his head. "Yeah, Salvidor just finished it today, which is why I'm home and not on the water today. I need to get this polish on it before the humid air ruins his paint job." They both nod as they stare at her.

She was worried about them believing his story of her being a statue, but they agreed to it so quickly, that she seemed foolish doubting him earlier. On top of that, she was worried about blinking, but Harry was pretty sure they would never look above her neck. As she holds her pose, she is almost convinced she could wink at both of them and they would never notice. She has never liked her girls stuck out for the world to see, but today, in this situation, she is not minding it at all. "Well, that answers my first question," the first officer remarks.

Harry starts rubbing his cloth on her bare stomach, getting the cream into her belly button then working along her sides. He takes the rag up her right side, coating her underarm and up to her right hand. He slowly works his way down her arm, putting an icy coat of cream on her. He takes his time, working the cream all over her arm and up-stretched hand. As the officers take notes of his words they never take their eyes off his rag's motion, she can feel the cream warm to her body heat. In fact, her skin where he wiped previously almost feels hot now.

He moves to her other hand, working up her arm this time and then around her neck. He puts his rag into the can, and she notices both officers stop talking as he moves his rag to the clam-shell-cleavage in front of her and them. He slowly works his rag on top and around the exposed sides of each beautiful "pearl" as he called them. He takes his time rubbing his rag over and around the curved spheres that are barely covered by her shells.

Like before, she can feel the ice-cold cream turn hot on her skin. Strangely enough, it feels like her nipples are pulling back in, yet her chest almost feels like it is rising, becoming more rigid. She notes her right arm does not feel like it could move, even if she wanted it to do so. Wow, that makes it easier to hold my pose with it stuck up there. As she focuses on that, he starts to rub her cheeks and forehead. The cool sensation feels good now, as the rest of her body is almost on fire now. He comes around her chin, lightly touching her lips. She finds her facial expression changing slightly, as the cream seems to harden her lips into a broader smile, pulling her cheeks up higher on her face.

"So, I have not seen her since yesterday, or maybe the day before," Harry continues answering questions, "But you can walk around and check each of the rooms if you want. And if you find Pickle hiding here, you can take him away." Harry chuckles, as the officers look like they do not want to stop watching him work, but when he sets his can on the foyer table, they look at each other and start checking each room. "Our source has them together late into the night. We got blood in the parking lot, her empty rental car still at the restaurant, and his empty, personal boat anchored in the bay and impeding regular boat traffic. We know something went down."

As they continue to talk, he steps out of her field of view, so she assumes he is walking with them. She decides to blink when she feels a pinch or prick behind each ear. Ow, I wonder what that was...wait, I'm having trouble blinking. That cream must have worked its way down from my forehead and stiffened my eyelids. I need to tell Harry. I could just whisper and...and...I can't move my mouth. Why can't I move?

About that time, the officers walk past her to the front door. They take another good look at her, as they say to Harry who steps up to them wiping his hands on a clean towel, "Nothing here, so we'll rule you out, Harry. We figured this was a wild goose chase, but everyone knows how much you hate Pakel and you were hanging out with the outsider last night. Sorry for bothering you, but we had to make sure. As usual, your record is clean." Harry holds the front door for them, "I'll bet Pickle and his crew got drunk and fell off their boat and sank to the bottom." They all laugh at that as he closes the door behind them.

Harry, I can't move...I'm stuck. She sees him turn around and sees a facial expression that she knows, but never pictured it on him. Evil. That is the face of evil. Oh no, Medora screams as the pieces fall together. Other statues...mermaid theme...missing girl who could pass for a mermaid in the right costume...Pakel connected to Harry and could turn him in...unless he was dead. Medora would put her head in her hands if she could.

He walks up to her, bending slightly to look into her eyes, "Welcome, home." Medora knew better than to let anyone in, as it has never worked well for her. Yet, she was...was desperate...desperate. Oh my, it is...hard to...to...think. "I wanted to introduce you to Abby the Mermaid, but it didn't work out. But you know what worked out? You. You tied up all of my loose ends, like I hoped you would." He gives her a light peck on the cheek, as he walks down the hallway. The Ursula statue shows no emotion, and remains just as he left it. The sinister look on her face will forever match the owner's heart perfectly.

Epilogue

Harry walks in from the back door saying loudly, "I'm home!" He stops for a quick beverage from the fridge, then carries his plastic bag to the front door area. Ursula stands there where he leaves her every day, just like he did so many days ago. Her devilish smile could chill a man, if her rather large chest didn't warm a man in the opposite way. He hangs the plastic shopping bag on her outstretched hand. He then extends his empty hand to fill it with her perfectly, perky breast. "Mmm," he moans as he rubs it slightly, "How was your day? Feels like it was a hard one." He smirks as he runs his hand over to the other breast, enjoying their rock-solid curves.

He leans over and rests his lips against her cheek. With her hair brushed above her head, he has unrestricted access to her face. He runs his lips gently over her cheek and up the side of her face. His short beard rubs across the rock-like surface, tickling his face. He pauses to move to her ear, wrapping his mouth around it. With another moan, he pulls his mouth off of it with a pop.

He takes a long swig from his bottle, then he reaches up to get something from the bag. "Now, don't you worry," he says reassuringly, "I got the good stuff this week. This will make you shine like that first day. I know you didn't like the generic stuff that was on sale, so I got the top brand." He holds the squirt bottle up in front of her face. She continues to stare ahead, showing no emotion.

"Well, a little gratitude would be nice," he adds as he spanks her on the butt, just above her tentacles curling around her. "Always the same with you," he adds as he grabs her chin, "But you'll love me, don't worry." He kisses her on the lips, pulling his hand from her butt around her waist to enjoy the curves of her waist.

Turning on his heel, he ascends the stairs to the second floor that are behind "Ursula". Like when he came in, she makes no move or reaction as he leaves. He takes his time on the stairs, but quickly enters his bedroom once he gets to the top. His "Ariel" swims along the ceiling as always. "Hey there, gorgeous," he says with a soft tone, "Miss me?" He turns and lays down on the bed to look at her. "I missed you, too."

The weariness of his day washes over him as he lays there. Ready to be done for the day, he drops his empty bottle from the bed without taking his eyes off his mermaid. She descends to him at the push of a button. He hooks one leg around her fin as she nears, then he takes both hands and touches her cheeks. He tenderly kisses her slightly open mouth, as she settles on top of him. He holds the kiss for a long time, enjoying the unforgiving stiffness of her lips. 

He opens his eyes to look deeply into her blue ones. He then pushes his hands up into her stiff hair. It bends slightly to his pushing, but she makes no move to stop him. He then hooks his other leg around her fin. Her stiff body arouses him like she always does. He brings his hands to rest around her bare shoulders, so he can pull back slightly and look at her face completely. "Mmm," he whispers, "I love you, too."