The Killer

Carol was spying on the table next to theirs, hiding behind large shades. She loved the kind of basic beachfront retiree gossip they were dishing. It was almost a pastime for her, immersing herself in the narrative miasma of coconut-vanilla, spray-tan, condo pools, and other people’s secrets. The loudest of the group was calling the story’s subject’s affliction, with faux-sarcastic air quotes, a ‘social disease.’ Carol knew such a thing was more common in their small barrier island community than one would think. A lot of tea partiers, too much money, too much time. Nothing else to do but get drunk on Tom Collinses, mouth off about liberalism, sleep with your friends’ wives. She called up her own recent sins. She noted that the fishing nets on the ceiling of the Pelican had captured a mermaid, suspended her there like bycatch. Nathan returned from washing his hands and sat at their glass deck table. It overlooked the