Fire Works in the Hamptons : A Willow Tate Novel (9781101547649)

by Jerome, Celia

  “Neither. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I’ll keep that number in mind. Thanks.”

  Mrs. Desmond next door cooed over the baby and offered the Pomeranian a biscuit. Little Red ignored her. A dog biscuit when he’d finished off a bag of animal crackers? Sheesh.

  The elderly widow set a pot of water on to boil for me, but she wasn’t happy with the alphabet noodle letters I wanted her to use.

  “You don’t think something terrible has happened to your mother, do you?”

  “No, she’s fine. Someone would have called me, otherwise. It’s m-a-m-a anyway. I always call my mother Mom.”

  “Gracious, not you-know-who’s mother?” She shifted her gaze to Elladaire. “I heard she was recovering nicely.”

  “Mary’s fine. Janie just told me.”

  “But you want to know if this mama person is alive? If the letters float, that’s a good sign.”

  That putrid smell of the swamp was a bad sign, to my thinking. I wanted to check. “She’s not exactly a person.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  Despite Mrs. Desmond’s misgivings, an M and an A popped right up to the top of the saucepan. That was good enough.

  My next stop was at Margaret’s house and her wool shop. I loved it there, all the colors and textures, the big looms, the vats of dyes in the back. Edie stared around, wide-eyed. Margaret handed her a felted wool teddy bear with button eyes.

  “Is it okay if she puts it in her mouth?”

  Margaret laughed. “Better than the animal cracker she took away from your dog. So you are looking for something again?”

  She didn’t mean a woven shawl or a hand-dyed hank of wool. Margaret made finding bracelets, with all kinds of wishes and hopes braided into them. If the wish was honest and heartfelt, the bracelet stayed on until the seeker found the one he or she sought.

  Margaret cut a lock of my hair—dark roots and all—and one of Elladaire’s curls, then she picked colors and strands from her shelves and baskets. But she needed something from the person who was missing. “It doesn’t have to be hair.”

  That was good, because all I had was one burnt wing, from the box I was going to mail for Piet.

  Margaret carefully picked up the wing that looked like a blackened, shriveled leaf and clucked her tongue.

  “It was beautiful, once.”

  “And will be again,” she assured me.

  She crumpled the wing and sprinkled the ashes over the yarns and hairs she’d collected, then started to spin them together on a drop spindle. When she deemed she had a long enough strand, she cut it into even lengths and braided them together, her fingers flying every which way and her lips moving in some silent chant or prayer or incantation. I didn’t ask which.

  When Margaret put the finished bracelet around my wrist, I simply stared in awe. There was the aurora borealis, right on my arm, gleaming and glowing and changing colors when I turned my arm. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “And it will stay on until you find . . . ?”

  “Mama,” Edie and I both answered. Only the kid held her hands up to be carried, or to have her diaper changed.

  “Good luck.”

  I tracked our local plumber—and scryer—down at the rental house where he was working that morning. He scratched his head when I explained what I wanted, but he filled a sink with water and stared into it.

  “Nope, all I see is clogged drains. Looks like someone flushed down something big. I sure hope they call a plumber from up the Island.”

  My last stop was at the post office. The blind postmaster wasn’t sure he could legally send the little box.

  “What about with extra postage?”

  He shook the box. “Hazardous materials. Illegal. Where did you say you were sending it?”

  I read him off the address in Virginia.

  He cocked his head toward his guide dog, listening. “Oh, them. That’s all right, then.”

  I was sure it would be. I didn’t know about the rest of us.

  CHAPTER 22

  PIET LOOKED A LOT BETTER than I felt. Elladaire and I were both tired and dirty and needed fresh clothes. Little Red was out in the fenced yard, pooping lions and tigers and bears, oh my. “He is not sleeping in my bed tonight.”

  But I had news.

  “Mama is alive,” I told Piet. “But she’s stuck, so we have to find her and get her out. She might be in the 3549 area of the grid, if the ditches are numbered. Or maybe that many feet inland from shore. I hope that’s not her weight. Can you imagine a lightning bug that size? I’m not sure about the number, but the rest is almost positive.”

  “Positive because . . . ?”

  “Because this is Paumanok Harbor and I have a bracelet.”

  He looked at the bracelet, looked at me, then at the door. A lesser man might have made a run for it. Piet rubbed at his whiskery chin and nodded. Then he started to massage my shoulders. I let him, because they were sore from toting the baby around all morning. She had to weigh three times as much as the Pomeranian I was used to.

  “Oh, and I saw Barry and the mayor and Chief Haversmith having lunch at the deli. Barry kept his sunglasses on and looked like he had trouble holding his head up. So we should be okay there.”

  Piet kept his hands kneading my strained muscles, but he started kissing the back of my neck too, nibbling, licking, rubbing. Funny, I felt it down to my toes.

  “Uh, do you remember our conversation when you got back this morning?”

  “Nope. I do recall you in that towel, though, before I left last night. The image helped me leave a spark here and there for your volunteers to put out. That kept them from asking any awkward questions. I had no idea which firefighters were safe.”

  By that I knew he meant who could be trusted to accept his talent without amazement or disbelief, who could be trusted to keep their mouths shut.

  “So what did you tell me this morning?”

  “That you’re not sleeping in my bed either.”

  His hands dropped away. “I never agreed to that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s my bed.”

  “But I thought we were good together. Partners.”

  “We were. We are. I really like you. That’s the problem. Remember what you first said? You wouldn’t marry me to please Royce, or any other reason?”

  “You’re talking marriage?” Now he did take a couple of steps toward the door. I thought his scars showed more vividly with color draining from his complexion.

  “No, I’m talking lovemaking. But then I’d want more. More sex, more closeness, more of your time. I’d want you to stay, to be safe here. I’d try to make you happy so you wouldn’t want to leave. I already bought stuff to make you a nice dinner. But I’m selfish. I don’t want to turn myself into someone I never wanted to be, to be what you might want. And I hate what you do.”

  “Whew. For a minute there I thought you were serious. It’s only sex. I’ll change your mind.”

  Now I left the house. Little Red needed me.

  The good thing was I got out before I could change my mind, again. The bad thing was Barry got out of his car in front of my house.

  “Hello,” he said, flashing that cover-model smile, dimples and all. “You’re Willow Tate, aren’t you? I was hoping to do a story about your books for a webzine I’m working for, until I can write my novel. I was hoping you’d give me some pointers.”

  “Sorry, I don’t give interviews.”

  “But it would be good publicity for you and—”

  “Sorry. I like my privacy.”

  The smile slipped. “Well, how about if I wrote about Paumanok Harbor, maybe drum up some tourist business for the place. Seems like a nice friendly town.”

  “You’ll have to talk to the Chamber of Commerce about that.” They closed up after Labor Day.

  “Then maybe you can tell me about the fires here? That’s public knowledge, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and the fire department can give you all the information you need. G
ood day, Mr. Jenner.”

  He knit his brows together. “I didn’t give you that na . . . that is, my name.”

  “Oh, but it’s such a friendly little town, we find out about our visitors. We know all about your magazine and your style of journalism.”

  His voice got louder, and a snarl replaced the smile altogether. “Then maybe you can tell me what happened to my equipment? I had to go buy a new Blackberry, camera, and laptop, to start. And pay five times as much as I would in Manhattan.”

  “Then maybe you should go back to Manhattan. We have a lot of power outages here. I think I heard that’s what fried a lot of electronics this week. Oh, and I do believe you started a riot at the motel that set off the sprinkler system, so you have no one else to blame for the water damage. I recall the manager asking you to leave. Do you remember that part?”

  “I wouldn’t stay in that rattrap if they paid me. I have friends with houses in East Hampton.”

  “I’m sure you do.” That wasn’t a compliment either. Posh Hampton housed herds of celebrity hunters, hangers-on, and wannabes.

  “One way or another, I am going to get a story, no matter what anyone in this shithole thinks.”

  Piet put his hand on my shoulder, holding me back. “We think you should leave now.”

  Barry turned and stomped down the path. But not before Little Red puked on his foot.

  We watched him leave, but both of us knew he’d be back. The mayor’d done a fine job, but he couldn’t erase someone’s entire history or his rotten personality. Which meant we had to put out the fires and get the fireflies out of the Harbor quickly. Piet, too, before the sleazeball figured out his role.

  He put an arm around my shoulder. “Ready for a walk along the shore? Maybe 3, 549 steps?”

  I was as ready as I was ever going to be. Except we couldn’t go. Elladaire was throwing up, too.

  “What did you feed her?”

  “I didn’t—” Well, maybe I didn’t, but I let everyone else feed her. I bought the animal crackers, but Janie gave her a banana, Mr. Merriwether gave us tomatoes and string beans from his garden, Mrs. Desmond offered a bowl of blackberries and biscotti, and Margaret had fresh figs from a tree in her yard. Even the plumber had a bag of chocolate chip cookies. “Do you think she needs a doctor? The nearest pediatrician is in East Hampton.”

  He touched her forehead. “She doesn’t have a fever. We should wait a little.”

  “Yeah, but I think I should take Little Red to the vet. Mom told me that with a dog that small, you can’t wait too long. They get dehydrated and lose their appetite, and the blood sugar drops. I have to take Buddy back there anyway, to have his burn checked and—”

  “And you’re going to leave me here with a sick kid?”

  As fast as my feet would carry me.

  On the way to the vet’s, I wondered when we could give Elladaire back to her great-aunt. Janie worked half days on Saturday, not at all on Sunday or Monday. Maybe she could take Elladaire with her one of those days if she went to visit Mary. Mary must be missing her baby and Edie shouldn’t forget what her mother looked like. No, Mary wouldn’t want her daughter to see the bandages and IV tubes, and Janie would be afraid of driving Elladaire so far away from Piet. I hardly thought about it this morning, but I had the comfort of knowing he was nearby.

  Still, Janie ought to have the child she so obviously adored. Lord knew she’d be a better stand-in mom than me. Even Piet was a better surrogate. Neither of them would abandon a kid with an upset stomach. Guilt rode in the backseat with Buddy, but relief dangled from the rearview mirror like lucky dice.

  I’d miss Edie when she went back to her family, the drooly smiles and silly giggles and the clean smell after a bath. Then I thought about the rest of being a babysitter so I wouldn’t get depressed. Who wanted the sick, smelly parts? Then there was the responsibility, the complete dependency, and the overriding feeling of inadequacy. If I wanted to feel like a failure, I could call my mother.

  Little Red started trembling three blocks away from Matt Spenser’s house and office. Buddy might be half blind and deaf, but he started whining, too. They’d both been here often enough to recognize the turns or the smells.

  Matt’s receptionist looked about twenty, with a fresh diploma from junior college above her desk. She had long hair, long legs, and a short, short skirt. She was pretty, if you liked almost-anorexics with attitude. I wondered if she took the job because of Matt, or whether he’d hired her because of her looks. Not that it was any of my business, of course, just natural curiosity.

  She was extremely protective of Dr. Spenser for an employee most likely earning minimum wage and no benefits, scowling because I’d arrived without an appointment. “This is not a walk-in clinic,” she announced with a sniff. “The doctor is fully booked.”

  I’d been scorn-sniffed by experts. My mother and grandmother wore out their sinuses showing disdain. “Dr. Spenser will understand. Why don’t you tell him Willow Tate is here.”

  In five minutes I got another sniff. “The doctor will fit you in after his next patient.”

  When I got to the examining room, I complimented Matt on his efficient office staff. Okay, I was fishing for information, but he didn’t know that.

  “Yes, my niece is working out great.”

  “Your niece? How nice.” Not that it was any of my business, still. Or how good he looked in his white lab coat, or how his light brown hair fell over his forehead. Not my affair, at all.

  “I was lucky to hire her before she goes on to regular college next January. She’s great at the computers and the billing.”

  I apologized about not calling ahead. The waiting room hadn’t been wall-to-wall cat carriers or canines, but he was busy enough. “I should have made an appointment, I know, but I worried about Little Red.”

  He put the Pom up on the metal table and took his temperature, to the dog’s snarling indignation. Then he listened to his heart, looked at his teeth and mouth, and felt his stomach. “Don’t worry about it. Or Red. He’ll be fine in a couple of hours.”

  He was great with the bad-tempered monster. Or else Little Red was too sick to snap at him. He handed him to me and lifted Buddy to the table. I couldn’t help noticing how easily he managed the big dog, and how gentle he was with the old guy. I thanked him again for seeing me.

  “Any time. I know you’re really busy right now, helping the police and fire department stop the arson attempts. Can I help at all?”

  Aside from giving Little Red a shot to calm his stomach and Buddy a clean bill of health and soothing my own jittery nerves? “Do you know anything about entomology?”

  He washed his hands at the sink and smiled at me. “So the bugs really are connected to the fires. I heard that at the deli but couldn’t see how. I’d still like to see one up close.”

  I bet he wouldn’t, if it weighed over three thousand pounds. If the little buggers could set the bowling alley on fire, Mama could wipe out half the continent.

  “I had a course in invertebrates, but it was a long time ago. I could make some phone calls if you need an expert.”

  There was no such person, not for these bugs. DUE would have had him or her on their list. Matt didn’t seem in that big a hurry, and Little Red was limp in my arms, so I asked, “Do you think it’s possible for an insect to know its own mother?”

  He thought for a minute, kneeling to stroke Buddy’s ears. “Egg, larva, pupa, imago. I doubt the bugs ever see their parent, much less recognize her, if she’s still alive and in the vicinity. And that’s without considering if an insect has any kind of memory or rational thought process as we know it.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  He looked up, at me. “But now you think differently?”

  His brown eyes seemed so open, so honest, so trustworthy. I wanted to tell him yes, to explain about the lantern beetles, the light shows, the baby, the mangled bodies, and Mama, but I couldn’t. What a relief it would be to share my concerns with an ob
jective, intelligent person, but I daren’t.

  Instead of getting angry like I expected, Matt smiled. “I know, in Paumanok Harbor anything is possible, but nothing is spoken aloud. If it was, the mayor would pay me a visit with his perfectly healthy cat and I’d have a blank space in my mind. But then something else would happen, something totally unexpected and inexplicable, that no one wants to talk about. I wouldn’t, you know.”

  I did know, deep down, where it mattered. “Thank you.” I gathered up my pocketbook and the leashes and the pills for Little Red. “But you know my question about the insects and their mothers? It’s for one of the books I’m writing.”

  He grinned. “Of course it is.”

  CHAPTER 23

  WHEN I GOT HOME, Susan was blowing soap bubbles with Elladaire. It was one of those perfect family photo album pictures, full of rainbows and laughter. It should have made me happy, but it didn’t.

  Susan said that Piet had gone to the firehouse to meet with Mac and the arson investigators. That was his job, but I was annoyed that he’d gone off and foisted the baby on my cousin. I admit that I’d done the same to him, but he was better at the kid thing than either me or my cousin, and safer. Decades of family lectures and her recent history kept me protective of Susan.

  He should have called me. It’s not as if I’d run off to Ronkonkoma or something. We were partners.

  Then there was that protective thing again. He could have shown more sensitivity to Susan’s feelings about babies.

  Which I realized I did not know. Everyone was so careful around her, no one brought up any delicate subjects. We all figured that if she wanted to talk about her possible infertility, she would.

  Now she gave me the opportunity to find out by bringing up the subject of children herself: “You better give the kid back soon before you get attached to her.”

  “I already adore the brat, especially when she’s happy.”