Sand Witches in the Hamptons (9781101597385)

by Jerome, Celia

  While timing the gunk on my hair, I called Lou.

  “We have a problem. I can’t leave the city for at least two days.”

  “Listen, kiddo, I’d have you out of here and on the road in an hour if I had the backup in place. People to follow us, to make sure no one was on our tail, and people to stay in the building in case your stalkers show up again. That’s our best bet for nailing the bastards.”

  I wished he hadn’t used that word. “You don’t understand.”

  “Sure I do. They’ll be in place in the morning, with the usual traffic giving us additional cover.”

  “No, we cannot leave until Saturday. We—that is, I; you don’t need to come”—I wished he wouldn’t—“have to meet someone at the train. I have the schedule and the gate. Then I’ll take her to Paumanok Harbor, to the professor. If you cannot drive us,” I prayed so, “I’ll rent a car, I suppose.”

  “It’s not that parrot come back as something else you’re bringing Dr. Harmon, is it?”

  “On the train? No, I haven’t heard anything about the bird. This is a woman of amazing talent that Royce will be interested in. I’m hoping the professor can relieve some of her anxiety.”

  “You say she has talent? Undocumented talent?”

  “Yes, and she needs help.”

  “And you just found her today, when two psychos are leaving warnings and escalating their attacks? You don’t think this could possibly be a trap to get you out in the open, vulnerable to anything their warped minds think up?”

  “No, she’s, um, someone my father knows. That’s what all his urgent messages were about.”

  “If she’s a friend of your father’s, you better ask if she’s been tested for STDs.”

  “No, she’s not one of those friends. She’s, um, a distant relative, some branch of the family I never knew existed.” No lie, there. “Dad and her mother met through business years ago and discovered the, um, connection.” Whew. Not lying was harder than lying. I never knew who could recognize a falsehood when they heard one, though.

  “So the mother has talent, too?”

  “The mother is ill and Carinne can’t cope, so Dad’s trying to help. She’s in big trouble, hearing voices.”

  “We can’t chance it. I’ll try to get an agent to meet the train, but no promises.”

  “That’s not good enough. She’s already traumatized. In a strange city, one as chaotic as Manhattan, heaven knows what will happen. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience.” If he had one. “Or her yipping to some cops or a judge about going to Paumanok Harbor, where she can get help for her delusions because everyone there is blessed with paranormal skills. I’m guessing that’s what my father told her.”

  “Damn. But you’re still too valuable to leave exposed in the middle of Manhattan. In Paumanok Harbor at this time of year, I can count the strangers on two hands, and have fifty pairs of gifted eyes watching them. I’ll have the woman picked up, for sure, before she can get us all into trouble.”

  That wouldn’t work, not when I promised my father. And what happened after he had her “picked up” at the station? Lou believed in expediency, not compassion.

  Before getting into that, I had to ask, “What do you mean, I’m valuable? What are you going to do, sell me to the highest bidder?”

  “No, I’m going to keep you alive and healthy. You’re valuable to your grandmother and the professor, for starters. And you’re the only Visualizer we know of. No one can figure if you call the trouble or just attract it, but you’re the only person who’s had any luck getting rid of the trespassers when they do come. So we are leaving in the morning, before the whole town falls into the sea, or comes down with leprosy or nosebleeds.”

  I grabbed my nose. Was it bleeding again? How could Lou know, unless he had one of those tiny spy cameras set up somewhere in my apartment?

  I checked the mirror over the sofa . . . and got reminded of the slop on my head. “Eek!” Oh, shit, the timer must not be working. I shouted “Gotta go,” and slammed the phone down.

  I raced toward the kitchen sink with its water hose spritzer thing. The dye rinsed off, the neutralizing conditioner went on. My sleep shirt went in the trash, with ominous stains on it. I went back to the mirror and stared, horrified, at the color of my hair. Maybe I should have checked the expiration date on the box, or the color I’d picked so long ago. Maybe I should be the one institutionalized instead of Carinne. Maybe I—

  “What the hell happened?” There was Lou bursting through my apartment door, gun in one hand, taser in the other. There was I, naked except for a clown’s wig that wasn’t a wig. I scrambled to wrap the kitchen table’s tablecloth around me.

  Apparently Lou hadn’t noticed my naked body, which said a lot about Lou, or my flat-chested, puffy-bellied, jiggle-thigh body. He pointed to my head. “Is that blood?”

  “Uh, no. I’m altering my appearance, that’s all.”

  He nodded and put down the weapons. “That’s not a bad idea, with stalkers out there. Except now you look like Little Orphan Annie with a fat lip, and you’ll be easier to spot in a crowd. Any crowd. We could have bought you a mousy brown wig, or a hat.”

  “Maybe it’ll dry lighter.”

  And maybe pigs’ll fly.

  * * *

  I showed great restraint and patience in not calling Janie, the owner of Paumanok Harbor’s beauty salon, and begging for help as soon as I got rid of Lou. I called Matt first. No way was I going to make the mistake of leaving him out of the loop again.

  No way was I going to admit I looked like Lucille Ball or a ball of fire. “How do you feel about redheads?” I asked subtly.

  “Is this a trick question? Or did you already hear that my ex-wife might be coming to the Harbor for the weekend?”

  “What?!” The thud was my heart hitting the ground.

  “Well, Marion is a redhead.”

  “Who left you and bled you dry in the divorce and stole your dog and—”

  “And her father just died. She wants to take her mother away for awhile, and she has no one to leave the dog with. He’s a great pup. A rescue mutt, smart and sweet. Moses will love him, and Red . . . Well, Red hates everyone.”

  My heart started beating again. “So she’ll come and drop the dog off and leave the same day?”

  “Not exactly. We decided she ought to come Friday and stay till Monday to help acclimate the dogs. But you and I will have tomorrow when you get here to get reacclimated ourselves. I’ve been thinking about that hot tub at Rosehill, when we go to visit the professor.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I can’t get there until Saturday.” When his wife, his ex-wife, a natural redhead from the pictures I’d seen, would be staying at his house.

  “I thought Lou was bringing you tomorrow to get you away from danger.”

  I was going to unburden my soul to him, admit how the stalkers terrified me by threatening innocents like my neighbors and my dog. Then I’d tell him the truth about my father and his other daughter, how I felt that my birthright had been stolen, my foundation shaken. How I felt disloyal not telling my mother. How telling my mother would kill her, then she’d kill me. Instead I said, “A many-times-removed relative of my father’s has an aura.” He’d understand what I wasn’t saying, now that he understood about Paumanok Harbor psi. “And it’s causing a mental breakdown. I promised I’d help get her to the Harbor. Her train arrives Saturday morning.”

  “Oh, so I won’t see you until then?” He sounded gratifyingly disappointed.

  “Not until I get her settled, hopefully under Professor Harmon’s wing.” And not until the former Mrs. Matt Spenser slithered away.

  “I’m sorry. I miss you. Oh, and I like blondes better than redheads. Ones with gold and pale yellow and dark honey streaks in their hair, so I can run my fingers through i
t and find all the colors.”

  I called Janie.

  * * *

  “You did what? Without me? Now you want me to do what? From three hours away?”

  “How’s your niece’s baby, Elladaire?” I asked. Subtle was becoming my middle name. “You remember, the one I took care of after she ate a lightning bug and set her own house on fire?”

  “That’s low, even for you.”

  Yeah, but it worked. Janie consented to give advice, after the lecture.

  “You can have an accident with your car. You can have an accident with scissors. You could even have an accident when you sneeze. But an accident with your hair color? No, that’s stupidity, plain and simple. You don’t take out your own appendix, do you? And you wouldn’t take a pill without reading the expiration date or checking the dosage.”

  She came up with a possible rescue and recovery, from the drugstore. I knew Lou wouldn’t let me leave, and in truth, I didn’t want to go outside. Deni and her delivery boy loomed, of course, but so did strangers seeing the burning bush on my head. So I called the drugstore and paid twice the price to have blonde dye delivered. Janie said that would tone down the red and leave me a nice strawberry blonde, which she’d wanted to do for ages, but I always refused. And she’d save me an appointment for Saturday afternoon. “You and your new cousin. On the house.”

  The drugstore didn’t carry any of the brands or colors Janie mentioned, so the telephone lady and I guessed. I gave her Mrs. Abbottini’s apartment number, so Lou could answer the door. And I told him it was an item of feminine necessity to stop him from asking questions.

  I called the professor while I waited for the package. At first he was disappointed I’d be delayed again. He’d been hoping I’d be there to communicate with the missing parrotfish through the ether the way I once had. I explained I’d be there Saturday, but that I needed to ask if a room at Rosehill could be prepared. I knew the old mansion had dozens, but I didn’t know how far along the renovations had come. I needed one for my troubled cousin, I told him.

  “Susan?” he rasped.

  “No, a new, way-distant relation. My father discovered her and realized she belongs with you, before she draws too much of the wrong kind of publicity.”

  “I should think the young woman would do better staying with you, rather than with an old man. You could get acquainted. One can never have too much family.”

  Oh, no? Try mine.

  “And Susan might enjoy having another relative.”

  Which meant another snakepit. Susan was younger, and had cancer last year. What if Carinne saw her future and it stank? Or worse, if she did not see any future at all? Connor Redstone had declared Susan cancer free now, but what about when she turned Carinne’s age? I meant to keep the two of them as far apart as possible.

  “Um, Susan is a lot younger. I doubt they have much in common.”

  “Well, think about it, my dear. We have a spot of difficulty here. With so many decisions to be made about construction and curriculum, Royce has sent a director, a young gentleman with definite opinions on how Rosehill should be utilized.”

  “He’s not bothering you, is he?”

  Jimmie had what was the former master bedroom suite, with its own balcony, hot tub, kitchenette, and elevator. If anyone tried to move the fine old gentleman to lesser quarters, he’d have me to answer to. Me and my connections to the big shots at Royce, i.e., Grant and his father, the Earl of Grantham.

  “Oh, he would not dare. I’d simply call Royce.”

  I forgot. Dr. Harmon’s connections were better than mine, with the current Duke of Royce a second cousin and a close friend.

  “No, the young simpleton they sent does not like what he calls a party atmosphere, with my new friends calling at odd times. I think his knickers twisted when I did not invite him to the last poker night.” He lowered his already whispery voice. “And I have my suspicions the nodcock had something to do with Oey’s disappearance. Master Monteith does not believe pets have a place in an institute of learning.”

  “Does he have any idea how much we have already learned from the parrotfish?”

  “He could not see Oey for what she or he is. Many cannot, you know.”

  Most could not. “Well, we’ll see about that when I get there. But Carinne is coming as a talent in need of guidance, precisely the mission envisioned for Rosehill.”

  “Ah, yes, excellent argument. Perhaps you should mention that to Miss Lily. She is on better terms with the gudgeon than I.”

  But Cousin Lily definitely had a bit of the original Royce ability to tell truth from lies. No way could I explain Carinne to her. “I was hoping you could call her. It’s awfully complicated here right now. In fact, someone is knocking on my door.”

  “I’ll try, my dear. But I do feel your cousin would be happier at your house.”

  Sure, but would my mother be happy to have her?

  Had hell frozen over when I wasn’t looking?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I had palpitations. And pink hair. The timing was right, the expiration date was years away, but the color I’d chosen was wrong. Dead wrong. Like the dead pinkish pigeon left in the back alley where Lou let me walk Little Red.

  The bird had its head on, so maybe it wasn’t Deni’s handiwork. On the other hand, the left one still shaking, how many pinkish pigeons from someone’s coop dropped dead on top of my building’s dumpster?

  My right hand had a death grip on Little Red, as if that could keep him safe from some maniac who butchered small creatures.

  Lou said we didn’t have enough people to keep watch twenty-four hours a day. He called for more agents. And tried to get me to leave town before Saturday again.

  Van said the police simply couldn’t exhaust their limited manpower on a dead pigeon and a decapitated rat, no matter how scary they were. Did I want him to spend the night? I said thanks, but Lou was enough if I never left the apartment. Which I wouldn’t, no matter how much Red complained. Neither one of us could wait to get to Paumanok Harbor.

  Janie said if I tried one more processing, my hair could turn to straw. Or it could all fall out.

  Okay, I had pink hair. I’d get used to it, just like I had a day and a half to get used to having a sister. Or a distant cousin, which is what I intended to call Carinne for as long as I could get away with it.

  * * *

  My mother called. “I don’t believe what Lily told me for a second. The jackass never mentioned any missing branch of his family.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know until recently. I’ll find out more when she gets here Saturday.”

  “Find out if he’s passing off one of his chippies as a Royce candidate. I don’t want her in my house.”

  I felt bad for thinking the same when I spoke to my father. “He’s not dating her and she’s not staying at your house. She’ll go to Rosehill, to be near people who can help her.”

  “Lily doesn’t want any loose women at Rosehill either. And don’t let her near your Matt to screw up that relationship, too.”

  Lily didn’t want whatever my mother didn’t want. They must speak to each other three times a day, usually competing over whose children showed less respect and filial devotion. Lily’s daughter lived in New Jersey and seldom came to visit, but she had presented Lily with two grandchildren. My mother never let me forget that.

  “Sorry, Mom, I’m writing now. You know how I hate to be interrupted while the creative juices are flowing well.”

  She sniffed. “I know when I’m being scammed. Do you?”

  All I knew is my mother once got asked to train a standard poodle someone had dyed pink. She tried to have the dog taken away from the owners on a cruelty charge. I did not mention my current color. I did mention the stalkers. “But there is no need for you to come back to the Har
bor sooner than you planned.”

  Not that she’d offered, thank God.

  * * *

  Susan called. “What have you done now?”

  Why was it always my fault? “You’re the one with all the body piercings. If I wanted pink hair, that’s no one’s business but mine.”

  “Who’s talking about pink hair?”

  Oh.

  * * *

  Predictably, Grandma Eve called. I’d expected her lecture sooner. “How could you go off on tangents like this . . . this person when we need you to address the sand problem. And the skin condition.”

  I’d forgotten about that, except when Lou noted how my hair still matched my lip, which had faded some, along with the flaming red curls. I took that as a good sign the rash must be getting better. At least it wasn’t worse, and I hadn’t had a nosebleed recently. I told Grandma Eve.

  “Better? How could it be better when the government sent some nosy female from the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta to survey the entire town? There have been so many reports from so many different sources the CDC took notice.”

  “Can’t you do something about it?”

  “About what? The government, Ms. Garcia, or the rashes?”

  Not even I thought my grandmother could keep the Feds out of Paumanok Harbor if they got a whiff of something weird, dangerous, or profitable. I figured they’d send someone else if this Garcia woman disappeared off the face of the Earth, or started croaking like a frog. That left the rashes. “Can you cure them?”

  “No.” She sounded bitter. Grandma Eve did not like to fail. I guess it ran in the family. “So what I and the council are trying to do is make sure everyone in town has a touch of it, especially the people who weren’t onboard the Nova Pride.”

  “You mean ordinary citizens?”

  “I mean we cannot afford to have the gifted residents singled out, or some snoop inquiring why so many of us were on that ship during a predicted hurricane. Or why we’re the only ones to suffer with the epidemic.”

  “So you’re giving innocent people a skin disease to protect the Harbor’s secrets?”