Sand Witches in the Hamptons (9781101597385) (10 page)

“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?

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

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 Harbor 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?”

“No one dies of the itch.” She sniffed. That ran in my family, too. “Or would you have the place overrun with ghost hunters, UFO trackers, and paranormal fanatics? And more government acronyms than anyone can keep track of? Or maybe you'd like to be interrogated about your own recent activities? I'm sure some obscure congressional committee would be interested in trolls and night mares and sea gods.”

Gulp. “So how do you give people the rash?”

“I am not poisoning anyone, if that's what you're thinking. We're merely exposing as many people as we can to your sand. We've had sand castle contests for the children, sand-candle making at the senior center, a beach clean up, on what beach there is.”

“What's the epidemic lady think about that?

“That we're all crazy, what else? At least now, if she can trace the condition to the sand, it won't be just us.”

“Um, I don't think you've thought this through enough. What if the government and Ms. Garcia decide the sand is the cause, so it's some kind of health hazard? They'll shut the beaches, for one. And truck away the sand, for another. There goes the tourist season next year, on either count. Worse, heaven knows what the Andanstans will do if someone spreads chemicals on the beach or carts off the top three feet of sand.”

“That's irrelevant. No one new is getting hives or itches or any kind of dermatitis.”

“I think it's tied to the blood and being at the scene of the tidal wave. I get the feeling the Andanstans are mad at us.”

“But we didn't blow up any sandbars! The Coast Guard from Montauk did. Why aren't they getting suspicious rashes?”

“They didn't ask for help. We did.”

“You did, you mean.”

“Yes, to save all those lives, and then to get rid of the tornado-tsunami. Which would have wiped out the whole village.”

She cleared her throat, in acknowledgment of my necessary contribution, I suppose. “So what do you suggest we do?” she asked. “From your comfortable little nest miles away?”

“I'll be there Saturday, I swear. And I'll try to talk to them.” Shit, now I had to talk to sand? “Or find Oey to talk for me.”

“I'll make that squash soup you like so much.”

Maybe she had a heart after all.

* * *

Matt called. How would I like to come to dinner Saturday night? He thought he'd take his former wife and me and my guest from the train station to dinner at the Breakaway.

I'd like that about as much as I'd like to have my hair fall out.

I told him I thought dinner among strangers, with a young wait staff, might be too much for Carinne for her first day in the Harbor. Besides, she was staying with the professor. Jimmie'd arrange something with Lily, for sure. And Grandma Eve was expecting me.

But the ex wanted to meet me.

With pink hair and a pink rash and a peculiar relative? I'm sure she would.

He'd told her all about me. “She sounded happy for both of us.”

Then she was a better man than I, Gunga Din. “I hope you didn't tell her too much, like all the stuff no one is supposed to know.”

“Of course not. I had to tell her about the shipwreck—she heard all about it in the news—to explain how I got Moses. Just your ordinary sea rescue, right?”

I knew I could trust him. And the secret council's threats to wipe out his memory.

“I miss you.”

“Me, too.”

“Soon.”

“Uh, Marion's decided to stay another day. To avoid the weekend traffic.”

I thought I could trust him. Now I wasn't so sure.

* * *

Mr. Rashmanjari called. Uh-oh again.

He merely wanted to reassure me that Nonna Maria had a good night, with no pain or problems, and they were all delighted to have her, except what should they do about church?

I told him to find a Mass on TV. I know Mrs. Abbottini tuned in sometimes when the roads were too icy or snowy. “Unless that offends you?”

It didn't, bless his tolerant heart.

* * *

Half an hour later, Antony Abbottini called, not quite as tolerant. “Those damned foreigners have brainwashed my mother. She won't come home with me.”

Let's see. They waited on her hand and foot, showed her respect and affection, gave her the coveted front bedroom, and let her pray to whatever god she chose.

“Gee, Antony, I wouldn't take it personally. Your mother's at home here in the apartment. And they're taking such good care of her, making her feel important to them.”

“She says the food is better than my wife's cooking and the children are better behaved.”

Okay, he could take that personally. “It's just the pain meds talking. I bet she'll want to come visit when she feels better.”

Or when Antony moved into a mansion with a guest house, servants, and a view.

* * *

The bright spot of the delay in leaving the city was that Deni did not call, come, or leave any more messages. Reinforcements did arrive from DUE, though, so I felt safer anyway.

I knew a couple of the agents from when they patrolled Paumanok Harbor. Kenneth was a precog; Colin had extraordinary eyesight and weapons skills. Together, they'd keep the whole block safe. Together, they made a great couple.

And they loved my hair. According to Kenneth, bright streaks and happy color hair weavings were all the rage. Maybe I'd take the fad a step farther.

Of course, Kenneth's hair stood up in magenta spikes. Colin had a blue Mohawk. They might be the best security a girl could want, but maybe they didn't have the best taste.

But I was in fashion. The second Rashmanjari daughter adored my hair, too, when I went to visit. She wished she could dye her hair like mine, but her father said he'd disown her. The next time I checked on Mrs. Abbottini, the girl had one long pink hair extension, the kind they handed out for breast cancer awareness month. It looked nice with her dark hair, slightly swarthy skin, and the pink sweatshirt she wore. I wanted to borrow the sweatshirt to match my hair. It had a hood.

Mrs. Abbottini clucked her tongue, shook her head, and went back to explaining the ground rule double to one of the younger boys.

* * *

Late Friday night a strange cell phone number showed up on my caller ID. Lou nodded for me to pick up; he was listening.

. . . To Carinne, weeping. She was on the train, in a tiny compartment with all her baggage, afraid to order supper because the server might be younger than her.

Her voice was low, tremulous, sad. I guess mine would be, too, leaving my home for who-knew-what.

“Is it okay for me to come? I know you'd do anything for Uncle Sam.”

No, I wouldn't join the army— “Oh, you mean my father.” No one called him anything but Tate, or Jackass, as long as I could remember. “Uh, our father.”

“I'm so sorry,” she said on a sob. “That's what I call him. Harry O'Dell was my father. I know Sam asked and you couldn't say no. But I don't want to come where I'm not wanted. My own mother asked me to leave. I was embarrassing her in front of her friends at the nursing home. I can't help it. I see things, and I have to say what I see, or the voices shout in my head until I think my skull will split with the pounding to get out.”

“No, it's fine.”

“But I don't have to come, Willow. Truly.”

“You have other choices? Dad, ah, Sam didn't mention any.”

“I can get off the train in Washington, DC. I have some money. I can get a room, maybe look for a job.”

While she acted crazy? What kind of job could she get without references? That plan sounded like one of my nightmares: being lost in a strange city, money running out, no friends, no family, no job. And aberrations.

Her voice grew thready, scared. “I can stay inside.”

“Forever?” She couldn't even go to the dinner car on the train. “No, this is the place for you. Not this place, Manhattan, but Paumanok Harbor. You'll see. And maybe you won't hear all the voices or the warnings. Some scumbag tried to hypnotize a bunch of espers last month to take over the town. It wouldn't work.”

“Really?” Hope blossomed in the word. “Why?”

“No one is sure. Maybe protection comes with the talent. But you can't count on it. A psychic diagnostician could read my cousin's health, the mayor can wipe out memories in ordinary citizens and psychics both, and the truth-seers aren't stopped by anything or anybody. Remember that.”

“Yes, Un—Sam warned me. But you might be immune to me?”

“We can keep our fingers crossed. But, if not, we've got a precog coming to Paumanok Harbor with us. He'll help. And Professor Harmon knows everything about talent and training.” Unless the elderly gentleman had forgotten.

“Do you think they can get rid of the voices?”

“I don't know.” I was pretty sure Lou could, if he saw Carinne as a threat. I decided instantly that I'd protect her from him, no matter what. The foretelling was part of her. No one had the right to wipe away her talent, and what made her special. “But it doesn't matter. We need you here. We need all the psychics we can get to help solve bigger problems, like saving the entire village. I'll explain on the ride home.”