Sand Witches in the Hamptons (9781101597385) (7 page)

“My oldest daughter is away at college. Harvard,” he said.

“How wonderful, you must be proud.”

“And my oldest son and his wife and children moved to New Jersey where they have a backyard.”

“Great for the kids. But . . .”

He held his hand up and smiled. “And my esteemed mother-in-law returned to India last week.”

Ah. Maybe that's why it seemed quieter. But Mrs. Abbottini and the Rashmanjaris? I was ashamed I didn't know much about my new neighbors, their religion, their ways. That shame was nothing to getting my old neighbor hurt by someone with a grudge against me. What I did know was that with Mrs. Abbottini's narrow mind and ungoverned tongue, she could start a range war right here on the East Side, by God.

“We would be honored to have Nonna Maria to stay with us. That means grandmother in Italian. She taught us.”

Nonna Maria? I'd known her forever and she never said to call her anything but Mrs. Abbottini. “You know her?”

“Of course. She passes every day for church. Such a devout woman is much respected. My youngest son helps carry her groceries and takes her garbage out. My third daughter learns to knit from her.”

I never knew that either. “But the imposition . . .”

“She can help my wife learn English and teach my sons about Yankee baseball. And show my second daughter how to cook American.”

American-Italian. “But she's used to having a room of her own.”

“Of course. Nonna Maria can have the very valuable front room, where my esteemed mother-in-law stayed. We have already prepared it for an honored guest.”

“Did you say the front room?” Supported by Harris, Mrs. Abbottini showed more life than I'd seen in years.

“It might be noisy, so close to the road.”

Mr. Rashmanjari was already directing Lou, Harris, and the old lady to the room, which had
two
windows facing the street. They had security bars on them, but nice curving ones, and window boxes planted with fall chrysanthemums. The room was small but clean, with a flat-screen TV.

Mrs. Abbottini had tears in her eyes. “I accept, with pleasure. Temporarily, of course. The doctor said a week.”

Mr. Rashmanjari bowed. “Of course.”

Except I doubted she'd give up that front view, if she didn't insult the family into throwing her out. I was already wondering if I could get my mother to sublet Mrs. Abbottini's rooms on the third floor when she came for her TV show, so I wouldn't have to move or share my apartment with her.

Too soon and too much to hope for. I went upstairs to find Mrs. Abbottini's nightgowns and pills and spare glasses. One of the Rashmanjari girls followed me to help carry some of her clothes and her jewelry box.

Then Nonna Maria wanted me to fetch the eggplant parmigiana from her freezer, so she wouldn't feel so beholden. “And the olives and the bowl of antipasto.”

I didn't know what dietary rules the family followed, but they could work that out themselves.

I found her address book and called one of her sons before I went back down the stairs that seemed steeper and longer with every trip. I found a listing for Antony at work, the one who used to shove things up his nose. He didn't show his love by visiting, but let him find the scum who knocked down his mother, he swore, and the bastard'd be a stain on the street.

“The police are looking. But the reason I'm calling is that your mother is staying with the first-floor neighbors for now, the Rashmanjaris. She couldn't manage the stairs, and I have to leave.”

I waited for Antony to make some comment about foreigners, but all he said was he'd been begging her to come stay with his family for years. Maybe now she would.

I doubted it, knowing what she thought of Antony's wife and unruly children. I gave him the phone number, my cell phone, and he said he'd come by in the morning to try to convince his mother to move.

“If she's staying with a frigging family, it should be her own.”

They'd have to work that out, too.

* * *

I'd never had breakfast or lunch. I thought about going to the sandwich shop on the corner, until I remembered Deni and the delivery kid. Luckily, I also remembered seeing some baked ziti in Mrs. Abbottini's refrigerator.

Lou was already heating it up in her microwave. “I'll stay here tonight, with the door open. Harris will hang out in the vestibule, and I've got a guy watching the alley. Van sent a copy of the fingerprints, so my people will work on them and the Internet stuff. I'll drive you to the Harbor tomorrow.”

Ding went the microwave. Lou's dinner was ready, end of discussion.

What could I say? “Great. Thanks.”

I had a bowl of cereal.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

I
had the offer of a ride. With an off-putting, old-time Rambo.

Going out to Paumanok Harbor with Lou in the silver sedan had to be better than taking a bus with the dog and all my stuff: faster, cheaper, with a lot fewer hassles. If I had to take Mrs. Abbottini after all, if she forgot about having a view of the street and remembered her picky prejudices, a private car was the only way to go. But Lou's?

He'd want better explanations, which I did not have. And he'd want to know my plans for dealing with the issues, which I did not have. What if I had another nosebleed, which he wouldn't want on his leather seats? Would he shoot me or leave me on the side of the Long Island Expressway?

Even if I did not mess up his car—or if Little Red did not—we'd have nothing to talk about during a three-hour car ride, nothing I wanted to hear or say, anyway.

That was for tomorrow. We both knew I had to stay in Manhattan tonight to make sure Mrs. Abbottini stayed with the Rashmanjaris, or left with her son in the morning. If I had to remain here, with two crazy kids coming after me and my dog, I guess I was happy Lou was across the hall.

For now, I had about fifty phone messages to answer, a lot from the same people. When they couldn't get me on my cell, they tried the apartment land line, or vice versa. I made a list while I ate my cereal.

My father sounded anxious in his first three messages. Annoyed in the next two. Furious in the ones I stopped tallying. Every half hour since nine this morning. Hadn't I promised to be home today? Didn't I understand how important this was to him and his friend?

Susan told me Matt would meet my bus instead of her. Later, she got aggravated when he called her to say I wasn't on the damned bus, had she gotten the schedule wrong. “What the hell have you done now, Willy? And why am I in the middle of it again? Call me. No, call Matt.”

Matt's first message was just what I'd wanted. He regretted any harsh words between us, knew we could work things out. He'd been upset, that's all, that I was in danger, that I had problems he couldn't solve for me, that we were so far apart. His second said he'd meet me in Amagansett at the Jitney stop, take me for lunch at one of the clam bars along the Nappeague stretch headed to Montauk, where they had outdoor seating for us and Little Red. His new receptionist had almost quit when he asked her to juggle six appointments so he could spend time with me, but he had three hours free. We could plan our getaway vacation for November.

His third call, to my cell from his cell, asked if I missed the bus, and should he wait for the next one? His receptionist could move two more appointments. Why hadn't I called, though? If I was too mad at him to go for lunch, I should say so, so he could reschedule his patients.

His fourth call sounded frantic. Had something happened to me? Why didn't I answer the phone? Where was I?

Damn. I never knew he knew what bus, so how could I know he'd be waiting and worrying? That was Susan's fault, not mine.

I waded through more messages, and added raisins and cookie crumbs to my cereal before calling him back.

I barely recognized Professor Harmon's voice, it was so raspy. Between coughs, he wanted to know where I was and why I hadn't called yet to discuss my new thoughts about his Andanstans. Jimmie and the housekeeper, my mother's cousin Lily, had planned a lovely tea for us on his deck as soon as he heard I'd be returning to the Harbor.

Lily snarled that she'd spent the morning baking and cutting crusts off bread for the stupid tea sandwiches, happy to see the professor looking forward to a meal. How could I simply not show up?

My grandmother was her usual surly self. First I'd disappointed Jimmie, upset Lily, put Susan in an awkward position with
my
gentleman friend (heaven forfend Susan's feathers got ruffled, while mine could be plucked out at the roots) and missed the emergency meeting she'd called for me to address the Paumanok Harbor special council between lunch with Matt and tea with the professor. We'd have dinner at her place later. Her second message complained that the least I could do was return the calls.

Mrs. Terwilliger at the Paumanok Harbor Library reminded me that I had a book waiting for me at the front desk. If I did not intend to come take it out, she would have to give other patrons the opportunity.

I hadn't ordered any books. Mrs. Terwilliger always selected what she thought people should read. For that matter, I never arranged for Matt to pick me up, to have tea with the professor, or to attend any of my grandmother's secret council meetings, or dinners. The fact that everyone else had plans for me, my life, even my reading material, was beginning to rub me the wrong way. Deni and her delivery boy were bad enough. I ate the rest of the cookie crumbs with a spoon while I listened to more unhappy voices.

Matt's new receptionist did walk out when he asked her to rebook the missed appointments. And three customers threatened to take their pets to another vet. If he didn't hear from me soon, he'd call the police.

My father, again. He'd dreamed of gossip and slander and double-crossing. He never expected his own daughter to be the one backstabbing.

And again, Dad on the other phone. How could I do this to him? The damned Irish tenor kept singing in his head, and I couldn't bother calling him?

My publisher left a message about the cover. If they couldn't have a mermaid, how did I feel about a girlfriend for the pet store owner?

I felt they should stop trying to make my book something it wasn't. The goddamn hero had a goddamn parrot for companion, not Lois Lane.

My dentist's office called, reminding me about my appointment tomorrow, which I'd meant to cancel as soon as they opened this morning, before Mrs. Abbottini got mugged.

Two friends wanted to get together in the city this weekend for a film festival. It sounded great. Paumanok Harbor didn't even have a movie theater of its own.

Another friend wondered when I was going out to the Hamptons. Any chance she could come along? It sounded like all the hunky men gravitated there. I'd had more than my fair share, from what she'd heard.

Not on your life, sister. I made a mental note to keep that huntress two hundred miles away from Matt.

Of course, my mother added her two cents. She didn't know what was going on, but I seemed to be upsetting a lot of people, from the six phone calls she'd received.

“Even your father called, the jackass. As if I know where you are every minute of every day. The old fool spouted his usual gibberish about a rat and a horse and an Irishman. At first I thought he was starting a really bad joke, then he added crap about a knife in the back.” She sniffed in disgust. “And what's this about an angry fan calling you? It's still my name in the phone book, right? Are you certain it wasn't one of my readers? Do not offend the paying public, Willy.”

Sure, Mom, it had to be about you, didn't it? You want Deni? You can have her. Maybe my mother's skills at training difficult dogs could carry over to a nasty, aggressive kid.

As if I'd conjured her up, Deni's high-pitched voice screeched out the next message: “I'm sorry I didn't knock the old lady's teeth out. Maybe next time.”

Which made no sense at all. She wasn't the one to push Mrs. Abbottini down, the messenger was.

I called Lou to tell him about the message. He already knew, from the tap he had on the line.

“Is that legal? I didn't sign any papers or give my permission.”

“You want to catch the bastards or not? And I called your grandmother and told her about Mrs. Abbottini so she stops worrying.”

“Grandma Eve worried about me? Hah. She was pissed I'd missed her meeting, which I incidentally did not know about.”

“That's her way of worrying. She said she'd call Susan and Lily, the professor, and your mother, but you better get to your father.”

“It can't be all that important, or he would have told me last night. It's something about a favor for a friend.”

I guess Lou hadn't put a bug on my cell phone because he didn't mention Matt. Deni never had that number, thank God, so Lou had no reason to screen those calls. I made a note to myself to buy a cheap prepaid phone so I'd have some privacy, somewhere.

I called Matt first. He had two minutes between irritated patients—the owners, not the pets—so I hurried to explain about Mrs. Abbottini, how I'd spent all day in the hospital where cell phones were not allowed, and how I couldn't leave her to go outside or find a pay phone. Then what with bringing her home and getting her settled, this was the first chance I had to call. And I did not know Susan had asked him to pick me up at the bus stop, so why would I call him?

“She'll be all right?”

“Susan? Not once I get my hands on her.”

“Your neighbor.”

“Oh, yes, unless she starts a diplomatic incident. And Lou is going to drive me out tomorrow. He's in her apartment right now, keeping me safe by listening to my phone calls and organizing my life like everyone else.”

“Then I guess I won't ask what you're wearing.”

I looked down at the crumbs on my sweatpants, the dog hair on my ragged old men's shirt. “Not a good idea.”

“I'm worried.”

“Yeah. Me, too. I'll be glad to get out of here. I'm sorry I missed the lunch. Steamers would have been nice.”

“Steamy sex would be better.”

“Can't we do both?”

“Ask Lou.”

I went across the hall. “I do not want you listening to my calls.”

“We're screening, not listening. The tap lets us know who the calls come from, and the numbers. We only listen to the unknowns, like your dentist. Better call. They charge if you don't show up. Your fan doesn't stay on long enough to get a trace going.” He growled. “Damn cop shows. Now everyone's an expert criminal.”

I went back to my apartment, found a freezer-burned fudgesicle behind the ice cube tray, and called my father.

He started ranting before I said hello.

“Finally you call? Finally?”

I tried to explain about cell phones in the hospital and Mrs. Abbottini and the mugger, without saying I never once thought about him.

He didn't listen. “I worry about you all the time, try to keep you safe, warn you away from danger, and all I ask is one little favor. You can't be there for me, when you said you would?”

“I'm here now, Dad.”

“It might be too late, after I sat by the phone all day, waiting for your call.”

“You had your cell. You could have been between tennis matches, for all I knew.”

“No, I said I'd call this morning, so I canceled. For nothing.”

Now I got as angry as he was. I'd spent the day with people coughing and bleeding and moaning and trying to avoid me, with the rash on my lip. Now I was stuck here for another day while I waited for Antony Abbottini while Bonnie and Clyde plotted to steal my peace of mind and my apartment keys. I had Lou next door, and everyone else in the world, it seemed, telling me what to do, where to go. Fix this, solve that, don't let us down, again, Willy.

Enough.

So I ranted right back. How my father could have given up his golf game yesterday, skipped dinner with his latest Lucille last night, and stayed in his own condo in his own bed for a change, to talk to me. I was in all last night, and could have talked to him then. Today I'd spent the entire day at the hospital, if he cared, with nothing to eat but guilt-bile and crap from the vending machines. My dog had missed the pee-pee pads, by two rooms, and used my slippers as a potty. My boyfriend threw a fit because I missed a bus, and my grandmother thinks I can stop beach erosion single-handedly. So what was his damn emergency?

I never yelled at my father. He must have been shocked, by the silence at the other end of the line. “I'm sorry, Dad. It's been a dreadful day.”

“I'm sorry, too, baby girl. You're right. I should have stayed home and worked this out while I had the chance yesterday. And I am sorry about Mrs. Abbottini, even if she is an old bat. And your slippers. But I've been so upset by all this. And I hate having to involve you, so I put it off as long as I could. It's about Shirley's daughter.”

I never heard of any Shirley. “Another of your chippies?” That's what my mother called his heart attacks in high heels. “That is, your lady friends?”

“Stop sounding like your mother. Shirley is a friend, all right? I've known her for years.”

“Okay. So what's her problem?”

“They're going to commit her daughter, Carinne, for psychiatric evaluation, involuntarily, if I can't get her help.”

Oh, shit. “From me?”

“You and your friends at Royce. She hears voices.”

Double shit. “Like your mother did? Those kind of voices?” The voices weren't caused by psychosis or a chemical imbalance in the brain, but breaches in the gates between worlds, between us and the beings of Unity. I know that now, but when I was a kid, I thought I had two crazy grandmothers, not just the witch. I always worried I'd go bonkers like my father's mother.

Dad took his mother to Royce Institute, where she died, at peace, he always said. They were used to things like that, at Royce. What they couldn't cure they accepted as normal, special even, worthy of study.

“How weird is it that she has the same, ah, trait—not a gift, surely, if this girl is to be locked away—as your mother.”

“Carinne's not a girl. She's two years older than you are. And it's, um, not that uncommon a problem. She has other talents, practical magic, a kind of career foretelling. But it's the voices that drive her crazy with headaches. She yells at them to leave her alone, which is why people think she's gone off the deep end. A danger to herself and others, they say. They'll fill her with dope and lock her away. She's already lost her job and her friends.”