Sand Witches in the Hamptons (9781101597385) (9 page)

“I've got that covered. I've reserved a compartment on a train with a sleeping car. They'll bring her meals and she won't have to see anyone.”

“That sounds great. Maybe next week, if this mess with Deni gets straightened out.”

“Carinne's train gets into Penn Station the day after tomorrow. I told her you'd meet her there.”

Oh, boy.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

I
had dread. And hair dye.

How was I supposed to handle this? I wasn't worried about the paranormal parts, not with the pros in Paumanok Harbor. They'd teach her control, like someone had taught Connor Redstone, the Native American who could diagnose mortal illnesses without being able to cure them. Carinne had to suffer the same agonies and frustrations, besides the voices in her head.

And getting a loony through Penn Station didn't faze me. Half the people who hung out there would have been hospitalized a couple of decades ago.

But how could I manage the personal side, bringing a stranger who looked like me to the Harbor? Or getting Carinne past my mother, without humiliating Mom in her hometown? Or letting my mother vent her anger at Carinne, who hadn't committed any crime? I'd guess she was the victim in all this, except she had a mother and father who loved her and stayed together for most of her life, and she also had my father's love and money.

The first thing I did after taking a shower to wash away the nervous sweat from my conversation with my father was Google Carinne O'Dell. She had citations for journal articles, speeches at colleges, appearances at conferences for school psychologists. And—aha!—she had a website.

The site included an impressive résumé and a discreet mention that Ms. O'Dell was now available for private counseling in career management and life.

A photograph accompanied the bio. I studied it carefully, and my dread morphed into despair. She had a narrow face with a straight nose like mine, sandy blonde hair cut short like mine, and big blue eyes. Like mine.

Crap, I never counseled anyone about anything, yet here I was, looking for a job as a life coach. Any thoughts of passing Carinne off as a friend from college, as a chance-met train-station stranger, as an anonymous person in need, just evaporated.

She could have been my twin. A little older, a little thinner, hair smooth where mine wanted to frizz. Maybe she had it straightened. She looked serious, but maybe because she was looking for a job. Or thinking she was a nut job.

The second thing I did after my shower—I needed another one already—was pull apart the cabinet under my bathroom sink. Somewhere I had a box of hair color from years ago, when I felt dull and dreary. My books hadn't caught on, the men I dated were losers, and my hair made dirty dishwater look appealing. I'd decided to become a redhead, or a strawberry blonde at the least, to add spice to my blah existence, to change my appearance and, hopefully, my life.

I chickened out and took a karate course instead.

I did it now, before I had second thoughts. I was
not
going to parade around Paumanok Harbor as part of a surprise twinhood. Or the butter-stamp sister of an illegitimate sibling.

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 it 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.