Fire Works in the Hamptons : A Willow Tate Novel (9781101547649) (30 page)

Creatures. Great and small. Bright and beautiful. Brilliant, Willy, and the vet worked half days on Saturday, like Janie at the hair salon.

“Are the dogs all right?” was the first thing Matt asked when his snippy receptionist eventually put me through to him. “Did Ruskin come back?”

“We're fine right now, but I need help. You said to call—”

“Sure, I'm almost finished here. What can I do? Move a refrigerator? Start the lawn mower? Give you a ride somewhere?”

“It's a little more complicated than that. Do you know the coastal area east of Paumanok Harbor where the drainage ditches are? The tidal marshes?”

“Where they've seen the weird lights?”

“That's the place. I have to get there. Can you take me? We can rent an outboard from Rick's Marina.”

Dogs barked in the background while there was a pause across the phone line. Matt had to be thinking about my request. I figured he'd want to know why, and I had maybe five seconds to decide what to tell him. He didn't ask why, though, just who.

“Uh, what about the fireman?”

That was easy. And honest. “He's investigating a suspicious blaze outside East Hampton.”

“And he's okay with you asking another man to spend the afternoon out in the bay with you?”

Oh, boy, did they ever grow up?

“Listen, Matt, I am not coming on to you or inviting you to a picnic. I need help, that's all.”

His “oh” was filled with disappointment, so I guess I owed him more explanation. “Piet's staying at my house, everyone knows that. He's recovering from some bad burns and helping the volunteers with the recent fire epidemic.”

“So you're not, um, involved with him?”

I guess I owed him an answer to that, too. “We're partners and friends, with no deeper commitment.” Except some deeper kisses. “He'll be leaving as soon as the town is out of danger. Which you can help accomplish.”

“Getting him to leave or stopping that maniac Roy Ruskin? I've got to tell you, I've never been great at hand-to-hand combat.”

“It's not that kind of help. I have a certain chore I can't do by myself. I like you and I trust you, so I'm asking you. Isn't that enough?”

“It's more than enough.”

“Then you'll come with me?”

I let out a deep breath when he said of course he'd come. How soon did I want to go?

“As soon as possible.”

“Uh, I hate to ask, but what are we going to do out there? I need to know what to bring.”

“We're looking for something, but I'm not exactly sure of what. High boots for the swampy parts. A shovel, I guess. Maybe you could bring a medical bag?”

“I never go anywhere without it anyway.”

“Great. Can you meet me at Rick's Marina? I'll rent the boat.” The safest, sturdiest one I could find, with extra life preservers.

“Sure, but I heard the bay was closed in that area. They're not letting anyone go ashore.”

“They'll let me.” Between Elgin and Leonard and Rick, they'd make certain no one stopped me. They didn't care if I dove headfirst into quicksand, as long as I fixed the problem.

“Does this have anything to do with the fires and the out-of-season, off the astronomy charts Northern lights? Or the strange insects I've been hearing about? You're actually going to let me see them?”

“I don't know if they'll be there or where they go in the daytime.” I didn't know if he could see them at all, being a nonsensitive. “I don't know if what we're looking for has anything to do with the burned-out buildings and boats. We have to look, that's all. I have a map, so we won't be wandering around blindly.”

“Let me get this straight. We are going to look for an unknown something in illegal waters, with the chance of getting burned by homicidal bugs? And a map makes it better? I guess what people whisper about you is right.”

Damn. “That I am crazy?”

“No, that you're neck-deep in the peculiar events that keep happening in Paumanok Harbor. Not all of them, because I've heard stories about this place since I got here last year, before you came out in the spring. I never believed half of them.”

“Good, don't. I'll see you at Rick's in half an hour, okay?”

I thought he laughed, but the sound could have been a “hmpf” of frustration. “So I don't get an explanation?”

“It's a long story.”

“One I'm never going to hear? Like how come it never rains on the Fourth of July parade, when it pours on the towns on either side? Or how a plane crashed into a boat, but they never found the plane? Then there's the little boy you made lost posters for. He was found, but disappeared that same night. And that's not to mention the missing colt you also made flyers for, the horse show finale that no one remembers, and the baby everyone was afraid of except you and the fireman.”

“Any chance you can help me without asking questions?”

Now he definitely laughed. “I can try if that's what it takes for you to take me along. I'm definitely going to enjoy this. You'll see; you can trust me.”

And Mayor Applebaum's memory losses.

 

Rick shook his head when I told him I'd asked Matt to go with me.

“He's a good guy and a fine vet. My dog loves him, but he's not one of us.”

“You sound like some exclusive golf club blackballing a new member.”

“Come on, Willy, you know what I mean. He could be dangerous. Think about that reporter.”

“Matt Spenser is not a reporter. He lives here. He has a right to help protect the place.”

“I don't like it.”

“Fine. I'll go by myself. How do I start the boat's motor? And where do I sit to steer?”

Rick greeted Matt like his long-lost brother. And he promised to clear our arrival with the EPA, the DEC, and NOAA if he had to, all the agencies Martin alerted, the bastard. It helped that Matt was a veterinarian, with one undergraduate course in marine biology. “I'll say he's our resident expert.”

“What about me?”

Rick crammed a life vest over my head. “You're the resident nut case. Get out there and fix it.”

Matt didn't comment and he didn't laugh. He took my hand to help me into the boat that looked smaller the closer I got to getting into it. If he felt my hand trembling, he didn't mention that either. He was strong and competent and knew how to run an outboard. Then he asked if I knew how to fix “it” whatever “it” was.

I couldn't fix a split infinitive or a split end half the time. “I'm going to try.”

I was going to try not to get seasick, too. Everyone always told me to look at the shoreline or some other fixed, unmoving object. I couldn't look, not knowing what waited there. Talk about a rock and a hard place. Mal de mer or Mama—not a great choice. So I looked at Matt, who made better scenery anyway. His brown hair waved in the wind and he squinted ahead, then down at the map he held. He constantly checked his gauges, the chop on the water, the other boats in the vicinity, and me. He looked cool, calm, competent, and trustworthy. He'd get us there safely. Maybe home, too.

I managed to wave to Leonard in the Bay Constable's boat. He waved back, then gave us a thumbs up. No one was going to stop us.

Too bad.

The closer we got to the salt marsh, the more anxious I felt. I clutched the side of the boat with one hand, my life preserver with the other, and told myself that my father never mentioned death by drowning or a demon in a ditch, only Saks.

This muddy, reedy, malodorous swampland was definitely not Fifth Avenue. I was safe. Now if my heart believed that, it might stop beating loudly enough to drown out the boat's putt-putt as Matt slowed the engine.

“Come look at the map and see what you think.”

He wanted me to get up from my bench and walk toward him? Now, while the narrow, shallow, tippy boat was rocking? “I'm not real good at maps.”

“I am, but this one isn't matching the shoreline. I counted the cuts where the ditches open to the bay, but I think we missed one. The graph on the map shows them evenly spaced.”

“Just follow your nose.” As we got closer to the shore, the odor got worse. Thank goodness the area was already uninhabitable, and at least a couple of miles away from the nearest homes.

“I know that smell and it is not healthy.”

I handed him a face mask. It didn't help.

“I mean, whatever is making that odor is not in good shape. Are you sure you want to see this?”

I was sure I did not want to be on the same planet as anything that smelled so bad, but I had no choice. “There,” I said, pointing at a higher mound of mud and dirt on the narrow beach. “It looks like that canal caved in. Maybe from all the rain we had this summer.”

The weather mavens had caused a huge two-day storm before the horse show last month, to head off anything that could ruin the fund-raising event. Roads had flooded and trees got uprooted, so the banks of the ditch might have suffered, too. Maybe that's how Mama got stuck, if she swam or flew or simply materialized on the landward side of one of the ditches. The gates between worlds were open then, with the night mares searching for their missing colt. Or Mama could have come with the eldritch thunder and lightning when we rescued the troll's half brother.

The exit back to the sea must have collapsed, maybe on top of her. Now it looked like the grasses had grown over it, making the channel hard to locate. Except for the smell.

I looked at the two puny shovels in the bottom of the boat. This could be a long afternoon.

Matt grounded the boat, tipped the engine up so the propeller didn't get damaged, and hopped out. He didn't care that his pants got wet, or his boots had water in them, or his feet sank in the muck of the shore. Or that I hadn't budged from my seat.

He pulled the boat higher, closer to the vegetation—and the ticks, snakes, and spiders—and reached back to lift out a small anchor. He tossed that into the reeds and pulled back on the line. “She'll hold.”

So would I. To the sides of the boat.

He took out the shovels and his backpack with his medical equipment, laid them on top of the nearest grasses, then took his face mask off. “It's too hot and uncomfortable. You get used to the smell. I don't think it'll kill us.”

I took mine off, too. Death by noxious odor might be preferable to what lay ahead. Before I could figure how to get out of the boat without falling on my face in the slime on the shore, Matt reached over, plucked me out of the boat and set me on relatively dry land next to the shovels.

“You didn't have to do that. I'm too heavy to be lifting that way.”

He grinned. “Hell, the Vogels' basset hound weighs more than you.” He went back for my backpack while I took off the life vest I didn't need anymore. If I fell in a water-filled ditch, I guess Matt could drag me out before I drowned.

“What the hell is in here?” he asked. “It weighs as much as you do.”

“Supplies,” I replied, handing him gloves, a water bottle, and a length of rope I thought might come in handy if we had to tow Mama out to sea or, heaven help us, tie her up. I buckled the now lighter pack on, hefted a shovel in one hand, my trusty hammer in the other, and bravely set out for the mound of overgrown mud where the ditch's opening should be.

Strains of “Onward Christian Soldiers” wafted through my mind, which was better than the “Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho, It's Off to Work We Go” Matt was humming. I looked back. The man was grinning.

His longer stride carried him past me, or else he wanted to be the leader. I didn't care which. He tugged on the brim of my baseball cap. “Thanks for bringing me. This is the best adventure I've had in years.”

“Tell me that after we have to dig the channel open again.”

“Come on, Willy, think positively. Heck, maybe we'll dig up Captain Kidd's missing treasure. Legend has it he buried it somewhere on this coast. Won't that be grand?”

I passed the charred remains of what might have been a seagull, then another burnt carcass. Maybe a rat.

Oh, yeah. Simply grand.

CHAPTER 30

W
E FOUND MAMA.

I puked. And cried. My beautiful seeking bracelet fell off. I took another quick look and puked some more. And cried some more.

She was huge and dead and covered in quivering masses of naked, bloated, obscene grubs. Maggots. Eating her.

This time I threw up without looking, only trying to erase the image from my mind before it got imprinted there for life. My life, not poor Mama's.