by Celia Jerome
“The House? It didn’t just shout at you to go away?”
“No, it sang.”
“Damn, it never sang to anyone else. You really are something.”
“That’s what I said.” Matt pulled me close enough that I could lean against his solid chest. It felt good, despite his slightly damp shirt. He smelled good, too, in a working man, virile way.
Uncle Henry turned to him. “You heard the music, too?”
“And felt the house tremble and laugh.”
“Maybe when this crisis is over, you two can convince the blasted thing to pack up and move off. Till then, I guess we keep looking.”
We all trooped outside, hoping Big Eddie or one of the others had found a clue. We hadn’t heard any shouts from the garage or the guesthouse or the gardener’s cottage in the woods. The ambulance siren hadn’t signaled for us to come, and Big Eddie’s cousin shook his head. No one had called in with good news.
Big Eddie hadn’t found a trace of ocean or beach scent. “If he got here, he didn’t walk.”
“So what’s left?” the judge wanted to know. He opened the passenger door of the chief’s car and got in, leaning back against the seat. He wasn’t used to climbing stairs and poking in hot attics.
I lived in a third-floor, walk-up apartment, but my throat felt as parched as my optimism. I wished I had that ice cream cone Matt promised, or a bottle of water. I wished I hadn’t called out the troops. I leaned against the car and thought. Matt watched me. The chief called the police station to see if they had any more tips.
Big Eddie gave Ranger a drink from the aluminum water bottle he carried. I might have asked for a sip, but Ranger drank straight from the bottle.
“He sure could use a swim,” Big Eddie said. “Me, too, while the good weather holds.”
“Maybe the pool hasn’t been drai— The pool house! We haven’t checked there.”
I started running toward the side of the house where the Olympic-sized pool had another fence of its own, this one not locked. I remembered that the pool chaises all had green cushions, so maybe the cabana had green in it, too.
“We’ll stay here,” Chief Haversmith and the judge decided, “and wait for the others to get back.”
“Maybe I better go with you,” the EMT said, catching up to Matt and me. “As long as the chief stays by the bus.”
“Don’t you need equipment?”
He tapped his head. “Got enough in here for now.”
The pool was empty, the cushions all packed away. The cabana didn’t look occupied. No one answered when we all shouted, “Professor Harmon! Are you there?”
Big Eddie was on our heels, without the dog. “I got something!” He sniffed the air, the ground, the closed sliders to the small cottage. “Montauk mist.”
The glass doors were locked, with curtains pulled across so we couldn’t see in. The single window had its blinds pulled. Matt hammered on the glass while I yelled some more. The paramedic went around to see if there was another entrance, or a window we could open. “Nope. I’ll call Keys.”
“We don’t have time. I know he’s in there!” I looked around for a rock or a loose paving stone. Or a chaise lounge. Before I could drag one over, Big Eddie was there, with Ranger’s water bottle and his gun.
“I sure hope the judge’s warrant covers this, or we’ll be facing a lawsuit.”
“No, I know one of the head honchos at Royce. He owes me.” A phone call, at least. “But don’t use the gun. We don’t know where the professor is.”
Big Eddie told us all to stand back, then used the water bottle. Matt held me protected from flying glass by his body, the big lunk. All we had to do was move another few feet away. I stayed in his arms, though.
The broken glass made enough noise to wake the dead—but not the professor.
Big Eddie climbed through, hurried to open the sliders. We crowded in to the one room. The wicker furniture had been piled up, the pool cushions stacked head-high in one corner. The small refrigerator stood open, unplugged, empty. The wheeled bar cart held nothing but a bottle of bitters and one of grenadine.
No professor.
Matt pushed past me. “There has to be a bathroom here, and at least a shower. That’s what the place is for.”
The door was behind the pile of furniture. Big Eddie flared his nostrils and pumped his fist. “Go!”
I pushed the door open, and nearly fell to my knees. We were too late. Dr. Harmon lay in the bathtub, the way Joe the plumber had described: the life jacket behind his head, unmoving, pale, lifeless. Joe hadn’t mentioned the stench.
Big Eddie rushed out of the bathroom to clear his head. The EMT felt for a pulse. I could have told him not to bother, but Matt started laughing, just as Professor Harmon let out a loud rumbling snore.
I looked closer. At five empty bottles in the tub with the professor, three full ones lined up along the floor.
I guess he found the bar cart.
CHAPTER 26
“HALLO, MISS TATE. I AM DELIGHTED to make your acquaintance at last.”
Dr. Harmon was cleaned up, sobered up, and sitting up, in Grandma Eve’s living room, with a blanket over his knees. She’d insisted he be taken to her house, rather than some hospital room, where he’d only be embarrassed by the attention and harassed by reporters. I wanted to bring him to my mother’s house, but I got overruled.
“Who is going to help him shower? What are you going to feed him? Where are you going to find him clean clothes?” She had the ever resourceful Lou, and a pantry full of healing herbs and comfort food.
But I needed to speak with him, desperately.
“He’ll be better able to hold a conversation in a few hours. Come for dinner. You too, Dr. Spenser.”
“Call me Matt, Mrs. Garland. And thank you, but I cannot. I have company coming tomorrow, and I still have to find sheets for the guest room.”
Before we left Rosehill, Grandma Eve sent me to Cousin Lily’s walk-in linen closet to borrow whatever Matt needed so that we wouldn’t have to go shopping and he could join us for dinner. “You can bring them back laundered. You won’t find half the choices anywhere nearby.”
So while the EMTs worked at ensuring the pickled professor hadn’t suffered anything worse than a hangover before transporting him to my grandmother’s, I raided Rosehill’s stock of umpteen threads-per-square-inch sheets. Not that Matt’s guest deserved them, but Rosehill wouldn’t miss them for a week, and I wanted to save us a trip back to Bridgehampton. I needed a shower and a change of clothes; Matt needed to check on his patients and Peg.
“And Moses. I’ll have even less time to myself after Peg leaves. I forgot how much effort company takes, and a dog. Me who should know better. Moses is a good dog, but he can’t be left to himself all day and night. Right now he has his sisters and Peg and Frankie, but I should be home bonding with him.”
“I’d say that dog is bonded to you like hot glue. But I know what you mean. I can’t leave Little Red too long or he feels abandoned. The other two are content with their blankets and bones as long as they get their dinner on time and an airing in the dog run. Not Red.”
So we waited for Lou and the paramedics to load Dr. Harmon into the Lexus with Grandma Eve for the ride to Garland Drive, with Chief Haversmith and his two cops to help get the passed-out professor into the house. I went with Matt back to the clinic, greeted all three bounding, bouncing, boisterous Newfies, a buoyant Frankie, and, naturally, a blubbering Peg.
She was leaving tomorrow with Maggie, on her way via the cruise ship’s private jet to Nova Scotia, thanks to Frankie’s threats and ultimatums. Frankie volunteered to drive her to Islip-McArthur Airport to meet the jet, on his way home to Westchester to show Mollie her new digs. And find the best vet in the county to keep her happy and healthy. Matt gave him some names.
They invited us to dinner with them, on this last night, and pretended regret when we refused. I kissed everyone good-bye, including the two traveling dogs, in case I didn’t s
ee them in the morning. I kissed Matt and Moses good-bye too. Got licked by the wrong one.
I’d think about that later, when I saw Matt at the farm for dinner.
I walked and fed the dogs, took a quick shower, scrambled into a pretty floral top and floaty skirt—for the professor’s sake, of course. With pebbles in my sandals and no time to blow-dry my hair smooth, I trotted up the dirt road. I wanted to get to the farm early, to speak with the professor. Matt deserved to hear his story, too, but I couldn’t wait.
Dr. Harmon’s color looked good, and his hand, though gnarled and veiny, felt strong when he held it out to take mine. Grandma Eve stayed in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled so delicious my stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything since the breakfast quiche. Lou brought out a platter of cheese and crackers and grapes, with a pitcher of iced tea.
“Thank you, my good man,” the professor said. “I do not know what I would have done without you.” He fingered the white button-down shirt he wore—which was far too big on his narrow frame—and the dark striped silk tie. He had on the same gray slacks, all washed and pressed, that he’d had on earlier, and brand-new, wooly-lined moccasins that I remembered giving to my grandmother last Christmas. He was also freshly shaved, and the fringe of silver hair lay smooth against his scalp. Even his shaggy eyebrows were less unruly.
Grandma Eve was right, as usual. I couldn’t have provided for our guest half so well. The best I could do was spread cheese on a cracker for him.
Lou nodded his head. “Seeing you well has been my pleasure, sir.” I noticed he did not offer either of us wine before he left us alone. I thanked him, and meant it, both for taking care of the professor and for giving us some privacy.
“Seeing you up and about is my pleasure, also, sir. I am delighted to meet you, too. Do you feel well enough to talk?”
“Fine, fine, dear girl. Your grandmother’s tea was just what I needed.”
“But did she give you something to eat? You must have been starving.”
“Oh, no. I had a pocket full of biscuits from the ship’s dining room that I was saving for later. Then I found a tin of peanuts with the liquors. Quite salty, but I had enough liquid to quench my thirst.” His blue eyes twinkled at remembering how he’d spent his time and stayed hydrated. “And your grandmother insists on bringing me delicacies every hour.”
“Peanuts and some biscuits were all you had to eat since Thursday night?” Here I was, scarfing down grapes and cheese because I’d missed lunch. “Please, have another cracker.”
I poured the iced tea. “If you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you leave the cabana? There were people working on the grounds, and phones and food and beds at the big house.”
“I am sorry, my dear, that you had to worry, but you see, I am not very brave.”
“You? You faced the sea serpent!”
“Ah, that was necessity, to try to save the ship and its passengers. My destiny, I suppose. But later? On dry land? I had no idea what waited outside the glass doors. My glasses were lost, you see—the formidable Lou found these for me; things are a bit blurry, but I can see how lovely you are—and I had no idea where I was, or that another building was as near as you say. I thought I might be held prisoner, so I waited for my captors to come demand ransom or some such. Or for you.”
“You knew I’d come.”
That was not a question, no more than my knowing that locating Dr. Harmon was my responsibility. “I apologize for taking so long, but we did not discover you were missing until everyone else was accounted for.”
“I understand, my dear. Do not apologize. At least you arrived before the alcohol ran out. I don’t know what I would have done then. Dutch courage, you know.”
“I still say you are the bravest man I know. Can you tell me what happened on the ship? You must be weary of retelling the story by now, but I’d really like to know.”
He finished his cracker and shook his head no, no more. “Oh, I haven’t told anyone. It’s for your ears only, my dear. I’ve told your grandmother I cannot remember how I got to that cottage, which is mostly true. I think I must have fainted at one point from the shock of the events.” He had the sweetest smile, and his eyes lit with merriment again. “Drowning can have that effect on a body, you know.”
“Half the people in this village will know if you tell a lie.”
“As would half those at Royce. But we never speak of what so few know for certain.”
“Unity.”
He sighed. “Unity, our parallel universe where magic reigns. Which does not appear to be as united and pacific as we supposed.”
I contemplated another slice of cheese. “The gods are angry.”
“So it seems. But, Miss Tate, I have read your books and know you understand.”
“You have?” I felt honored, overwhelmed that such an eminent scholar read my books. “I cannot believe you even came upon them.”
“Of course I did, as soon as his grace informed me of your abilities.”
“His grace?”
“The Duke of Royce. There is one, you know. Half-brother kinship to my own family. Of course they have been elevated to a dukedom by now, thank goodness. Or else my line might be forced to hold the world together.”
There was that smile again.
“He keeps his eye on all the comings and goings of both realms. We were both sorry about Thaddeus, Viscount Grantham, that is. We’d hoped to lure you to England as his bride.” He waved his hand in the air. “I know, two old men should know better than to plot others’ lives. What will be, will be. But to get back to your books, I found them delightful, exciting and mostly true to what I have seen.”
“I didn’t understand, at first. I thought I made everything up.”
“Oh, you did. You never went to Unity, never had a conversation with one of its people, not when you wrote your early works. You had—and have—a vivid imagination that tapped into your burgeoning power, plus the atavistic memories we all carry in our subconscious of when the spheres shared a common world.”
I brushed at my eyes, to get rid of the dampness. “You cannot know how much your words mean to me. I feared I was a mere stenographer, scribbling down what others dictated.”
He patted my hand. “Never, my dear, you are an artist!”
Damn, I was turning into Peg. I used one of Grandma Eve’s linen napkins to wipe away my tears of pride and happiness and relief. “You know, I have read your books, too.”
“Mine? I have no books, my dear. I’ve never published my childish stories. Think how that would look to the academic world, a scholar penning silly fairy tales. They were merely teaching tools for my students, to open their minds to creativity and imagination. I never found one half as talented as you.”
Which kind of talent did he mean? I wondered, but this conversation was not about me. “You did not publish them under your name, no. But, you see, we have an amazing librarian here. She kept giving me books about mythological realms. I glanced at one called A Bestiary of Fabulous Beings. By an Everett James, and could not put it down. You, sir, happen to be James Everett Harmon.”
“Ah, vanity. All is vanity, no? I could not let my children molder away in some dank corner of the university library with the rest of my lecture notes.”
“You should claim them! Let them thrill other readers the way they thrilled me last night. Your books are truly brilliant, sir, and special. I could almost see the creatures through your eyes.”
“Ah, I have seen remarkable beings, haven’t I? Such colors, such sounds, such grace of movement—with scores of new species. There is a world of wonder, my dear, that we are fortunate to see, you and I.”
I didn’t know how lucky we were to face sea monsters, but yes, I felt blessed. Sometimes. “Of course I cannot see as much as you. I cannot go there.”
“But you can speak with those who come here.”
“Only when they speak to me.”
“I envy you.”
&n
bsp; I envied him. I think. I had another grape. Or five.
He went on: “I had to put the marvels onto paper. I simply had to.”
“I understand how it is with the need to write, even if no one sees your work.”
“Exactly. If I had your talent with a brush, I might have tried to paint what I carried in my mind, still hiding the connection to a fusty old retired dean, of course.”
I didn’t tell him I used markers and the computer. “Yes, it’s hard to describe colors in words. Especially colors that change and vibrate and transmit feelings of joy and good will. I doubt any artist could capture all that.”
“Perhaps we should collaborate some day.”
“I would be honored, if we get through this situation.”
“A bit of a pother, isn’t it?”
“You tell me. I believe you have faced the serpent before.”
“But it is stronger, angrier. I never could send it back whence it came.”
“It’s been banished here, so it cannot return to Unity.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Yet it stayed quiescent for decades after I confronted it. Now?” He shrugged inside Lou’s shirt. “I cannot communicate with the Others as you can.”
“It’s the pictures. I try to draw a picture in my mind, and they can see it sometimes. I cannot speak their language either.”
“I doubt any of us can because it is so complicated and so much of it is telepathic. Although your young man tries.”
“Grant is not my anything. He does not even return my calls.”
“Oh, did you expect the telephone to work from the International space station? I doubt it works that way.”
“He’s in outer space?”
“Yes, but that is very hush-hush. We are trying to see if anyone—anything—has been tampering with the ozone levels. And the lines of power, although not even the Russians know that part of his mission.”
Good grief, I’d be a space widow if we’d married. I’d live in a state of anxiety glued to the TV or waiting for the phone call from NASA. Or the mental message from who-knows-what kind of official. I could live with occasional jealousy. Not constant panic. “Does he ever miss an opportunity to put his life in danger?”