Murder and Mischief in the Hamptons

by T. L. Ingham

Chapter Nine

  "Pia!" I shrieked. I would have jumped out of the bed, but the way I was feeling, moving, let alone jumping, was entirely out of the question.

  Cecilia laughed, "That's right, girl, call yo momma! A lot a good that'll do ya!"

  "She's not my mother!" I yelled just before calling for Pia again.

  "What is it, dear?" Pia came rushing into the room. "They can hear you in Manhattan the way you're screaming!"

  "She's here! She's here!"

  "Who's here?"

  "Cecilia!" Gloria came rushing into the room.

  "Cecilia," I repeated, though Pia didn't know that.

  "Oh dear, maybe I should call Olivia."

  Gloria flew over to Cecilia and began poking her in- or rather through- the chest. "Listen here you nineteen-seventies reject! I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to let it go! This girl's been through enough right now! She nearly died the other day and she doesn't need you hounding her! So you can just haul your hash-brownie eating, psychedelic rainbow, banshee butt out of here, or you'll have me to tangle with! And I can tell you right now, I've dealt with a lot worse than you! I slept with Donald Trump!"

  I'm not sure what astounded me more. The fact that Gloria had jumped to my defense, or the fact that- wait- what?! "You slept with Donald Trump?"

  Gloria cast a glance back at me. "I'm not proud of that."

  I shook my head. "Jean-Luc is beginning to make more sense now."

  "Are you done?" she glared at me.

  "Oh, yes," I fluttered my hands at where she was still standing with her index finger speared through the center of Cecilia's chest. "Please, do go on. Don't let me interrupt you."

  "Thank you." Turning back to Cecilia, Gloria continued, "Whatever your problem is, I don't want to revisit it anytime soon. Reid came too close to our side the other day, and you know how much this sucks! If you can't squeeze at least an ounce of compassion out of your sorry soul then at least consider this. What will death be like with Reid on this side of the curtain gunning for you all of the time?" With that, she suddenly thrust her hand forward and twisted it inside- literally inside- Cecilia's chest. The expression Cecilia made was not necessarily one of pain, but certainly one of extreme discomfort.

  Almost instantly, Cecilia disappeared out of the room, taking the glass out of a few of the wall hangings with her. Whatever Gloria had done, it had worked.

  Pia ducked to the floor, dodging the shower of exploding glass, although I lacked the agility to do the same. What the hell, a few more cuts would be lost in the mélange of injuries that I was currently nursing anyway.

  Pia crawled over to me. "I don't want to leave you alone, but there's no phone in this room. I have to go down the hall if I'm to call Olivia."

  "It's all right," I told her, belatedly realizing that I was the sole spectator to the specter chronicles. "She's gone now. Gloria chased her off."

  "Thank you, Gloria!" Pia announced to the ceiling even though Gloria was off to her left.

  "She's over there," I pointed out.

  "Oh." Pia turned. "Thank you, Gloria!"

  "I heard you just fine the first time," Gloria said. Way to be humble.

  "What did you do to her?" I asked.

  Gloria shrugged. "It's some weird ghost anomaly. You know how you feel cold when one of us touches you, or God forbid passes through you?"

  I shuddered. "Yes." It was an awful feeling. Being touched by the dead left you feeling, well, touched by the dead. There is no other explanation.

  "Well, the way I see it, is it magnifies exponentially when the dead touch the dead. It's like dead squared. Anyway, the feeling is awful and we try to avoid each other for that reason."

  "Huh. Does it cause any permanent harm?"

  "Not that I know of, or I wouldn't have done it," she snorted.

  Obviously, Gloria drew the line at sacrificing herself for the good of mankind. Or me.

  Pia slowly picked herself up off the floor and began brushing imaginary shards of glass off of her clothing. Who could blame her? Glass had exploded everywhere; there was no doubt, at least some on both of us.

  "Let's just get you situated in another room and then I'll call the maid and see if she can come in today. She normally only works on Mondays and Fridays, but with any luck she's available now."

  Pia moved me to another room down the hall, this one just as purple as the first, and began pulling open the drapes on the multiple windows lining two walls. "This one's a corner room so it's very sunny. I hope that's all right? The one window faces east, so you'll be an early riser whether you like it or not. The bathroom's right through there," she gestured at a door to the right of a giant armoire. "Is there anything else that I can get you? Something to eat perhaps?"

  "Nope, this ought to just about do it," I replied as I made a shuffling beeline for the toilet. Sore as I was, and loathe as I was to move because of it, my bladder had reached maximum capacity and Cecilia's sudden appearance had stimulated its need to empty itself. Which it was about to do, with or without my cooperation or permission.

  "I'm going to go make those calls then," Pia called through the doorway as she exited the room, "I'll come up and check on you a little later."

  "Thanks, Pia," I called back.

  When I had returned from the bathroom, I cast a wistful glance at the bed and then passed it up. Tired as I was, hunger had come to the fore. I needed food. How hard could it be to find the kitchen?

  I vastly overestimated my ability to navigate this sprawling house, and instead of finding the staircase, I found my way walking circles in the hallway and entering rooms I probably had no right to enter. I was about to give up when Gloria found me and rescued me from my plight. With her help, I managed to find the kitchen, which was unoccupied, and began rummaging through the fridge. Never mind that I had told Pia I wasn't hungry. Now that my bladder was empty, I was starving!

  When Pia found me, I was balanced precariously on a stool at the center island, scarfing down my second peanut butter sandwich, accompanied by my third glass of milk.

  "I was wondering where you had gotten off to," she said. "I thought you weren't hungry?"

  "Changed my mind," I forced out through a mouthful of sticky peanut butter and doughy white bread.

  "Don't talk with your mouth full, it's-"

  "Not becoming," I finished. Swallowing, I added, "Yeah, you've told me that before."

  "I was going to say, it's a great way to choke," she began rifling through the stack of mail she held in her hands, then finding something of interest to her, she set about opening it. "But you're also right, so I'll let it lie. Do you know anything about this?" She waved what looked like a card at me.

  Taking it from her hands, I examined it more closely. It was the same invitation Robert had given me not that long ago. The one to my birthday party. The masquerade birthday party. Apparently, Robert had taken my failure to respond to his suggestion as acquiescence, rather than the forgetfulness it truly was.

  "Uuuggghhhh!" I groaned, laying my head on the cool comfort of the stone surface of the island.

  "Should I take that as a 'no'?"

  "I would," Gloria popped in.

  I lifted my head to face them both. "No, not really. I knew about it, I mean, he told me, or rather he suggested it to me. I was supposed to get back to him and I forgot."

  Pia waved the invitation, "Doesn't matter. If Robert suggested it, it was already cemented in his own mind. Your response, let alone your opinion, meant nothing. It was already a done deal."

  "Great, just great!" I shoved the last of my peanut butter sandwich into the trash can with a little more vicious intent than was necessary considering that it was not out to get me. "Just what I need on top of everything else."

  "What? It'll probably be fun. You're acting like it's an invitation to your execution. It's only a party!"

  "It may as well be an invitation to my execution the way I feel."

  She glanced at the card again. "It's
still a few weeks off. I'm sure you'll be mostly recovered by then."

  "Not with any luck I won't," I muttered under my breath.

  "What's that?"

  "Nothing. I'm gonna go lay down."

  "Have you called your mother yet?" Pia stopped me.

  "No. No phone, remember?"

  "Use mine," she shoved her cell at me. "Her number's in my contact list."

  "I think I know my mother's number."

  "Good. Then use it."

  "Pia, I can't possibly do that without causing her undue worry. As soon as she finds out what's going on now, she'll hurry down here quicker than you can say, 'Panicked mother speeding down Route 9!'"

  "And how is she supposed to know, if you don't tell her? It's not a video phone for heaven's sake."

  "Since when did you start advocating lying to my mother?"

  "Since she isn't here and it wouldn't do any good to worry her when it's over and done with and you seem to have come out of it in one piece, albeit a temporarily fractured piece."

  There was truth to her words, though somehow, I couldn't help but to think, had I been the one to suggest avoiding the truth with my mother, Pia would have been wholly, doggedly and vociferously against it.

  That's Pia for you. If it's her idea, then of course, it's right.

  I managed to heal enough over the next few days, to find myself breathing a bit more easily, if only slightly, and taking less of the prescribed painkillers, for which I was entirely grateful since it didn't take long to determine they were the cause of my sluggishness.

  Finally, on Monday, Pia determined me well enough for a trip to the spa (although she still insisted I wasn't well enough to move back into the guest house). Unlike the last time we had gone, this time I was actually looking forward to it. I was praying Roberto could somehow help me. Like he could whip out a bottle of some magic formula hair tonic that would instantly grow my hair back.

  Hey, it works for Chia pets. They sprout in only a couple of weeks. I've seen the commercials.

  Alas, one look at my hair had Roberto nearly in tears.

  "Darling! What ees thees that you have done to yourself?!" he wailed in his weird accent. At any given moment his accent managed to be Spanish, French, or Italian, then a bizarre mixture of all of the above. Once I could have sworn he had thrown in a bit of Romanian. I was fairly certain it was all a put-on. The man might be a fraud, but he was a master with hair.

  He fiddled with my shorn locks, looking at them this way and that. Sighing and lamenting, scratching his head and rubbing his chin before finally throwing his hands into the air and proclaiming, "However did you theenk zat Roberto could fix this- zis shambles? Zis deesahster? Thees ees nossing short of ze- how do you say it?- ze fiasco!"

  "I didn't do this to myself," I informed him a little defensively, willing away the tears that crept into my eyes. If Roberto couldn't help me, then no one could. I felt my lip quiver and quickly bit it to still the motion. I was not going to cry over something as inconsequential as hair. Regardless of how beautiful it had once been. Heavy emphasis on the 'had.'

  Seeing my expression, Pia quickly took over, explaining my predicament to Roberto and shamelessly plucking away at any and all of the heartstrings he may have possessed.

  All the while she talked, Roberto cooed over my lost hair, petting my head, and then my many injuries, gently fingering my sling, and then back to my head again.

  "Okay! I will see what I can do for you!" he suddenly decided. "And no charge. Free for you today! After all that you have been through, why add imbursement to injury, is what I always say!"

  He fingered my hair once more, pulling the short ends up and out, toying with the longer ones, hemming and hawing, and did everything but stand on his head. Finally he said, "Okay. I know what to do. I got just the thing."

  I sat as patiently as I could, though it was difficult with my ribs being so sore, as Roberto worked over me for nearly an hour. He snipped and cut, then mixed a batch of some bad-smelling substance, stuck tinfoil in my hair and began painting it with a brush. After that, he washed my hair, no easy task since I was not able to lie back comfortably to stick my head in the sink, but Roberto, patiently worked around it all. Finally, after blow-drying my hair, going at me with the scissors again, and then fluffing and spritzing and fluffing once more, he spun the chair around to let me see the mirror.

  The girl that looked back at me was not me at all. She looked like an orphan. A young, bruised, battered, childlike, abandoned orphan. I was all things pitiful and pathetic.

  I began to cry. Not simple little tears, but the full out snot-flowing, eye-puffing, rib-wrenching, sobbing kind.

  "Oh, dear!" Was all Pia said before she folded me into her arms.

  Meanwhile, Roberto stood by saying things like, "I have never had thees reaction before. Ees it good, or ees it bad? I do not know."

  When I finally had myself at least somewhat under control, Pia handed me a tissue and I blew my nose. After four more tissues, I was finally done.

  "I'm sorry, Roberto. I didn't mean to react like that. It's just that I've never had short hair before. And this is, well, very short."

  "You did not give me much to be working with!" he glared at me, clearly offended.

  "I'm sorry! Please, don't be mad. What you did, well, it's beautiful, it really is! It's just that it's so short!"

  For all its shortness, it was attractive. The cut framed my face quite nicely, and the light blonds and darker reds he had used as highlights were very becoming and natural to my skin tone. It was a little longer in front and shorter in the back, with wispy bangs angled across my forehead, I looked just as good as, or better than, dozens of celebrities tripping nightly down their long red carpets. I could not have asked for better. Still, I still wanted my old hair back.

  I headed for the bathroom while Pia and Roberto immersed themselves in quiet conversation. I wasn’t surprised in the least when I saw Pia's hand dipping into her purse. She was no doubt paying for the service that Roberto had offered free of charge. I supposed paying for his work after creating such a scene in his salon, was the least I could do. I made a mental note to pay Pia back.

  Pia was waiting at the door when I returned from the restroom. Holding the door for me, she followed me out of the salon and walked with me to her car. Once we were settled inside the car she began to speak in a tone far too casual to be anything other than a ruse. So of course I instantly knew she was up to something.

  "By the way, did I tell you that Mike has the plans ready to review? He's bringing them over tonight."

  So much for Pia's thinking I was 'well enough' to take a trip to the salon. She was really just trying to clean me up in order to serve me on a platter to the architect. If I didn’t know Pia any better than I did, I might think she was trying to get a bargain by tossing in her buyer as a down payment.

  Deciding not to take the bait, I only said, "Isn't that nice? Would you mind dropping by the cell phone store before we head home? I'd really like to get a replacement for my phone."

  "Of course, dear. Did you hear what I said?"

  "Yes, I heard you just fine. You're reviewing the plans for the remodel tonight. Bully for you."

  "That's not at all what I said," she frowned in the rearview mirror. She took a minute to concentrate on finding an opening in the traffic before pulling out and continuing the conversation. "We are all having dinner, dear. I'm even borrowing Jaques from the boys tonight, just to make sure that the dinner is spectacular."

  "It's right there, on the left," I interrupted her.

  "I see it. I've lived here much longer than you. I think I ought to know my way around."

  "What you ought to know," I scolded, "is that I won't allow any matchmaking. I like Jase. Jase likes me. So far we are very happy together and I won't take any chances on hurting that."

  "Fine, dear," said Pia.

  "Further, if you insist on making matches where there are none to make, I will not only move ou
t of the main house, but the guest house as well!"

  "I said, fine, dear."

  "And I might just quit and find another gallery."

  Pia put the car in park and shut off the engine. "How many times do I have to say 'fine' before you pay attention?"

  "What?" I replayed the past few minutes in my mind. "Oh. Sorry. I'm just not used to you giving in so easily. You're normally like a bull in a china shop, full speed ahead, God help anyone who doesn't get out of the way."

  "While I resent the unflattering comparison to livestock, I admit that I have a tendency to be a little assertive."

  "Pushy."

  "Over-ambitious."

  "Forceful."

  "Are you through?"

  "Aggressive."

  "I'll wait."

  "I'm through."

  "Thank you. As I was saying, while I have a tendency towards being assertive," she flashed me a look that spoke clearly of her certainty that I would interrupt once more, registered her astonishment when I didn't, and then went on, "I can also admit when I am wrong. And in regards to Mike, I was wrong. I have had every opportunity to see how well Jase treats you. How kind and caring he is. How considerate and concerned he is. I couldn't ask for anything better for you. He has stolen my heart as much as he has yours.

  "So, contrary to whatever you may believe, I took you to the salon today to have your hair done, so that you could look and feel your best tonight at dinner, not because of Mike, but because I invited Jase as well."

  With that, Pia got out of the car and closed the door decisively behind her.

  "Took the righteousness right out of your sermon, didn't she?" Gloria piped up from the back seat where she had just appeared. Right then I would have given anything to have had the key to Pia's Bentley just so that I could drive off and witness Gloria getting yanked from the backseat.

  Instead of driving off, I climbed out of the car, far less limberly than Pia had, and walked around the car to offer my sincerest apology. I found Pia standing there grinning at me, not unlike the Cheshire cat.

  "I hope you felt at least a smidgen of guilt back there," she teased.

  "Pia! You made me feel terrible! I thought I had really hurt your feelings!"

  "Good, you deserved it. And, darling, I'm of British decent. You can't hurt my feelings that easily. I'm too thick-skinned."

  We spent the next two hours making my cell phone purchase, which involved me opening an entirely new account since Pia badgered me into purchasing a smart phone, using arguments like, "But think of the uses of the camera alone, dear! In our business a camera could be everything!" and, "You simply must have a data plan. Internet access on the go is imperative. Besides, you need to be able to check your e-mail from anywhere. Not to mention the alerts! I might send you an e-mail that would slip your notice without e-mail alerts!"

  As if anything Pia wanted me to know would slip my notice. She wasn't likely to ever e-mail me anything of merit when she could just tell me to my face. And besides, even if she did, no doubt she would follow it up with a phone call and then a visit just to be certain I was informed. Pia was the hammer to my nail. My bent, nearly broken, nail.

  When we finally returned to the house, Bernard greeted us at the door and Pia was delighted to hear that Jaques was already working in the kitchen. "Dear, you just go shower and change while I check on Jaques. With the condition you're in, that could take you hours and we don't want you late for dinner."

  "But, Pia, all my clothes are in the guest house."

  She waved her hands at me, "No, they're not. I moved your clothes and bathroom toiletries over this morning while you were stuffing yourself with peanut butter and bread. Thank God Jaques is here to provide some variety to your menu. Honestly, Bernard, I've never seen a girl sustain herself on peanut butter the way she does."

  I frowned. "I don't like to cook and peanut butter's easy. Now about my things. Why on earth would you move my stuff over here without even asking me about it?"

  Bernard had the good grace to leave the room, using the excuse that he had some business calls to make.

  "Must you really work on business now, darling?" Pia called after him. "We're planning a dinner now you know."

  He was smart enough to have gotten far enough away from her to use the excuse that he hadn't heard her and thereby avoid any further conversation. I was going to have to start paying more attention to that man. After all, he'd been married to Pia for a number of years, he had to be a master at dealing with her.

  "Oh, well," Pia sighed, once more heading for the kitchen.

  I put out a hand to stop her. "Pia, about my things?"

  Pia waved her hands dismissively. "Oh, darling! There's no need to thank me! I know your stay is only temporary, but you'll certainly feel more at home surrounded by your own things. Of course, I didn't bring everything."

  "Of course," I muttered, but she wasn't listening.

  "Anyway, it was nothing, nothing at all! Think nothing of it! Your happiness is all the thanks I need!"

  She was awfully self-focused for one of such generous spirit. And she didn't seem to understand that I was not thanking her, that she had, in fact, not been doing me any favors. Try explaining that to Pia though.

  Glutton that I am, I tried.

  "Pia, I hadn't planned on moving in here, temporarily or otherwise. I was planning on returning to the guest house as soon as possible."

  She frowned in consternation. "Well, that just doesn’t make any sense, now does it? It will be at least another week until you are able to be on your own and by that time construction will have already started. Naturally you can’t stay there in the midst of all that chaos! There's nothing to do but move you in here temporarily."

  "Temporarily as in how long?"

  "Oh, I don't know. It shouldn't be that long. Mike should be able to give us some idea tonight."

  "If you had to hazard a guess, what would it be?"

  "Not too long, I'd imagine. In my experience these things are usually pretty quick." She shrugged and headed off for to kitchen once more, this time not allowing me to stop her.

  "How quick is pretty quick?" I scurried after her. Or attempted to. It was more of a dragging, breathless, shamble. Kind of like a zombie.

  "A month, maybe two?"

  I staggered to a halt.

  A month.

  Maybe two.

  Oh, goody.