Fire Works in the Hamptons : A Willow Tate Novel (9781101547649) (27 page)

I thanked Keys for bringing the message, then I called Piet to come home. When I looked back, the grill was dark and empty, the trees were bare of lights, and the moon was hidden behind clouds. Dumb insects? Hah! The guys were creative, intelligent, and quick-thinking. They were a whole lot smarter than Farty Marty.

Except they were gone. “How can I help you if you don't talk to me?” I shouted into the cold, dark, empty night.

CHAPTER 26

“
R
USKIN WILL BE BACK.” Piet laid Elladaire carefully in her crib, without waking her.

I agreed, but hoped it wasn't true. “Why do you say that?”

“Because his life is in the toilet and he can't blame himself. So he blames Paumanok Harbor. He's got nothing but revenge to look forward to.”

“But he knows everyone is looking for him.”

“And he knows this area as well as any one of them. The chief said he was born somewhere nearby called Springs, but he lived and worked up and down the South Fork.”

“And got thrown out of every bar in every town. What I don't understand is why he didn't keep going, why he decided to burn the place down.”

“Pride and power, that's what drives a lot of twisted people. If Ruskin outwits us, he's regained his pride. He can use the beetles to regain power over his environment. Destruction is the only power he has left. The insects are a sign of what's different about this place, and how he doesn't fit in. I've seen it, how the espers hang together, and I've only been here a couple of days. Ruskin sees himself on the other side of inside information, surrounded by weird goings-on he cannot understand. I think he snapped at the new oddities. He was already miserable, his ex-wife in the hospital, his kid taken away, cops on his back, no money, maybe no job. He had no chance of reclaiming the life he thinks he deserves. Now he's scared.” He looked at Little Red, curled asleep on the sofa cushions, looking like a sweet little fox kit. “You know how dangerous animals can be when they are frightened.”

I knew Little Red. He wasn't sweet at the best of times, but when he was scared, he turned into a six-pound pit bull, when he didn't pee on people's legs.

I was scared, too. “What do you think will happen?”

“Nothing good. Ruskin knows he's gone too far. What more has he got to lose?” Piet opened the last bottle of beer and relaxed on the opposite end of the couch. “I almost feel sorry for the bastard.”

I didn't. He beat his wife. He tortured my beetles. He could have killed people in the fires he started. And he threatened me. “Have you known a lot of arsonists?”

“More than my share, I'd guess. They're all warped inside, even the ones who do it for money. Most like the attention. Pride and power, all over again. They feed on it until the fire consumes them, like an addiction or an obsession. Ruskin started as a bully and graduated to a would-be killer. Who knows where he'll end?”

I was too restless to sit still. I kept checking the windows, looking for fireflies or fire-starters, hoping neither of them appeared. “So what are we going to do about him?”

He sighed. “Wait for the police to find him, or wait for another blaze. Meantime we need to get rid of his arsenal. No one is going to sell him kerosene or lighter fluid, but he can catch his own flame-throwers as long as they hang around.”

Getting rid of the winged matches wasn't going to be easy. I explained how I'd tried again tonight to talk to the guys, how they seemed to understand and showed surprising intelligence, but they wouldn't go away. “I got the feeling they are worried about the time.”

Piet thought about that for a minute, rubbing his fingers along the moisture on his beer bottle. “It's September, the nights get cooler. Do we know if the beetles can survive in the cold? And what about the fall rain and windstorms? Even without bad weather, do we know how long they live under optimum conditions?”

“We know next to nothing except they can think, and they can recognize a friend. Nice, but not helpful in getting them back to their own home.”

“Maybe they are afraid they can't free their queen, if that's what the creature in the marsh is, before they expire.”

Just what I needed—more pressure. Now I had to worry about a deadline, too. I hated deadlines in my work. Some writers did better under the gun, but I wasn't one of them. Panic is not conducive to creativity, I've found. I much preferred to work steadily, on schedule, without rushing at the last minute. Who knew how long the beetles had, or which tomorrow was their last minute? I started pacing, which was better than chewing my fingernails. “So you think we ought to go looking in the salt marsh tonight?”

He considered that. “I don't know if we can search well enough in the dark.”

Thank you, night. “And we have no one to watch Elladaire.” Thank you, baby.

“And if that creep Barry is still around, we don't want to draw attention to the wetlands.”

Thank you, Barry? Nah. My pacing led me to the kitchen, where I accidentally happened to open the freezer. What do you know; Ben and Jerry had paid me a visit. “Do you want some New York Super Fudge Chunk?”

“With beer?”

Maybe that's why I didn't like beer. It didn't go with ice cream. I put a tiny bit in three dog bowls, and a big bit in mine.

Piet watched me eat, his eyelids half closed. I watched him, watching me. Just to see his reaction, I took extra time licking the spoon, licking my lips. Unfair maybe, but I never said I was perfect.

He groaned.

Power and pride. I was doing it right.

“It's early.”

“Want me to see if there's anything decent on television?”

He kept watching me. “I can think of better things to fill the time.”

More pressure.

Somehow my gut had decided Yes, no matter that my mind shouted No. What mind? My ice cream was gone; Piet was still here, looking delicious and cool and just what I wanted. He didn't say anything, but I knew one bowl was not going to be enough for either of us. The problem was, what now? The moral—or immoral and imbecilic—decision to have a one-night stand for however many nights he stayed was easy compared to the logistics of the thing. I was okay with taking our partnership to another level on his terms: good times, no commitment. That's exactly what I needed right now, like the ice cream. I'd worry about the calories and the heartbreak later.

Where to start, though? What should I do, take his hand and lead him to my bedroom? I tried to recall if the bed was made, or if I'd left my dirty clothes on the floor. Or should I tell him I needed a shower and hope he'd be in his bed with the lights out when I got done? Maybe I should just jump him, right there on the couch.

Teasing was one thing, taking the lead was another, and the infuriatingly closemouthed man kept waiting. I knew he was waiting for me to make a move, to be sure. I'd been the one to declare I wasn't interested in an affair, but he was the one who swore he'd change my mind. Get up and convince me, I wanted to shout. Don't make me do all the work. I wanted to be sweet-talked and seduced, swept off my feet. Instead, Piet did his strong, silent, sexy thing. He stared.

Equality between the sexes was a great, important thing. I believed in it implicitly. I just didn't like being the aggressor. Not that women shouldn't be, if that's what they wanted. They could go to the moon if they wished, with my blessings. I didn't want to do that either. I was afraid of planes, heights, and closed spaces, among other things. And I was afraid of making an ass of myself in Piet's hooded eyes.

So I decided to check my phone messages. I put the answering machine on speaker phone, to be polite. Chances are all the calls had something to do with Roy or the fireflies anyway. This way he could hear, without my having to repeat everything.

The first recording was from my father. As usual these days, he was in a hurry. “I'm on my way to the clubhouse for comedy club night. Annie and her sister are picking me up in five minutes, but I had a chill run up my spine. Baby girl, don't go near Saks. Love you. Dad.”

Yeah, like I was going to go spend my next advance on a ball gown or something. Or head to Fifth Avenue in the morning for a makeup consultation. “Saks has a store in Southampton,” I told Piet. “Maybe Dad means I shouldn't drive there because of the weekend traffic.” Easy enough. I had too much to do right here. I pressed erase, and wondered who Annie was, and if my father's heart could handle sisters.

My mother's informants never slept. “I want to know about this fire person. I hear he's good with children. You could do wo . . .”

I pressed erase.

Ellen's voice came next, strident and shouting about how mean I was, how embarrassing to be taken to the police station, and what if word got back to the private school where she taught? Had I thought about Martin's reputation? She knew I'd set him up, me and my new lover and this inbred, insane town.

“Doesn't our friendship count for anything?” she finished.

No, it didn't, not if she shared Martin's attitude toward the beetles, except for regret over times past. I looked at Piet and tried to make light of losing an old friend. “At least I don't have to invite her out to the Harbor again.”

Janie's message said she had to work in the morning, as I suspected, but if Piet thought it was safe, she'd come get Elladaire after her last appointment. Joe the plumber said he'd rig a sprinkler system in her house, and Mary really wanted to see the baby. Joe was going to drive them to the hospital, and maybe they would all stay out of town where Roy couldn't find them.

She added that they were planning a benefit fund-raiser at the firehouse to help Mary pay her medical bills. Would I make a poster?

Of course I would, once I had the details. I paused the message replay to explain to Piet. “That's what we do in a little town like this, we help each other. Sometimes it's a spaghetti dinner at the firehouse, a pancake breakfast at the church, a potluck supper at the school, or a barbecue on the village green. I guess the fire department offered this time, because of the burns. They'll take the trucks out and set up tables in the empty bays. Restaurants provide some of the food, and the firemen cook the rest. Liquor stores get their distributors to donate wine, local bands agree to play for free, and stores give prizes for raffles. After the meal they move the tables away for dancing. Everyone buys tickets, gets drunk, and has a good time.” Except people like me who hated crowds, didn't drink, and couldn't eat the usual hamburgers and hot dogs now that I was a vegetarian. I had to go anyway. “You'll enjoy it.”

“Afraid not.”

“Why? You already know the firemen and the police. Everyone else wants to meet you.”

“They have gas stoves, not electric ranges. If they decide to use those outdoor grills? You'll have a lot of hungry people demanding their money back. They won't work, nor those Sterno things they put under casseroles to keep food hot. I'm not exactly the life of the party, you know.”

I thought of all he'd missed in his life. He wouldn't miss this one. “We'll work something out. Maybe change it to a dance.” I was a self-conscious, clumsy dancer, but he had to be there. He came to help the town; the town owed him a pleasant evening.

I pushed the Play Messages button on the machine again.

“Hello. Is this Willow Tate's residence? My name is Barry Jensen and I wonder if I could do an interview for a webzine. It'll be great publicity for your books, which I've admired for years. I met your cousin Susan last week and was excited when I realized you live here in Paumanok Harbor. Please call me.”

There was a long pause while he tried to find the number of his new cell phone.

“I hope to hear from you soon.”

Piet wore a half-smile. “Groundhog Day?”

I laughed. “Courtesy of Mayor Applebaum.”

The next message was from Matt Spenser, the vet, and he sounded worried. “Please call me back, Willow, no matter what time.”

“Something must be wrong,” I told Piet. I started pacing again. “Maybe more dogs have been burned. Or he's spotted Roy Ruskin in the woods behind his house. Or else he wants me to take in another stray. What if he gave Little Red the wrong shot? Or—”

Piet pointed to the phone. “Call him.”

Matt picked up at the second ring. “Spenser here.”

I switched to the handset, not the speaker phone. “This is Willow. Is everything all right?”

“That's what I wanted to know. I heard about all the trouble with Roy Ruskin, and how the police thought he might come for his daughter. I worried about you, alone with the child out there.”