Trolls in the Hamptons (19 page)

“You must have heard by now that I am not cooperating. So you cannot use me to get to . . . whoever you think is behind all this. Agent Grant explained the threat to the whole fabric of reality as we know it, a threat supposedly only possible if the missing boy and I are near to each other. You cannot find the child. But if you get rid of me, you wouldn't have to worry about our meeting or communicating or me being kidnapped and forced to help your saboteur take over the world.”

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel for a minute while he thought, then he nodded. “You have a point. A crazy one, but a point. Except Grant has a lead on the boy in the city, so we're close.”

“Nicky Ryland is not in the city.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Fafhrd wouldn't leave him behind. He's looking for Nicky, too.”

“The troll? How do you know that? Does he talk to you?”

I answered the last question first: “No, I've never heard him speak, but he smiles and waves at me, so I know he's aware of my presence. How do I know he's searching for Nicky? Because that's what I wrote and it feels right, if that makes any more sense than the rest of this insanity. I am certain Fafhrd left the city, though.”

“You saw him?”

“There was an accident on the LIE. That's why our bus was late. I hope to heaven Fafhrd didn't cause the crash, but he was playing in the water from the fire trucks.”

“Damn. What does Grant say?”

“I have not told him.”

“Double damn. That's what you mean by not cooperating? You had a lovers' quarrel with the field agent, and now you won't help us find the kid? When you know what's at stake?”

“We are not lovers; we did not quarrel; I am still not certain I believe in the ultimate danger. Besides, it is a matter of principle.”

“Your granny is right: you think too much. What happened to using your intuition instead of your daft logic?”

I ignored the mention of my grandmother and the insult to my intelligence, or my sanity. “I am not one of your pet empaths, if they exist. Furthermore, I am not so sure the child will be any better off with your group. Ruthless, that's what you people seem to be. You want the boy to stop him from opening the gate or whatever it's called between worlds. Killing him might be your best chance. What's one life—maybe two if you count mine—against saving the universe from leprechauns?”

“I saw one once, you know. In Ireland, naturally, when I was a lad. No one else could see the wee sprite, but he was there all right. They shipped me off to Royce before I could ask where his pot of gold was. Seems there'd been some kind of disturbance in the atmosphere, sunspots maybe.”

I couldn't tell if he was serious, or feeding me more blarney. “Would you kill the child?”

“Me? If the world depended on it? Hell, I hope I never have to face that choice. But I won't have to. If we find the boy, we can keep him safe, teach him how to close those gates. Or maybe communicate with the other side, so they can add more shields or guardians.”

I shifted around to face Lou better. “You can't even talk to him.”

“I can't, but maybe the people at Royce can. They've been working on all the tapes they made before the boy was stolen and I hear they're close. They have telepaths using some of the words he used as a toddler, with mental imagery. A lot is possible at Royce.”

When we arrived at the gate to Rosehill, Lou punched in the code and drove up to the covered colonnade at the front door. I suppose I should be using the rear service entrance, but since I was doing a favor for Mr. Parker, I considered myself entitled to go in like a guest.

I made no move to get out of the car, or to invite Lou in. Our conversation was not finished.

He knew it. He turned the car off and stared at the house, which was well lighted by automatic timers. Instead of talking about the fate of the world—which still sounds like a bad movie to me—he said, “Nice to see how the other half lives, huh?”

I couldn't even remember how many rooms my mother thought the place had. “That's not the other half. It's the top ten percent, the filthy rich who hold ninety percent of the country's wealth.”

“That doesn't sound like a good little capitalist to me.”

“Oh, I'm all for making money. I just think this amount of it is obscene. The really well off should spread the good fortune around better, so no one goes hungry or lives in the street. Life is unfair, but this is ridiculous.”

“From what I saw of this little town, your local nabobs do a fair job of opening their purses. Your granny told me the whole community center was built with a legacy and private money. And a camp for needy kids.”

“The former owner of Rosehill bequeathed the land and a lot of the money. He was a famous art critic. Dante Rivera put up the rest. Dante made his fortune in technology, then added to it with real estate. He was the local bad boy, so I guess what he's done is even more admirable. I knew his wife Louisa when we were younger. She was another summer kid, and used to keep me company some afternoons at the farm stand. They are nice people, with social consciences everyone should emulate.” I added, with emphasis, “And they are entirely normal. No second sight, no ghosts in the attic.” I would have noticed, from my time with Louisa. Of course neither of us had realized how strange the locals were. With our city-kid arrogance, we figured they were just odd or inbred. Fixing the weather, finding lost keys, lie-detecting? Coincidences, we decided, lucky guesses. We were kids. Anything else was impossible. It still was. “Louisa is ordinary.”

“Did I say otherwise? They're not on our list of gifted families. Mrs. Rivera wasn't even born here. Her husband never went to Royce, either.”

“I should call Louisa while I'm here. See how she's doing. See how many kids she has by now.”

He looked over, as if he wanted to say something more, but I unfastened my seat belt, not wanting to talk about babies and marriage.

He was looking up at the house. “Are you sure you are going to be all right here alone?”

“I still fear you more than I fear anyone else.”

He shook his head, frustrated. “What can I say?”

“Nothing. Besides, the dogs will protect me.”

“They're not your dogs.”

I shrugged. “They'll defend their house.”

“Maybe. Are you going to call Grant? I'll have to tell him you spotted the interloper, you know. And your theory that it's looking for the boy.”

“Fafhrd is a he, not an it. And I haven't decided about calling your partner.” I sure as hell didn't want to, after throwing him out yesterday.

“He'll be here by the weekend anyway. You'll have to talk to him then.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Do. And think with your gut, lass, not just your brains.” He opened his door and got out. “I'll wait here until you go in.”

“No, go back to Grandma's. You'll need your rest to keep up with her.”

“Grand woman, your granny. You're lucky. I'm lucky to meet her.”

That sounded serious. “How old are you, anyway?” In the city Lou seemed like an ancient derelict. The night he drove Grant and me to dinner, he was a much younger debonair sophisticate. Now in this casual reincarnation, I had no idea of his age. The man was a chameleon, as changeable as his disappearing Irish accent. Then his words registered. “Luck had nothing to do with you staying at Grandma's, did it? You came with references from the Institute, I bet.”

“A few phone calls was all it took. Eve is a firm supporter of the work we do.”

“So she knows about me?”

“She's always known about you. That's why she pushed so hard to get you on the right track.”

Right now the path I was on was a railroad track. I felt like the train ran over me while I was waiting at the station.

Lou continued: “But she does not know about the breach in the barriers. No one does. We don't need a bunch of espers trying their hand—or talents—at communications or evocations. Or exorcisms.”

“Is Grandma a witch?” I always wondered, since I was old enough to see her mix her brews.

Lou smiled, there in the bright outdoor lights. “I don't know as she dances skyclad at the full moon, but I wouldn't mind peeking to see.”

I almost gave one of my mother's sniffs, but it came out as a snort. Grandma Eve, prancing in the altogether?

Lou turned serious. “From what I know, she's a wise woman with a huge warehouse of knowledge, some of it unknown to modern science. We send students to study with her whenever we can.”

“The foreign college kids who help at the farm in the summer. I always wondered why they worked so cheap.”

“For room and board and a place at the beach, plus a mentor like Eve Garland? They'd do it for free. Two more are coming in July. We tried to get them here sooner, but there's a holdup on student visas. We didn't want to draw attention to the crisis, so made no push to nudge the State Department.”

“But you could have?”

“As part of Homeland Security we could bring in an army of overseas psychics, or send out a call for every paranormal in America. The boss doesn't see the need yet. Too much chance for publicity and exposure of the organization. I'm hoping we can handle it without calling up the reserves.”

Me, too. And soon. Then I mentioned how Mr. Parker had been looking for a young boy the last time he was out here, supposedly for a new movie. “How does that coincidence feel to your intuition?”

“Only a shade suspicious. I'll have our people look into it tomorrow.”

“What about the VanWetherings, who are expecting their grandson to arrive from France any day? Mother asked Susan if she knew anyone looking for a summer nanny job.”

“I'll add them to the list, too.”

After that, I told Lou he could leave, that I could get into the house by myself. My mother had told me how to disengage the alarm system, then reset it when I was in for the night. Lou said he'd wait outside until I flashed a light.

I went in, looked and listened, then hit the light switch. The poodles never barked. So much for my watchdogs. I guess they were trained not to cause a commotion in a city apartment, or wherever else they lived. They were happy enough to see me, doing a prance and a pirouette. Or maybe they just needed to go out.

There was no way in hell I was going to walk them around the perimeter of the property in the dark, and the little fenced-in area around the back door looked too small for such big dogs. Besides, I had a better idea.

I took the dogs through the house and out to the pool. That area had a fence of its own too, most likely for safety regulations. This fence was more decorative than the high perimeter chain link or the plastic mesh around the rear dog run. As I recalled, the pool had a surrounding garden, lounge groupings, and floodlights. I was thrilled to see the floodlights and how much ground they covered. I'd clean up after the boys in the morning.

Ben and Jerry seemed ecstatic, running, playing, wrestling with each other, and barking at the shadows. I guess they weren't allowed in this area, but I didn't care.

Despite the clouds that hid the stars, the temperature was comfortable and I decided to sit outdoors awhile and think while the big dogs frolicked. I figured they'd been kept penned up too long. I'd hate it, no matter what my mother said about dogs liking their crates as a secure environment. Besides, I shouldn't go inside without them, in case one fell into the pool, and I didn't think they were done playing or taking care of business for the night. They must know how to swim—didn't all dogs?—but might have trouble finding the stairs to get out of the water.

I brought my cell with me, in case of trouble, or in case I could bring myself to call Grant. I knew Lou was most likely on the phone before he left the Rosehill driveway, so what else could I report? Nothing. Grant was still a rat and I was still feeling used. On the other hand, no matter what I said to Lou, I wasn't real happy about being alone at this isolated estate in the middle of the night.

I made myself sit on one of the lounge chairs, without fetching a cushion from the bathhouse at the other end of the pool. I sat and listened to the dogs, spring peeper toads, and the pool machinery, inhaling the scent of roses and chlorine. I touched the pendant on my neck and tried to relax. I told myself how silly I was, to be afraid of the dark. I'd spent twenty-something summers in the Harbor, and never heard of a single crime worse than kids breaking into vacant houses, bar fights and a couple of domestic quarrels. After a while the peace of the night and the sheer joy of the dogs acted like a massage for my spirits. I leaned back on the chaise, at ease.

Soon enough the dogs came to lie beside my chair, panting from their exertion but content to stay out in the night air. I thought they'd go toward the house when they wanted to go in. One of them—I had no idea which—got up to sniff around a blooming azalea. I rubbed the other dog's curly head, and he rested it on my thigh. Nice.

The clouds parted a little, and I admired the moonlight on the clear pool water for a minute or two. Then I picked up the cell phone and called Grant.

He answered right away. “I'm glad you called. I want to apologize again. And I really hate you being at that place by yourself.”

Nice, too. “I'm okay. I'm sitting out by the pool, watching the moonbeams on the water. The dogs are great company.”

“Good. I'm glad to hear that. And that you have your phone with you outside. Lou called. He said you spotted our friend on the highway.”

“Yeah. Do you want to speak with him?”