Night Mares in the Hamptons by Celia Jerome Page B

Susan’s mother was the vice principal and ran the summer school enrichment program there. She’d let us use the school’s laminating machine on the posters meant for the mares. I didn’t need to hear Aunt Jasmine lecture me about seeing the school’s counselor, so I dropped Susan and a stack of posters off and drove to Town Hall. I wanted to tell Uncle Henry, Chief of Police Haversmith, what I was doing, but he was out on business. The cop at the desk was a guy named Barry who stank of fish, which was why I refused my uncle-by-affection’s efforts to fix me up with him, and why I stayed as close to the door as possible. Barry said the chief had to go to Riverhead, the Suffolk County seat. The DA there wanted to know why the Harbor suddenly had so much crime, and if we needed a drug squad or a hate crimes unit.
    Yeah, suddenly everyone hated everyone else. It had nothing to do with the Hispanic work crews or controlled substances. No one was controlling their tempers, because the mares were ruining their sleep. I’d love to hear Uncle Henry explain that to the DA.
    â€œI’m working on it,” I told Barry. I handed him one of the pictures of the young horse and asked him to post it, and think positive thoughts while he did.
    I believe he mumbled something about how he’d like to think of me in my underwear, but I chose not to hear it. He might be the town’s best surfcaster, always knowing which beach the blues or stripers would hit, but he still smelled.
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    I walked next door to the village office, where you could get a permit for the dump or complain about your neighbor’s loud parties. Mrs. Ralston ran the place. I think her title was Village Clerk. Just looking at her in her beige pant suit and tidy bun, you knew she was efficient and perfect for the job. You could even forget she was one of the village loonies until she spoke.
    First she stared at the poster, then at me and the Pomeranian in my arms, making both of us squirm.
    â€œIt’s too hot to leave the dog in the car, even with the windows open,” I explained, knowing damn well that no dogs except Seeing Eye guides were permitted in the office.
    â€œIt’s a boy.”
    â€œYes, his name is Little Red. My mother rescued him from a really bad situation, but he’s learning to trust people again.”
    â€œNot the dog.”
    â€œMe? I’m not pregnant, Mrs. Ralston, I swear.”
    She tapped one perfectly manicured finger on the poster I’d put in front of her. “The horse, Willow. It’s a colt.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    She gave me that hard stare again. She was never wrong about those things. If I ever wanted a clamming permit, I’d better apologize. “It’s just that it’s not a human baby, and it’s already born. And . . . and it’s not even here for you to look at.”
    â€œYou dreamed it, didn’t you? You drew it, didn’t you? You put as much feeling into the picture as you could, didn’t you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt’s a boy.”
    â€œOkay, that’s a help. I can’t change the posters, but I can tell people to concentrate on a colt. Maybe that’ll reinforce the positive thoughts.”
    Mrs. Ralston said she’d tell the mayor, when he remembered to come in to work. Mayor Applebaum had been forgetting the office hours and board meetings as long as I remembered, but no one ever ran against him.
    I shook my head when I was back outside. “This place gets weirder and weirder,” I told Little Red. He growled at a squirrel across the street.
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    Paumanok Harbor had a volunteer fire department, so only one man was there, a young high-school kid, he looked like, washing the already gleaming fire trucks. I didn’t know him, didn’t know if he was one of the Paumanok paras or just a recent newcomer to the village.
    He knew who I was, though, and knew about the mares. He looked as