Sand Witches in the Hamptons (9781101597385) by Celia Jerome Page B

likely with an empty seat, but I couldn’t leave my old neighbor lying on the sidewalk. Besides, those emergency rooms could be daunting. And someone had to call her sons.
    And it was all my fault.
    We could hear the sirens now. Mrs. Abbottini started crying and saying she didn’t want to go. Just help her up the stairs.
    I choked back a tear or two myself. “I’ll go with you to the hospital, okay?”
    She sighed and relaxed. Then she patted my hand. “I knew you’d do the right thing, no matter what your mother says.”
    Van consulted with the other policemen, then reported to me, “The perp’s long gone, but there’s definitely a connection to your stalker. You’ve got to get out of here.”
    â€œI can’t leave her. I promised.”
    The older cop shook his head. “We can’t keep you in sight twenty-four/seven.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œLou ain’t going to be happy,” Van muttered.
    Hell, I wasn’t happy.
    * * *
    I raced upstairs, got my cell phone, a pad, a book to read, and a good-bye treat to leave Little Red. I forgot about my father, breakfast, and the rash that was twice as red as it was yesterday. When I got back to the street, the EMTs wanted to put me on a stretcher, too.
    The triage doctor at the emergency room didn’t think Mrs. Abbottini had broken bones, but ordered X-rays to be sure. While we waited our turn for that, I sketched what Mrs. Abbottini described.
    I’m no police artist, and I understand they use computer programs to do this faster and more accurately, but the effort kept us busy for the seemingly endless hours we sat in dreary, crowded corridors and waiting rooms.
    According to my neighbor, the mugger was short and thin. Not so much effeminate as wimpy, with long dark hair, not much of a chin, a nose stud, and small, squinty eyes, my interpretation of Mrs. Abbottini’s evil eyes. He wasn’t as young as I would have guessed. Mid-twenties, she thought, maybe, and stronger than he looked.
    Of course anyone appeared strong to a little old lady.
    We kicked around theories, that he was Deni’s boyfriend or brother, avenging the slight she imagined, or trying to please her by harassing me. I had no idea why he’d want to hurt me or Mrs. Abbottini.
    The doctor we finally saw wanted to keep Mrs. Abbottini overnight, despite not finding any broken bones or irregular heartbeat. She refused. I tried to convince her, mostly because she looked frail and shaky and how the hell could I get her up the stairs? Ask the neighbors?
    She thought the unmarried lawyers on the second floor were living in sin. The gay couple on the fourth floor definitely were. The way she spoke her mind, loudly, meant they’d drop her on the stairs. Besides, they all worked during the day. And Mr. Rashmanjari might have gone to work by now, also, and the children I saw appeared too small to be much help.
    I left Mrs. Abbottini in a wheelchair by the hospital exit while I went to flag down a taxi, but Lou waited there, with an illegally parked silver Beemer. I never thought I’d be so glad to see him. This time he looked like a successful executive in an expensive suit and Gucci loafers. The man with him looked like a CIA operative, all muscle and dark glasses, buzz-cut hair, and phone wires in his ear. So what if he never smiled, I was happy to see him, too.
    I told Lou I’d take Mrs. Abbottini to Paumanok Harbor with me as soon as she was well enough to travel. “She can’t stay here, for sure.”
    Lou rubbed his recently shaved jaw and looked to see no one could hear us. “I’m not sure about that. Bringing a non-talent to the Harbor is never a good idea.”
    Especially if there’s an epidemic. I saw no choice. I couldn’t go without her, not while she was on painkillers and told to stay off her feet and see her own doctor if she felt dizzy, out of breath, or got a headache. I had