Too Far Under (11 page)

As it was, I got into huge trouble with my
father a couple of days later when he found out about our visit to
the psychic. “Cleo, what did you think you were doing going into
that part of town at night to see a psychic? They’re all fakes who
are after your money. You need to learn to think before you act.”
To reinforce that point, Dad had grounded me for two
weeks—overreacting in the harsh direction as usual.

The next week the spirit visited me just
after midnight, waking me out of a sound sleep. “Your friend Emil
needs you,” she said. “You need to go to him now.” I knew Emil had
been seriously unhappy ever since the school bitch had dumped him
two months ago. I’d listened and tried to be supportive as he
grieved the breakup, but nothing I said broke though his wall of
misery.

“I’m grounded,” I said to the spirit. “I
can’t go out or even use the phone. My father would kill me.”

“Emil’s needs are greater,” she said. “You
will survive. He may not.” Then she faded away.

Dad was still up. I could see the light from
the living room where he read at night. I knew I couldn’t get past
him. I wanted to help Emil but I was afraid, so I didn’t go. I
didn’t see Emil that night or ever again. He killed himself at 2:00
a.m. And that was the last time I saw the beautiful spirit.

Even worse than my grief over losing Emil was
my guilt that I had let fear win over what I knew I should do. I
was torn between hoping I’d never see another spirit and hoping the
Cleopatra spirit would return and give me another chance. Mostly I
vowed that in the future if any spirits did show up, I would do
what they asked even if it seemed risky to me personally.

But my life was spirit-free until Tyler
showed up a few years ago when I was trying to contact my Grampa,
who had been dead for five years. By that time I had gotten so
interested in finding a way to contact Grampa that I had built my
first apparition chamber in a spare room in my house. I was
astonished when instead of Grampa I got Tyler—a surfer I’d never
heard of or known.

At first I wondered whether he was real or a
figment of my imagination. Then I asked myself which way made me
crazier. Inventing an imaginary surfer-dude friend who tells me
what to do, or seeing and talking to a surfer-dude spirit who no
one else can see or hear? I figured I’d come off as kind of nutty
either way.

But I couldn’t make up the strange way he
talks in surfer language. I’ve spent most of my life in Kansas and
Colorado. I’ve never been surfing, never known a surfer. After the
first time he spoke to me I had to look up surfer lingo on the
internet to make sense out of what he said. So why and how could I
have invented Tyler? I decided he must be real. And I resolved to
take his advice seriously.

By then the sun had gone down behind the
foothills so my tree-gazing was over. But I had my answer. Go with
my gut and help Lacey and Angelica, like Tyler had been telling me
to do.

I left the office at 6:00 to meet Elisa for
an early dinner. Since Sunday I had managed to squeeze in a few
more trips to check out nursing homes and she had offered to help
me sort out my impressions. We met at our favorite Mexican
restaurant, The Rio Grande, famous for its strong and tasty
margaritas—on-the-rocks, frozen, strawberry, they’re all
delicious.

We got a table in my favorite part of the
restaurant. It’s called “the garage” because of its huge
garage-door-style windows that open to the street on two sides. I
love the porch-like feeling of eating outside while being inside
out of the chilly evening air. A young guy in jeans and a dark blue
tee shirt showed up right away with water, homemade chips and fresh
salsa. Our server took our drink order and promptly grabbed us a
couple of salt-rimmed margaritas from the bar.

“Whew! I’ve been tasting this drink in my
mind all day,” Elisa said after taking a mega-swallow.

“Like I always say, their margaritas are the
best I’ve had anywhere, including Mexico,” I said. “I wish I could
get hold of their secret recipe.”

Our server came back for our order—a chicken
tostada for Elisa, and mahi-mahi tacos for me. Some people say the
drinks are the only reason to go to the Rio, but I love their
fresh, healthy tex-mex food as much as the margs.

While we waited for our food, I filled Elisa
in on the nursing homes I’d visited and we discussed pros and cons
of various ones. As usual she helped me see through my confusion.
“I’m not hearing any enthusiasm from you about any of those nursing
homes,” she said.

“Okay, bottom line—I don’t have a good
feeling about any of the places I’ve seen, and there are only two
left to visit,” I said. “I’m starting to think bringing her home
and hiring a round-the-clock caregiver might be the way to go.”

“Can you and she afford that?” Elisa asked.
“The agencies charge a fortune for twenty-four-hour care.”

“I know. I’m hoping I can hire someone
privately, so I won’t have to pay the agency fees. But it can be
hard to find someone good. I think I’ll talk to Tim Grosso about
that. He said something the other night about some bad experience
he had with his father’s housekeeper. I need to know what to look
out for.”

Our food arrived and we took a break from
conversation while we poured salsa over everything and dug in.
After her second bite, Elisa looked up and said, “Between the Psych
Department and the ombudsman thing, you’re getting to know Tim
pretty well. What do you think of him?”

“He’s helping me and he seems nice enough.
I’m amazed that he gives so much time to a volunteer job when he’s
also the chair of the Psych Department. But it’s hard for me to
picture him with Faye. She’s so fiery and he’s so laid back. She’s
an elegant dresser and he’s mostly a jeans-and-tee-shirt kind of
guy.”

Then I flashed on what Pablo had said about
Tim. “In fact Pablo says Tim’s an old hippie. Do you know anything
about him growing marijuana?”

Elisa laughed. “I think Pablo’s got that
right. Tim’s laid-back style probably owes something to his
favorite herb. I know he’s a smoker, but I have no idea where he
gets his supply. If he’s a grower, he’s a very careful one.”

We were distracted by a toddler at the table
next to us who was happily eating black beans with his hands,
smearing them all over his face in the process. His bemused parents
watched but didn’t interrupt his fun—probably content to enjoy
their own dinner and drinks in peace.

My thoughts kept drifting back to the
decision I’d made about Lacey. I knew Elisa would disapprove, but I
decided to bite the bullet. I didn’t really want to hear what Elisa
had to say about it, but she’d find out eventually so we might as
well get it over with. “I met with the Townes kids today—Lacey,
Angelica and Shane—and I agreed to bring Lacey into the Contact
Project so she can try to reach Mirabel.”

Elisa slammed her glass down on the table so
hard that some margarita slopped over the side. “Cleo you need to
think before you jump into a hornet’s nest. This business with the
Townes family has trouble written all over it. I thought you were
trying to lay low for a while.”

I watched the small lime-tequila pool that
had spilled from her drink dribble along the smooth black table
toward its lowest corner. I told myself that if she stopped talking
before it flowed over onto the brick floor, she wasn’t as upset as
she seemed. But it dripped over, and she continued.

“Here you’ve finally gotten yourself a sweet
spot at the university teaching this paranormal class, which can
help you build some credibility for what you do in your Contact
Project. If you remember, I put myself out there in the department
supporting you for that. But now you want to blow it to get
involved with a drama queen, an Indigo child and a slacker! Sounds
like a death-to-your-career wish to me!”

I sighed. “Give me a break, Elisa. I can’t
operate out of fear when someone needs my help, especially when the
main victim is a ten-year-old child. It’s not easy to refuse a
little girl who has lost both her sister and her mother and whose
father is more interested in his mistress than in her. I don’t
think you’d turn her down either.”

“Honey, you know I’m not one to back off to
save my own ass. But I always say pick your battles, and I say this
is a bad pick.”

“Well, it’s my pick. So I’ll have to live
with it.”

Our server came by to see if we wanted
seconds on drinks. I was sorely tempted to drown my annoyance in
more tequila, but I resisted and asked for the check instead. As
the server went off to get our bill, I continued pleading my case
to Elisa. “Look, I’ll get plenty of grief from Pablo when he gets
back from his conference on Saturday and finds out what I’m doing.
It would help a lot not to have you on my case along with him. How
about I agree to be extra careful and you agree to trust that I’m
not going to do anything stupid?”

She sighed and gave me a penetrating
no-nonsense look. “Okay but you have to promise to keep me in the
loop, so I have a clue what’s coming before it blows up in your
face.”

I smiled. “That request wouldn’t have
anything to do with satisfying your love of gossip and your
insatiable curiosity about scandals, would it?”

“Touché. I admit I’m curious and I like to
know what’s up. But I also care about you and I don’t want to see
you get sucked under.”

“That’s fair. I agree,” I said, “and now I
have to go.” We settled the bill and made our way to the door. Once
we were outside we gave each other a big hug. Although I was
nowhere near as comfortable with my decision as I pretended to be,
I felt much better having Elisa’s support.

I walked home along Pearl Street enjoying the
view of the foothills and basking in my margarita-induced glow. I
decided to take my new energy into my studio to work on a painting.
I live in my grandparents’ old historic house and my studio is the
stone carriage house behind it, which my grandmother remodeled
years ago and where I spent so many sweet summer mornings painting
with her during my childhood and teenage years. The room is full of
stacked paintings—both mine and Gramma’s—and happy memories of our
time together.

I hadn’t had any time for painting since the
Shady Terrace bombshell, so I was eager to jump in. I was deeply
absorbed when my cell phone rang. Without thinking, I answered
without checking the caller ID, which I later noticed said
“unavailable.”

“Am I speaking to Cleo Sims?” the female
voice asked.

I already regretted answering. It was
probably someone trying to sell me something, but—since I use my
cell for both business and personal calls—it could be a new client.
“Who’s calling please?” I asked in my business voice.

“This is Judith Demar,” she said brusquely.
“I’m a friend of Derrick Townes. You met me at the West End Gallery
last Friday. Faye introduced us.”

Oh yes, Angelica’s horrible Judith with the
dark-red aura. Now I definitely regretted answering. So I cut to
the chase. “What can I do for you, Judith?”

“I’m calling on behalf of Derrick. We have to
meet with you right away.” Her voice sounded like a no-nonsense
drill sergeant. “Tomorrow. We’re both tied up in the morning so it
will have to be afternoon. Can we say two o’clock?”

Whoa! This woman is a steamroller. And why
was she calling on behalf of Derrick? My first inclination was to
tell her I had no openings for the next month, if ever. But I
decided to stay more civil. If I was going to work with the Townes
children, I didn’t want her standing in the way. “My schedule is
very busy tomorrow, Judith. I don’t have my appointment book with
me right now, but I could call you in the morning and set up a time
for next week.”

“Didn’t you hear me say I’m tied up in the
morning?” She sounded like she was lecturing a small child. I could
see why Angelica disliked her.

I stayed cool. “No problem. I’ll call in the
morning and leave a message with a few available times. You can
pick one and call me back.”

“Actually you’re wrong. There is a problem.
And it’s your problem. Derrick’s daughter Lacey brought her sister
Angelica to your office today without his permission. I’m sure you
know that treating a minor requires parental permission.”

“Of course. But I wasn’t treating her. She
and Lacey and Shane and I were just having a conversation.”

“Well now you and Derrick and I need to have
a conversation about that conversation. And we need to have it
tomorrow.”

Uh-oh. Elisa’s prediction of trouble was
already coming true. I realized that I shouldn’t have let Lacey
bring Angelica to my office. We should have met somewhere else to
talk where it wouldn’t have looked like a therapy session. I could
see how Derrick and Judith could make trouble for me, since it
could be hard to prove I wasn’t treating a minor without
permission.

So I agreed to a meeting. “Okay. I left my
4:00 time open tomorrow to catch up on my clients’ insurance forms.
You can come then,” I said grudgingly. “That’s the only time I can
offer you right now.”

Judith and Derrick breezed into my office
like they owned the place at 4:00 on Thursday. They were both
dressed in tennis clothes. Judith wore a tiny short black tennis
dress that had white side inserts and a sporty racer back. Derrick
matched her with sleek black shorts and a black tee that had a
white stripe running down the right side and underarm mesh venting
panels. Their shoes looked like the expensive kind that you see in
pro tournaments or at Wimbleton.

“Excuse the tennis clothes,” Derrick said
with a smile as I showed them in to my counseling room. “Since you
couldn’t meet us at two, we took advantage of our free time to get
in some extra practice. We’re playing in a tournament this weekend
and we don’t like to lose.”