Too Far Under (35 page)

What had Angelica been thinking, telling Faye
about the new will? Did she think her mother had made a mistake
disinheriting Faye? Did she think that Faye could convince Lacey to
destroy the new will? Did she think this was the best way to hurt
Judith?

I still wanted to keep Faye talking. “Even if
there is a new will,” I said as calmly as I could manage, “we can’t
change it and neither can you. What do you hope to accomplish by
threatening us?”

Faye smirked. “It’s too bad I have to
threaten you, but I need your help.” Her eyes still blazed, but her
tone was more civil. “From what Angelica says, Derrick and Judith
don’t know about the new will yet—only you, Angelica and Lacey
know. So, you’re going to help me get that will so I can destroy
it. Then we’ll all go back to the old will, and I’ll let you and
Angelica go. If you tell people, it won’t matter because you’ll
have no proof.”

Wow. Déjà vu all over again. Only this time
if the new will was destroyed that would be the end of it because
it was the only remaining valid original. I couldn’t see any way
she could get the new will without involving other people. Then to
get away, she’d probably end up taking Angelica as a hostage. I
couldn’t let that happen. Maybe if I raised the stakes she’d back
off.

I confronted her firmly. “Faye, think about
what you’re doing. You’re in way too much trouble to save yourself
by getting rid of Mirabel’s new will. Pablo and I found out a lot
of stuff about you that I’m thinking you don’t want people to
know—especially the artists you represent. Like that scam you’re
running on eBay. What do you think would happen to you if that got
out?”

She didn’t even look shocked that I knew
about the eBay fraud, just annoyed. “Stop right there, Cleo,” she
demanded, pointing her gun directly at my face. “You have no idea
what you’re talking about. Artists just create and leave all the
messy business details to the gallery owners. We have to do
whatever we can to stay in business.. You know I’d never want to
hurt any of my artists. But my hands were tied. The gallery was
losing money, Mirabel was pressuring me, and I was drowning in
unpaid bills. When the opportunity opened up to be part of the eBay
thing, I had to do it so I could make the money I needed to keep
the gallery open.”

Amazing. She thought her scam was justified.
“Whatever your reasons, you’re conducting a fraud and now you’ll
have to face the consequences. But that’s nothing compared to the
trouble you’ll be in for kidnapping a child at gunpoint. If you
take us back and let us go now, no one has to know about this.”

“No. I’m not going to let Mirabel cheat me
out of the gallery I’ve worked for all these years. Everything I’ve
done has been for that gallery.” Faye stood up, grabbed her purse,
dug inside, and pulled out a cell phone. She walked over and stuck
it in Angelica’s face. “Call Lacey’s cell number,” she said. “No
tricks. I’m watching.”

Angelica typed in the digits, hit send, and
held the phone to her ear. “Voicemail,” she said.

“Leave a message,” Faye said. “Tell her
you’re in trouble and she needs to call this number immediately.
And she can’t tell anyone else.”

What? Faye was leaving that message with her
own cell number? She was flying blind here!

Angelica left the message and handed the
phone back to Faye, who took it and went back to her chair.

“Are you going to ask Lacey to bring the will
out here?” Angelica asked. “What if she won’t do it?”

“Of course I’m not going to have her come
here,” Faye said crankily. “She could bring the police or who knows
who else. I’ll arrange to meet her somewhere to get it from
her.”

She was sounding crazier and crazier. I
interrupted with a dose of reality. “Look, Faye, even if you
destroy the new will so you still inherit, you’re not going to be
able to run a gallery in Boulder—or anywhere—after all you’ve
done.”

Faye jumped up again, scowling and waving her
gun in our faces. “Shut up, Cleo,” she said angrily. “I know more
about the art business than you ever will. I ran that gallery
successfully for years. Then we hit one rough patch and Mirabel was
all over me, threatening to dissolve our partnership. Now a new
will turns up where she went back on her promise to leave me full
interest in the gallery with no rent. Who did she think she was?
She put up a great front, being all socially conscious, saving the
environment and endangered species. But she couldn’t be bothered
with her own friends and family. We’re better off without her. She
was toxic to all of us. Think about it. Her husband’s been having
an affair for years. One of her kids died of anorexia, and the
others live off her money and create problems wherever they go.
Lacey stars in her own pointless hysterical life drama, Shane rips
off people’s identities and scams their credit cards, and Angelica
here thinks she’s some kind of specially chosen child who can do
whatever she wants.”

Her cruel poisonous tongue stunned me. What
kind of monster says this stuff to a ten-year old about her mother?
If that’s the person Faye really is, it’s no wonder Mirabel was on
her case.

During Faye’s tirade, Angelica had been
staring at her, eyes wide, face frozen. Now she jerked to her feet
and confronted Faye. “No! You’re wrong! She was a beautiful person.
But when she saw you for the evil person you are, you murdered her.
I can see it now. You pushed her under the water and killed
her.”

Faye lashed back. “No! I’m not evil. I didn’t
want to kill Mirabel, but she left me no choice. She was going to
shut down the gallery. I cared about the artists, she didn’t.
You’re both artists. You should understand. I have to keep the
gallery open. Now you can help me or I can kill you both and make
it look like an accident.”

Angelica leapt at Faye, scratching and
kicking her. I sprang up to stop her, but before I could, Faye
swung around her right hand that was holding the gun and smacked
Angelica in the side of the head. Angelica slumped to the floor,
hitting her head on the cement.

Fury exploded in me. I put aside concerns for
my own safety. Angelica was my only focus. I had to defend her—do
whatever it took to keep her safe. If Faye put a bullet in me, that
would be the price. I kicked up at the gun in Faye’s hand. It flew
off in a high arc toward the back of the room. Faye and I both
dashed after it, but her high-heeled boots weren’t a good choice
for running on slick concrete. I not only got to the gun first, I
managed to stick out my leg and trip her, sending her sprawling to
the floor. She landed with an “oof,” and lay still.

I grabbed the gun, ran back and knelt next to
Angelica, feeling for her pulse. She was breathing regularly and
her pulse was strong, but her head was bleeding and she had lost
consciousness. I stroked her face gently. A surge of love welled up
in me. Before that moment I’d seen her as an interesting and often
delightful child. I didn’t really understand her but I cared about
her and I wanted to help her. Suddenly as she lay there, this
sweet, vulnerable, motherless child transformed in front of my
eyes. She was me as a child, my inner child, the children I don’t
have. I wanted justice for her. I wanted her to be safe and happy.
I wanted her to get the resolution and love and good life that she
deserved. I vowed to make that happen.

I turned away from Angelica, grabbed my purse
and pulled out my cell phone to call 911. But before I could make a
call, the phone rang. Pablo calling. I answered.

“SWAT Team outside,” he said. “Put Faye on so
we can negotiate with her.”

“Tell them to back off,” I said. “I have her
gun. I’ll open the door for you. Angelica is hurt. We need an
ambulance right away.”

Faye hadn’t moved or spoken. I seized her
purse from where she’d left it by her chair, got her keys out,
darted to the front door and unlocked it. What a welcome sight.
There stood Pablo along with two Boulder PD SWAT Team members. Now
that we were safe, they looked slightly overdressed in their
bullet-proof helmets, vests and groin protectors. But I knew it was
standard for hostage situations.

I ran back to Angelica, who was beginning to
stir. Her eyes were still closed and her face was white. Suddenly
she vomited. I rolled her carefully onto her side to keep her from
choking, and grabbed Faye’s black jacket from her chair to wipe
Angelica’s face. Then I sat with her on the floor, holding her hand
and speaking quiet soothing words to keep her still until the
ambulance arrived.

The police were checking on Faye, who
abruptly awakened with a shout. “Damn you, Cleo! You and that
bratty kid will regret sticking your noses into my business. Who do
you think will believe your lies about me after they find out you
two talk to ghosts?”

The rest of her outburst was drowned out by
the scream of the ambulance siren as it pulled into the parking
lot. Pablo directed the crew to Angelica and I stayed right with
her as the medic checked her vital signs. “Are you her mother?” he
asked.

“No,” I admitted. “Just a friend. Her mother
is dead, but I can call her sister and try to reach her father. Is
she going to be all right?”

“We need to get her to the hospital,” he
said, as the other crewmember ran in, pushing a stretcher. They
lifted her on, strapped her in, and wheeled her toward the
door.

I ran frantically along beside. “Please tell
me how she is,” I implored. I knew they couldn’t tell me anything
about her condition—they weren’t doctors and she was a minor and
not my child. But I could and did insist on riding with her to the
hospital.

“I’m staying with Angelica until her family
gets to the hospital,” I yelled over to the police who were
questioning Faye on the other side of the room. “I’ll give you a
statement at the hospital or later at the police station, but not
now,” I said in my strongest don’t-mess-with-me voice.

More Boulder police had arrived by then, but
Pablo waved them away from me as I headed out to the ambulance.
“I’m right behind you, babe,” he said giving me a quick hug. “Call
her family from the ambulance, but don’t give anyone details until
you’ve made your statement. I know none of this is your fault, but
her family might not see it that way.”

As I sat in the back of the ambulance,
holding Angelica’s hand, the wail of the siren washed over me like
a tragic Greek chorus bemoaning my mistakes. I sagged in anguish. I
deserved whatever consequences I might suffer from all this. I had
ignored both Pablo’s and Elisa’s warnings. But Angelica—who had
already suffered so much at such a young age—did not deserve to be
hurt. And my failure to keep her safe stung like a sharp thorn in
my heart.

Staff at the hospital emergency entrance
whisked Angelica off to a treatment room and sent me to the intake
desk to provide basic information. The waiting room was a madhouse.
Two college women had fallen from the roof of a three-story
sorority house during an early-evening drinking party. Their
not-so-sober sorority sisters jammed the tiny waiting area—crying,
talking, laughing—all at an ear-splitting level.

As I fought through the crowd to the desk,
one voice from the front door was loud and frantic enough to stand
out above the cacophony of young female voices. “Cleo, where is
she? Where’s Angelica? I was on the phone with Dad when you called
from the ambulance. Your voicemail made me crazy! I ran at least
three red lights getting over here. Please say she’s okay!”

Lacey and I shoved through the crush to get
to each other, and I pulled her back with me to the desk where the
receptionist sat behind a glass panel. Lacey looked sweaty and
frazzled and very, very scared. I put my arms around her and spoke
quietly into her ear. “Angelica’s in a treatment room. I’m sure
they’ll let you go there as soon as you tell them who she is and
what insurance she has.”

Once the woman behind the desk understood who
Lacey was, she took her behind the glass separator to fill out the
forms in a quieter space. I was left alone with the boisterous
after-party crowd. The adrenaline that had sustained me during our
capture and escape was wearing off. I was shaky and dizzy, but I
managed to slowly make my way through the mob to the front door. I
wanted to get out and call Pablo. He’d said he’d be right behind me
and I desperately needed a huge Pablo hug.

Just as I got to the door, it swung open in
my face. I looked up hoping to see Pablo’s caring face, but instead
I got a surly glare from Derrick Townes. “I told you to stay away
from Angelica,” he snarled, pausing briefly to glower at me. “But
you didn’t listen. And now she’s hurt, maybe dying.” Before I could
even think about what to reply, he put his hand out to silence any
response from me. “I don’t have time to deal with you now,” he said
menacingly, “but you’d better believe there will be consequences.”
Then he pushed off through the throng toward the reception
desk.

I opened the door again, walked out into the
quiet parking lot, sagged against the wall, and vomited into a
trashcan. My phone rang. Pablo. By the time I got a tissue from my
pocket, wiped off my face and picked up the call, it had gone to
voicemail. I sobbed in frustration and total misery.

A familiar voice broke into my melancholy.
“Yo, Cleo.”

I looked up. Suddenly Tyler materialized in
the dark sky. Crouched low on his board, he surfed gracefully over
a parking-lot lamppost and hovered in front of me.

“Awesome. You didn’t bail in the impact
zone.”

“Tyler! I wish I had bailed. Angelica is
hurt. What if she has a serious head injury? What if she dies? I
should have stayed out of this whole mess.”

“Hey, you’re no poser. You’re the badass.
Cruncher didn’t wipe you out. Now you can paddle back out and shoot
the curl.”