Too Far Under (17 page)

All of which reminded me that I should check
out more of the nursing homes in the booklet Tim had given us at
the meeting. Not that I had forgotten—more like I’d put it in the
back of my mind next to other unpleasant tasks I postpone like
making dentist appointments and getting the tires rotated on my
car. But I knew I had to move on this, so I told myself to suck it
up and go visit more places. I gave Gramma a hug and said, “I need
to go now. Do you want to stay here with the fish or go back down
the hall?”

“Stay,” she said.

I gave her a kiss, said goodbye, and moved
toward the front door, wishing I could stay with her rather than
face the task ahead.

As I stepped out into the parking lot, I
heard, “Hey, Cleo, hold up a minute,” from a man behind me. I
turned around to see Derrick Townes dressed like he’d come straight
from the tennis court.

I didn’t feel like talking to him, especially
given how unpleasant our last interaction had been. But he bounded
over and stood in front of me looking as friendly and eager as a
puppy dog. “Good to see you, Cleo,” he said. A warm fuzzy smile
spread over his face.

This guy has as many moods as a summer
afternoon in the mountains, I thought to myself. And he goes from
sunny to stormy and back with as little warning. I was wary and
ready to shake him off.

But he was at least as persistent as his
daughter, Lacey. He stood blocking the door to my car, talking to
me like I was an old friend. “Bet you’re not any happier with
what’s going on here than I am. This closing down thing is a huge
mess.” He shook his head and frowned slightly, then went on. “I had
an early match in the tennis tournament this morning and then I
came over to see Dad. I don’t know what to do. He refuses to even
talk about moving.”

I decided a few minutes of polite
conversation might be worth my time. Maybe he’d decide I wasn’t as
evil as Judith made me out to be. “So your father likes living
here?” I asked.

“He didn’t at first—after his stroke. Said
he’d rather die than live in a nursing home. But he couldn’t manage
on his own and we couldn’t take care of him. It takes two people to
get him in and out of his wheelchair. The hospital social workers
talked him into giving Shady Terrace a try and now that he’s used
to it, he likes it here pretty well. He doesn’t want to think about
any other places—says he’ll just stay and let them tear the
building down around him.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Not sure. Have you found any good places for
your grandmother?”

“No. I’m just off to check out some more of
the places on Tim’s list,” I said, hoping that now that I’d talked
politely with him about his father, he’d back off and let me
leave.

“Could I buy you a quick cup of coffee
first?” he asked with another engaging grin. “I’d like to apologize
for Judith’s contrariness the other day. I was embarrassed. She
gets carried away sometimes, doesn’t realize how it comes across.
Anyway I’d love to compare notes on this nursing home mess. Two
heads are better than one and all that.”

The idea of talking to someone who was in the
same boat as I was with the nursing home search was appealing and I
was curious about what he’d say about Judith, so I decided to join
him. “Okay. How about Caffé Soleil over at Table Mesa? It’s on my
way and there’s easy parking.”

He agreed enthusiastically, so we drove off
and met a few minutes later at the coffee place. Once we had our
lattes and were settled at a table on the sunny outdoor patio, I
pulled out the booklet Tim had given us at the meeting. “I’ve only
seen a couple of the places on this list,” I said. “Have you
visited any of them?”

Derrick looked troubled. “Like I said, Dad
doesn’t want to move. I’ve been hoping we could derail this sale.
Hugh Symes is rich, but he doesn’t have a lot of friends in this
town. You probably heard about the prairie-dog flap he got into
with Mirabel. I think she had him by the short hairs on that one,
but since she died her group has dropped the ball on it. I thought
I could get his attention by threatening to revive that case and to
rat him out on some other underhanded deals I know about, but he’s
not budging.”

“So you actually threatened Symes, hoping you
could get him to keep Shady Terrace open?”

“Damn right I threatened him. My father is on
Medicaid and Symes is basically turning him out into the street.
Dad has no money. He has to go wherever we can find an open
Medicaid bed.”

Given what Elisa and Jack had said about
Derrick’s finances, I figured he couldn’t help his father pay for a
nursing home. I could see why he was upset about the closing, but I
thought his idea of derailing the sale was a lost cause. “From what
Tim said, it sounds like the sale is a done deal,” I said. “And we
need to find new places before they all get filled up.”

“Tim Grosso!” Derrick exclaimed angrily,
nearly upsetting his cup. “I wouldn’t trust anything that guy says.
For all we know, Hugh may be paying him off.”

I was getting used to Derrick’s mood swings,
but I was taken aback at the intensity of his attack on Tim. “Why
would you say that?” I asked, then sipped my coffee and waited for
his reply. When he didn’t respond, I prodded him. “Tim’s the chair
of the Psych Department at the university and he does this nursing
home thing as a volunteer.”

Derrick looked around to see who was sitting
within listening distance, then said quietly, “Tim and Mirabel were
close until they had some kind of falling out last year. They
worked on causes, went hiking, hung out smoking pot. I’m pretty
sure he was encouraging her to leave me. The more time she spent
with him, the more she talked about a divorce.”

Whoa. Tim and Mirabel smoked pot together?
Apparently Pablo was right about him. I also remembered what Elisa
and Jack had said about Derrick staying with Mirabel because he
needed her money. If Tim had been pushing Mirabel in the direction
of divorce, I could see why Derrick would dislike him.

“It sounds like you didn’t want a divorce,” I
said, wondering why he’d been having an affair with Judith if he
wanted to preserve his marriage.

He leaned closer to me, a move I assumed was
designed to keep the conversation private between us. For a moment
I was distracted by the animal magnetism of this attractive man,
his deep blue eyes meeting mine in an intimate gaze, but I shook
off the feeling as he continued his story. “We hadn’t had an
intimate relationship for years,” he said quietly. “But Mirabel was
the mother of my children and we’d been together a long time. I
wanted her to be different, but I didn’t want to leave her. She
didn’t want us to split up either. We’d reached an agreement. She
would stay with me and get out of the Church of Scientology, if I
would give up Judith.”

Yikes. Was this guy one of those good-looking
athletic types who follows his impulses until he gets in trouble
and then says whatever he needs to say to charm his way out? Had he
really been planning to break up with Judith or had he just been
playing along to get Scientology out of the picture? Did he and
Judith think Mirabel had believed him and made the new will leaving
all her money to him and his children? Did they bump Mirabel off
like Angelica suspects so he could inherit the money and then be
together after all?

I was carefully keeping my inscrutable
therapist expression as this stuff was racing through my mind, but
I needed to change my focus before I lost control and showed my
alarm. I drew back away from him and said the first thing that
popped into my mind. “You and Judith were breaking up?”

“I was about to tell Judith it was over the
week that Mirabel died. Now there’s no reason why Judith needs to
know I had promised Mirabel I would leave her.”

Why would he share such a cold self-serving
thought with me? The only reason I could think of was that my
original idea was true—that he and Judith had plotted together for
him to deceive Mirabel—that he had never intended to break up with
Judith, but he wanted Mirabel to believe he had. Now for some
reason he wanted me to believe the lies he’d told Mirabel.

“Here’s the thing,” he said slowly, putting
down his cup and turning his full gaze on me again. “Mirabel told
me she’d kept her promise and made a new will that left out the
Scientologists. But I can’t find it. Her father, Vernon, handled
all her legal stuff and he says he never drew up a new will for
her. I think she did change the will, but I can’t prove it. So I
need you to contact her spirit or whatever Lacey says you can do
and ask her where the will is. If you really want to help Lacey and
Angelica, help me find that will so the Scientologists don’t get
money that belongs in our family.”

Good grief. He thinks my Contact Project is
like sending email questions to the dead. I didn’t feel like
explaining the whole process to him there and then, especially
since it was Lacey who was my client, not him. So I gave the
simplest answer. “I can’t do that for you. I don’t contact spirits
for families. I help them do it.”

“It would be much better for you to do it,”
he said. “I’ll pay double what you usually charge if you can find
out where the will is.”

Now that it was obvious why he’d brought me
there, I’d had enough. I stood up, collected my stuff, and said,
“You have no idea what the Contact Project is. Now I need to go
visit nursing homes.”

Then before he had time to say another word,
I turned and walked to my car.

I visited another two disappointing nursing
homes that Saturday afternoon. Afterwards to get my mind off the
bad odors and dreary buildings, I went to my office to put some
finishing touches on a presentation I was scheduled to give at a
psychology conference in Denver the next week. I was excited about
having gotten my paper accepted to this prestigious conference, and
I wanted my presentation to be excellent. After I’d spent an hour
tinkering with my Power Point slides, I took a break to check my
email.

I noticed one with ‘last minute conference
changes” in the subject line, so I opened it first to see if I’d
need to make any changes in my presentation. The words hit me like
a ton of snow rumbling down a mountainside to smother an
unsuspecting skier. I gasped for breath as I re-read the miserable
message. “We regret that last-minute scheduling changes require us
to cancel your presentation. Blah…blah…blah. Please consider
submitting it for consideration at next year’s conference.
Blah…blah…blah.”

Could they do this? Cancel me at the last
minute? Did they have any idea how much time I’d spent preparing my
presentation? Did they care? I grabbed my cell phone and called the
number for the conference organizer. Of course I got voice mail. I
left a message asking someone to call me about the email. Then I
called Elisa’s cell.

“Ouch! That’s a kick in the gut,” she said
after I read her the email and asked my questions. “I’m SO sorry. I
know how much this meant to you. But they can do it, Cleo. It’s
their conference. I haven’t heard of it happening with that
conference before, though. I wonder what happened.”

“I guess they got a last-minute paper from
someone they think is more impressive than I am,” I said sadly.

“Maybe they didn’t get enough conference
registrations to hold all the sessions,” Elisa said slowly. “Or
maybe Judith Demar had a hand in this. She has a lot of connections
in the academic community. Remember I told you she’s a dangerous
enemy.”

“Seriously? You think she’d go that far? And
what good would it do her if I don’t know she did it? If she’s
trying to intimidate me, I need to know she got my paper removed so
I know what she’s capable of.”

“Perhaps she’ll find a way to let you know.
Let’s talk more about it later. I need to go now. I’m driving on
Broadway and I have to get around a couple of busses.”

I hung up, closed down my computer, locked up
my office and went home to shower and change for the evening. Pablo
was getting back from his Atlanta crisis-intervention training
course in the late afternoon and we had plans to go to a party that
evening at the home of some artist friends from the old days.

As I showered, I thought about how much I was
looking forward to seeing Pablo, spending some time together,
sharing all that had happened while he was away. His training
schedule had been so intense that we’d only been able to connect
for a couple of brief phone calls during the week. I had a lot to
tell him. He didn’t know about my meetings with Lacey, Angelica and
Shane, not to mention Derrick and Judith, or Vernon and Glenna. But
there was no way we’d have time to talk about all that before the
party. I knew it would take a while to explain how I’d gotten so
quickly involved in a situation he’d warned me away from.

I put on my favorite pair of sexy Joe’s
jeans—the ones that fit me like a second skin. After trying a few
tops, I settled on a black lacey tank with a coral silk shirt over
it. I wanted to look good, especially since I had to give Pablo
news he didn’t want to hear. I was just finishing styling my hair
when Pablo showed up looking so scrumptious that I instantly threw
myself at him for a huge hug. His powerful arms enfolded me and I
smooshed myself into his solid muscular shoulders. So much tension
oozed out of me that I felt ten pounds lighter.

“I’m glad to see you too,” Pablo said
tenderly, tipping up my head for a soft sweet kiss. I almost
suggested we skip the party altogether. But before I could, Pablo
read my thoughts, met my eyes and said, “You look great, but let’s
go to the party first. It will be fun to see Mel and Jerri and
everyone. We can leave early and come back here.”

Mel and Jerri were a couple when we were all
in college studying art. They got married not long after and had a
couple of kids who must be about eight and ten now. Jerri has done
well as an illustrator and Mel started a greeting-card company that
ended up being bought out for millions. They are the big success
story of our class. I don’t see them much anymore except at
occasional gatherings of old friends, and it’s always fun to catch
up.