Too Far Under (26 page)

Okay, just because someone is a drama queen
doesn’t mean she never has a reason to lose it. I had misjudged
her. This time her hysterics were merited.

I hugged her and rubbed her back until her
sobbing subsided. Then I led her to the kitchen, sat her at the
table, and put the kettle on for tea. Once she calmed down, I asked
her to tell me what had happened.

“Grandad fell down the stairs last night and
died.” She began crying again.

“What a horrible accident, Lacey. I’m so
sorry,” I said, handing her some tissues.

She dabbed at the tears, but kept crying.
“It’s worse than that,” she moaned. “I have a terrible feeling it
wasn’t an accident.”

I almost lost my cool and bombarded her with
questions. I wanted to know all about his fall and why she thought
it might not be an accident. But I didn’t want to set her off
again. “Who was there when he fell?” I asked.

She blew her nose and grimaced. “No one
knows. Maybe he was alone, maybe not. Maybe he tripped. Maybe
someone pushed him.” Her voice was shrill and her words tumbled
over each other.

I put my arm around her shoulders and spoke
quietly. “Slow down. Why would you think someone pushed him? Tell
me what you know.”

Lacey wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Glenna called the whole family from the hospital last night.
Grandad was already dead when I got there. Glenna said she’d been
out at a church meeting and got home around 11:00 p.m. She said
that when she got there, she found him unconscious at the bottom of
the stairs and she called 911. An ambulance came and took him to
the emergency room, but he never regained consciousness. He died
right after he got there.” Lacey put her head in her hands and
sobbed.

Her recounting the details wasn’t only to
satisfy my curiosity. It’s what people do after a traumatic event.
Reviewing the particulars aloud has a grounding effect that helps
the sufferer cope with shock. Lacey needed to talk. I got her some
more tissues and comforted her.

After a bit, she stopped crying, sat up and
faced me again. “Dad and Glenna got into a huge fight at the
hospital,” she said. “She yelled at Dad that it was all his fault.
She said Dad came over in the afternoon to see Grandad and that
they argued and after Dad left, Grandad was upset and drank a lot.
She said that’s why he fell down the stairs. Dad yelled back at
her, saying if Grandad wasn’t safe to be alone why didn’t she stay
with him.”

My kettle was boiling, so I got up to turn it
off and get a couple of mugs and a selection of tea bags. “What did
Glenna say about that?” I asked as I put the mugs and tea bags on
the table.

Ignoring the tea stuff, Lacey plowed on with
her story. “Glenna said she offered to stay, but Grandad said he
was fine and she should go ahead and go to her meeting. Shane
thinks Glenna may be lying and that she actually pushed him down
the stairs. He says a few days before Mom died she told him that
Glenna had gotten Grandad to give her money and had probably
convinced him to put her in his will. Shane says Glenna could have
easily come home earlier than she said she did and pushed Grandad
down the stairs and then pretended he had fallen before she got
there.”

Lacey finally stopped, took a deep breath and
turned her attention to the tea bags. After we had each put a tea
bag in our mug, and I had filled them with boiling water, I
returned to my chair and the conversation. “What do you think
happened on the stairs?” I asked.

She looked down into her tea. “I don’t know.
Maybe someone killed him.”

I wondered whether our misinformation plan
had anything to do with Vernon’s death. “Did you talk to your dad
and your grandad like we planned?” I asked. “Did you tell them that
you contacted your mom and that she told you she had made a new
will and that someone had murdered her?”

She nodded. “I told Dad, but I didn’t get a
chance to tell Grandad. Dad was all excited thinking he’d get more
money in a new will. I guess that’s why he went to see
Grandad.”

“Do you think your dad came back after Glenna
left for church and got into another argument with your grandad and
pushed him?”

She began to cry again. “I’m afraid that
could be it. I feel terrible. We never should have made that plan.
But now you have to help me find out what happened. I came here
because I have to contact Grandad right away to ask him how he
fell.”

I handed her a box of tissues and waited
while she blew her nose. When she looked up, I spoke gently to her.
“We can’t try to reach him now, Lacey. In the first place, you’re
much too upset. And, besides that, I have a class to teach this
morning. It sounds like you’ve been up all night. Is that
true?”

She straightened, pulled back her shoulders
and sat tall. “Yes, but I can handle lack of sleep.”

I smiled, but stayed firm. “It’s not good for
the contact process, though,” I said. “You’ll do much better if
you’re rested and relaxed. Here’s what I think we should do. I’ll
go teach my class, and you go home and get some sleep. Then come to
my office this afternoon at 4:00. If you feel relaxed and ready,
we’ll give the apparition chamber a try.”

Lacey looked like she wanted to argue more,
but then seemed to think better of it. “Okay,” she said. “It will
be hard to sleep, but I’ll try.”

I showed her out and ran for the shower so I
could get ready for class. In the shower I remembered my fear that
something had happened to Pablo. I knew he was fine, but I wanted
to hear his voice. Also, it occurred to me that if I could reach
Pablo, he could probably find out what the coroner said about
Vernon’s death. Maybe Vernon had a stroke or some other physical
problem that made him fall. When I got out of the shower, I turned
on my phone to give Pablo a call. He didn’t pick up, so I left him
a message. Then I noticed a message had come in for me the night
before. It was Tim Grosso asking me to stop by his office after
class.

All through class I was preoccupied with
thoughts of Vernon, as well as concern about why Tim wanted to see
me. It was hard to concentrate on my lecture and I think it showed.
I let my PowerPoint presentation lead me listlessly along. The
students looked bored and didn’t engage in discussion. Ordinarily I
would have felt bad about putting so little energy into my
teaching, but that morning I just wanted to get out of the
classroom and move on with my day.

As soon as class was over, I stuffed my
laptop and papers into my backpack, hustled out of the room, and
made my way through the throngs of students to the stairway at the
end of the hall. As I climbed the two flights to Tim Grosso’s
office on the third floor, I almost lost my balance when a young
guy sprinted past me on my left. I couldn’t help but think about
Vernon falling to his death on his stairs the night before. Creepy.
Did Glenna really find him at the foot of the stairs or did she
push him down there? Or did someone else push him down while she
was out?

Another faculty member was leaving Tim’s
office just as I got there. Tim beckoned me into his cluttered
office to a chair near a large window that overlooked a grassy
quad. “Thanks for stopping by, Cleo,” he said as he sat down behind
his desk. “I thought it was time to talk about how your class is
going. I’m sure you remember my saying when we originally talked
about this class that the department sees it as an experiment. So I
think it’s important that we check in periodically about progress
and concerns.”

Uh-oh, this sounded ominous. I thought the
class had been going well—leaving aside today, which there was no
way he could have gotten complaints about already—but I worried
that his words were setting the stage for a rebuke. And his
demeanor confused me. Over the past two weeks, we’d been sharing
personal information about problems with my grandmother and his
father, but now he was Mr. Department Chair acting like he didn’t
know me at all outside the university. Since he was playing it that
way, I decided to respond in kind. “I’m happy with the class,” I
said. “Most of the students participate in class discussions and
some of them have done extra reading on topics that interest them
and brought the information back to the other students.”

Tim nodded. “I’m glad to hear the students
are involved in the material,” he said. “But I hope you’re being
careful to keep your interactions with them focused on the class.
One problem with a topic like paranormal psychology is that it can
get more personal than is appropriate for a university class.”

I had no idea what he was getting at, so I
simply nodded and tried not to look as clueless as I felt.

He waited a few seconds and then apparently
realized that I wasn’t going to say anything. “What I’m getting at
here, Cleo, is that it’s come to my attention that you’re
professionally involved with one of our students, Lacey Townes, and
possibly with her younger sister—a minor child—against the parents’
wishes. This is the kind of thing that can escalate to a publicity
nightmare for the university and this department. I’m sure you
remember that when we talked initially about this class, I
expressed my concern that it might become controversial, possibly
sensationalized in a way that would reflect badly on the
university.”

Had Judith Demar complained about me? My gut
churned and jolts of energy coursed though me. I had to force
myself to stay in the chair and pretend to be calm. “Lacey Townes
dropped my class before we began working together,” I said in my
best professional voice. “I insisted on that so there would be no
conflict of interest. And I’m not working with her younger sister.
Lacey wanted me to, but I’ve made it clear that I can’t work with a
minor child without permission.”

Tim nodded. “That’s good as far as it goes,”
he said. “But your involvement with a student—even though she has
withdrawn from your class—doesn’t look good. And when that student
is from a prominent local family, it opens up more possibilities of
bad publicity.”

I wondered whether he’d considered the
possibilities of bad publicity that went along with a department
chair growing marijuana. Good grief, what a hypocrite! But I
couldn’t bring that up. So I said nothing and waited to see where
he would go next.

“Bottom line, I would be much more
comfortable if you ended any professional relationship you have
with Lacey Townes or anyone in her family,” he said.

I stiffened. He had roused my rebellious
streak, strengthened by a lifetime of arguments with my father who
finds something to criticize about almost anything I do. I knew I’d
better get out of his office before I said things I’d regret. So I
said, “I hear your concern and I’ll think about what you said, but
I need to get back to my office now.” I stood up, picked up my
backpack and walked out.

“Let me know what you decide,” he said to my
retreating back. I didn’t turn around.

I walked down the stairs and out the side
door onto campus. The sun was shining, but I was in a fog.
Questions and angry feelings vied for my attention. Could Tim
require me to drop Lacey as a client? I couldn’t see how. She’s not
my student. She’s over twenty-one. And she’s not even a psychology
major. My professional work with her has nothing to do with her
classes at the university. My whole interaction with him felt like
a power play on his part. But why does he care this much? Does
Judith Demar have that much clout? How would she, when she’s in a
different department? Who else might be whispering in his ear?

I decided I wasn’t going to let myself be
intimidated. What was the worst thing that could happen if I
refused to drop Lacey as a client? Tim could decide not to hire me
to teach another class. I am an adjunct instructor after all, with
no guarantees beyond the current semester. And while I care about
teaching and I like the credibility of being associated with the
university, I’m not going to buckle under to an unfair demand.

My commitment to Lacey felt firm and strong
to me and I was resolute in my decision to help Angelica. Despite
my past doubts, I was clear that I was making the right choice.

Suddenly I felt better, lighter. I relaxed
into the festive atmosphere of a good-weather fall Friday on campus
and walked on toward the parking lot.

I was almost to my car when I realized that
I’d forgotten to turn my cell phone back on after class. When I
did, there was a voice mail from Pablo answering the message I’d
left him earlier. “Hey, Cleo. Unless something comes up I’m here in
the office most of the afternoon. Call me.”

I dumped my stuff in the car, sat on the edge
of the front seat and hit his number. He answered on the first
ring. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”

The sound of his voice gave me a warm melty
feeling. “I missed you,” I said. “Last night was fun. I wanted to
hear your voice this morning.”

“That’s sweet,” he said. “Last night was
great. But you knew I had an early morning meeting. Did you really
call me at 7:30 this morning just to hear my voice?” He sounded
skeptical.

“You’re right,” I said. “I did have another
reason for calling, too. I promised to keep you in the loop with
what’s happening with the Townes family and there’s been another
death—maybe a suspicious one. Did you hear about Vernon Evers?”

“Hear what?” Pablo asked in his
matter-of-fact cop’s voice. Maybe he hadn’t heard, or maybe he
wanted to see what I knew before he said more. He never tips his
hand, even to me.

I decided to assume he didn’t know and filled
him in on what Lacey had told me, including her suspicions.

He listened quietly, then paused briefly
before he spoke. “You want to be careful here, Cleo,” he said,
calmly but firmly. “Lacey Townes has a tendency to leap to
conclusions with no evidence. She looks at an accident, imagines
it’s murder, and makes empty accusations. If you want to help her,
you need to get her to back up and look at the facts.”