I was genuinely captivated. “It sounds amazing. Does everyone get along and have the same ideas of what will make the world better?”
He laughed again. “No. That would make for a very dull game. There are rival factions always competing with each other to win more power—not so different from this world. But in Gyaki-Birquit, unlike here, the smartest and most skillful characters rule. You can’t just run a bunch of stupid political ads and win power. You can’t buy your way to the top. You have to work your way up through the skill levels by playing masterfully, completing missions and defeating enemies. I respect the integrity of the process.”
“What do you get paid to do there?”
“I’m a community developer so I set up greeters to help new players get oriented and find friends. I provide customer service, and I also monitor forums and clubs for harassment or any rude or insulting behavior.” So he wasn’t the slacker Lacey painted him as.
I was about to ask him to elaborate on that job when I suddenly realized that I was letting my curiosity run the conversation instead of finding out what Shane wanted to talk to me about.
“I’d love to hear more about Gyaki-Birquit,” I said. “But you had something you wanted to talk about, so we should probably move on to that.” I dipped a piece of calamari in sauce and munched it while I waited for his response.
Shane leaned back and closed his eyes for a minute as if mentally changing channels. “Sure. Here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking about how Angelica is so convinced that someone pushed Mom under the water. I’m not saying she’s right, but she does have a kind of spooky way of knowing things. And Mom wasn’t so popular with some people. She had a habit of going after people she didn’t agree with, and she either didn’t see or didn’t care when she’d gone too far. She could be pretty pushy, so she had her enemies. “
“What do you mean?”
“Well there’s that prairie dog fight she got into with that developer Hugh Symes. She was bringing a suit against him for killing prairie dogs on some property he was developing. I think Mom was a little over the top on the subject, but she had the law on her side. From what she said, he didn’t even try to relocate the prairie dogs like the law requires and he didn’t have a permit to kill them. He slaughtered the whole colony and somehow got away with calling it an accident. She couldn’t accept what happened and move on—was insistent that he be held accountable and his development stopped.”
It was tempting to settle on Hugh Symes as the bad guy since I already disliked him for his role in the closing of Shady Terrace. But Shane had mentioned “people” who didn’t like Mirabel, so I wanted to know who else was on his list. “Symes sounds like he had reason to dislike your mother for sure. Who else were you thinking of?”
“Another person she didn’t get along with was Grandad’s dishy young girlfriend Glenna Corn. She thought Glenna was after his money, so she was trying hard to get Grandad to dump her. And I think Mom was investigating Glenna’s background.”
He stopped to eat a shrimp. I waited silently to see who else he would come up with.
“Of course there’s Dad and Judith. Like Angelica and Lacey said, Mom knew they had been having an affair forever. And she’d been pushing Dad to break it off.” He took a gulp of sangria and then went on. “I don’t think they’d kill her, though.”
He thought for a minute and then continued. “Like I said yesterday, I think she was backing off of the Scientologists and they weren’t too happy about that because they were counting on her for big donations. Right now they’re getting a huge bequest from her estate. If Lacey can reach Mom through your project, she definitely needs to ask her if she made a new will. If she did disinherit the Scientologists, the rest of us will get a whole lot more.”
I took a drink of my sangria and considered what to say next. Yesterday Shane said he wasn’t sure he believed in the possibility of reaching Mirabel, and now he was telling me what he wanted to find out if Lacey was able to reach her. “It’s not always possible to get specific answers like that from a spirit,” I said. “But she can try.” Then, just to see what else he had in mind, I asked “Is that your complete list of suspects?”
He thought for a minute as he chewed the last of the calamari. “I don’t know all the people and causes she was involved with. She owned half of that art gallery with Faye Whitton. They seemed to get along okay, but that gallery was a sink-hole for money. It was a terrible investment, but I couldn’t convince Mom of that.”
Interesting and a little scary. Would Faye have the resources to market Gramma’s work? Given Shane’s negative view of Faye’s gallery, I was debating whether to bring up my ties with it. But I didn’t have to decide, because he went on with another even more surprising thought.
“One of our neighbors—a guy named Tim—was a friend of hers from working on political campaigns. I happen to know that he sold Mom pot for her arthritis pain. Then they had a falling out and weren’t speaking. Who knows, maybe he was afraid she’d rat him out for drug dealing.”
My mind was reeling by then, and not from the wine. And the next day was Friday, my teaching day, so I needed to prepare for class. I decided to wrap things up. “I’m wondering since you called me whether you’re rethinking whether you want to try to contact your mom.”
“No. I don’t have the time. I spend about seventy hours a week on Gyaki-Birquit, and even then I can’t keep up. Lacey has plenty of time. Let her do it. But I think Lacey and Angelica are way too focused on Dad and Judith. It’s all they talk about. I wanted to fill you in on some of Mom’s other issues.”
I thanked him and we got up to leave. But I couldn’t resist one more question. “Why does Gyaki-Birquit take so much time?”
He frowned and answered quickly. “I’m a major investor in Gyaki-Birquit and the game is short of resources. We have to increase the membership and get the current players to spend more time so we can raise enough money to complete the expansion packs for the game.”
Just then, a couple being seated at a nearby table called out to Shane. We said our goodbyes, he went off to join them, and I headed out to walk home along Pearl Street. The sun had slipped behind the mountains bringing a chill to the evening air. I hustled along preoccupied by the jumbled thoughts racing through my mind of Mirabel and people who had reasons to bump her off. I was several blocks past Faye’s gallery before I even realized I had passed it without checking to see if any more of Pablo’s work had sold.
Chapter 15
Lacey didn’t show up for my class the next morning, but when class ended at 12:30 she was pacing the hall outside the classroom door. She looked like she’d just come from a yoga class. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing lightweight gray yoga pants that sat on her hips, a white tank, and a gray hoodie. But if she’d been to yoga, she’d missed out on its calming effects.
The minute I stepped through the door, she dashed over, stuck her drop slip in my face, and said breathlessly, “Here. Sign it now so I’m not your student anymore and you can help me. Please. I’m desperate.” Her eyes were red and swollen and brimming with tears. “We have to talk,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.” She looked so forlorn that I paused even though I wasn’t in the mood to get drawn into Lacey’s drama of the day.
Not only was I keyed up from teaching for two hours, I was also starving. I’d been looking forward to going home and relaxing on my back porch with a sandwich and a cup of tea before going to the office to meet my afternoon clients. But I knew from her involvement in past class discussions that Lacey was more than a drama queen. She could be bright and thoughtful when she wasn’t so stressed out. And then I flashed on the image of the beautiful teen-aged girl I’d seen in the mirror at The Stanley Hotel last weekend. She’d looked so much like Lacey that I was almost sure she was Lacey’s deceased younger sister Kari. The same long dark hair, milky white skin, and probing blue eyes. And the same melancholy expression when the apparition had pleaded with
me. “Please,” she’d said. “They need you.”
So I put my own wishes aside and said, “I can see that you’re upset, Lacey and I want to talk with you about what’s going on. I have to get back to my office soon, but we can talk for a bit. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving, so let’s grab some lunch while we talk.”
She suggested the Burnt Toast restaurant, so we walked over to the commercial area on the edge of campus. It was a warm sunny October day, one of my favorite times to walk on the tree-lined campus. Backpack-toting students with cell phones or iPods plugged into their ears filled the sidewalks and the spacious grassy areas. A group of young guys clad in shorts and tank tops played a fierce game of Frisbee on the quad in front of the library.
“What’s happened to upset you so much?” I asked jumping off the walk to dodge a yellow Frisbee headed straight for my head.
Lacey took one graceful sidestep to avoid the Frisbee, but kept her attention focused on me. “Last night was ghastly beyond belief,” she said, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Dad and Judith stabbed me in the back again.” She began sobbing in earnest.
I didn’t try to stop her crying. As a therapist I know that crying is an excellent release of physical and emotional tension, which leaves people feeling better. I also knew Lacey had something she wanted to say and she’d get to it when she was ready.
Sure enough her weeping subsided after a few minutes. She blew her nose, wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “Sorry. It’s hard to talk about.”
We were in front of the absurdly named Burnt Toast by then. I wanted to give her time to collect her thoughts, so I said, “That’s okay. Take your time.”
“I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s go in and sit down.”
We got a table next to one of the huge windows. The restaurant is a homey café in an old house with hardwood floors, several rooms, and interesting touches like menus placed in old books, and displays of local art. It’s almost like eating at a friend’s cozy funky house. We got a pot of tea and ordered some food. The tofu scramble with veggies for Lacey, and an omelet with spinach and mushrooms for me.
The tea and comfy atmosphere seemed to soothe Lacey. She took up her story again in a much calmer voice. “I guess you know that Dad and Judith were totally bent out of shape about me taking Angelica to your office the other day. They told me last night that they’d been to see you and told you not to see her any more. They were acting like you’re some witch doctor or something. I don’t see what the big deal is. Angelica deals with life a lot better than they do.”
“The big deal is that she’s a minor and your father has to give permission for her to see a therapist,” I said. “We may not like it, but he has the right to say what she can and can’t do.”
Lacey looked down at the table and began turning her knife over and over. “I know that,” she said. “But I never thought about it when I brought her to your office. And anyway I can’t see why Dad would refuse to give permission for Angelica to have grief therapy after all she’s been through. Unless he knows you can help her contact Mom, and there’s something he doesn’t want Angelica to find out.”
I refilled my teacup while I took a minute to think. Then I said, “That’s a big assumption. It could be that he just wants to closely monitor what’s going on with Angelica. Judith said they had arranged for her to see a therapist. In fact, I think she’s supposed to start today.”
The server brought our food and I started right in on my omelet. But Lacey ignored her meal as tears welled up in her eyes once again. “That’s what started it all,” she said passionately. “They’re not sending her to therapy because she’s grieving. They’re sending her as some kind of attempt to deprogram her. They say they want her to get over thinking she’s so special. They don’t believe in Indigo children and they say she needs to get her head straightened out and start doing her schoolwork even if she does think it’s boring. I’m afraid of what some therapist like that could do to Angelica. If she loses the inner calm and tranquility that is part of her specialness, she might crack from the stress.” Lacey stopped, wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, picked up her fork and took a bite of her tofu.
My first impulse was to tell Lacey that no therapist would take on this challenge with a ten-year-old child. But I thought about the huge roster of psychotherapists in Boulder, many of who are unlicensed—which is perfectly legal in this state. Psychotherapists in Colorado are required to register and provide certain basic information about themselves, their education and their work, but no specific level or type of education is required. This leaves the door open for some rather unusual practitioners, and I had an uneasy feeling that Judith would go the distance to find one who would do what she wanted done.
“How does Angelica feel about this?” I asked quietly.
Lacey had stopped eating and was gazing down sadly at her plate. “That’s just it. She absolutely refused to go to their therapist.” Lacey teared up again. “So now they’re saying either she goes to their therapist or they’re going to send her away to a school where she’ll learn how to follow directions and get her work done.”
“I doubt she wants to go away to school. Did she give in and agree to see the therapist?”
“No. Angelica can be very stubborn. She’s very wise and takes responsibility for her own choices, but when people who don’t respect her rights try to force her to go in a way that she knows is wrong, she shuts them out.”
“How does she do that?”
“Last night she simply turned to them and said, ‘You don’t understand me, so I’m not going to talk to you anymore.’ Then she went into her room and worked on a painting. Judith kept screaming at her that ten-year-olds have to do what their parents decide and that she will do what they decide is best for her. But Angelica ignored her.” Lacey had perked up as she described Angelica’s resistance. Now she began to do justice to her lunch, devouring big spears of broccoli, slices of carrot and chunks of tofu.
I wondered why Derrick let Judith have this much authority over Angelica. After all, he was the parent. She wasn’t even a stepparent. “What about your dad? Does he agree with Judith about all this?”
“Oh yes,” Lacey said between bites. “Dad listens to Judith most of the time about Angelica. He acts like she knows more about children than he does—even though she’s never had any.”
“I know this isn’t what you want for Angelica,” I said. “But if your dad is on board, there may not be anything you can do to stop them, unless you can persuade them to take a different approach.”
Lacey looked briefly off into the distance as she finished chewing. Then she said slowly. “I tried. I reminded Dad that he downplayed Kari’s anorexia, and look what happened. I tried to get both Mom and Dad to help Kari before it was too late, but Mom was too busy with her causes and Dad was too involved with his work and tennis. They accused me of exaggerating and making a big deal out of everything like they say I always do. I tried to help Kari myself but got nowhere. By the time they realized how sick she was, it was too late.”
“Do you think maybe your father is trying to avoid that mistake by getting Angelica some therapy for what he sees as her problems?”
“That may be what he’s thinking, but he’s way off base. Angelica is nothing like Kari. Kari was always trying to make it with Mom and Dad. She played tennis, got involved with the environment, was a perfect student. She tried so hard to get the love and approval she wanted from them, but they didn’t give it. She thought it was her fault, that she wasn’t perfect enough.”
“But you don’t see Angelica doing this?”
“No, Angelica is very sure of herself, completely steady inside. She’s so in touch with her spiritual base that she doesn’t need approval from outside. But she does need some support for who she is—any child that age does. And she does need to contact Mom—now more than ever. She has to find out what happened. Right now she hates Dad
and Judith because she thinks they killed Mom. If she’s right, they need to be arrested. If she’s wrong, she needs to move on and make peace with them somehow.” Lacey leaned forward and gazed intently into my eyes. “You have to see her again. I don’t care what they say.”
Apparently I hadn’t made the minor-child-needs-parental-permission thing clear to her. My commitment to helping them didn’t include giving up my psychologist’s license. So I explained again, as clearly and simply as I could. “Lacey, much as I would like to help you and Angelica, there is no way I can work with her without your father’s permission. If he won’t give it, that’s that.”
Lacey took the news better than I had expected. “Okay then, if that’s what it takes, I’ll find a way to get Dad to give permission. He can be totally clueless sometimes, but he’s not mean. If I can get him away from Judith, I might be able to get to him.”
Before I could reply, an older man walking by our table interrupted us. “Lacey, you look like hell,” he said in a deep powerful voice that carried throughout the small room. “Did you lose your best friend or did a boyfriend dump you?”
I looked up to see Gramma’s lawyer—and Lacey’s grandfather—Vernon Evers, accompanied by his gorgeous girlfriend, Glenna. They had stopped next to our table, both facing Lacey.
“Grandad! No, it’s more family stuff. Maybe you can help. Can you and Glenna sit down for a few minutes?”
They hadn’t shown any signs of noticing me and I figured he wouldn’t remember me anyway after all these years, so I broke in to introduce myself. “Mr. Evers, I’m Martha Donnelly’s granddaughter. I don’t know whether you remember me.”
Too Far Under Page 10
