He turned toward me with a smile. “I forget more than I like to admit these days, but I could never forget Martha. Now there’s a painter! I have three of her paintings. Some of my favorite work. So sorry about the Alzheimer’s. How’s she getting along?”
“She was doing pretty well but now the nursing home where she lives is closing and I’m having a hard time figuring out what to do. I was planning to call you about the trust Grampa had you set up for her before he died.”
“It sounds like we should sit with you and Lacey and talk a bit,” he said. He turned toward Glenna, put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “How about it, Glenna? You know my granddaughter Lacey, and this is the granddaughter of an old friend. She’ll have to tell you her name, though. You know my memory.”
“Cleo,” I said. “Cleo Sims. Nice to meet you.”
Glenna patted Vernon’s arm and turned to me with a smile. “We’d love to join you if we’re not interrupting your lunch,” she said graciously.
“No, actually I have to go meet some clients,” I said. I turned to Vernon Evers. “Thanks for offering to talk now, but I’ll have to call you to find another time.” I got up, they sat down, and we said hellos and good-byes all around. As I left the restaurant they were deep in conversation with Lacey. I figured there was a good chance that Vernon Evers, sharp lawyer that he was, would come up with a strategy to help Angelica. In his heyday he could crush a bitch like Judith Demar without even working up a sweat. His memory may not be what it used to be, but I had faith that his instincts were still razor sharp.
Chapter 16
I had to run all the way to my car to get to my office in time for my 2:30 client—a young man who was in intense grief following a tough breakup with his girlfriend of five years. I like the challenge of using my skills in a variety of situations, so I’ve worked hard to diversify my grief therapy practice beyond clients who’ve lost a loved one to death. My clients now include people suffering from all kinds of losses—divorce, job loss, physical disability, and more.
A good chunk of my income comes from the endowment for my Contact Project. My benefactor, Bruce, came to me for grief therapy not long after I first set up the apparition chamber. His only daughter had died from a drug overdose. They’d had a stormy relationship, and after she died he was in profound grief knowing he’d never be able to make peace with her. He was so distraught about not being able to tell her that he loved her that I suggested he might want to try reaching her through the apparition chamber. He had some initial reservations but eventually decided to try it. He reached his daughter, they shared love and forgiveness for each other, and he was able to say goodbye to her in a way that brought him deep peace.
Because his experience in the apparition chamber had changed his life, Bruce wanted other people to have the opportunity to benefit from the process. He created an endowment for the Contact Project, using some of the fortune he’d made in high-tech businesses. While there are some conditions as to who qualifies and what kind of records I keep, it’s pretty much my show to run.
The endowment is a dream come true for me. It gives me a way to continue to develop the contact process and to accept clients into it who have the potential for great benefit, but who wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford it. Grief is one of life’s greatest psychological pains. Loss leaves some people mired in unending misery. These people are desperate for relief. Contacting the dead person can help if the bereaved person is able to get answers to troublesome questions or make peace with the deceased loved one.
My second client that afternoon was a young woman whose brother had died when he crashed his car into a tree at 2:00 a.m. on a rainy night. He was speeding and he’d been drinking. His death was ruled an accident, but my client was tormented by the idea that the crash was suicide. She wanted to reach her brother to get some resolution and to find out if he was at peace. She seemed like a good candidate for the Contact Project, so we set up another appointment for the next week to discuss what she expected and what she might experience.
Because it was Friday afternoon, I had scheduled only those two clients. I was done at 4:30 and started checking my phone messages. The first one was a big surprise. Vernon Evers had called. “Hey, Cleo. I got your number from Lacey. I felt bad that we didn’t get to finish that conversation about Martha’s trust. How about a TGIF drink at my house? I’m at 560 13th Street. Come by around 5:00 if you can. No need to call back. Glenna and I will be here.”
I was going to Elisa’s for dinner, but not until 7:00, so I had time to take him up on the offer. And I wanted to find out whether there was a way to use more of the money in Gramma’s trust each year in case I couldn’t find another good nursing home and needed to bring her home with round-the-clock care.
I’d never been to Vernon Evers house. Not surprisingly, it turned out to be in one of Boulder’s best locations, next to the historic Chautauqua Park at the base of the famous foothills known as the Flatirons because their upthrust flat surfaces resemble irons used to press clothes. The house is a stately old two-story on a tree-lined cul-de-sac. I guesstimated the value of his property at several million.
On my way to the massive double front doors, I took a minute to enjoy the terraced garden ablaze with fall color from shrubs and blooming plants. But my reverie was quickly interrupted as one of the doors swung open. “Hey, Cleo. You made it. Come on in.” Vernon Evers stood in the doorway beaming, drink in hand. His outfit of brown slacks and shirt, topped with a beige cashmere cardigan blended perfectly with the sandstone steps and patio. I wondered whether this attention to detail was one of the traits that had made him so successful.
“Mr. Evers, your gardens are amazing,” I gushed. “Are you the gardener, or is it Glenna?”
He laughed. “Hey, call me Vern. And to answer your question, I have a gardener. I don’t have the green thumb your grandfather had. I remember James’ impressive herb gardens.”
“I’m living in their house, you know,” I said. “I try to keep his gardens up, but I don’t have the time to do nearly enough.”
“Sounds like you have a lot of obligations,” he said. “Let’s go inside and get you a drink and you can tell me more about what’s going on with Martha.”
He ushered me into the entry hall, past a stunning curved stairway, and into a living room that could have come from an English country-house. White walls, hardwood floors, pale green accent rugs, and paintings in gold frames. Built-in bookshelves flanking both sides of French doors that led to a backyard garden and patio. Glenna jumped up from the off-white couch, tossed her copy of Entertainment Weekly on the coffee table, and came over to greet me.
Once again her beauty struck me. Her slim legs in designer jeans seemed to go on forever, and the cleavage of her full breasts was discreetly evident at the curved neckline of her white ribbed tee. Her tousled auburn hair and understated makeup completed the perfect Friday-afternoon-casual look.
“Cleo, we’re glad you could come by on such short notice,” she said with a warm smile. “Vern’s such an admirer of your grandmother’s work. We have three of her paintings hanging here in the house, you know. Vern, you should show her.” She pointed off in the direction of the hall.
Vernon had gone over to a side table where a tray held glasses, an ice bucket, bottles of liquor and mixes. “Let’s get her a drink first,” he said. “What will you have, Cleo?”
“Gin and tonic would be perfect if you have it,” I said. “And I’d love to see Gramma’s paintings if you don’t mind showing me.”
He mixed up my drink and brought it over, then led me across the entry hall into an office dominated by a king-size desk that sat in the center of the room. Cherry built-in cabinets and shelves filled one wall, and the opposite wall held two of Gramma’s floral paintings—one a vase of white roses against a rust-colored wall, and the other a pewter pitcher full of fiery tiger lilies. “When I’m working and need a break, those flowers restore me,” he said. “I never get tir
ed of looking at them. And I have another splendid one upstairs, one of her mountain scenes.”
My heart swelled with pride for Gramma. “That’s so great to hear,” I said. “I worry that people will forget her. I hope her work continues to speak for her now that she…” Before I could finish my thought, the doorbell rang.
I followed Vernon back out to the entry hall, wondering who else he had invited to this Friday afternoon gathering. When he opened the door, he looked as surprised as I was to see Lacey and Angelica standing on the porch. “Hey Lacey, Angelica,” he said, “I thought we were getting together tomorrow morning. Did I get my signals crossed again?”
“No, Grandad, you’re right,” Lacey said hastily. “I’m sorry if we interrupted, but it suddenly hit me that when you asked me for Cleo’s phone number, you said you were going to invite her over to talk about her grandmother this afternoon. Dad won’t let me take Angelica to Cleo’s office anymore, but I figured Angelica could talk to her here.”
Uh-oh. Judith had made it quite clear that she and Derrick would have my head if I talked to Angelica anywhere. This technical distinction between my office and her grandfather’s house wouldn’t cut any ice with them. But it would be awkward to leave now.
“Well, come on in,” Vernon said enthusiastically. He seemed to pay no mind to Lacey’s comment about Derrick not allowing Angelica to come to my office. “We’re having drinks and I think Glenna has some snacks in there.” He ushered us into the living room just as Glenna showed up from the kitchen carrying a tray that held a cheese plate, a bowl of purple grapes, and two small dishes of nuts.
“Hi, Lacey, Angelica. I thought I heard your voices,” she said putting the tray on the coffee table. “Lacey, help yourself to a drink. Angelica, what can I get you?”
“Do you have Izze?” Angelica asked, speaking of the all-natural fruit juice and sparkling water drink that was created in Boulder.
“I think so. Let’s go check in the kitchen,” Glenna said, putting her arm around Angelica and leading her off.
Lacey and Vernon went over to the side table to get her a drink and refresh his. I sat down in a chair next to the couch to collect my thoughts. The afternoon was taking a disconcerting turn—no surprise when Lacey was involved. If she knew Vernon planned to invite me over to discuss Gramma’s problems, why did she show up with another agenda? And why did she bring Angelica? Visions of Judith Demar’s scowling face swam in front of my eyes. “I don’t think this is such a good idea, Lacey,” I said. “Your father and Judith were insistent about your not having permission to bring Angelica to see me.”
Lacey brought her drink over to the couch and sat facing me. “Judith has nothing to say about any of this,” she said shrilly. “And Dad said I couldn’t take Angelica to your office. He didn’t say we couldn’t run into you at Grandad’s house.” Wow, she hadn’t taken more than one sip of her drink and she was already shouting. I had a hunch this conversation wasn’t going anywhere I wanted to be. And as it turned out, my concern wasn’t misplaced.
Angelica walked back into the living room carrying a bottle of Clementine-flavored Izze and a glass of ice. She sat next to Lacey on the couch, set her bottle and glass on the coffee table, put her hand on Lacey’s arm and said, “When you get upset about Judith, you’re giving her power over you. Ignore her. She’s not worth your energy.” Angelica took back her arm, carefully poured her drink into her glass, and took a long swallow.
“What’s all this about, Lacey?” Vernon asked, as he sat down in the chair next to me, I couldn’t help but notice that he’d almost downed his refreshed drink already.
Glenna joined Lacey and Angelica on the couch. She reached for a bunch of grapes and said, “Yes, Lacey. At lunch you said the big issue was Derrick and Judith wanting to send Angelica away to school. What’s Cleo’s involvement?”
We all looked at Lacey, who didn’t answer right away. Her eyes darted around the room. Her fingers twirled a long strand of hair into a tight coil, in some unconscious mirroring of her inner tension. As we waited, my anxiety grew. I wondered whether she’d told them about the Contact Project and her and Angelica’s desire to reach Mirabel or, if not, whether she’d bring it up now. I hoped not. I’m always a bit squeamish about explaining the apparition-chamber thing in a social setting and I was afraid Vernon Evers would think I was a flake. If he did, he might wonder about my ability to make good choices for Gramma.
Lacey took a deep breath and turned toward Vernon. “Grandad, I wasn’t going to tell you this until we had more proof,” she said. “It’s horrible to even think about, but Angelica and I believe Mom was murdered. We’re trying to investigate, but Dad and Judith are doing everything they can to shut us up.”
True to his legal training, Vernon showed no reaction to Lacey’s bombshell. He waited a minute to give her time to go on, then said quietly, “Have you talked to the police about this?”
“Yes, I’ve talked to them many times and they give me the same answer over and over. The police don’t care,” Lacey’s voice took on that familiar strident quality. “They called it an accident and now they don’t want to be bothered with taking another look. It’s all on us to find out who killed Mom. We have to have proof before they’ll pay any attention.”
I noticed that Angelica was sitting quietly nibbling on some cheese and drinking her Izze. She showed no sign of agitation. I expected her to rescue or try to calm Lacey like I’d seen her do in the past, but she didn’t.
Vernon got up and walked over to the table that held the liquor. “What makes you think Mirabel was murdered?” he asked casually as he poured himself another drink. He came back to his chair, sipped his bourbon and waited for Lacey’s response.
But apparently she wasn’t ready to explain Angelica’s premonitions. Instead Lacey’s face turned sad and she burst into tears. “I’m worn out,” she sobbed. “I can’t deal with all this by myself anymore.”
Glenna put her arm around Lacey’s shoulders. “Lacey, God works through people and He has chosen you to help your family. He has opened your mind to the pain and experiences of others,” she said. “He will give you the strength to serve. Have you prayed and asked God to help you?”
Lacey stopped crying and pulled away from Glenna’s arm. “I’m not much of a churchgoer,” she said softly. “God might be a little surprised to hear from me.”
“Anyone who is helping someone else is doing God’s work, Lacey,” Glenna said, handing her a tissue. “God will help you. All you have to do is ask.”
Vernon ignored Glenna and interrupted with a more legalistic perspective. “We might be able to get the police to re-open the case,” he said. “But I need to know why you believe Mirabel was murdered.”
Angelica finally decided to come to Lacey’s rescue. She set down her glass and began to speak matter-of-factly. “You know I’m an Indigo. I have ways of knowing that go beyond what most people understand. I know someone pushed Mom under the water and held her there. I can feel it clearly, but I don’t know who did the pushing.” She paused, quietly gazing at Vernon.
“Let’s see if I understand you correctly Angelica,” Vernon said gently. “You know someone pushed your mother under water and held her there until she drowned, but you don’t know who did it.”
“That’s right,” Angelica replied. She looked and sounded as confident as if she was describing a scene from a movie rather than a supernatural experience of her mother’s murder. I wondered what Vernon and Glenna thought of Angelica’s Indigo status and whether they believed in her special ways of knowing. Vernon showed no reaction, but Glenna was frowning.
Angelica continued in the same self-assured voice. “Lacey and I knew we had to find out who did it, so we went to Cleo to get her to help us reach Mom. I plan to ask Mom what happened, but Dad and Judith don’t want me to talk to her.” She stopped speaking, but continued to gaze intently at Vernon, who still showed no reaction other than draining his glass in one long swallow.
Lacey
blew her nose and jumped in with the information I was hoping she’d leave to their imaginations. “Cleo has this project where she helps people contact dead people in an apparition chamber,” she said. “I heard about it from a friend and told Angelica. We knew it was what we needed, so we went to see Cleo and convinced her to help us contact Mom.”
Lacey turned to Angelica, who finished the story in her usual quiet voice. “The problem is that Dad and Judith won’t let me see Cleo anymore. And now they’re using the excuse of my not doing some stupid schoolwork to send me away. But I know it’s so I can’t help Lacey try to get in touch with Mom.”
My mind was a jumble. Should I jump in and try to explain the Contact Project in a more rational way, talk about how and why I started it? I’m usually very careful how I give out information about it. Lacey’s single-sentence description did not fit my criteria.
But before I could reframe my work, Glenna had a complete meltdown. “No. Enough,” she screeched, twitching nervously. She jumped up from the couch, stood facing us all, and let loose. “No séances! No apparition chamber! No spiritualism! That’s the work of Satan! You can’t be both a spiritualist and a Christian. The Bible says mediums are blasphemy against God and that anyone who calls upon spirits shall be put to death by stoning.”
She stopped to take a breath and Vernon stood up and walked over to her. He was a little flushed and wobbly from the bourbon, but still in clear command of the room. He put his arm around Glenna and led her away from us. “If you’ll excuse us, Cleo, Lacey and Angelica, I think it’s time for you to go. You can let yourselves out. Glenna and I need to talk.” He led her out of the room and across the entry hall to his office, where—once they were inside—he quietly closed the door.
Chapter 17
After Glenna’s attack, I drove carefully up the winding mountain road to my friend Elisa’s house in the foothills, feeling as jumpy as a grasshopper in August. The idea of being stoned to death for talking to spirits totally blew me away. Who knew my conversations with Tyler could have such dire consequences? Did Tyler know about this punishment? And, if so, why he was endangering me by appearing?
Too Far Under Page 11
