Too Far Under

by Lynn Osterkamp

  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.

  Chapter 30

  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.”

  Wait a minute. Isn’t he leaping to conclusions about Lacey? I almost jumped in with that, but reminded myself of his caring concern the night before, took a deep breath, and answered him in my calm therapist voice. “We really don’t have many facts. Actually I was hoping you could help with that. Is there any way you could find out what the coroner’s report said about Vernon’s death?”

  “It’s too soon. The coroner won’t have written his report yet. Why don’t you ask Derrick Townes what the hospital physicians told him?”

  “Derrick’s a suspect,” I said. “I can’t ask him.”

  “You have to have a murder before you can have suspects, Cleo.”

  My emotions got the better of me and I spoke out of frustration. “Oh, here we go again,” I said exasperatedly. “The police are going to say Vernon fell down the steps by accident, and then they won’t investigate. The whole thing will be swept under the rug.”

  “Cleo, you know that’s not the way the police work.” Pablo sounded irritated. “If a death looks suspicious, there will be an investigation. The Boulder police might already be looking into the death. But they’re not going to tell me about it because I’m in the Longmont PD, not the Boulder PD. And they’re certainly not going to tell you about it because you’re not even a cop.”

  I could see this was going nowhere. Plus it was almost 2:30 and I needed to eat something before I met with a client at 3:00. So I backpedaled. “You’re probably right, Pablo. We don’t have enough information to know whether Vernon fell by accident or not.”

  Of course I didn’t mention that Lacey was going to try to get that information by contacting Vernon’s spirit that afternoon. Just thanked Pablo sweetly for his concern and told him I had to go grab some lunch.

  I hustled back to my office, ate some yogurt and an apple from my frig, and met with my 3:00 client. By then it was nearly time for Lacey’s appointment. She showed up on the dot of 4:00, bounding into my office. Her eyes were puffy and her face was drawn, but she looked much more rested than she had earlier. “I’m so ready to talk to Grandad and find out what happened,” she said. “Can we start right now?”

  “Hold on, Lacey,” I said. “I know you want to get right to it, but reaching a spirit isn’t like making a phone call. I need to help you relax and focus before you go in there. Let’s go sit in the counseling room and you can tell me some of your best memories of your grandfather.”

  I had her lie on the couch and close her eyes. Then I led her through some deep breathing exercises. When she was relaxed, I said, “Now keep your eyes closed and remember some good times you spent with your grandfather. Try to see him and hear him as he was then. Can you tell me about a time you remember?”

  She lay quietly for a few minutes. Smiles flickered across her face. Then she said, “When I was little and Grandad had his office on the Pearl Street Mall, I used to love to go there with him. My favorite place in the office was the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the mall. I’d sit on the floor and watch the people going by. Grandad would be working at his desk, but he’d come over and sit with me some of the time and make up stories about the people we could see—like this one lives in a haunted house with twenty-seven dogs all named Buster, or that one is under a magic spell that makes him wear plaid shirts that are too small for him every day. He’d have me rolling on the floor laughing,” she said with a broad grin.

  “What a great wonderful memory, Lacey. How about when you were older? Can you recall happy times with him?”

  She took a minute, then began slowly. “He was so great when I was a teenager.” Her face turned sad. “I don’t think I ever thanked him enough for all he did for me back then.”

  I wanted her to stay focused on positive memories and not descend into grief, so I redirected her back to her experiences. “Can you tell me about something fun you and he did together when you were a teenager?”

  “Sure. But there’s so much it’s hard to pick only one.”

  “You don’t have to choose the best example. Just go with whatever comes up.”

  “Okay, I’m thinking of a time he took me with him on a trip to New York City. He had some meeting to go to and I’d never been to New York. My parents were always too busy to take us on trips. It was fabulous. We stayed at The Carlyle on Madison Avenue with amazing views of Central Park. He arranged for someone to take me to museums and shopping while he was at his meetings and at night he took me to shows. We saw Chicago and The Phantom of the Opera. I felt like a princess.” Again the huge grin.

  I let her bask in the memory glow a few minutes before I began to bring her gently back to the room, open her eyes and sit up. We moved into the apparition chamber, where I got her comfortably situated and reminded her of the procedure of staying relaxed and thinking of her grandfather while gazing intently into the mirror. Then I left her there and went across the hall to my office, keeping my door and my ears open.

  An hour later, I was working through a stack of insurance paperwork when Lacey opened the door from the apparition chamber to the hall. I got up and went to her. She wasn’t jumping up and down with excitement like the last time—just standing quietly looking a bit bewildered. I put my arm around her shoulders, led her to the couch in the counseling room, and got her a glass of water. I also got her a pen and some paper so she could make notes like she had done the other time. She sat quietly sipping the water and staring off into the distance.

  I sat across from her and waited until her gaze turned to me. Then I said quietly, “Would you like to tell me about what happened?”

  “It took a lot of waiting,” she began slowly, “but he came. He was in the mirror, but he didn’t come out of it and touch me like Mom did. He smiled at me and said, ‘I love you Lacey. Don’t be sad.’ I asked him what happened on the stairs and he said, ‘It was my time to go, Lacey. Don’t be sad.’ I kept trying to tell him that I wanted to know whether he fell or someone pushed him, but he never answered that question.”

  At that point Lacey stopped talking and began writing slowly. After she’d covered about half a page on the pad I’d given her, she looked up. “Grandad said some stuff about Mom. I wanted to write down his words before I forgot.” She looked down at the notepad. “He said, ‘Mirabel didn’t trust people. She thought money turned people bad. Maybe she was right.’ I asked him who she didn’t trust but he didn’t answer that either. Somehow I couldn’t seem to ask him the right questions.” Lacey was looking increasingly troubled.

  “No, Lacey,” I said. “It’s not your fault if you didn’t get the answers you were looking for. I don’t think there are any right questions. Talking to spirits isn’t that easy. They’re on a different wavelength. Mostly you have to take what they give you and try to make sense of it. Did he say anything about her will?”


  Lacey began clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. “Not much,” she said. “He just said something about how it’s easy to change a will. Then he faded away." She sighed and leaned back into the couch looking exhausted.

  I worried that she was blaming herself for not getting more information from Vernon. “It sounds like you found contacting you grandfather more frustrating than helpful,” I said. “Sometimes that happens.”

  Lacey stared down at the floor for a moment and then shook her head. “No, I’m glad I saw him,” she said. “It was good to hear him tell me that he loves me and not to be sad. But I didn’t find out what happened to him on the stairs. Even though I got a strong sense from him that it doesn’t matter, I want to know what happened.”

  “It sounds like you’re saying that it was good to see him, but you want more answers.”

  She frowned and continued. “Right. I really didn’t find out anything. We still don’t know who killed Mom or how Grandad died or whether there’s a new will. Maybe I should try to contact Mom again?”

  I needed some time to process all that had happened in the last few days and I thought she did also. Plus I was hoping the police would come up with some information about Vernon’s death that would lead us to some answers. “This has been an intense time,” I said. “Let’s give it a few days. Maybe you and Shane and I can talk early next week about where to go from here.”

  I was tired, she was tired and I missed the signs of an impending explosion. With no warning she jumped up off the couch and began pacing the room, screaming, “No! No! No!”

  I stood and walked slowly toward her. “What, Lacey?” I said softly. “What is upsetting you?”

  She turned toward me, waving her arms and crying. “Waiting doesn’t work,” she shrieked. “Give it a few days—that’s what Mom and Dad kept saying about Kari before she died. I would tell them that she wasn’t eating anything, that her ribs and hip bones stuck out like a skeleton, that she was exercising for hours every day. I’d push them to do something and they’d say, ‘Let’s give it a few days.’ And then it was too late. In a few days she was dead.”