Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(27)
While Romeo sat in his cage, contentedly chewing his dinner of baby carrots and unsalted nuts, I sprawled out on the couch (also known as Gina’s bed), and dialed Father Dominic’s cell and home numbers. Of course he picked up on neither. I left a message I hoped had the right tone of professionalism and yet urgency.
“Hey, Father D, it’s me. Sister E probably already talked to you about the alleged earthquake we had today in the office . . . yeah, not so much. But don’t worry, I totally have it under control. Well, mostly. Anyway, something else kind of unusual came up . . . nothing serious. I’m just wondering if you’ve ever heard of an old curse from the Book of the Dead . . . something about resurrection and what happens when you destroy the resting place of a ghost?”
I couldn’t say exactly what it was about, of course, because I knew the minute I did, Father Dominic would realize I was referring to Jesse. Then the old man would freak out and call him, as well. That kind of headache I did not need.
“So, anyway, just call me back as soon as you get this,” I went on. “I’d really appreciate it. Hope you’re having fun with all the other principals at your little conference. Bye!”
I hung up, pretty sure I wouldn’t be getting a return call anytime soon. Father Dominic was nearly as bad as Jesse at dealing with phones, although at least Jesse liked to text. Father D’s phone didn’t even have texting capabilities. It was one of those mobiles for elderly people who can’t see very well, with extremely large buttons. I’d gotten it for him out of frustration when he’d failed to return any messages at all for a week because he couldn’t figure out how to retrieve his voice mail on his last phone. At least this new one had an enormous button that flashed MESSAGE when someone left one. I hoped he’d notice, and press it.
Checking my own phone, I saw I’d gotten several messages during my drive home. There was nothing yet from Shahbaz Effendi, the Egyptology student, but I told myself that didn’t mean he was blowing me off. He could be sleeping. He could be off on an archeological dig. He could be in a different time zone, halfway around the world. He didn’t necessarily think I was some lying weirdo.
At least CeeCee had gotten back to me. She’d been busy since I’d last seen her, only a short time ago:
CeeCee Do you have any idea how many women/girls/babies with the first name Lucia have died in the state of California in the past ten years? It’s one of the most common female names in the US (it means “light”).
Unless you can give me some narrower search parameters (city/county/year/cause of death), it’s going to take me days to sort through these.
NOV 16 5:45 PM
I was definitely going to have to upgrade that gift card.
One thing for sure, I wasn’t going to tell her that Adam MacTavish may have been ignoring her calls and texts, but he’d replied right away to an e-mail I’d sent him:
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Re: Your House
Date: November 16 8:33:07 PM EST
Hey, Suze! Great to hear from you. Glad things are going so well . . . or not so well, I guess, given the news about your old house. Sorry about that.
Thanks for the congrats, CeeCee’s right, I did make Law Review. It’s not as big a deal as people think. Although I’ll admit I’ve been partying pretty hard since I found out ;-)
But you managed to catch me in a sober moment.
I looked at the attachment you sent me, and though real estate/construction law is not my specialty, as far as I can tell, your old house was purchased (along with the others around it) by Slater Industries, which is a private company, through private sales. So they aren’t in violation of the rule of eminent domain.
The houses are also situated just outside the historic preservation zone of Carmel-by-the-Sea, in the Carmel Hills.
You can get the place retroactively declared a historic landmark, but that will take at least sixty days. Only then will you be able to secure an injunction to stop the demolition. However, the work is scheduled to begin next week.
In other words, Suze, I’m sorry to tell you: you’re screwed.
I’ll be home next week for Thanksgiving break. Let’s get together with CeeCee for a cup at the Clutch like old times!*
Adam
*I keep forgetting her aunt changed the name! I mean the Happy Medium.
Well, that was discouraging, but not as bad as I’d thought. At least there was something I could do. It was better than what I’d been picturing, which was standing outside my old house facing down Paul’s bulldozers with a baseball bat.
I wasn’t giving up hope . . . not yet, anyway.
I rolled over on the couch so I could get a better look out my balcony’s open sliding glass door at the pool below. From where I lay, I could see that the exterior landscaping lights had come on, including the pool’s. The unnaturally blue water beckoned to me. I knew it was full of chlorine and chemicals and probably the pee of my neighbors’ children, but I didn’t care. It was kept heated in cold weather and doing laps in it was heavenly compared to forty minutes on the elliptical in the gym.
It also helped me think. I had a lot of thinking to do.
Because while in addition to hearing from CeeCee and Adam, I’d received a few pleasant texts from classmates at school asking if I was going to join them for happy hour (bless their boozy little hearts), as well as an invitation from my stepbrother, Jake, to join him at his place for “brews and za” (but only if I brought along Gina after she got off work. Jake was so transparent—he’d been crushing on Gina for years), I’d also been left a few concerning voice mails.