Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(72)

“Okay, Lucia,” I said. “Thanks. I’m going to go find Jimmy, and see that he never bothers Becca again. Okay?”

I had no way of knowing this was true. I only hoped it was.

Lucia seemed to accept my assurance. She nodded solemnly. Her only focus, after all, was Becca. And, for whatever reason, the parentage of my stepnieces.

“Here.” Mopsy deposited a large handful of sopping-wet coins into my hands, which I’d stupidly held out when she said here. “I’d say that’s about forty-five dollars.”

“It’s not. One of you please take these away from me, they’re really disgusting.”

“Two hundred dollars?” Flopsy asked, cupping her hands so that I could transfer the coins to them.

“No,” I said. “Not even close.”

“Three hundred million dollars!” yelled Cotton-tail.

“No. Please stop shouting.”

“It’s seven dollars and sixty-five cents,” said Lucia. “I counted already.”

“Fine. Now go put them back. Later I’ll give you seven dollars and sixty-five cents—if you can figure out how to divide it up among yourselves, which I sincerely doubt.”

The sisters groaned, but I overheard them grudgingly agree it was the right thing to do as Lucia steered them back toward the fountain. “Because,” the little ghost reminded them sternly, “it’s a sin to steal people’s wishes.”

It was a sin to steal their lives, too. And I was determined to make sure that whoever had stolen hers paid for it.





veintitres


“I don’t see why you won’t allow me to beat a confession out of the priest,” Jesse said. We were in his car waiting in line at the visitor entrance to 17-Mile Drive. “It would be faster.”

“Uh.” I pulled down the sun visor in order to check my lip gloss in the vanity mirror. “Because this is twenty-first-century America and I don’t want us to go to jail?”

I couldn’t read Jesse’s expression, since his eyes were shaded by dark sunglasses. The afternoon sun was blazing down on us. Jesse’s car was a BMW roadster convertible, a loaner from Jake, who’d decided he needed something roomier so he could simultaneously transport his surfboard, Max, and any girl he might be dating. He’d upgraded to a Mercedes Benz G-Class SUV, so Brad could get the commission.

Then again, I didn’t need to read the expression in Jesse’s eyes. I could hear his disapproval in his voice.

“I don’t see how you think anyone will be able to find you to put you in jail,” he said. “No one will recognize you after you take off that costume.”

“Costume?” I looked down at myself. I was wearing a black skirt and jacket combo set I’d purchased months earlier at a Saks in San Francisco, along with a prim white blouse. “This isn’t a costume. I bought this outfit months ago to wear to job interviews.” And funerals.

I only hoped the next one I attended wouldn’t be Jesse’s.

By inviting him along on my trip out to Sacred Trinity, I was hoping to keep him busy enough to avoid hearing that Paul Slater was back in town, and why.

I’d driven by 99 Pine Crest Road on my way home from work only to find it crawling with inspectors in hard hats. There was no chance I’d be able to sneak onto the property to salt anything before my dinner at Mariner’s later that evening.

A large sign had been plastered across the front door, readable from the street:

WARNING: NO TRESPASSING

—PROPOSED DEMOLITION—

IF INTERESTED IN SALVAGE CONTACT:





SLATER PROPERTIES


There was a phone number listed in marker underneath.

The sign—and the men in hard hats—meant it was real. Paul hadn’t been bluffing. Not that I’d ever suspected he had, but—

“And the glasses?” Jesse asked, intruding on my thoughts.

I glanced at my reflection in the vanity mirror. I’d swapped my sunglasses for the nonprescription eyeglasses Becca had abandoned in the courtyard.

“Oh, these. I’m supposed to look like a mom. Don’t you think they make me seem older?”

“Your mother doesn’t wear glasses. Neither does your sister-in-law. They don’t wear their hair that way, either.”

I lifted a hand to my head, having forgotten the heavily hair-sprayed updo I’d given myself when I’d gone back to my apartment to change.

“We’re supposed to look rich enough to be able to afford to send our child to one of the most expensive private schools in the country, Jesse,” I explained. “That’s how we’re going to get into Sacred Trinity to ask about this Jimmy person. They don’t let just anyone come strolling onto school grounds these days, you know.”

Jesse smiled. “Rich mothers wear their hair like that? And glasses they don’t need?”

“No one will know I don’t need them,” I said. “More importantly, no one from the school district will recognize me in these hideous things.”

“So that’s why we’re using my car, and not yours. I’d wondered.”

“Exactly. No parent who could afford Sacred Trinity would be caught dead in my car. Do you remember our names?”