Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(74)
God, I was the worst girlfriend in the world.
“Um, no reason,” I said quickly.
But of course it was because I’d already received a text from Paul a little while earlier.
El Diablo Can’t wait until 8. Meet for a predinner cocktail, hotel bar, 5PM.
Wear something sexy.
NOV 18 1:20 PM
“So, five o’clock, huh? I’m sure we’ll be done with all this by then. I can drop you off at the hospital. How is Father Dominic, anyway?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
“He’s doing better. They moved him out of the ICU. He’s regained consciousness, and is perfectly lucid. He asked about you.”
“Really?” This was nice to hear. “What did he say?”
Jesse’s grin was crooked. “He told me to tell you not to exorcise Lucia for throwing him down a flight of stairs.”
I couldn’t help laughing. It was good to know Father Dominic was feeling better.
He glanced at me. “You know, in those glasses, with your hair like that, you look like a teacher. My first teacher, actually.”
“Like from when you were a little kid? In the one-room schoolhouse?”
“Yes. Miss Boyd. The town paid for her to travel all the way from Boston to take the job of educating the few children whose parents could spare them from their farms and ranches.”
I frowned. “I don’t know if I want to look like some lady from the 1800s.”
He glared at me. At least, I thought it was a glare. Then I realized I’d misinterpreted the heat in his glance. It definitely wasn’t disapproval.
“You should,” he said. “She was a very intelligent, beautiful lady, like you. She didn’t swear as much, though. In fact, she never uttered a single curse word in my presence.”
“Really?” I crossed my legs with elaborate casualness, making sure the slit in my skirt revealed a lot of thigh. This was no easy feat in a roadster. “Did Miss Boyd ever make you stand in the corner for being naughty in her classroom?”
“I would never have dreamt of being naughty in Miss Boyd’s classroom,” Jesse said, his gaze glued to the slit. “I felt privileged every time I was in her presence, receiving any education at all. There were many days my father couldn’t spare me from the ranch.”
“That must have been so hard for you,” I said sympathetically, leaning toward him.
“It was hard.” His gaze moved from my thighs to my chest. Leaning forward had caused my seat belt—which I always strap beneath my breasts to keep them from getting squished—to give them a boost. Score.
“But look how much you’ve accomplished since then. Miss Boyd would be so proud.”
I couldn’t believe this. After all the parading around I’d done in front of him in swimsuits and miniskirts, what ended up turning him on was a pair of glasses and my hair in a French twist.
Of course I would make this discovery in a tiny car in line to go find out the identity of a murderer, and on the day Paul Slater was in town, threatening to trigger a demonic curse and blow up my house. If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.
“Jesse,” I said, reaching up to undo one button of my prim white blouse.
“Yes?”
“Are you telling me you were hot for Teacher?”
A car honked, long and loud, behind us.
“Oh, darn,” I said, rebuttoning my blouse. “It’s our turn in line.”
Jesse looked annoyed as he shifted. “Hot for Teacher. No, I was not hot for Teacher. What does that even mean, hot for Teacher? That’s disrespectful of teachers, Susannah.”
“You’d better let me do the talking,” I said, patting him on the hand. “You seem out of sorts.” I leaned over him to gush at the security guard as Jesse pulled up to the tollgate. “Hi. Dr. and Mrs. Baracus, here to see Father Francisco at the Academy of the Sacred Trinity. We should be on the list.”
The guard glanced at her clipboard while Jesse gazed impassively at the road through his dark sunglasses. Hot for Teacher, I heard him mutter scornfully under his breath.
“Oh, yes. Here you are!” The guard smiled and handed Jesse a pass, along with a map with directions to the school printed on it. “Enjoy your visit, Dr. and Mrs. Baracus.”
Jesse returned her smile, his so dazzling, with his white teeth and gorgeously kissable lips, I don’t know how she didn’t faint at the sight of it. “I’m sure we will.”
The school turned out to be on grounds four times as big as those of the Mission Academy, though Sacred Trinity housed half as many students, being for girls only. The main building resembled a country manor estate, something straight out of one of those historical movies where the people all sit around getting served tea. It came complete with a long, impressive driveway (lined by Italian cypress trees) that passed gently sloping lawns before stopping in front of a wide, ornately carved stone staircase, leading to an even wider, more ornately carved double doorway.
“One good earthquake,” I said to Jesse, “and this whole place will come tumbling down. Who do they think they’re trying to impress?”
“Dr. Bad Attitude.”
We parked in a lot that looked as if it had been designed for a world-class modern art museum, not a school, it was so well landscaped, and were greeted at the main entrance by Sister Mary Margaret, director of admissions. She’d no doubt been alerted to our arrival by the security guard at the gate—not the gate to 17-Mile Drive, but to the school. On the website, it had said that daughters of foreign princes attended school there. Security was clearly a priority.