Too Far Under by Lynn Osterkamp

hysterics, I could relate to
having a difficult, demanding father. My dad never likes the
choices I make in life and is fond of letting me know how I could
do better. After the behavior I’d seen from Derrick Townes this
morning, I sympathized with Lacey and Angelica. Lacey’s argument
about Mirabel deserving justice also hit home. In fact I’d made
that exact argument to Elisa on Friday. If there was any chance
that Mirabel’s death wasn’t accidental, someone should take another
look.
    Lacey’s next message came in Saturday evening
at 10:00 pm. She sounded sullen and angry. “Cleo, it’s me again.
Where are you? I can’t imagine you’ve gone to bed so early. Maybe
you went out and didn’t take your phone? By the way, the message
you have on your phone has a cold feeling to it. I wouldn’t think
you’d want to sound that way to your clients. It could hurt your
business. But maybe you don’t want business. At least I’m beginning
to wonder. Because you still haven’t called me back after all these
messages. My number is 303-819-8203.”
    That message was a definite turn-off. I don’t
like it when people try to manipulate me. And her messages were
moving beyond manipulation to practically stalking me. Elisa and
Pablo’s warnings rang in my ears. But I also remembered Tyler
telling me I needed to help Angelica because “she’s out there
alone, body surfing in those mean waves.”
    Lacey’s last Saturday message was at 11:30
pm. This time she sounded despondent and weepy. “Cleo, I sure hope
you get my messages tonight. I desperately need to talk to you
right now. Give me a call no matter how late it is. I’ll keep my
phone on all night right next to my bed. It’s 303-819-8203. Okay,
I’ll be waiting.”
    The next message was early Sunday morning.
She was back to loud and desperate. “Cleo, how many ways can I say
this is a terrible crisis? You’re our only hope! My dad is such a
jerk—you have no idea. He hasn’t cared about Mom for a long time.
Angelica has a bad feeling about him. We can’t let him keep us
quiet. I’ll do anything, pay whatever you want. Please can’t we at
least meet and talk about this?”
    No question Lacey was a drama queen. Her
emotions were all over the place. If I took her on, she would be a
challenging client, who I might regret ever having gotten involved
with. But she needed help and her story was compelling, and her
desperation was starting to haunt me. I knew very well what it felt
like to have your father dismiss as nonsense what seems important
to you.
    I was also intrigued by what I’d seen of
Angelica. She was an oddly remarkable child. My heart and my gut
were telling me to sign on to help Mirabel’s daughters investigate
her death. And Tyler was sure pushing me in that direction.
    Bottom line, I like to help people. I feel
all warm and tingly inside when I do it. All my life my friends and
family have been telling me to step back and stop getting drawn in
to other people’s problems. I’ve made some progress. I used to be a
sucker for anyone in despair who wanted my help, but I’ve learned
to set some limits. Unfortunately, I’m also on the high end of the
scale when it comes to curiosity. If a problem involves mysterious
circumstances—like last summer when I helped a young widow find out
who pushed her husband off the rim of the Grand Canyon—I can be all
over it before I take time to consider the risks.
    Listening to those phone messages, I was well
aware that I needed to be cautious about what I was getting myself
involved in. Even so, I thought, it can’t hurt to just talk to
Lacey. So I called her back and made an appointment to meet her and
Angelica at my office on Wednesday.
     

Chapter 10
     
    After all that fuss about meeting with me,
Lacey and Angelica were fifteen minutes late for their appointment.
Not a good start. Lacey was panting and sweating as she dashed in
to the pinkish flat-roofed stucco former house that now serves as
my office.