When I was through, Cee Cee raised her gaze from the notepad and went, "Geez, Simon. This could be a movie of the week."
"Lifetime channel," I agreed.
Cee Cee pointed at me with the pencil. "Tiffani-Amber Thiessen could play Maria!"
"So," I said. "Are you going to print it?"
"Heck, yeah," Cee Cee said. "I mean, it's got everything. Romance and murder and intrigue and local interest. Too bad almost everybody involved has been dead a hundred years, or more. Still, if I can get confirmation from the coroner that your skeleton belonged to a male in his twenties . . . Any idea how they did it? Killed him, I mean?"
I thought about Dopey and his shovel. "Well," I said, "if they shot him - you know, in the head - I doubt the coroner will be able to tell, thanks to Brad's ham-fisted digging technique."
Cee Cee looked at me. "You want to borrow my sweater?"
Surprised, I shook my head. "Why?"
"You're shivering."
I was, but not because I was cold.
"I'm okay," I said. "Look, Cee Cee, it's really important you get them to run this story. And they have to do it soon. Like tomorrow."
She said, not looking up again from her notepad, "Oh, I know. And I think it'd go great alongside Dr. Clemmings's obituary, you know? The project he was working on when he died. That kind of thing."
"So," I said, "it'll run tomorrow? Do you think it'll run tomorrow?"
Cee Cee shrugged. "They won't want to run it until they get the coroner's report on the body. And that could take weeks."
Weeks? I didn't have weeks. And though Cee Cee didn't know it, she didn't have weeks either.
I was shaking uncontrollably now. Because I had realized, of course, what I'd just done: put Cee Cee in the same kind of jeapordy I'd put Clive Clemmings in. Clive had been just fine until Maria had overheard him telling his dictaphone what I'd said about Jesse. Then faster than you could say The Haunting, he was suffering from a massive, paranormally induced coronary. Had I just sentenced Cee Cee to the same gruesome end? While I highly doubted Maria was going to ransack the offices of the Carmel Pine Cone the way she had the Carmel historical society, there was still a chance she might find out what I had done.
I needed that story to run right away. The sooner people found out the truth about Maria and Felix Diego, the better my chances of them not killing me - or the people I cared about.
"It's got to run tomorrow," I said. "Please, Cee Cee. Can't you call the coroner and get some kind of unofficial statement?"
Cee Cee did look up from her notebook then. She looked up and said, "Suze. What is the rush? These people have been dead for like forever. What does it matter?"
"It matters," I said. My teeth were starting to chatter. "It just really matters, okay, Cee Cee? Please, please see what you can do to put a rush on it. And promise you won't talk about it. The story, I mean. Outside these offices. It's really important that you keep it to yourself."
Cee Cee reached out and laid a hand on my bare shoulder. Her fingers were very warm and soft. "Suze," she said, peering down at me sort of intently. "What did you do to your head? Where'd that giant bruise under your bangs come from?"
I pushed self-consciously at my hair.
"Oh," I said. "I tripped. I fell into a hole. The hole they found the body in, isn't that funny?"
Cee Cee didn't seem to think it was funny at all. She went, "Have you had a doctor look at that? Because it looks pretty bad. You might have a concussion, or something."
"I'm fine," I said, standing up. "Really. It's nothing. Look, I better go. Remember what I said, will you? About the story, I mean. It's really important that you don't mention it to anyone. And that you get them to run it as soon as possible. I need a lot of people to see it. A lot of people. They need to see the truth. You know. About the Diegos."
Cee Cee stared at me. "Suze," she said. "Are you sure you're all right? I mean, since when do you care about the local gentry?"
I stammered, as I backed out of the cubicle, "Well, since meeting Dr. Clemmings, I guess. I mean, it's a real tragedy that people so often overlook their community's historical society, when you know, really, without it, the fabric of the - "
"You," Cee Cee interrupted, "need to go home and take an Advil."
"You're right," I said, picking up my purse. It matched my slip dress, pink, with little flowers embroidered on it. I was overcompensating for all the days I'd had to wear those khaki shorts. "I'll go. See you later."
Then I got the hell out of there before my head exploded in front of everybody.
But on my way back to Father Dominic's car I realized that the reason I'd been shivering back in the photocopying cubicle hadn't been due to the excessive air-conditioning, the fact that Jesse was gone, or even the fact that two homicidal ghosts were actively trying to kill me.
No, I was shivering because of what I knew I was about to do.
When I got to Father Dom's car, I bent down and said through the open passenger window, "Hey."
Father Dominic started and hurled something out the driver's side window.
But it was too late. I'd already seen what he'd been up to. Plus I could smell it.
"Hey," I said again. "Give me one of those."
"Susannah." Father Dominic looked stern. "Don't be ridiculous. Smoking is an awful habit. Believe me, you do not want to pick it up. How did things go with Miss Wells?"
"Um," I said. "Fine." I'm pretty sure it's a sin to tell a lie to a priest, even a white lie that can't possibly hurt him. But what was I supposed to do? I know him, see. And I know he's going to be completely rigid on the whole exorcism thing.
So what else could I do?
"She wants me to stick around, actually," I said, "and help her write it. The story, I mean."
Father Dominic's white eyebrows met over his silver frames. "Susannah," he said. "We have a great deal to do this afternoon, you and I - "
"Yeah," I said. "I know. But this is pretty important. How about I meet you back at your office at the Mission at five?"
Father Dominic hesitated. I could tell he thought I was up to something. Don't ask me how. I mean, I can be quite the angelic type, when I put my mind to it.
"Five o'clock," he said, finally. "And not a minute later or, Susannah, I'm telling you right now, I will telephone your parents and tell them everything."
"Five o'clock," I said. "Promise."
I waved as he drove away, and then, just in case he was looking in his rearview mirror, made as if to go back into the newspaper building.
But instead I slipped around the back of it, then headed toward the Pebble Beach Hotel and Golf Resort.
I had some unfinished business there.
CHAPTER 13
He wasn't in the pool.
He wasn't eating burgers at the Pool House.
He wasn't on the tennis courts, at the stables, or in the pro shop.
Finally, I decided to check his room, although it didn't make any sense at all that he'd be there. Not on a gloriously sunny day like this one.
But when the door to his suite swung open to my knock, that's exactly where I found him. He was, Caitlin informed me tersely, taking a nap.
"Taking a nap?" I stared at her. "Caitlin, he's an eight-year-old, not an eight-month-old."
"He said he was tired," Caitlin snapped at me. "And what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were supposed to be sick."
"I am sick," I said, pushing past her into the suite.
Caitlin eyed me disapprovingly. You could tell she was jealous of my slip dress and delicate pink sandals, not to mention my bag. I mean, compared to her, in her regulation Oxford T and pleated khakis, I looked like Gwyneth Paltrow. Only with better hair, of course.