CeeCee 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?”

CeeCee 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.”

CeeCee 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,” CeeCee 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 Webb?”

“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

thirteen

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.

“You don’t look very sick to me,” Caitlin declared.

“Oh, yeah?” I lifted up my bangs so she could see my forehead.

She sucked in her breath and made an oh-that-must-have-hurt face. “My God,” she said. “How’d you do that?”

I thought about saying it was a job-related injury of some kind, so I could milk some disability out of her, but I didn’t think it would work. Instead, I just said I’d tripped.

“So what are you doing here?” Caitlin wanted to know. “I mean, if you’re not here to work.”

“Well,” I said. “That’s the thing. I felt really guilty, you know, saddling you with Jack, so I got my mom to drop me off here after she took me to the doctor. I’ll stay with him for the rest of the day, if you want.”

Caitlin looked dubious. “I don’t know,” she said. “You’re not in uniform—”

“Well, I wasn’t going to wear my uniform to the doctor’s office,” I squealed. Really, it was amazing how these elaborate lies were tripping off my tongue. I could hardly believe it myself, and I was the one making them up. “I mean, come on. But look, he told me I’m fine, so there’s no reason I can’t take over for you. We’ll just stay here in the suite, if you’re that nervous about people seeing me out of uniform. No problem.”