But that, you know, might have sounded flippant, or like one of those made-up excuses girls use. You know, the old “I’m washing my hair” put-down. So I just said, “I’ve got plans.”

Paul went, “Too bad. I was hoping we could take a drive up to Big Sur and watch the sunset, then maybe grab something to eat.”

“Sorry,” I said with a smile. “Sounds great, but like I said, I’ve got plans.”

Most guys would have dropped it after that, but Paul, for some reason, did not. He even reached out and casually draped an arm around my shoulders…if you can do something like that casually. Somehow, though, he pulled it off. Maybe because he’s from Seattle.

“Suze,” he said, dipping his voice low, so that no one else in the room could overhear him—especially his little brother, who was clearly straining his neck in an effort to do so. “It’s Friday night. We’re leaving day after tomorrow. You and I might never see each other again. Come on. Throw a guy a bone, will you?”

I don’t have guys pursuing me all that often—at least, not hotties like Paul. I mean, most of the guys who’ve liked me since I moved to California…well, there’ve been some serious relationship issues, such as the fact that they ended up serving long prison terms for murder.

So this was pretty new for me. I was impressed in spite of myself.

Still, I’m not a dope. Even if I hadn’t been in love with somebody else, Paul Slater was from out of town. It’s easy for guys who are leaving in a couple of days to give a girl the rush. I mean, come on: They don’t have to commit.

“Gosh,” I said. “That is just so sweet. But you know what? I really do have other plans.” I stepped out from beneath his arm and totally interrupted Dr. Slater’s in-depth description of that day’s golf score—bogey, bogey, par, par. “Can you give me a lift home, Father D.?”

Father Dominic said he could, of course, and we left. I noticed Paul giving me the old hairy eyeball as we said our good-byes, but I figured it was because he was hacked at me for turning down his dinner invitation.

I didn’t know it was for entirely different reasons. At least, not then. Although, of course, I should have. I really should have.

Anyway, Father D. lectured me all the way home. He was way mad, madder than he’d ever been with me before, and I’ve done some stuff that’s gotten him plenty peeved. I wanted to know how he’d figured out I was at the hotel and not back at the paper helping CeeCee write her story, like I’d said I’d be, and he said it hadn’t been hard: He just remembered that CeeCee was a straight-A student who surely wouldn’t need my help writing anything, and turned his car around. When he found out I’d left ten minutes earlier, he tried to think where he would have gone under similar circumstances, back when he was my age.

“The hotel was the obvious choice,” Father Dominic informed me as we pulled up in front of my house. No ambulances this time, I was relieved to note. Just the shady pine trees and the tinny sound of the radio Andy was listening to in the backyard as he worked on the deck. A sleepy summer evening. Not at all the kind of night you’d think of when you heard the word exorcism.

“You are not,” Father D. went on, “precisely unpredictable, Susannah.”

Predictable I may be, but it has apparently worked to my advantage, since right before I got out of the car, Father D. went, “I’ll return at midnight to bring you down to the Mission.”

I looked at him in surprise. “The Mission?”

“If we’re going to perform an exorcism,” he said tersely, “we’re going to do it correctly, in a house of the Lord. Unfortunately, the monsignor, as you know, is sure to frown on such a use of church property, so while I dislike having to resort to subterfuge, I can see that you will not be swayed from this course, and so it will unfortunately be necessary in this case. I want to make certain there’s no chance of Sister Ernestine or anyone else discovering us. Therefore, midnight it will have to be.”

And midnight, therefore, it was.

I can’t really tell you what I did in the meantime. I was too nervous, really, to do much of anything. We had takeout for dinner. I don’t know what it was. I hardly tasted it. It was just me and my mom and Andy, since Sleepy had a date with Caitlin, and Dopey was with his latest skank.

The only thing I know for sure is that CeeCee called with the news that the story on the dys-functional de Silva/Diego family was going to run in the Sunday edition of the paper.

“It’ll reach thirty-five thousand people,” CeeCee assured me. “Way more than our circulation during the week. More people subscribe to the Sunday paper because of the funnies and all.”

The coroner, she informed me, had come through with a tentative confirmation of my story: The skeleton found in my backyard was between one hundred and fifty to one hundred and seventy-five years old, and belonged to a male of twenty to twenty-five years of age.

“Race,” CeeCee went on, “is difficult to determine due to the damage to the skull from Brad’s shovel. But they were certain about the cause of death.”

I clutched the receiver to my ear, conscious that my mother and Andy, over at the dinner table, could hear every word.

“Oh?” I said, trying to keep my tone light. But I could feel myself getting cold again, just like I had that afternoon in the photocopy cubicle.

“Asphyxiation,” CeeCee said. “There’s like some bone in the neck they can tell by.”

“So he was…”

“Strangled,” CeeCee said matter-of-factly. “Hey, what are you doing tonight, anyway? Wanna hang? Adam’s got some family thing he has to go to. We could rent a movie—”

“No,” I said. “No, I can’t. Thanks, CeeCee. Thanks a lot.”

I hung up the phone.

Strangled. Jesse had died from being strangled. By Felix Diego. Funny, I had somehow always figured he’d been shot to death. But strangling made more sense: People would have heard a shot and come to investigate. Then there’d have been no question about what happened to Hector de Silva.

But strangling someone? That was pretty much silent. Felix could easily have strangled Jesse in his sleep, then carried his dead body into the backyard and then buried it, along with his belongings. No one would have been the wiser….