"It's just for one night," I assured him. "The cat, I mean."

"Oh," Doc said. "Well, that's good. Because you know that Brad does suffer from an adverse reaction to feline dander. Allergens, or allergy-producing substances, cause the release of histamine, an organic compound responsible for allergic symptoms. There are a variety of allergens, such as contactants – like poison oak – and airborne, like Brad's sensitivity to cat dander. The standard treatment is, of course, avoidance, if at all possible, of the allergen."

I blinked at him. "I'll keep that in mind," I said.

Doc smiled. "Great. Well, good night. Come on, Max."

He hauled the dog away, and I went into my room.

To find that my new roommate had flown the coop. Spike was gone, and the open window told me how he'd escaped.

"Jesse," I muttered.

Jesse was always opening and closing my windows. I hauled them open at night, only to find them securely closed come morning. Usually I appreciated this since the morning fog that rolled in from the bay was often freezing.

But now his good intentions had resulted in Spike escaping.

Well, I wasn't going looking for the stupid cat. If he wanted to come back, he knew the way. If not, I figured I'd done my duty, at least so far as Timothy was concerned. I'd found his wretched pet and brought it to safety. If the stupid thing refused to stay, that wasn't my problem.

I was just getting ready to climb into the hot, steaming bath I'd run for myself – I think best when

submerged in soapy water – when the phone rang. I didn't answer it, of course, because the phone is hardly ever for me. It's usually either Debbie Mancuso – despite Dopey's protests that they were not seeing each other – or one of the multitudes of giggly young women who called for Sleepy . . . who was never home due to his grueling pizza-delivery schedule.

This time, however, I heard my mother holler up the stairs that it was Father Dominic for me. My

mother, in spite of what you might think, doesn't consider it the least bit weird that I am constantly getting phone calls from the principal of my school. Thanks to my being vice president of my class, and

chairwoman of the Restore Junipero Serra's Head committee, there are actually quite a few completely

innocuous reasons why the principal might need to call me.

But Father D never calls me at home to discuss anything remotely school related. He only calls when he wants to ream me out for something to do with mediating.

Before I picked up the extension in my room, I wondered – irritably, since I was wearing nothing but a towel and suspected my bath water would be cold by the time I finally got into it – what I had done this time.

And then, as if I'd already slid into that bath, and found it freezing, chills went up my spine.

Jesse. My hasty discussion with Jesse before I'd left for Tad's. Jesse had gone to Father Dominic.

No, he wouldn't have. I'd told him not to. Not unless I wasn't back by midnight. And I'd gotten home by ten. Earlier, even. Nine forty-five.

That couldn't be it, I told myself. That couldn't possibly be it. Father Dominic did not know about Jesse. He did not know a thing.

Still, when I said hello, I said it tentatively.

Father Dominic's voice was warm. "Oh, hello, Susannah," he gushed. "So sorry to call so late, only I needed to discuss yesterday's student council meeting with you – "

"It's okay, Father D," I said. "My mom hung up the downstairs phone."

Father Dominic's voice changed completely. It was no longer warm. Instead, it was very indignant.

"Susannah," he said. "Delighted as I am to find that you are all right, I would just like to know when, if ever, you were going to tell me about this Jesse person."

Oops.

"He tells me he has been living in your bedroom since you moved to California several weeks ago, and that you have been perfectly aware, all this time, of that fact."

I had to hold the phone away from my ear. I'd always known, of course, that Father Dominic would be mad when he found out about Jesse. But I never guessed he'd go ballistic.

"This is the most outrageous thing I've ever heard." Father D was really warming to the subject. "What would your poor mother say if she knew? I simply don't know what I'm going to do with you, Susannah. I thought you and I had established a certain amount of trust in our relationship, but all this time, you've been keeping this Jesse fellow secret – "

Fortunately, at that moment, the call-waiting went off. I said, "Oh, hold on a minute, would you, Father D?"

As I hit the receiver, I heard him say, "Do not put me on hold while I am speaking to you, young lady – "

I'd been expecting Debbie Mancuso to be on the other line, but to my surprise, it was Cee Cee.

"Hey, Suze," she said. "I was doing a little more research on your boyfriend's dad – "

"He's not my boyfriend," I said, automatically. Especially not now.

"Yeah, okay, your would-be boyfriend, then. Anyway, I thought you might be interested to know that after his wife – Tad's mom – died ten years ago, things really started going downhill for Mr. B."

I raised my eyebrows. "Downhill? Like how? Not financially. I mean, if you ever saw where they live …"

"No, not financially. I mean that after she died – breast cancer, diagnosed too late to treat; don't worry, nobody killed her – Mr. B sort of lost interest in all of his many companies, and started keeping to

himself."

Aha. This was probably when the first onset of his "disorder" began.

"Here's the really interesting part, though," Cee Cee said. I could hear her tapping on her keyboard. "It was around this time that Red Beaumont handed over almost all of his responsibilities to his brother."

"Brother?"

"Yeah. Marcus Beaumont."

I was genuinely surprised. Marcus was related to Mr. Beaumont? I'd thought him a mere flunky. But he wasn't. He was Tad's uncle.

"That's what it says. Mr. Beaumont – Tad's dad – is still the figurehead, but this other Mr. Beaumont is the one who's really been running things for the past ten years."

I froze.

Oh my God. Had I got it wrong?