Hush
Two
As it turned out, Dr. Whitehall was free the next day to come by for a more formal interview at the clinic. Or at least he was free for the hour between noon and one o'clock, which meant that Jesse and I had to cancel our informal daily lunch plans together the following day.
"Are you sure you don't want to conduct a portion of the interview, Susannah?" Jesse asked.
He was standing just inside my office, with his back to the closed door, a few feet in front of where I stood. It was five minutes to noon, and I knew that Dr. Whitehall had already settled himself into a seat in front of Jesse's desk in the office two doors down from mine.
"I know I said I was your boss yesterday, but what we have is a partnership," Jesse continued.
"I know it's a partnership. That's why both of our names are on the sign outside," I said.
Jesse didn't looked entirely convinced, so I said, "Do you want me to stay and interview him? I mean, I'd have to call CeeCee and tell her lunch is canceled, but if you want me to stay, I can."
I fiddled with the keys to the BMW as I said it. I'd gotten up at the same time Jesse had this morning, and he drove the both of us to work. It was environmentally responsible, and it made Jesse happy to know that I was showing up to work on time, even if I had felt like vomiting for most of the morning.
"So long as you're sure, querida, then it's fine. Enjoy your lunch."
I crossed the distance between us and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
"I trust your judgement," I said as I pulled away from him.
He grinned lopsidedly and said playfully, "You should."
By the time I showed up at the Happy Medium about ten minutes later, CeeCee had already placed her order. I put in my own order, a portobello and goat cheese sandwich, and took a seat across from CeeCee at the booth she'd claimed.
She had her laptop in front of her and was halfway through a smoothie. God only knew what her Aunt Pru had put in it. Smoothies at the Happy Medium were always bananas, apples, mangos, and then something decidedly non-fruity, like radishes or kale.
"Business?" I asked.
"Pleasure," CeeCee said. "I was about to watch the promo spot for Gina's new show."
"I'll watch with," I said, and I abandoned my seat across from her and slid in next to her, so I could see CeeCee's laptop screen.
She angled it slightly and then pressed play on a YouTube video. I'd seen the commercial yesterday, after Gina had sent it to me, but I didn't mind watching it again. Gina's new show, Devil's Advocate, joined in with the constant crop of legal dramas with a gimmick. The gimmick here was that the show's cast was deciding whether or not people were going to Hell. I wasn't sure how much material they could stretch out of that, but I hoped it was enough for Gina's career in LA to get a strong foothold.
"So that's her," CeeCee said, pausing at the screen and pointing.
I raised an eyebrow. "That most definitely is not her," I said. The girl on screen had green eyes and brown hair and, while she had a nice tan, her skin was most definitely not copper colored.
"Not Gina," CeeCee said. "I know it's not Gina. I meant it's Calla Rose."
I wrinkled my nose. "You follow Calla Rose?" I asked.
Calla Rose Portland was the heiress to a railroad or an airline or something else that came part in parcel with a lot of money, and she'd spent the past few years as an Instagram and runway model before transitioning to the silver screen. Everything I knew about her came courtesy of Gina.
"I don't, but I thought I'd try and get a glimpse of Paul's fiancé in action," CeeCee said.
My eyes must have gone the size of silver dollars.
"Paul's what?" I asked.
"Paul's engaged," CeeCee said, this time more slowly.
I wasn't sure how long I stared at CeeCee, but I know I spent at least ten seconds with my eyes fixed on her and not making a sound. The Paul Slater I'd seen last, the one who has high off of his inheritance, amongst other things, was in no rush to head to the altar.
Finally, I said, "Engaged to be married?"
"Yes, Suze. Engaged to be married. How is this shocking? It was in last month's alumni newsletter. And I'm pretty sure it must've been in People or on Buzzfeed or something."
"Engaged," I repeated. And then I swore in a way that would've warranted a large submission to the swear jar.
"If it's any consolation…," CeeCee began.
"I don't need consoling," I said quickly. "This is good. This is great."
My tone, which was still shocked, did not convince CeeCee that I was happy about this. Because I wasn't happy about this. I was confused. I didn't care what Paul did, but there were certain ways in which I could expect him to be predictable. One of these ways was not going off and getting hitched.
"If it's any consolation, you and Calla Rose look a lot alike."
"If that were true, and it's not, it wouldn't be consolation. Just confirmation that Paul is still obsessed with me."
"I thought that would be consolation," CeeCee said.
I stared at her blankly. "Why the hell would that be consolation?"
She shrugged. "You're used to him being obsessed with you, and change is one of those things that hits people hard. Or something like that. You'd know better than I would, Mrs. Counselor."
CeeCee ended the conversation by pressing play and continuing with the rest of the video. But I couldn't bring myself to give my full attention to it.
Did CeeCee have a point? Paul getting engaged reminded me of him taking Kelly Prescott to the winter formal instead of me, way back in junior year. It had confused me then, and it was confusing me now.
Was he actually moving on?
The clip ended, and, before autoplay could decide that we wanted to watch an E! Insider report on Calla Rose's Hollywood mansion that was apparently up for sale, CeeCee exited YouTube. She opened up her e-mail account next and then let out a loud groan.
"Work?" I asked, as I slid back over to my side of the table.
CeeCee nodded in confirmation just as her food, an eggplant and chickpea salad, arrived at the table. My sandwich followed it shortly.
She didn't say anything for a minute as I munched on bread and mushroom. The only sound in the cafe was her typing at roughly two hundred words per second and CeeCee's Aunt Pru humming to herself distractedly from behind the counter.
After a few more moments of this relative silence, she closed the lid on her laptop and put a forkful of salad into her mouth.
She chewed, swallowed, and then said, "Work."
"How are things going between you and your work husband?" I asked.
CeeCee gave me a reproachful look. "Hugo is not my work husband," she said.
Hugo Braggart was totally CeeCee's work husband, even if she wasn't convinced that he wasn't. He'd graduated from the Mission a few years before we had, and he was one of the higher ups at the Pine Cone. CeeCee and Hugo formed a kindred bond ever since she'd replaced him as the head of the police beat.
"I call it like I see it," I said. "And besides, it's not like things have to be sexual for him to be your work husband. I'm pretty sure Felipa is Jesse's work wife."
CeeCee wrinkled her nose. "How is Felipa Jesse's work wife when you're his wife and you work with him?" she asked.
"Felipa never struggles with proper verb conjugation in Spanish."
CeeCee finished another bite of her salad and said, "Hugo told me he wishes he was back on the police beat."
"The police beat in Carmel?" I asked.
"It's been crazy these past few days, what with the heists and everything. And there's not a single lead yet. Or at least not any leads the police have felt comfortable telling the press. All we've got is a video of it."
I raised an eyebrow. "You've got the criminal on tape, and you still have no idea who did it? In a town the size of Carmel?"
"We got the crime on tape," CeeCee corrected, "not the criminal."
I must've still looked confused because CeeCee reopened her laptop and beckoned to me.
"You must not have seen the news this morning," she said.
I returned to her side of the table and watched as she typed "Carmel jewelry thief" into the search bar on YouTube. A page of results loaded a few seconds after she hit enter. The Happy Medium might not have had meat, but it did have a strong wifi signal.
CeeCee clicked on the first video, and I watched as security footage, time stamped for 23:52, played out across the screen. Nothing was amiss for the first few seconds. All I could see was a black and white view of a cash register and a glass case with some sort of jewelry inside of it.
I was about to ask CeeCee what was so remarkable about this video when the cash register moved of its own accord, like there were marionette strings attached to it or something. It wasn't a slight nudge to the side either. The register shook for a moment before the drawer burst open and displayed stacks of cash.
"It isn't locked?" I asked.
"According to the store owners who closed up, it definitely was," CeeCee said.
I kept watching as the stacks of bills began to move by themselves until they formed a small hill next to the cash register. And then the hill by the cash register became a hill that was headed out of the line of sight of the video.
Shortly after the floating wad of cash left the frame, the video clip ended.
"See the problem?" CeeCee asked as she shut her laptop again.
I was about to tell her that the problem was that I didn't see the problem, but then I realized that I could see the problem clear as day. There was no magic trick that was going to bust open a locked cash register and walk out with thousands of dollars without being seen. But there were spectral powers that had the potential to do that.
"I'm going to get you promoted, CeeCee," I said.
She looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
I glanced at Aunt Pru, who looked like she wasn't paying attention to anything besides a group of tarot cards in front of her, and said, "I'm one hundred percent sure what you've got on your hands is a ghost."
CeeCee did not look pleased.
Similarly, when I got back to the clinic a half hour later, Jesse was not pleased with the news either.
I had cornered him in his office and told him the whole story with four minutes to go until the clock struck one and our lunch breaks ended.
"Let's focus on the positive for now," Jesse said. "Dr. Whitehall will be joining us here soon."
"And that's great, except for the part where there'll still be a felonious NCDP on the loose after he gets here," I said.
Jesse sighed. "Trying to solve a mystery like this right now, with the clinic so new, sounds like borrowing trouble."
"The life of a mediator is borrowing trouble, Jesse. There's never a good time," I said in frustration.
But even as I said it I regretted my tone. I could see how tired Jesse looked. He was always the first person to arrive to the clinic, and he was always the last person to leave. He regularly stayed past five in an attempt to accommodate all the parents who couldn't take off work to get their kid into the doctor. I didn't think Jesse would ever stop being grateful over the fact that he was doing his dream job against all odds. And he showed every bit of that gratitude with how hard he worked.
He ran a hand through his hair and said, "When Dr. Whitehall gets settled in and there are more hands around the clinic, we'll start mediating then, alright?"
"Alright," I said.
Jesse smiled and I smiled back as I left his office.
Sometimes, if I kept my words short and sweet, Jesse couldn't tell that I was lying to him. Because I didn't plan on waiting for his help when the clinic calmed down.
Every second you leave a recalcitrant ghost unattended, the more damage they cause and a bigger problem they become. Twenty six years of experience had taught me that well enough. If the NCDP in question was hitting up jewelry stores, all I'd have to was figure out what store it was headed to next and have a little heart to heart with it.
And by "heart to heart," I meant my foot to its butt.