It took Rachel only a few minutes to arrive. Sarah was standing near the entrance out of the rain, watching absently as happy couples came and went. She could hear the band playing “Island in the Sun” and smirked. Great, now you decide to play Weezer?
“Need a ride, little girl?” her sister said from the rolled-down passenger window.
Smiling gratefully, Sarah got in and rolled up the window to shut out the rain. “Thanks so much, Rache. This date couldn’t have gone any worse. No, I take that back. The guy could’ve puked on my shoes instead of himself.”
“Wow, good times. So, where to? Your place?”
“Can you take me to your house? I feel like I could use some company.”
“Sure thing.”
In another few minutes, Rachel was pulling into her driveway. She opened the garage and drove inside. As Sarah and Rachel walked into the kitchen, they found Eddie sitting at the table, trying for the bazillionth time to teach his granddaughter how to play Texas hold ’em, his stacks of chips towering over Katy’s.
“Oh, hey, Aunt Sarah.” Sarah’s niece put her cards down. Then, to Eddie, “Fold.”
“Real nice, Eddie,” Sarah said. “Taking money from an innocent girl.”
“How else am I supposed to save for my retirement?” He collected the cards and began shuffling. “Another lousy date? Well, there’s always the convent.”
Sarah gave him the stink eye. “Not funny.”
Katy jumped up and grabbed a water from the refrigerator. Then, after giving her aunt a hug, she walked out.
Eddie craned his neck, his eyes following her. “Hey, what about our game?”
“Cards are boring. Going to my room.”
“That kid’ll never make me rich.” He sighed and put the cards away. Then, to Sarah, “You staying over?”
“I thought I might,” she said, taking a seat and helping her father gather up the chips.
“What about your cat?”
“He has a clean litter box and a full food dish, so I think he’ll survive.”
She held up a one-hundred-dollar black chip and pretended it was a monocle as her father rolled his eyes.
“I remember when you tried teaching Rachel and me. To this day, I have no idea what a ‘boat’ is.”
“Full house, set, and a pair,” Rachel said, putting down two wine glasses.
“At least someone around here listens,” Eddie said, getting up to get a beer. Then, to Rachel, “Want to play?”
“No, thank you.”
“So, what happened?” Eddie said to Sarah as he sat.
She ignored him and instead watched as Rachel poured out two glasses of a pinot noir from Los Olivos.
“Aren’t we getting fancy?” Sarah said.
“I like to splurge once in a while.”
For a few minutes, the three of them sat quietly. Sarah sighed and, dipping her forefinger in wine, circled the lip of the glass until it sang.
“You used to do that when you were five,” Eddie said. “Drove your mother and me nuts.”
“Joe wasn’t a fan either. When we were married…” Sarah looked at her father. “Tell me something. If a guy wants to get out of a date, does he go to all the trouble of faking an illness?”
“Depends. Are we talking blind date?”
“No. He’s a client. Everything seemed alright. Dinner was fine. But at the dance, he said he felt sick. Too sick to drive me home, apparently.”
Rachel touched her sister’s hand. “It is possible he was telling the truth.”
“I guess. Only…”
“What?”
Sarah took a swallow of wine. “It’s the strangest thing. He seemed fine until Fr. Brian showed up.”
“Maybe he’d had one of those bad Catholic school experiences.”
“No. It was something else. I can’t put my finger on it.” Sarah refilled their glasses. “Anyhoo.”
She gazed at the old Westclox Coffee Time wall clock that had been in the kitchen for as long as she could remember. She had always loved the numbers on its face and used to describe them to her parents as being “melty.” It was only nine. Some big night on the town. Rachel seemed to know what her sister was thinking.
“Want to borrow a pair of my jammies and watch a chick flick? I can make popcorn, and I think we might have some M&Ms.”
“You read my mind,” Sarah said, and finished her wine.
The women rose and, as Rachel went off to get things ready, Sarah tidied up the kitchen. Eddie sat back, drumming his fingers on the table.
“You guys wouldn’t consider John Wick?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. I’m going to my room. And listen to Charlie Parker.”
They kissed each other, and Eddie wandered off. Sarah drifted into the living room, knelt in front of the bookcase under the TV, and began going through the movies. While You Were Sleeping, no. You’ve Got Mail, no. The Notebook, hell naw. Notting Hill… Maybe.
Rachel walked in carrying a folded pair of cotton Tweety Bird pajamas. She noticed the look on her sister’s face.
“Hey, it’s this or Yosemite Sam.”
“Fine.” Pouting, Sarah grabbed the PJs and went to the guest room to change. “But just for that, we’re watching When Harry Met Sally.”
“You can’t beat the classics,” Rachel said and teed up the movie.
Fourteen
A knock at the door woke Sarah. As she opened her eyes, she was momentarily disoriented, then remembered where she was.
“Yeah?”
Her voice was hoarse and sounded noticeably lower. What was in that wine, anyway? A muffled voice spoke through the door.
“It’s me, Katy. You have a phone call.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty.”
Sarah tried focusing, but her field of vision was filled with little, floating, squiggly things. She could hear her niece telling someone to hold please. She patted her hand around the nightstand, looking for her phone, and realized she didn’t have it with her.
“Okay, come on in.”
The door swung open, and Katy, wearing Bugs Bunny pajamas, ran in and handed Sarah her phone. As she took the call, her niece plopped herself on the bed.
“Hello?”
“Sarah?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Lou. Sorry, didn’t sound like you. How soon can you get over here?”
“What’s up?”
Katy was swinging one leg up and down, up and down. Sarah placed a hand on her knee to get her to stop, wondering if the girl had picked up that habit from her.
“Time to test out your theory,” he said. “Meet me in my office as soon as you can.”
“I do have an actual job, you know.”
He ignored the comment. “So, I’ll see you in, what, an hour?”
Sarah sighed dramatically, causing Katy to sigh in sympathy.
“Fine. See you soon.”
After Sarah had disconnected, she continued staring at the phone. Katy leaned over and pulled on her sleeve.
“Who was that?”
“What? Oh, the police chief.”
“Does he like you?”
“I guess.”
Katy picked a microscopic piece of lint off her aunt’s sleeve. “Do you like him?”
“Come here, you.”
She grabbed her niece and began tickling her, which set off a fit of uncontrollable giggling.
At the kitchen table, Sarah sat drinking coffee and eating the scrambled eggs with machaca Eddie had cooked for everyone. Wearing her Notre Dame uniform, Katy finished her milk and let out a loud burp. Rachel appeared in the doorway, adjusting one of her earrings.
“I heard that. Come on, kiddo. Time for school.”
“Just have to brush my teeth,” she said, running out of the room.
“No breakfast?” Eddie said to Rachel.
“I’ll grab something later.”
After a few moments, Katy appeared at the door, wearing a Ja
nSport backpack, and they left.
“Okay, we’re outta here,” Rachel said. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes to take you home, Sarah.”
Sarah watched as the two went out to the garage through the kitchen. She was wearing her outfit from the night before, including the heels. She’d borrowed her sister’s flatiron and was wearing her hair in a French braid courtesy of Rachel.
“I feel stupid dressed like this,” Sarah said.
Eddie shook his head. “You look nice. So, what’s up with the police chief?”
“Katy told you, huh? He wants to see me. Probably something to do with the case.”
“Or maybe he likes you,” he said.
Getting to her feet, Sarah groaned. “Honestly, you people need to get a life.”
“Watch yourself, mija.”
When she looked into her father’s eyes, she saw concern. She hugged him and kissed his cheek.
“I will,” she said. Then, smiling, “Is there something on your mind?”
“I’m a father. It’s my job to worry.”
“Well, I’m a big girl.”
Eddie left the room, and she began clearing the table. Recalling her recent dreams, she wondered if she would be fine. Touching her St. Michael medal, she said a prayer.
It was after nine-thirty when Sarah arrived at the police station. She had gone home to change and look after Gary. She wore a black skirt and matching matador jacket. The sun had come out as she walked into the building. Always a good sign.
Lou was on the phone when she entered his office. Three empty paper coffee cups lay on their sides among the rest of the clutter on the desk. He signaled for her to take a seat.
“Okay, tell them to get started. We’re headed over there now. Yeah. See you soon.”
When he disconnected, he looked up and smiled broadly at Sarah.
“Why are you so cheery?” she said.
“I convinced the judge to sign the disinterment order.”
“Are you kidding? Why would he do that?”
“He’s an old friend. Also, I happened to catch the guy who was threatening him and his family over a murder trial. Want to know something funny? Harlan Covington heard about the order and tried using some obscure legal challenge to stop it.”
“And?”
“It didn’t work. Anyway, we need to get over to the cemetery. The coroner is already there.”
Sarah felt anxious and wished she hadn’t suggested that anything might be amiss in the first place.
“Why do I need to be there?”
“Because this time, no amount of mojo is going to stop you from seeing whatever it is they don’t want you to see.”
Lou came around the desk and waited by the door. Feeling a deep dread that seemed to leach out of her bones, Sarah got up and followed.
“Good thing I keep a rosary in my purse,” she said. Something tells me I’m going to need it.
It would only take a few minutes to get to the cemetery, and Sarah convinced Lou to stop at The Cracked Pot so she could fortify herself with an extra large macchiato. He took the opportunity to order himself a triple espresso, and they were on their way. She felt she drank a fair amount of coffee, but she was a lightweight compared to this guy and wondered why his heart rate wasn’t through the roof.
The cemetery was quiet. Dapples of sunlight played among the redwoods. Birds were singing. If Sarah hadn’t known better, she might have expected to see frolicking children instead of ghosts. Fortunately, the spirits must have all been asleep because she didn’t sense anything. As they got closer, she noticed a Santa Barbara Coroner’s Office vehicle and an unmarked truck parked along the road.
Lou pulled up close to the gate, and they got out and walked in. Warily, Sarah looked from side to side as they made their way toward a large area marked off by barricade tape. She could see several figures standing around a grave as a backhoe dug into the earth. When they reached the site, Sarah found a genial-looking fifty-something African-American man overseeing the operation, accompanied by another man in a suit—an assistant?—and two cemetery workers, one of whom was operating the machinery. Lou and the man in charge exchanged a greeting, speaking loudly over the sound of the backhoe, which had already removed more than two feet of earth.
“Sarah, this is Dr. Franklin Chestnut, Santa Barbara Sheriff-Coroner. Frank, Sarah Greene.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Greene. Lou, I hope you’re right about this. To be honest, we have more pressing cases.”
“I know, Frank. And if I’m wrong, I’ll buy you and your wife dinner anywhere you like.”
“Well, Bev and I do have a favorite bistro off the Boulevard Saint-Michel.”
“Paris?” Lou said. Then, to Sarah, “There goes my pension.”
“I thought you knew what you were doing.”
Everyone else was watching as the backhoe operator drove the bucket deeper into the cold ground. Sarah closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and joined them, cringing each time the shovel hit the ground with a loud thunk. After a half-hour, she heard a scraping noise.
“Stop!” Lou said to the operator.
The backhoe pulled away, and one of the cemetery workers, who was carrying a shovel, jumped into the hole and carefully began exposing the burial vault. After another ten minutes, he had finished securing straps attached to the backhoe’s boom to eye hooks embedded into the sides of the concrete container.
Slowly, the backhoe operator began raising the heavy box out of the ground. At first, it looked to Sarah as if the straps would break from the strain. Eventually, the burial vault came up, and the second cemetery worker guided it up and out of the hole.
“Please don’t let there be a pile of rocks inside,” Lou said to Sarah.
“No. There’s a body in there.”
Though the sun was warm, Sarah felt ice-cold. Her mouth was dry, and her head ached. The dust floating in the air assaulted her, and she felt her throat closing up. Covering her mouth, she turned away and coughed. Why did I choose to wear black today?
When the vault was sitting on the grass, the second worker got into a nearby pickup truck and backed it up. The backhoe operator was about to lift the container when Sarah stepped forward, her hand raised.
“I want to see the body.”
Franklin glanced at Lou. “Normally, we’d have you come down to the morgue.” Then, to the cemetery workers, “Open her up.”
The two cemetery workers carefully lifted the heavy concrete lid and laid it on the grass. Using a crowbar, one of them pried open the casket lid. Sarah gritted her teeth against the loud squealing noise. When they’d gotten it open, they stepped back. All eyes were on Sarah. Terrified, she stood there without looking. Saying a silent prayer, she forced herself to approach the vault and gaze down into the casket. The smell of decay made her dizzy, and she worried she might vomit.
A man’s desiccated body lay in the open coffin, dressed in a dark suit. What remained of the hair looked like it might be Peter Moody’s. Though she knew better, the corpse seemed to be staring at her. She touched the coffin, and immediately, she felt as if she were falling.
An image of a long, bright corridor flashed across the backs of her eyes, and she could hear the faint sounds of a PA system. She could see a young man wearing pajamas sitting on a simple bed in a sterile-looking room, rocking back and forth. He was facing a window with bars, and she couldn’t make out his features. Then, the image was gone, and Sarah was back in the cemetery. She reached out to Lou, and he helped her off the flatbed.
They watched as one of the cemetery workers drove off with the burial vault, followed by the crane operator.
“You’ll let me know if I need to take out a loan to pay for your trip?” Lou said to Franklin, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll get to work on this right away.” As the coroner turned to leave, he said, “Nice meeting you, Sarah.”
“Yeah, same here.”
Sarah felt light-headed and didn’t want to spend
another second in the cemetery. As they walked toward the gate, Lou touched her arm.
“So, did you see anything?”
“He was in an institution.”
“Peter?”
“Yes. We have to find out where.” She stared at Lou with haunted eyes.
“Come on. I’ll drive you back.” Then, leaning in, “I thought you were very brave, by the way.”
“Apparently, you didn’t hear my knees knocking together like coconuts.”
As they made their way along the main path, Sarah happened to look up. In the distance, she could see Hannah floating near a stand of tanbark oaks. Her arms were outstretched.
Blood was running from her eyes, like tears.
Sarah entered Greene Realty through the rear entrance. As she passed Joe’s office, she was surprised to see him sitting at his desk with the door closed, on the phone. The conversation looked tense, and on an impulse, she decided to hang back. Though his voice was muffled, she managed to catch a few words here and there. “Sorry…” “Not true…” “Maybe if…” It’s not you, it’s me.
Rachel appeared in the hallway, a huge smile on her face, startling Sarah.
“Want some good news?” Rachel said. “Two of your properties closed escrow. You’re forty-eight thousand dollars richer.”
“That’s great.”
Rachel’s face fell when she saw her sister’s expression, and she followed her into Sarah’s office. Sarah could hear Joe’s door opening and quick footsteps as he exited silently through the rear. Sighing, she went behind her desk and plopped down. Rachel took a seat opposite her and watched as her sister opened and slammed shut various desk drawers.
“What exactly are you looking for?”
Sarah stared at her, her face the picture of anger and frustration.
“You know those old movies where the grizzled newspaper editor pulls open a drawer and takes out a bottle and a glass?”
“You need a drink?”
“I need you to buy me a bottle and a glass.”
“Well, don’t get mad at me.”
“I’m sorry, Rache. It’s that stupid business at the cemetery.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t find rocks in the coffin?”
The Girl in the Mirror Page 13