The Girl in the Mirror

by Steven Ramirez

  “No.”

  “Can I ask? What exactly did you find?”

  “Peter Moody’s remains.”

  “Well, that’s good news, right? Now Lou can close the case, and you can get on with your life.”

  “Not quite. There’s the little problem of the ghost that’s plaguing me.”

  “Well, maybe she’ll move on.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Still…”

  Rachel stood and went to the door. “Hey, it’s after twelve. Want to grab lunch? Celebrate your newfound wealth?” Sarah didn’t answer. “Come on, it’ll do you good.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  Sarah got up and, grabbing her purse, followed her sister out. As they headed toward the front door, Sarah noticed Blanca repeatedly poking one of the keys on her computer keyboard. She seemed upset.

  “Everything okay, Blanca? How’s Pollito?”

  “He’s fine. Got himself a girlfriend—the urgent care nurse. ¡Me saca de quicio!”

  “Well, he may drive you crazy, but he’s your mijo and you love him, right?”

  “Excuse me.”

  They watched as she got up and stomped toward the restrooms, muttering in Spanish.

  Outside, the sky was bright blue with large white clouds that reminded Sarah of the gigantic Mardi Gras heads she’d seen once on a college trip to New Orleans. She immediately turned toward The Cracked Pot when her sister grabbed her arm.

  “Where are you going?” Rachel said. “This way. I thought we’d try that new sushi place.”

  “There’s a sushi place?”

  “You know, for a big-time realtor, you are seriously out of touch with your community.”

  “Shut up. I’ve been distracted.”

  “Yeah, yeah. This way, Sherlock.”

  Sarah had to admit that spending time with her sister had been just what the doctor ordered. Though the Japanese place was small, it was beautifully decorated. The bar and tables were made of bleached eucalyptus and the floor was slate tile. Sarah was admiring the lighting fixtures when a server directed them to a table for two, past a group of business people apparently celebrating a birthday with copious amounts of alcohol. Rachel noticed the drinks and smiled.

  “Want me to order some sake? she said. “You know, to take the edge off.”

  “There’s an edge?” Sarah tried a smile. “I’d better not. It’ll make me sad. How’s Katy, by the way?”

  “She’s fine. Why do you ask?”

  “I feel like I don’t spend enough time with her.”

  “Well, you’re rich now. Why don’t you two have a spa day or something?”

  “You know, that’s a great idea.”

  “Sarah, I was totally joking. You don’t need to spend that kind of money.”

  “No, I want to. We’ll go to the Four Seasons.”

  “Wow. How will you top that when her birthday rolls around?”

  “I have plenty of time to think of something.”

  Soon, they were eating. As Sarah bit into her raw tuna, she noticed her sister looking at her.

  “What? Is there something on my face?”

  “No. I was thinking. Katy idolizes you.”

  “But I’m a mess.”

  “Well, she thinks you’re amazing. And so do I.”

  Sarah put her chopsticks down. “Are we breaking up?”

  Rachel laughed. “No. I’m… I guess what I’m trying to say is… Do you remember when we were little? You picked on me a lot. I mean, a lot.”

  “Rache, I’m sorry—”

  “Let me finish. I used to spend hours a day being mad at you, wondering what I’d done to deserve it. But now that we’re grown, I can see that you were a kid. And I was your annoying little sister. I mean, that’s what kids do, right?”

  “Rachel…”

  “Sarah, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have in my life. I mean, you were there for me when Paul died. And your relationship with Katy is…”

  Rachel brushed away her tears. Sarah reached over and touched her sister’s arm.

  “Hey, what’s wrong, honey?”

  Rachel took Sarah’s right hand in both of hers. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, that’s all.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Rache. And you can take that to the bank. What do you say we enjoy our lunch, and after, you and I get our nails done?”

  “I should get back to work.”

  “Hey, I’m your big sister and I’m still allowed to boss you around sometimes. So, no more arguments.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  Fifteen

  Franklin Chestnut waited patiently outside Lou Fiore’s office door as the police chief finished up a call. He and Lou had become friends when Lou was working homicide in Santa Barbara. They’d spent hours together looking at the gruesome outcome of people’s enflamed, misdirected passions. Estranged husbands going after ex-wives with power tools, meth heads attacking strangers at bus stops with claw hammers, assorted gang-related stabbings and shootings. It was endless. But through it all, the men had kept their sense of humor. And that was why the coroner decided not to call in his dinner marker.

  As soon as Lou hung up the phone, Franklin entered and took a seat.

  “Frank, it’s nice to see you, but couldn’t we have done this over the phone?”

  “You know what a people person I am.”

  “Yeah, dead people. So, what have you got for me?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Meaning, Paris here we come?”

  The coroner laid his black attaché on the disorganized desk, pushed aside a few empty coffee cups, and removed a folder containing a file and several color photographs, all of which he handed to Lou.

  “The body is definitely that of Peter Moody.”

  Lou examined one of the photos more closely. This was going to look bad on his record. Never mind the dinner. Exhuming the body, transporting it, and reburying it in a new coffin would cost the city upwards of ten thousand dollars. And that didn’t include the Coroner’s Bureau charges. He’d been so sure.

  “So, how’d he die?”

  “Slit throat. Self-inflicted. Look closely at the cervical vertebrae in that photo you’re holding. You’ll see a small nick made by a sharp instrument. And the angle? This is consistent with the report from the original autopsy.”

  “Which was performed in Lawrence?”

  “Yes. I called the coroner’s office there to confirm my findings. I’m sorry, Lou, but everything checks out. Dental records, DNA—the whole shebang.”

  Lou exhaled loudly. “Guess the judge won’t be too pleased that we wasted taxpayer money on this.”

  “I’ll write up something in my report expressing my confidence that you made the right call, given the circumstances.”

  “I appreciate it, Frank. Okay if I keep the file?”

  “Of course. That’s your copy.” Grabbing his attaché, Franklin rose. “Oh, I almost forgot. The pathologist who performed the postmortem wrote something in the report that, to be honest, has me stumped.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He said that, according to medical records, Peter Moody was suffering from cardiomyopathy. It’s a heart condition usually caused by an infection, or alcohol or drug abuse.”

  “Drugs, maybe?”

  “No, the tox screen didn’t show anything. It’s all in the report.”

  “Okay, I’ll take a look.”

  “And don’t worry about dinner. Feel free to buy me lunch sometime.” He headed for the door.

  “Thanks again,” Lou said. “Hey, Frank?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You believe in ghosts?”

  “Not sure. Never actually seen one.”

  “Me neither. And I pray to God I never do.”

  After Franklin had left, Lou Fiore remained in his office chewing toothpicks like a beaver and mulling over the Peter Moody file. He’d been over the documents several times
and was re-examining the autopsy photos the coroner had given him. The fact that Peter Moody was dead didn’t do much to cheer him up. He didn’t know for sure who had murdered the kid’s parents, and he worried that, given ghosts were real apparently, Sarah might be haunted by some creepy dead girl for the rest of her life.

  Sarah. Since meeting her, he admittedly had entertained vague notions of a romantic relationship. Nothing untoward. He was Catholic, so was she. They were both divorced, and the only complication Lou could see was his son who, at some point, would have to meet her. How would she take to him? Louis Jr. was eight, still young enough to adjust, he supposed. But there was Joe. Lou could tell those two loved each other, and he was the last person to create an awkward situation. No, better they all stayed friends. Right. Until the next time he smelled her perfume and gazed into those smoky hazel eyes.

  He decided he’d better walk it off. Some nice strong coffee would distract him. By the time he’d gone to the kitchenette and pulled two shots from the espresso machine he’d purchased with his own money, he found he was already thinking about the case again.

  Lou had hoped to find answers in Lawrence. He wanted to speak to the elderly aunt in person to see if he could get through to her. If he was lucky, she would have a moment of clarity and provide some insight into what happened all those years ago. But he had to get travel approval from the mayor’s office. And that was unlikely since this was not an active case. Not to mention the fact that the police chief had given himself a black eye by exhuming that body.

  Better call Sarah with the news. Somehow, he felt she already knew the truth.

  Sarah sat in her car, staring at the stark, flat image of Casa Abrigo against the wet, gray sky. The house looked as if it had been cut out of a magazine and pasted onto a dull cardboard backdrop that lacked depth. And after getting the call from Lou, it had somehow taken on a more sinister aspect, becoming something brooding and threatening.

  She wasn’t surprised the body was that of Peter Moody. She’d known it the moment she touched the coffin, faint echoes of his spirit rising like spirals of invisible noxious mist. It bothered her, though, that the police chief would probably not be making the trip to Lawrence. Answers lay there, she felt. Truths the girl in the mirror wanted Sarah to uncover. Someone needed to go.

  Grabbing her purse, she got out and made her way up the soggy driveway toward the house. Joe, Manny, and the boys were all inside, and she could hear the familiar sounds of professional renovation. She used to enjoy seeing a house coming together, being made ready for a new family to enjoy. But there was something about this house that made Sarah think the project was doomed. She recalled the light fixture falling without warning, almost striking Michael in the head. And she didn’t want to think about the lawsuit, had there been an accident.

  Sarah had tried calling Michael Peterson twice, but each time she was taken directly to voicemail. For some reason, he was avoiding her—probably out of sheer embarrassment for having abandoned her the other night. Not that she was harboring any kind of grudge. She had called simply to find out if he was feeling any better. Give him some freaking space, Sarah.

  When she opened the front door, she found Manny standing on a ladder, adjusting the lantern pendant. She could see shallow gouges in the hardwood floor where it had fallen. Those planks would have to be replaced. More expense.

  “So, what happened?” she said as Manny climbed down.

  He bent over and picked up a chain. “Mira.”

  She took it from him and examined the tip, which looked as if someone had taken an acetylene torch to it. But how was that possible?

  “I don’t get it,” she said.

  “My son did nothing wrong, that’s what I’m saying. Someone made this fixture fall.”

  “Or some-thing.”

  “Ghosts? Madre…”

  “Has anything else weird happened?”

  Joe stepped out from the kitchen and came toward them. He touched Sarah’s arm and kissed her cheek, which surprised her. She glanced at Manny, but he was avoiding eye contact.

  “What was that for?” she said.

  “I heard about your date.”

  “Oh, that. Nothing lets a girl feel special like making the guy she’s with puke himself. I hope you’re having better luck with Dale.”

  “Gail,” Manny said.

  Joe scratched his ear. “We haven’t spoken in a few days.”

  She knew he was lying but decided to play along. “You try calling?”

  “Yeah.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Okay, what did you do?”

  “Nothing. It’s all good.”

  “Well, not to take advantage, but maybe we can finally have that pizza and wine.”

  “Let’s do it. You free tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Manny rolling his eyes and bared her teeth at him like a feral cat.

  “So, Joe. I was asking Manny about that pendant. Anything else strange going on around here I should know about?”

  “The usual, I guess. Only, the boys seem to be misplacing more tools than usual.”

  “Hm. Well, how about a quick tour? I’m starting to work on some ideas for the listing.”

  “A little premature, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t like waiting until the last minute.”

  “I taught you well. Okay, let’s start upstairs. We’ve added those new built-ins I was telling you about.”

  “Great. See you, Manny.”

  Taking Joe’s arm, she left the foreman with a final scowl to remember her by. But Manny didn’t acknowledge her. He was looking at the chain in his rough hands, trying to understand what powerful, unseen force could have caused it to break like that.

  Sarah had finished giving the cat fresh water when the doorbell rang. She pretended to ignore her heart skipping a beat and walked into the foyer to answer it, smoothing her already pressed jeans and adjusting her bra strap under the white cashmere sweater.

  When she opened the door, she found Joe smiling and proffering a large sausage and mushroom pizza from Papa Pepito’s.

  “Where’s your striped shirt and cap?” she said, taking the box. “I thought we might set up the video camera later and…”

  “Funny.”

  As she stepped back, he walked in, smelling of citrus and sandalwood. The cologne was intoxicating, and she had the urge to throw the box aside and drag him feet-first into the bedroom. But then, she remembered their lives were “complicated” now. Though she suspected Joe and Gail were over, she decided she’d better behave. At least until they got to the scotch. Sarah!

  He led the way into the kitchen, and as she followed, she noticed his hair was wet from a shower. He had on a new pair of jeans and a gray knit V-neck sweater that looked incredibly soft. Pace yourself, Sarah.

  As Joe set the pizza down on the counter, he noticed the Chateau Palmer Bordeaux standing near the sink, uncorked. She followed his gaze.

  “I thought I should let it breathe.”

  “So, have you tried it?” he said, walking over and picking up the cork.

  “I wanted you to have the honor.”

  He sniffed the cork as she got down two wine glasses. “Mm. Promising.” He held up the bottle to the light, squinting. “Lots of sediment, though.”

  “Do you think we should aerate it?”

  “Definitely.”

  Wine was another thing Sarah had learned about from Joe. Like a professional, she got out an aerator she had picked up at Williams-Sonoma as Joe positioned the wine glasses. His scent was driving her crazy, and it was all she could do to concentrate as she held the aerator over one of the glasses and carefully poured the wine. When she’d finished filling the first glass, Joe took it, swirled it under his nose, and tried it.

  “Well?” she said.

  “Amazing.”

  “Whew.”

  She repeated the process with the second glass. Then, she set the aerator
aside and took a sip of hers.

  “Oh. My. Gosh.”

  “Yep.”

  “That settles it. We’re eating in the dining room tonight.”

  Sarah had made a mixed green salad to accompany dinner. Inspired, she’d made croutons rather than using packaged ones.

  Dinner with Joe was like old times when they were married. She had always felt comfortable around him, and as she gazed at him through a filmy curtain of wine-induced lightheadedness, she wondered again if somehow they could make it work. So far, she’d been encouraged because Joe hadn’t mentioned Gail once. It was as if she had never existed, and it was just the two of them again.

  They had been talking for more than an hour, and when she got up to refill their glasses, she found the wine bottle empty.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  Looks like we killed the bottle.”

  “Time for the Talisker?”

  “Only if you promise to take advantage of me.” She broke into uncontrollable wine giggles. “I meant not take advantage. Wow.”

  “Freud would be proud,” Joe said, entering the kitchen with the dishes.

  He set them on the counter and watched as Sarah stood on tiptoes to reach the bottle of scotch. He couldn’t help looking at her luscious curves, how the sweater hugged her in all the right places. When she had retrieved the bottle, he was standing directly behind her. He took in the fragrance of her hair. She could feel his hands gently touching her waist and permitted them to turn her around to face him.

  “Why, Mr. Greene. What are you doing? This is highly irregular.”

  He took the bottle and set it on the counter. But as he was about to kiss her full on the lips, she shimmied downward and, clearing her throat, escaped his grasp as if they had stolen a moment in the office copier room and someone walked in.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

  All business, she took two whiskey glasses from the cupboard and headed for the living room. He followed, carrying the bottle. She set the glasses down and, touching his shoulders with her index fingers, gently pushed him into a sitting position on the sofa. Uncomfortable, he removed his phone from his pocket and placed it on the floor.