The Sinister Secrets of the Snake Mirror

by Constance Barker

  “Well, yeah, I guess you did.” Paisley spotted kopi luwak on the specials board. She folded her hands as if in prayer and turned to Judy. “Oh, a big mug of that cat poop coffee, pretty please.”

  Judy took the pencil from behind her ear and scratched her magic unicorn bun. After a few moments of study, she shrugged. “Coming up.”

  “So, what’s on the agenda then?” Paisley put her elbows on the counter, resting her chin on her hands.

  “The beach.”

  “Aw, again?”

  “Yeah, again, Paisley. Haven’t you noticed that it’s cold and snowing for half the year here? I need to get some sun and surf and quiet time.”

  “Borr-ring,” Paisley sang. Then she sat up straight. “Uh oh. Looks like the fuzz. Let’s cheese it.”

  Grace lowered her brows and followed Paisley’s gaze. A tall, broad shouldered man in a suit pushed through the door, blue eyes on Grace. He lifted a hand to her. Detective Peter Willoughby, from the Essex County Sheriff’s Department—what was he doing here?

  “Hi, Grace.” He nodded to Paisley. “Miss.”

  “Hey Pete. Here for breakfast?” Grace asked, although from his expression, she knew he was not.

  “Unfortunately, I’m here on business. We found a body washed up under the Essex Bridge. He had a sizable check with your name on it.”

  Before she could stop herself, Grace whispered, “Bentley Marlborough.”

  Pete nodded. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter 12

  In her line of work, Grace occasionally sought help from law enforcement. Insurance fraud, after all, was a crime. Occasionally, the police came to her for help on a case. Usually burglaries, to identify specific items, but she’d helped Pete with several homicides in the past. Murder investigations were nothing like mystery books or movies made them out to be. Most often they were sad, and gross, and something Grace avoided.

  “I’ve heard a rumor you were looking into Prudence Myerscough’s death,” Pete said. The man was easy on the eyes, dimpled chin, Paul Newman blue eyes, a shock of buzzed black hair. Not to mention, he filled out his suit pretty good.

  “Not anymore.” Grace pushed her plate away, her appetite gone. “They are a weird bunch, even violent I hear, but I don’t think they had anything to do with Prudence’s death.”

  Paisley moved down a seat to give Pete room. “Adam and Eve on a raft, and wreck ‘em,” she said as Judy placed a French press in front of her.

  “Hang on a second. The Myerscough girls hired you to look into their grandmother’s death, and you were looking at them as suspects?” Judy placed a normal cup of coffee in front of Pete, who nodded his thanks.

  Grace finished her coffee. “Who else would I suspect? Some random cat burglar? A drifter who made his way all the way up that hill? The butler?”

  Pete smirked over the rim of his mug. “Witnesses put you in Cove Park on the day before the murder, and up on The Cove the day of.”

  “Am I a suspect? Why would I kill a guy with a big check for me?”

  “Of course you’re not a suspect. But given the timing, you were one of the last people to talk to him.”

  Grace goggled. “You think he was murdered?”

  “You know I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”

  Paisley filled her mug from the French press. “That means yes,” she said.

  Pete shot her a wry look. “And you are?...”

  She huddled over her coffee. “A disinterested third party.”

  “C’mon, Pete. We’ve worked together before. What’s going on?”

  He sipped his coffee, looking at Paisley from the corner of his eye. Finally, he sighed with resignation. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

  Grace summarized her meeting with Marlborough. He didn’t want her to take the case, and, barring anything unusual, she agreed on a brief, discreet look.

  Pete took a notebook from an inner pocket of his suit coat and scribbled for a minute.

  “Okay, here’s what we have. Cause of death is pending an autopsy, but there were no outward signs. There was some damage to the body consistent with a fall from some high rocks, but the coroner’s guys on the scene said they were likely post mortem. Liver temperature and the tides make the body dump to be from the top of The Cove late yesterday morning.”

  Crap on a cracker, Grace thought.

  “The same time puts you at the Myerscough place,” Pete said.

  Turd apples, Grace thought.

  “Don’t say anything without your attorney present,” Paisley mumbled.

  “Shut up, Paize!”

  “Paize?” Pete turned to the goth. “As in Paisley? Paisley Cartwright?”

  She eyed him up and down. “Maybe. Why?”

  “I worked with your brother a few times. Aren’t you with Boston PD?”

  Paisley studied the depths of her coffee. “You must be thinking of some other Paisley.”

  An odd expression crossed Pete’s face, but he said nothing more. Instead, he got up. “Well, if you were still pursuing this, I’d ask you to keep me updated. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Grace.”

  He put a five on the counter, but Judy pushed it back at him. “You know you’re money’s no good here, Detective.”

  Pete smiled. “Have a good day.”

  Grace watched him walk out, a sinking feeling in her heart. She wasn’t done with the Myerscough case just yet, it seemed.

  “Are you looking at his butt?” Paisley whispered.

  The words stunned her out of her thoughts. “What? No!”

  “He’s pretty hot, for a cop. Except for those JC Penney suit separates.” She frowned and shuddered.

  Grace rolled her eyes. “I’m not into Pete, Paisley.”

  “Well, he sure seems to be into you.”

  “You are so full of—”

  “There is one thing I know,” Judy interrupted, putting scrambled eggs on toast in front of Paisley. “Something most people in this town don’t. About Tibby and Lavinia, specifically.”

  Paisley slid her plate down and took the seat next to Grace again. She leaned in close as she shoveled the food into her mouth.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I’m not sure where Tibby had her first daughter, Carlotta. But Lavinia was born at Beverly Hospital. I used to be a nurse there before I bought this place, you know. Anywho, while no father signed the birth certificate, there was a guy who said he would. For the good of the child.”

  Judy paused; maybe for the sake of drama, maybe just to catch her breath.

  “Who, Judy? Spill it.”

  “Max Eldenfield.”

  The name rang a bell. “Eldenfield. Max Eldenfield. Why do I know that name?”

  Paisley pointed with her fork to the big display windows at the front of the diner, mouth full.

  Grace had no idea what she was pointing at until a bus pulled away. She saw a huge face, a face that very much resembled Lavinia Myerscough’s. Max Eldenfield of Eldenfield Realty. The back of the bus bench was an ad for the real estate company.

  “Well, from the resemblance, people must have guessed, right?” Grace mused.

  Judy put checks on the counter. “They may suspect, sure. But I know it to be a fact.”

  “I guess we’d better have a chat with Mr. Eldenfield.”

  Paisley looked up from her breakfast. “We’re on the case again?”

  “I’ll get the checks,” Grace said. She did a double take when she looked at Paisley’s bill. “How the hell did you spend sixty dollars at Judy’s Java?”

  Judy raised her brows. “That cup of coffee alone cost fifty bucks.”

  Paisley produced an ATM card from somewhere. “I’m addicted to it. I’m freakin hooked on poop coffee!”

  Chapter 13

  Eldenfield Realty was only a few blocks away, so they decided to walk. They earned a few stares along the way. At first, Grace put it down to Paisley’s wild attire. But the Goth's words about her clothes yesterday came
back. And today? Her wrap was home sewn from an old Wonder Woman beach towel, the floppy straw hat unraveling, her flip flops slapped the sidewalk. They weren’t that close to a beach. Maybe the stares were for her.

  “So why are we back on the case?” Paisley asked. “You said you were done with the Myerscoughs.”

  “Because it’s more than just that oddball family now. Marlborough might have worked for them, but he wasn’t family.”

  Paisley hiked her shoulders. “So? What do you care about some lawyer?”

  “I’m working for them, too.”

  She stretched her black lips and tilted her head in agreement. “Gotcha.”

  “More than that. Maybe if I was actually doing my job, he wouldn’t be dead.”

  They waited for the signal at the corner. “How do you figure?”

  Grace didn’t say anything. Even to someone as bizarre as Paisley, the answer would sound outlandish, crazy, even.

  When the signal turned, Paisley’s words nearly made her trip over the curb. “It’s magic stuff, right? Aunt Vickie says you know all about magic and curses and witchcraft. It’s like your family business.”

  “What does The Old Lady know about it?”

  Paisley walked on. “She says you’re an occult expert.”

  “Hardly an expert. I know a little about sacred objects, about cursed objects. My family calls them Objets de Puissance.”

  “Oo, French. Classy.”

  Grace ignored her. “Back in the day, explorers and merchants picked them up, not knowing what they were, what they did. Really, they’re the same thing—a sacred object in the wrong hands can become a curse.”

  “Huh.” Paisley gazed at the sky. “That makes sense. You think there’s some kind of Objet de Puissance involved with the Myerscough family?”

  “It has all the signs.”

  “What signs?”

  “Insanity and death,” Grace said. “Here’s our stop.”

  After a brief chat with the receptionist, they were set up in a conference room. Max Eldenfield barely fit through the door. His soft features indicated a kind of childlike innocence, reminding Grace of his supposed daughter, but his eyes were wolfish.

  “Well, Grace Longstreet,” he smiled, but the smile faded when he looked at Paisley. “…And friend. You finally looking to unload your mother’s place? The market is hot right now. You picked a great time.”

  Grace grew discomfort at the thought, but forced herself to keep on track. “Actually, I’m here to ask you about Tibby Myerscough. And Lavinia.”

  He’d started to pull out a chair, but stopped, leaning on the back. “Why should I talk to you about Tibby and Lavinia?”

  No emotion showed on his face, but color on his cheeks betrayed him.

  “I’m looking into Prudence’s death.”

  His lips twisted in annoyance. “She was an old lady. What’s to look into?”

  “The insurance payout—triple indemnity.”

  Max whistled. “Triple, huh? What does the insurance have to do with me?”

  “I’m just asking anyone related to the family. Since you’re Lavinia’s father—”

  “That was a long time ago.” Max stood straight and turned, shutting the door. “Look. Prudence was a hoot-and-a-half. I’m sorry she’s dead. As for Tibby, Lavinia, I tried to make an honest woman of her. Even though I was married, I wanted to do the right thing. Even if that meant the trust I have in this town went down the toilet.”

  “You’re a lot younger than Tibby,” Paisley noted.

  Max’s eyes went distant. “Yeah.” He sighed.

  “I’ve seen your ads on TV. You have kids, but their half Lavinia’s age,” the goth prompted.

  “Tibby, well, she was a cougar before cougars were a thing. I had just gotten my broker’s license, seriously dating my current wife. Tibby was on the prowl, she was everything I wanted. She was beautiful, wealthy, she was high society—old money. Frankly, she was aggressive. I started seeing her on the side. After a while, it was like she put a spell on me. I was making as much time to be with her as I could.”

  Paisley gave Grace a pointed look at the word “spell.” Grace kept her eyes on Eldenfield. “And Tibby got pregnant.”

  “She already had a daughter, Carlotta. I don’t know who the father was. But I asked Tibby to marry me. I would adopt Carlotta as well. We could be a family. At the time, I was making pretty good money as an agent, just starting as a broker. I mistakenly thought it was hardly a drop in the bucket compared to Myerscough money.”

  “Mistaken?”

  Max nodded. “Well, yes. The way Tibby and I met was through Prudence. The old lady was selling off properties like crazy. They accumulated a lot of tax debt. If they’d just reorganized a little, the income properties would’ve brought them back in the black. Prudence didn’t want to hear from me, other than that I’d gotten top dollar for some old warehouse.”

  Grace tapped her fingers on the table top. “I thought they were financially stable.”

  “Nope. Prudence really wanted to hold onto that house. The old gal was not financially savvy. In today’s market, it’s probably worth two point two million. It would be worth a lot more as a rental property. It could generate two hundred fifty grand a year, easy. Or, if they wanted to really make bank, they could bulldoze the whole property and rebuild. New houses on The Cove? We’re talking mid to high eight figures, if it was done right.”

  “So why didn’t you and Tibby get hitched? You could’ve been in charge of all the finances today.”

  Again, Grace saw the distance in his eyes as he gazed back in time. “She refused me. Said I wasn’t someone who could move in her circles. But, hell, at this point, I’m glad she refused. I’m worth more than she is by a long shot. And Lavinia—well, not to be unkind, but my own kids are pretty normal. Well, as normal as any kids are these days.”

  His eyes fell on Paisley.

  Before she could retort, Grace stood up and offered her hand. “Thank you for talking to us, Mr. Eldenfield.”

  “You’ll call me if you want to let your mother’s place go?”

  “Sure,” Grace lied. She was never going to let that old house go. Not even if it collapsed with neglect.

  Chapter 14

  “Oh, come on, Grace, I can lose my job talking to you.”

  She had Barb Luna on the phone again. “Are you kidding me? Do you know the price of clams these days?”

  A sigh followed. “Well, I guess I’m not telling you anything that isn’t public information. The morgue is backed up. It’ll be weeks, maybe months before we get to the post on Bentley Marlborough.”

  “What about the external exam? Can’t you give me anything?”

  “If you talked with Pete Willoughby, you know what we know. And I’ll be taking an additional fisherman’s platter to go on Saturday. Don’t be late.”

  Paisley gave her quizzical eyes.

  “It’s going to take a while before we know what really killed Bentley Marlborough,” Grace said.

  Like a teenager, Paisley’s body went slack in disappointment. “Let me guess. We’re going to the beach.”

  Grace looked at the sky. Clouds were moving in, the wind off the ocean a little chilly. “Looks like it might rain.”

  “Oh, well, in that case, count me in.”

  An hour later, under a completely overcast sky, the two of them lay under umbrellas on an empty beach. Paisley’s black Victorian swim gown was trimmed with fabric skulls and spiders. She left the boots and stockings on. Probably not enough room in her pack for too many shoes. Grace shucked her beach wrap and headed across the sand.

  “Where are you going?”

  Grace continued, a wave rolling over her feet. “To visit the Pope. Where do you think I’m going?”

  Paisley went back to her iPad. “Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies,” she sang.

  “You’re saying there are sharks in the water?”

  “Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain.” Ho
lding up the iPad, she continued to sing.

  Grace squinted at the tablet, seeing an app: Sharktivity. Three great white sightings were reported yesterday, all within three nautical miles of Cove Park.

  “For we’ve received orders for to sail back to Boston. And so nevermore—”

  “You’re certifiable, Paisley, you know that?”

  She smiled. “Oh, good, we’re on the same page.”

  Grace plopped back down in her folding chair. Taps fell on her umbrella. Awesome. She looked at the water, finding it less inviting now. Another wave rolled across the sand. She watched her footprints swept away.

  Something about that… She stared at the remaining indentations. It took several more rolls of the sea to eliminate the marks entirely. Between her collarbones, she felt a growing warmth. The cameo. It was not tingling this time. Grace had never experienced it before. For a moment, she was distracted from the sight in front of her. As she thought about it again, the amulet again pulsed with heat.

  Like that game, you’re getting warmer…

  “Can I see the photos from the bathroom?” she asked Paisley.

  She handed it over. “There’s about a thousand. You said take pictures of everything.”

  Grace scrolled through them. There were about a thousand. Luckily, the images she was looking for came up quickly. The repaired door frame, the new knob, then the transom above. “Can I zoom this thing?”

  “With your fingers, just like an iPhone.”

  With lots of resolution, it was easy to see details. She handed the tablet back to Paisley, pointing. “What do you make of this?”

  “It’s a window over a door.”

  “Yes, a transom. But here, and here?” Grace pointed to a heavy line of dirt along the top, and what looked like a drag mark on the glass.

  “Lazy housekeeping?”

  The mark on the glass was slightly curved. Grace estimated it to be more than a foot wide. Within the curve, the dust revealed a regular pattern of stripes. “Do you think something was dragged over the transom?”

  Paisley looked closer. “Maybe. You think someone threw something over the little window to get the door unlocked?”