The Sinister Secrets of the Snake Mirror

by Constance Barker

  Grace stretched out her legs. Her feet got rained on. “Could be. I don’t know what.”

  “So someone breaks in on the old woman. She’s naked. She’s a hermit. She freaks out, goes for the window, can’t get out, and dies of a stroke?”

  “Okay, it’s a little far-fetched.”

  “That transom is pretty high off the floor. Those are pretty tall doors. You’d have to stand on a chair or a ladder or something.”

  “Okay, good,” Grace said. “And?”

  Paisley shook her head. “I got nothing.”

  She sighed. “Me neither. I’m missing something. I have no idea what.”

  At that moment, her cell phone rang. Grace fished it out of her beach bag. The number was local, although she didn’t recognize it. She pressed the speaker button. “Grace Longstreet.”

  “Grace!” The woman’s voice was breathless. Grace didn’t recognize it at first. “It’s Mom. She tried to kill herself. Can you come? Please?”

  “Carlotta, take a breath, okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Grace leaped up and dragged the Wonder Woman towel beach wrap over her shoulders. She eyed the houses on The Cove above. Long ago, although the memory was hazy, Grace had said similar words into a telephone. The thought of it paralyzed her.

  It wasn’t until she felt Paisley’s hand on her cold arm that Grace realized she had knocked over the umbrella, and stood , staring, in a downpour.

  “We should probably change,” Paisley said.

  Chapter 15

  Maybe it was the fact that Paisley produced yet another outfit from her pack, this one a hooded mini dress, or maybe just because there was urgency and motion, but the shackles of stunned immobility fell from Grace. She drove the Prius through slackening rain up the winding road to The Cove.

  “Why do we call this The Cove? The actual cove is down at Cove Park. This should be called The Bluffs, or The Cliffs.”

  “Why do we park on a driveway and drive on a parkway?” Grace asked automatically. It was one of her father’s favorite jokes, really only made funny by his broad New York accent: pahk on a driveway, drive on a pahkway. She hadn’t thought about her father in a long time. The son of a bitch.

  Paisley’s brows knitted. “Is that some Zen thing?”

  Two sheriff’s cars—one black-and-white, one unmarked—stood in the middle of the circular drive in front of the Victorian cottage walkway. A heavyset woman in nurse’s whites sat in the back of the cruiser, her feet on the ground, talking to a uniformed officer. Pete Willoughby stood on the porch of the cottage, arms folded. Grace parked on the grass in the middle and jumped out.

  Under the portico, Lavinia sat on the step, crying, rocking Linda in her arms.

  “Paisley, get some pictures. Don’t get in the cops’ way. Get everything you can—the house and the garden.”

  “Right.” Her head tilted. “You gonna be okay?”

  Grace doubted it. She forced her feet to move her toward the porch. “Sure. Don’t worry.”

  Pete gave her a hard look. “Grace, what are you doing here?”

  “Got a call from Carlotta.”

  “Trust me, this has nothing to do with your insurance case. This is an open-and-shut suicide.”

  Grace knew. Somehow, she knew. “Tibby hanged herself.”

  Pete’s expression altered before he caught it. “You have no business with this, okay? The doors were locked. Only the nursing staff have keys.”

  “That doesn’t sound a little familiar to you?”

  “No. This isn’t a death from natural causes.”

  Grace now doubted that Prudence’s death was, either. She didn’t let on. “I need to see the scene, Pete.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “C’mon, before the ME gets here. I won’t touch anything. You know me. You know I’m good around a crime scene.”

  “Technically, this isn’t a crime scene,” Pete said.

  “All the more reason. I’m working for the family. There is an insurance matter. Or it soon will be.”

  Pete took off his aviator shades, looking into her eyes. “You sure, Grace? We have to—to leave her in position until the ME arrives.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Grace whispered.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Take me inside, Pete.” She stepped onto the porch. “I have to check some things.”

  “Like what?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not exactly sure, just a hunch. Two minutes—that’s all I need. Please?”

  “I can’t, Grace—”

  “You can escort me. I don’t need to go in alone.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paisley snapping away with her iPad.

  Pete gazed at the sky, face crinkling. “One minute. If the ME gets here in less than a minute, we’re out.”

  “Deal.”

  He opened the security screen door. “You owe me.”

  “Fine. What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing I want to discuss in this situation.”

  She had no time to ponder his words. Inside, the cottage was tidy, floorboards creaking underfoot. She noted the box beams on the high ceiling. You’d have to bust through the plaster, she thought, and erased the image from her mind. She wasn’t here to see Tibby’s body. Nothing on earth could make her. Images from her youth sprung up, unbidden. Slanting bars of light and a swinging shadow.

  Stop it, Grace! Focus.

  Eyes swept the living room, the Oriental rugs, the Louie XVI furniture, a chandelier hanging from a sun-and-moon themed medallion. Hanging. Hanging.

  Stop!

  Air in here was cool, cooler than outside. Grace felt a breeze. She moved toward it.

  “Thirty seconds, Grace,” Pete said, walking right behind her.

  There, in the next room, an open window. The bars securing it stood about a foot apart. The wall was smeared. Not mud, but dry dirt. It had happened a while ago. She hurried closer, crouching down. It looked like the track of a tiny bulldozer had moved across the floor, toward—

  Grace turned, and froze. Above her, Tibby Myerscough dangled from the ceiling beam, a sheet tied around her neck.

  Chapter 16

  Her schoolbooks hit the floor as Grace sprinted into the living room. Mom? Mom? Oh, God, Mom, why? Why?

  But there was something amiss here. Tibby looked peaceful, asleep. Her face was not the color of a bruise, her tongue didn’t stick out, her head did not loll to one side like

  Mom! Oh No! Mom!

  Time slowed, her vision becoming hyper real. Something lay on the floor beside a tipped chair. Grace saw a broken chain, a gold amulet. It resembled a snake eating its tail. What was that called? Ouroboros? She couldn’t recall seeing Tibby wearing that, although the beautiful turquoise pendant had cracked in half, both sides dangling on the front of her silk blouse.

  Not dangling from her hand like the sardonyx cameo

  “Let’s go, Grace.” Gentle hands touched her shoulder. She allowed them to move her.

  Dad’s coming back. I know he is. Why did you give up? Please, Mom, I don’t want to be alone. Wake up! Tell me this is a joke!

  “Are you okay?”

  Bright light from the sky hit her eyes, the hiss of rain. The hiss. Pete was at her side. Once again, she stood on the porch. His arms were around her shoulders. Why? Oh, because she was stumbling.

  She took a deep breath, pulled herself together, got her feet under her. Grace leaned into something solid. Pete.

  “Do you need some water?” He asked, blue eyes wide with concern. “You’ve been at murder scenes a lot worse than this, Grace. What’s wrong?”

  Her mind was spinning. Grace had to regain control, fight off the memories that threatened to overtake her. Murder scenes, he said. Murder scenes just like this one. She stepped from his firm grip into the rain, let it wash over her face.

  Pete moved in front of her. “You should get out of the rain, Grace.”

  The rain! Grace suddenly darted to the south side of the cott
age. Water pooled in the garden, smoothing the soil. Beneath the window where she saw the strange tracks, she saw mud oozing down the wall. In a few moments, there would be no sign.

  “You’re acting crazy, Grace. Should I get an ambulance?”

  She faced him, water running down her face. “It was staged, Pete.”

  “Staged?”

  “Those are fourteen-foot ceilings. Even on a chair, Tibby never could have reached the beams.”

  “You should know that a person intent on committing suicide can—” His look of concern bloomed into shocked realization. “Oh, Grace. I forgot. Your mother—”

  “Never mind that. Tibby was murdered, Pete.”

  He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I never should’ve let you in there. I’m so sorry. What an idiot I am.”

  “Hey, Pete, the ME’s guys are here.”

  Grace saw the uniformed cop peek around the side of the cottage. Pete nodded to him. He took Grace’s shoulders. “I want you to get away from here. Put this out of your mind. If there’s anything to find, the crime scene guys will find it. But you’re done with this. Okay?”

  How would the crime scene guys find it? Grace barely understood the evidence herself. And if they did find it—would they believe it?

  “Do you think your friend, Paisley, can drive you? You look pretty shook up.”

  At that moment, a figure in a black hood and fishnets appeared around the corner. “I can drive.”

  Pete eyed Paisley. “Get her away from here, okay?”

  She saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  Grace watched Pete slosh back through the garden. Paisley moved closer, her knee-high boots making the trek hard work.

  “Did you get pictures of this side of the house?” Grace asked.

  “Well, yeah. Are you feeling all right? What’s this about your mother?”

  “Nothing I want to talk about.” Her voice sounded harsh in her own ears. Grace tried to soften her tone. “Did you see marks here, below the window?”

  Grace found herself unable to look at the window itself. She knew what lay beyond. Another glimpse might send her over the edge.

  “Yep.” Paisley made a swerving gesture with her hand. “Kinda curved. Whatever it was came through the garden. I got some shots of that, but the rain already wiped most of it clean.”

  Would it be enough? Grace almost laughed, but she knew if she started… No, it would never be enough. Her suspicions were beyond belief. Physical proof would not count in this case, because the culprit was most likely metaphysical.

  Culprit, she thought. Was there any way to stop it? And who was next on the list of victims? Herself? Paisley? Pete Willoughby? Carlotta and Lavinia? Their servants or nurses?

  To her surprise, Paisley stood right in front of her. “Hey, Grace. I think we should get out of the rain. I’m pretty sure these boots are ruined, but I might be able to save the dress. This might be an opportunity for you to toss out those Chucks, though.”

  “Excuse me ladies.” The uniform came around the house. “Detective says you have to go.”

  Grace looked around the sodden garden. In other circumstances, she would be tramping all over a crime scene. But this would never be considered one; not even the most experienced detectives could make the connections she had.

  They let the cop escort them back to the Prius. Paisley held her palm out for the keys.

  “Your driving sucks.” Grace fumbled in her jeans.

  “Well, you’re a wreck from the neck up.” The Goth wiggled her fingers, palm up. “I’m not letting you drive anywhere, let alone down The Cove Road in the rain.”

  Grace reluctantly handed her the keys.

  Chapter 17

  “Hey!” Paisley protested, and the Prius rattled on the shoulder of the road.

  Grace pawed through the black leather pack, finally finding the iPad. “Don’t wreck my car. Eyes on the road.”

  “Get outta my stuff!”

  Maneuvering through the photo app, Grace found the albums tab. Madly, she scrolled through the pictures.

  “Do you want me to show you how to work that?”

  “No, I want you to keep the wheels on the pavement.” Grace found the photos of the south side of the Victorian cottage. Dirt marred the siding, a graceful S-shaped curve about six inches wide. Paisley had taken other shots of the track moving through the garden soil, but it was broken up by puddles, rocks, and foliage. Dammit, she couldn’t tell where they led.

  By the time they reached Judy’s Java, the rain had let up. Blue sky appeared between the pregnant clouds. Paisley managed to get the car nearly diagonal in a parking space.

  “What does this look like to you?” Grace handed over the tablet.

  Paisley snatched it away, holding it to her chest. “I don’t like people touching my stuff.”

  “I'm sorry, I just—what does that look like to you?”

  Side-eyeing Grace, Paisley looked at the image. “It looks like a curvy smear of dirt, disappearing in the rain.”

  “That’s what it is, but what do you think did that?”

  She pointed. “There’s a garden hose right there. Might’ve rubbed up against the wall, got dragged through the dirt.”

  Dang it, Grace thought. That sure sounded plausible.

  Paisley put the tablet in her lap. “What was all that about your mother?”

  “Like I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Did she commit suicide, Grace? Are you the one who found her?”

  Grace blinked hard a few times, gulping air. “These tracks on the outside continue on the inside. I didn’t get a picture. Pete was watching.”

  “Oh my gosh, she hanged herself, didn’t she?” Paisley’s face was a map of horror. “Oh, Grace, no. This is too much for you. Believe me, I know what it’s—”

  “The tracks go up the wall, through the bars on the window, and into the house. Can’t you see that? I’m not crazy.”

  Paisley did a double take. “I didn’t say you were crazy.”

  “My mother—that was a long, long time ago. It has nothing to do with this.”

  “You want some water, or coffee or something? You seem a little stressed.”

  “Of course I’m stressed! The evidence is right here, but no one else can see it. Not even you. So who’s going to stop it, Paisley? Who’s going to stop it before someone else dies?”

  She pressed her lips together, tapping her fingers on the iPad. “Maybe if you gave me some clue to what you’re seeing, I might be able to see it, too.”

  Grace pressed back into the seat, head back. “That’s just it. I don’t know what I’m seeing. Something went into that house. I think it’s the same thing that went over the transom in the bathroom.”

  “And staged a hanging? Gave an old lady a stroke? I don’t know what that could be. Help me out here, Grace, I’m trying to follow along. I just don’t get it.”

  She closed her eyes, rolling her skull against the headrest. “I just don’t get it either. But people are dying. I have to figure it out.”

  “Isn’t that the cops’ job?”

  Grace took in Paisley, her look of concern mixed with confusion. Grace felt the same, as if she were looking in a mirror. “I don’t think the cops can solve a case that’s beyond reality. I don’t think I can, either.”

  ***

  Paisley talked her into a cup of coffee at Judy’s—partly to indulge in her addiction to kopi luwak, but mostly, she thought, to make sure Grace hadn’t lost her mind. Toward that end, Grace tried her best to let the murder at the Victorian cottage go. She even promised to throw away her ratty Converse sneakers when she got home. Maybe that was too much. But an hour later, the Goth sat her Legionnaire helmet on her head and putted down the road.

  But Grace couldn’t let the case go. With a large coffee to go, she drove the Prius to her shop.

  Once again, she took down the fragile Green Ledger. Did she have any more to go on than the last time she checked the appraisals of Myerscough o
bjects? Maybe. She booted up the laptop on her desk and opened the book to the Myerscough entries.

  Almost immediately, she found the Ouroboros pendant on the floor under—

  No, not going there.

  Her ancestor’s entry was fairly cut and dried—ouroboros pendant in eighteen carat rose gold. Grace turned to her computer for more information. The image of a snake eating its own tail went all the way back to Ancient Egypt. She gave a glance to Bastet on the shelf above her. There were many meanings and several different designs. The one she had seen was a form of protective magic circle. It warded off evil from the wearer, or evil spirits, or snakes. Grace thought it was possibly Dukun in design, although a jeweler had translated the image into gold. She really didn’t have much grounding in Indonesian magic, and moved back to the leger.

  She had seen a number of the items in the Myerscough house—a Buddha here, a Shiva there, but couldn’t think of any way a sacred statue might come into play in this case. They were what they were—valuable golden statues.

  One of the last entries stopped her cold. Great-etc.-Uncle John described this one in detail.

  Two (matched pair) sacred mirrors, sixty-stone each, twenty four carat gold serpentine frames surrounding reflective black sardonyx or perhaps onyx slab ---£

  John’s comments followed:

  Without additional examination and study, it is impossible to declare these as rare Mirrors of Manasa, as little information regarding the pre-Hindu cults of Northern India exists. However, the reverse side of each mirror displays a fossil serpent. One half of the slab contains the relief, the other the incuse. Manasa cults jealously guard their temples, for it is a religion that must be kept secret from colonial inspection, being of a violent and pagan nature, and discovery would mean extermination. Given this circumstance, no value can be given, as these objects were no doubt removed from a temple by crime.

  Manasa, Manasa, Grace typed it into Google and got three million results in a quarter second. She’d found what she was looking for. Manasa was a Hindu serpent god.

  Chapter 18