“Great.”
“One problem, though. Everything prior to 2000 is in storage.” He got up and came around the desk. “Follow me.”
Dos Santos Police Department was part of a recently completed civic center. The old station, a California historical landmark, had been converted into a trendy Mexican restaurant. The new complex included City Hall and had been architected as a perfect square of limestone-and-glass buildings surrounding a beautifully landscaped inner court with a huge stone fountain and benches.
Lou led Sarah down a long aisle. When they had reached the end, he removed a key and opened a door to what looked like a storage room the size of several classrooms. He flicked on the lights and let her pass. Racks and racks of storage boxes filled the room, and she wondered how long it would take to find the file.
“I wish I could tell you this would be easy but.”
“No, it’s fine. How are these organized?”
“Take a look at the upper corners of each rack. Supposedly, they’re arranged by year. Other than that, you’re on your own.”
He lingered in the doorway, and she was afraid he was going to ask her to join him for a drink later.
“Was there something else?” she said.
“I want you to promise me if you get any, you know, ‘feelings’ about the case, you’ll share them with me. Deal?” It annoyed her that he had used air quotes.
“Deal. Thanks, Lou.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ll check on you in a couple hours.”
He closed the door and locked her in. Sarah glanced at her phone and saw that it was already after three. She wished Rachel were here to help her and began examining the racks one by one. Lou had been partially right about them. They had been organized by decade, some files going back to the mid-1950s.
Sarah was somewhat familiar with the town’s strange history. It was founded in 1917 by a group of ex-soldiers who were given the land as a reward for fighting in the Border War. Led by a man named John Dos Santos, they built homes in the town and, with the blessing of the Diocese of Monterey-Los Angeles, married young women from a local convent school.
When WWI came, the men were again drafted. All of them—except for one—were killed, leaving behind widows and children. Sarah recalled a magazine article she’d come across about the lone survivor, John Dos Santos. His wife had died in 1918 from the Spanish Flu. Back in California, Dos Santos was living on an army pension when, as if by magic, he became rich. There were rumors of parties, drinking, and underage girls. Mysteriously, he died without leaving a will. He had no children.
Eventually, many of the remaining families abandoned the town, and it fell into decay. After WWII, people again started to settle here because of the cheap housing prices. Over the next few decades, the town’s reputation grew, but so did the ghost stories surrounding their “haunted cemetery.”
Meticulously, Sarah went through each of the record storage boxes, looking at every file and returning it to the box. Though she hadn’t yet found the one she wanted, she ran across other homicide and missing persons cases that piqued her interest. She checked her phone and saw it was after five.
“This is going to take forever,” she said.
Disgusted, she got to her feet and stretched. Shaking her head, she knelt again and continued searching. The temperature plummeted. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of something gliding between the racks. She thought she heard a faint voice. It sounded like a sigh. Now, the distinct sound of rustling papers.
“Hello?”
Frightened, she closed her eyes and clutched her St. Michael medal until the temperature returned to normal.
Looking past the box she was working on, Sarah noticed a single case file lying open on the concrete floor. She was sure she’d put all of them away. When she examined the label, she realized it was the one she was looking for.
“No way.”
Inside, she found typewritten reports on the investigation, which had been led by then-Chief Kyle Jeffers. As she sat there wondering how to get in touch with him, she could hear the sound of keys jingling. A moment later, the door opened, and she saw Deputy Whatley smiling at her.
“How’s it going?” he said.
“Good. I found what I was looking for. Tim, can you give me a hand putting these boxes away?”
“Sure thing.”
As they restacked the boxes, Sarah couldn’t wait to go through the file. At first, she thought of returning to the office. But the recent break-in had her spooked, and she would be alone there since everyone would have gone home. When they got outside, Deputy Whatley locked the door and walked Sarah back to the police station. She decided to text Joe to see if he was up for pizza and wine. After all, he promised.
Seven
Joe’s phone went off as he drove to the Biltmore in Santa Barbara to meet Gail. She’d called last-minute, and he had had to scramble to get home, shower, and change clothes. She was always doing that, he noticed. Lunch. Coffee. Phone calls. Not that she was disorganized. She had struck him as highly efficient. He preferred to think she was spontaneous, and it occurred to him as he approached the hotel driveway that he rather enjoyed her unpredictability. Sarah would be okay, he told himself.
“Hello?” he said.
“Joe? I found the file.”
Sarah’s voice was breaking up as it came through the truck’s sound system. A vague feeling of guilt radiated across his insides, and that irritated him. After all, he’d done nothing wrong.
“That’s great,” he said.
“I was hoping you had time to meet tonight so we could go over it together. Pizza and wine, remember?”
“Can’t. I’m…”
“Let me guess. On a date.” She sounded angry.
“Sorry.” He pulled at the collar of his new dove gray dress shirt.
“Hey, no problem. Don’t mind me slaving away over here while you enjoy your new love life.”
“Sarah, don’t. Hey, I meant to ask. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Not that you care. So, where are you having dinner?”
“The Biltmore.”
“Nice. You never took me there.”
“We’ll go for your birthday.”
“Don’t put yourself out. Have a good time, Joe. I’ll let you know if I find anything interesting. And stay away from the dessert tray. You’re starting to look a little…chunky around the middle.”
“Goodbye, Sarah.”
Joe disconnected before his ex-wife could drag out the goodbyes, which she tended to do whenever she was upset. He truly loved Sarah, but sometimes she acted as if they were still married. And it didn’t help that they continued sleeping together occasionally. He blamed himself. Now that he was seeing someone, he decided he would need to keep their relationship on a strictly friend basis. It was for their own good, he told himself.
Joe had chosen a table by the fire. Though it was cold out on the patio of the Bella Vista Restaurant, the view of the Pacific Ocean was breathtaking, and watching the sunset made him glad once again he’d decided to remain in California instead of returning to New York after college. In fact, for years he’d considered himself a California native. He loved everything about the place—especially the weather.
Joe was eighteen when he arrived in Los Angeles on his way to Santa Barbara. Though he had been accepted to the University of Pennsylvania, he found he was craving adventure and decided on UCSB to do his pre-med studies. In his sophomore year at a World Music Series event, he met a freshman named Sarah Cruz. They hit it off immediately, becoming good friends and going together to basketball games, movies, and concerts.
Toward the end of his four years, Joe decided he didn’t want to become a doctor—much to the dismay of his well-meaning parents. After graduating, he got his real estate license and went to work. Eventually, he began flipping houses in and around Santa Barbara and finally ended up settling down in Dos Santos, where most of his business was.
Over the years,
Joe’s friendship with Sarah deepened. They saw each other through a seemingly endless parade of failed romantic relationships, misguided career choices, and family heartache, the latter being the tragic death of Sarah’s brother-in-law Paul. That experience had brought them closer than ever, and soon they found themselves falling in love. Joe never regretted marrying Sarah but was not surprised when she announced she wanted to call it quits. It was all his fault—he shouldn’t have misled her about wanting kids. At the time, he had honestly thought he could change. But after they were married, he knew the truth. There were men who were meant to raise families. And there was him.
Taking a swallow of his house Cabernet, Joe looked up and saw Gail Cohen approaching. He noticed she’d removed the couture jaw clip she normally wore, letting her blonde hair loose. Her pink-and-black print shirt was striking, the pattern suggesting a field of eyes. And her short, black pencil skirt and heels stirred something in Joe that surprised him.
He was the last person to rush things but couldn’t help wondering if Gail, too, would want children eventually and he would have to end the relationship. Somehow, he couldn’t picture her with kids, though. Not that she was cold; just the opposite. Though poised and professional, she exuded a smoldering sexiness you didn’t normally see in a paralegal.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I wanted to change.”
She was about to sit opposite him when he stood and came around the table.
“No, you sit there so you can see the ocean.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve got a pretty nice view.”
“Aren’t you the charmer?” She took his hand and pulled him down beside her. “There. Isn’t this better?”
Her perfume was intoxicating. Joe spotted a server and waved him over. Then, to Gail, “What would you like?”
“A Chardonnay would be great.”
Joe looked at his date as she gazed at the ocean, her chin resting in one hand. She was lovely, with shiny, shoulder-length blonde hair, blue eyes, and perfect teeth. Cohen. Aware she’d never been married, he couldn’t get over the fact that she was Jewish. His parents would love that. Although they’d been crazy about Sarah, they were traditional. He’d dated Jewish girls before, but it was Sarah who had stolen his heart. Sarah. He made an effort to put her out of his mind.
“Were you waiting long?” she said.
“What?”
She laughed. “Mind wandering?”
“I was thinking how much I love that shirt.”
“Oh, I’m glad. I picked it up at Top Shop. Doesn’t this pattern remind you of—”
“Eyes.”
“Exactly. I think that’s what attracted me to it.”
Her drink arrived, and she reached for the glass. Joe couldn’t help notice the perfectly manicured nails. Everything about her seemed…premeditated? He smiled to himself, wondering why he’d landed on that particular word. Sarah would’ve said calculated. Why was he thinking about her again?
“So, Gail,” he said, “you know all about me, but I know very little about you.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Well, where’s your family from?”
“Massachusetts.”
He hesitated. “It’s funny, I’ve known Jewish girls all my life and…”
“I don’t look Jewish.”
“No, it’s—”
She laughed and stroked his hand. “It’s okay, Joe. I get that a lot.” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “If you want to know the truth, my parents paid for my nose job as a high school graduation present.”
“Okay, that’s …”
She took his face in both hands and kissed him full on the lips. It was long and lingering and aroused him immediately. As they ignored everyone around them, she slipped a hand under the table and began stroking his inner thigh. Then, as if nothing at all had happened, she leaned back and drank her wine.
“You were saying?” she said.
The server appeared and handed out two menus. Joe was still flushed and used his menu to hide his face. He felt his heart racing, wondering what just happened.
“Did you want to hear about the specials?”
Joe glanced at Gail, and she nodded. The server began telling them all about the fish, caught fresh that morning.
“‘We’ll go for your birthday’,” Sarah said to Gary. “Don’t do me any favors.”
The cat was sitting near her on the floor as she maniacally chopped meat and vegetables to the sounds of Benny Goodman’s “Sing, Sing, Sing” coming from her phone. The animal was hoping something would find its way down, and when it didn’t, he crouched, preparing to leap onto the counter. Unfortunately for him, Sarah caught him in the act.
“Don’t you dare, Mister. I’ve had it with men, and that includes you.”
Maowing pathetically, he wandered off in search of his food bowl. Sarah wiped her forehead and took another swallow of a decent Orvieto she’d picked up at Whole Foods.
It wasn’t that she was angry with Joe for seeing other people. Per se. Okay, maybe. But what was he supposed to do? They were no longer married, and that was that. Thanks to her. And besides, hadn’t they promised each other not to let things get weird between them when she signed on again?
No, this wasn’t about Joe. It was the case that was getting to her, she told herself. She needed to discover the truth about Hannah Moody and, hopefully, end the hauntings. But the thing of it was, she didn’t like doing it by herself. Joe Greene was her best friend—her confidant. For fifteen years, they’d shared everything together—ups, downs, and everything in between. And now he was unavailable?
“Putz,” she said, using an expletive she’d learned from Joe.
She tossed handfuls of ingredients into the sizzling peanut oil, adding soy sauce and, to spice things up, a generous splash of garlic chili paste. In a few minutes, she was sitting at her butcher block table, eating with chopsticks and going through the police file.
According to the documentation, Police Chief Jeffers had personally run the investigation; most of the handwritten and typed notes were signed or initialed by him. From what Sarah could tell, he’d been thorough, interviewing Peter and Hannah several times after the murder and following up on every lead.
Apparently, he’d brought in two men for questioning. She found mug shots and a photo of their pickup truck. Based on the description provided by Peter, they must have been the prime suspects. But even with their obviously sketchy past that included petty crime and domestic violence, they had alibis and had been nowhere near the crime scene at the time of the murders, which the coroner had determined to be around 8 p.m.
Sometimes, when Sarah would hold an object or a photograph in her hand, a mental picture of a person or a place would form. The key was to relax and clear her mind of all random thoughts. While at UCSB, she had decided to try meditation to relieve stress during finals week. But the first time she did it, she saw something hideous and immediately stopped.
Last year, Lou asked Sarah to assist him with a high-profile case. He’d been working feverishly on finding an eight-year-old girl who he feared had been abducted. Desperate for any help he could get, he decided to try the so-called local psychic. Joe and Lou were friends, and often Joe would brag about his ex-wife’s abilities. That was good enough for Lou.
But Sarah hadn’t been able to contribute anything more than sympathy for the missing girl. It was clear to her that she didn’t want to work on a case involving a child, because she was afraid of what she might discover. After trying meditation again, she found that her psychic mind was closed for business, and she saw nothing.
Fortunately, Lou never mentioned Sarah to the grieving parents. She saw them occasionally either at the market or The Cracked Pot. A year later, they still looked sad. There were so many times she wanted to go up to them and offer her deep-felt sympathy, but it felt wrong. Especially since she hadn’t been able to help find their daughter.
Was th
is why Sarah was so anxious to solve the Hannah Moody case? To make up for that little girl who, as far as anyone knew, was most likely dead? It frustrated her to think she had to take on a burden like this. On the other hand, as Fr. Brian had pointed out so many times, God had given her a gift. And, she was pretty sure, He expected her to use it to help others, even if it meant her suffering in the process.
After dinner, Sarah cleaned up the kitchen and, sitting by the fire, went through the rest of the file. She lingered over a photograph of Peter Moody. It looked as if it had been taken in one of the smaller bedrooms at Casa Abrigo—most likely Peter’s room, judging from the posters of Black Sabbath and the horror movie The Omen. Books lined the wall, and Sarah could almost read the titles. Judging by the light, she guessed the photo had been taken in the late afternoon.
Peter was maybe fifteen and sitting in a desk chair near the bed, smiling at the camera in a way that seemed almost hypnotic. There was something about his expression. It wasn’t malevolent exactly, but Sarah could feel a cold dread she wasn’t able to put her finger on. It was as if the answer to the secret of this boy lay just out of reach.
Without warning, a powerful light flash tore through her head like Uriel’s flaming sword, and in her mind’s eye, she could see the scene coming alive in front of her. Peter was leaving the chair and moving toward the camera. As Sarah’s heartbeat quickened, she could see what he was seeing. It was his sister. She’d been the one behind the camera.
And she was naked.
Sarah shook herself awake and realized she was still holding the photograph. She didn’t want to wait for morning to speak with Lou. She searched through her phone for his number. Though it was after ten, she needed to see him.
“Hey, it’s Sarah.”
“Hi.” To her relief, he didn’t sound annoyed. “I understand you found the file.”
“Yeah. Lou, I’ve been going through it tonight.” She scrunched her nose. “Do you think we could meet over at The Cracked Pot? I know it’s late but—”
The Girl in the Mirror Page 7
