The Girl in the Mirror

by Steven Ramirez

  “Sure. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m going to need a half hour. Sorry, I’m a girl.”

  “See you there.”

  Well, that was easy. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to look nice. It was part of being a professional, she told herself. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, she headed over, reminding herself she wasn’t romantically interested in the Dos Santos police chief in any way, shape, or form.

  This was strictly business.

  The sparse late-night crowd had settled in, and Sarah walked into the restaurant to find Lou sitting at a booth toward the back. She imagined he didn’t want anyone else being privy to their conversation. Smart move. When he saw her, he stood. He’d taken off his black leather jacket, and she could see that he was wearing a form-fitting shirt underneath. She’d never noticed before, but he looked very fit. Not like some sloppy, small-town cop from the movies.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” she said, sliding into the booth and opening the file.

  “No problem. What’cha got?”

  Carter walked over and stood at their booth. She smiled at Sarah in a curious way, and Sarah quirked her eyebrows.

  “You guys don’t normally come in together,” the girl said.

  Lou smiled professionally. “What’s your name?”

  “Carter.”

  “Well, Carter. You’re very observant. Sarah, what would you like?”

  “Single-shot decaf espresso.”

  “And I’ll have a full-strength cappuccino.”

  As usual, Carter didn’t write anything down. “How many shots?”

  “Two.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Make it three.”

  “You got it.”

  After the server had left, Lou turned to Sarah, smiling. “Nice girl. So, please tell me you have some great insight into my cold case.”

  “Actually, I do. Peter was having sex with his sister. In fact, he’d been doing it for years.”

  “Incest? How did you—?”

  “Because I saw it.” She pointed to her head. “In my mind.”

  “And you’re sure you couldn’t have—”

  “Imagined it? No. That’s not really how this works, Lou. When I experience something in that way, you can bet your ass it’s real.”

  Carter returned with their coffees and, seeing they were deep in conversation, set them down and left immediately.

  “Okay,” he said.

  He drank his coffee, holding the cup with both hands, as if to warm himself. Sarah left hers untouched.

  “What about the parents?” he said. “Do you think they knew?”

  “If they had found out, it would’ve given Peter the perfect motive to kill them, don’t you think?”

  “Okay, that might be a stretch. Unless… You didn’t happen to see that, did you?”

  “No. It’s a hunch. I do think he killed his parents, though. But I’m not clear yet on why.”

  She tried her espresso, then added both of the rough-cut brown sugar cubes the server had left for her on the saucer.

  “Lou, do you know whatever happened to Police Chief Jeffers?”

  “Kyle? As a matter of fact, I do. He’s living on a boat in Ventura.”

  “Great. I think we should go see him.”

  “‘We’?”

  “Yeah. Is there a problem?”

  He looked at his hands. “I guess not. To be honest, Sarah, I didn’t think we’d be reopening the case.”

  “Oh, I get it. You thought this was going to be like the last time.” Angry, she grabbed her purse and stood.

  “Not exactly. I— Hey, come on. Sit down. Please?”

  She looked around the room and found Carter observing her from across the room. Realizing she’d made an ass of herself, she sank back into her chair.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Look, I feel bad about not being able to help you find the little girl. Lou, please believe me, not a single day goes by that I don’t think about her. But I’m getting close to something here. I can feel it.”

  He smiled in a way that made her relax.

  “Look, Sarah. I know you did what you could to help me before, and I’m grateful. So, it didn’t pan out. We gave it our best shot. But that doesn’t mean I think any less of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now, I’m not sure how this whole paranormal thing works. I mean, I was raised Catholic, and we believe in angels.”

  “I’m Catholic, too, remember? And I believe in angels. But I also happen to believe in ghosts.”

  Sarah could tell he was getting uncomfortable. He sat there for a long time, holding his coffee. As if settling on a course of action, he drained the cup and set it down.

  “Okay,” he said. “Tell you what. Let me have the file—unless you need it.”

  “No, take it.” She collected the papers and handed them over.

  “I’ll give Kyle a call and see if he’s open to meeting with us. I can’t promise anything, though. But if there is something, I’ll reopen the case. Good enough?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’d better get going. I have an early day tomorrow.”

  As they got up, he grabbed the check.

  “I got this. Police business.”

  “Thanks for the coffee, Lou. Night.”

  “Night, Sarah.”

  Sarah walked out to her car. She had a good feeling about how things were progressing and hoped they would be able to speak with the former police chief. As she started her car, her phone rang. It was Joe.

  She let it go to voicemail.

  Eight

  It was drizzling when Sarah pulled up to Casa Abrigo and parked on the street. She’d gotten a late start and was feeling frustrated that she hadn’t had time to get in a run. As usual, three trucks were parked in the driveway, and two of Manny’s sons were dragging in a cart filled with heavy bags of plaster. She sat in her car for a time, gazing at the house and wondering why Gerald Moody had decided to uproot his family and move all the way across the country to Dos Santos of all places. She thought about his wife, Vivian. Had living in California been meant as therapy for her?

  Finally, Sarah got out and hurried toward the house. It annoyed her that at the slightest hint of moisture, her hair became a frizz ball. Thank goodness for flat irons. Inside, she found Memo standing on an aluminum ladder in the foyer, installing a new iron lantern pendant on the ceiling. The other two were applying fresh plaster to the walls, giving them an attractive fresco finish. It seemed that Joe was serious about going high-end with the renovation after all. Waving to them, she crossed to the kitchen and approached the cellar door, wondering how much the add-ons were costing the business.

  “Joe?”

  “Down here.”

  Using the rail, she made her way down slowly and found Joe and Manny sanding. Both were wearing particle masks, and their hair was covered in dust. Her heart sank seeing all those racks devoid of wine bottles. She’d planned to negotiate with Joe to keep several for herself once they determined the wine’s value. Nervously, she walked past the storage room as she approached her business partner.

  “How’s it coming?” she said.

  “Not too bad.”

  Joe set down the belt sander, removed his mask, and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Manny decided to take a break and did likewise. Though it was cold in the cellar, both Joe and Manny were sweating, and Sarah could smell them. Not that she minded.

  “You didn’t return my call,” Joe said.

  “Sorry, I got busy.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted you to look at the master bedroom again. I’m replacing the built-ins in the walk-in closet and could use your expertise.”

  “No problemo.”

  She wasn’t sure, but things seemed a little stilted between them. Though Joe was smiling, he wasn’t making eye contact. He brushed the dust from his shirt.

  “I’m going to grab my tape measure from the truck.”


  After he had bounded up the stairs, Sarah turned to Manny, who had gone back to sanding. She reached over and turned off the belt sander.

  “¿Qué cosa?”

  “I need to ask you something,” she said. “What’s up with Joe?”

  “Pues, no sé.”

  He turned the equipment back on, but she switched it off again, making him roll his eyes.

  “Manny.”

  Sighing, he set down the belt sander, removed his mask, and pretended to look for something in his tool belt, but he could feel her staring at him.

  “How should I know?” he said, not making eye contact.

  “He’s acting…weird.”

  “Seems okay to me. Maybe it’s that woman he’s seeing. Dale.”

  “Gail.”

  “Oh yeah, huh. Pues, you guys used to be married, and he’s not sure how to behave around you, flaca.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Shit, you’re right.”

  “He’s what you call, conflicted.”

  He put his mask back on, reached down, and picked up the tool.

  “Wow, that’s a big-boy word,” she said. “You wouldn’t happen to be a therapist on the side?”

  “Blanca likes watching Dr. Phil a lot.”

  “I see. Well, thanks for the insight.” She hesitated. “Hey, Manny?”

  “Pinche…”

  “Why did you call me flaca? You think I’m too skinny?”

  “Pues…”

  “Come on, I’ve got curves.” She used her hands to illustrate.

  “If you say so.”

  Ignoring her, he fired up the noisy belt sander and went back to work.

  Joe appeared at the top of the stairs. “You coming?”

  “Be right there,” she said. Then, to Manny on the way out, “Fascist.”

  On the first floor, Sarah was about to follow Joe upstairs when she heard the front door open.

  “Hello?” a voice said.

  She entered the foyer and found Michael Peterson standing there. He was dressed in a suit and looked as if he’d come from the salon.

  “Joe, I’ll be right up,” she said as she strode across the floor, her hand extended.

  “What are you doing here?”

  They shook hands, and Sarah found herself smiling more than usual.

  “I stopped by your office and they told me I could find you here. You look very nice. This house is amazing.”

  “Yeah, we picked it up at a private bank sale and are in the process of making it gorgeous.”

  “Well, I was hoping you could show me a few more properties. Would it be terrible of me to ask to get a quick tour? You know, as long as I’m here?”

  “Um, sure. You’ll have to be careful, though. Lots of equipment and supplies. I wouldn’t want you to ruin your clothes.”

  Joe trotted back down the stairs and approached them both, his hand extended.

  “Hi, I’m Joe Greene.”

  “Michael Peterson. I was telling your partner how impressed I am with this house.”

  “It’s a beauty. We were lucky to get it.”

  “I’ll bet. Sarah mentioned you bought it from the bank?”

  “Yeah, it was one of those lucky breaks. So, Mike, you in the market?”

  “It’s Michael. And yes, I guess I am.”

  “Well, Sarah can show you around the place. I need to get back to work.”

  As Joe headed for the kitchen, Michael said, “Nice meeting you.” Then, to Sarah, “He seems a little…protective?”

  “Well, that’s because I’m the one who makes all the money around here. Joe spends it. Come on, let’s do the grand tour.”

  Because it was raining, Sarah and her client confined themselves to the interior. He seemed very interested, running his hand along the bannister and lingering in each of the rooms. After they had toured the upstairs, they returned to the foyer.

  “Well, that’s about it, Michael.”

  “We haven’t seen the kitchen.”

  “Oh, sorry. I think I was mentally avoiding it because it’s our center of operation.”

  As they walked toward the kitchen, Sarah thought she saw the lantern pendant in the foyer swaying and put it out of her mind. Michael took a quick look around and proceeded toward the cellar door, where they could hear the sounds of power tools.

  “There’s a wine cellar?” he said, sounding excited.

  “Yes, but how did you—? Would you like to see it?”

  “Sure.”

  Instead of waiting, he trotted down first. When she’d reached the bottom, Sarah found Michael casually moving among the wine racks, running his hand along the wood as he walked. Joe and Manny turned off their power tools and waited patiently.

  “So, was there any wine,” Michael said to Sarah, “or did you guys drink it all?”

  Joe had overhead and laughed. “We moved it into storage.”

  “And what’s that room over there?”

  Joe saw that Sarah was hesitating and walked over to join them. He led Michael into the storage room as Sarah lingered outside the doorway.

  “This room held cognac, brandy, stuff like that,” Joe said.

  Michael gazed around at the empty racks. “I see. Anything else?”

  Joe glanced at Sarah. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, well, I think I’ve seen enough.”

  In the foyer, Michael approached the front door ahead of Sarah. She looked up and saw the lantern pendant swaying again.

  “Michael!”

  Suddenly, the bolts holding up the fixture shot out violently, and the lantern fell, barely missing Michael and crashing onto the floor behind him.

  “Are you okay?” she said.

  “Yeah. Got a major shot of adrenalin, though. Give me a second.”

  “I am so sorry.” Hearing footsteps, she turned and saw Memo. “Where’s your dad?”

  Manny and his sons stood around the remains of the lantern, arguing in Spanish, with Memo insisting he’d done nothing wrong.

  Outside, Sarah and Michael stood in the gray overcast next to his rental car. Seeing him inside the house reminded her how vulnerable he had seemed when they first met. She guessed that, after his wife’s death, he was lonely and perhaps desperate to make himself a new home.

  “Well, I’ve had my excitement for the day,” he said. “Sorry, when it comes to adventure, I’m a real wuss. Thanks for the tour, though.”

  “Again, I’m very sorry. Did you want to see those other properties?”

  He gazed at the house and smiled wistfully. “I don’t need to.”

  “Don’t tell me after that near-death experience, you’re in love with this place?”

  “I might be. When do you think it will go on the market?”

  “Two months, maybe three. Depends on the building inspectors. I can keep you posted. Of course, we haven’t priced it yet.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fair. Well, I need to get going.”

  She stood back as he opened the car door. Then, she surprised herself.

  “Hey, Michael? I had a thought. And you can totally tell me if I’m out of order.”

  “Okay, that sounded mysterious.”

  She scrunched her nose and dug the toe of her boot in the wet grass near the curb. He smiled at her expectantly.

  “I was thinking. I mean, you’re Catholic. I’m Catholic. They’re having this singles’ dance at Our Lady of Sorrows next weekend. Well, it’s not at the church, of course, but—”

  “Sure. Let’s do it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, why not? I could use a little fun. And if the conversation gets too awkward, we can always go back to talking about real estate. Or classic cars.”

  “Great. I’ll text you the deets.” Crap, I can’t believe I just used that word.

  “Looking forward to it. Bye, Sarah.”

  As he drove off, she realized her heart was fluttering. She laughed as she imagined Fr. Brian’s expression when she walked into the dance with her i
mpressive date. Above her, she could hear a croaking noise. When she looked, she saw a bird flying off into the distance.

  It was a raven.

  On her way back, Lou had called to say he was planning to meet with Kyle Jeffers and wanted to know if Sarah wanted to tag along. So instead of returning to the office, she drove directly to the police station and parked in the visitor section. Once inside, she headed for Lou’s office when Tim Whatley almost ran into her.

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you, Sarah. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to see the chief.”

  “Huh. Another paranormal investigation?”

  For some reason, he lingered there, making her a little uncomfortable.

  “Well, gotta go,” she said. “Lou’s expecting me.”

  “Sure. See you, Sarah.”

  Sarah found Lou in his office and rapped on the door frame. “Ready when you are.”

  “Thanks for coming, Sarah. We’re meeting Kyle in Santa Barbara. He had some business in town. I hope you’re hungry. I promised him lunch.”

  “Starved.”

  “Come on, we’ll take my car.”

  It took them only a few minutes to reach La Super-Rica on Milpas Street. On the way over, Lou explained that Kyle was a Mexican food junkie and this was his favorite spot. Growing up, Sarah had always enjoyed the fish tacos, but it had been a while since she’d gone back.

  They parked down the street and, as they got closer to the small, nondescript white building with the turquoise trim, she saw the line. Fortunately, it tended to move quickly, she remembered. They stood at the end, and Sarah was grateful the sun had come out. In a few minutes, a man who looked to be nearing eighty, wearing a Rifleman brown leather jacket, western-style shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots, walked up. He was slender and wore dark-framed glasses.

  Lou smiled. “Kyle?”

  “Hi, Lou. Nice to see you again.” His voice was deep and resonant.

  “This is my friend Sarah Greene. Sarah, Chief Jeffers.”

  The old man laughed as he shook Sarah’s hand. “Nobody calls me that anymore. Nowadays, it’s just Kyle.”

  “It’s great to meet you, Kyle,” she said. “What are you doing in Santa Barbara?”

  “Meeting with my accountant. Seems I am unable to write off boat repairs.”