“Hey, guys,” Sarah said. “Carter, you know Joe. And this is my sister, Rachel.”
“Your sister?” The girl smiled warmly. “I see you in the restaurant like, every day.”
“Nice to finally meet you officially, Carter.”
Carter turned to Sarah. “I have to change for my shift. See you at six.” Then, to Rachel, “Nice meeting you.”
“You, too,” Rachel said.
They watched as she went out the back to her car, a cute white MINI Cooper.
“Can I talk to you in your office?” Joe said to Sarah.
“Sure.” She turned to Rachel and scrunched her nose. “Could I ask a huge favor?”
“Cinnamon mocha espresso cappuccino?”
“Sure you’re not psychic? Thank you.”
As Sarah settled in her chair, Joe took a seat opposite her. He was furiously picking at a hangnail, and she knew immediately he had something serious on his mind.
“This must be bad,” she said.
“Some weird shit has been happening out at Casa Abrigo.”
“You mean, besides me seeing a ghost in a mirror and a client almost getting killed by a falling lamp?”
“Yeah. Today, Manny showed me the staircase. It looked as if a wild animal had attacked it.”
“Oh, no.”
“And there are other things—little things that, by themselves don’t mean much. Disappearing tools. Stains on freshly painted walls that can’t be explained. No wonder the bank wanted to be rid of it.”
She dug through her purse, found her tin of Starbucks mints, and popped a couple in her mouth. Then, she offered some to Joe, who declined.
“Why did you have to involve the girl?” he said.
When she met his gaze, she could see that he was angry. “Carter? I don’t understand why that bothers you.”
Silently, Joe got up, and Sarah thought he was going to leave without answering. Instead, he closed the door and took a seat again.
“I’m worried about you, Sarah,” he said. “Something disturbing is happening, and…”
“Oh my gosh,” she said, leaning forward. “You’re scared.”
“Okay, I admit it. In fact, I’m terrified. And then, Carter sees that…whatever it was…and— Now, there’s two of you to worry about.”
Relieved she hadn’t mentioned what the evil entity had said about her, she leaned forward and touched his hand.
“Joe, we’re grown women. We can take care of ourselves.”
“Sure. I’ll bet that’s what Gail thought, too.”
“You think those were paranormal birds that killed her? You sound like me.”
“All I know is, things are starting to get dangerous. That thing Carter saw? What if it tries to hurt her—or you?”
“I’ll throw holy water in its face. We’ll be fine.”
“Where were you this morning?” he said.
“Visiting Lou.”
“Why?”
“Well, you might as well know. Carter and I are flying to Lawrence, Kansas. Tonight.”
“What?”
“Well, technically, we’re flying into Kansas City and driving to Lawrence, but— Look. It’s a fact-finding mission. We’re going to talk to Peter Moody’s aunt and her brother.”
“I’m surprised Lou is okay with this.”
“Lou’s a big pussycat.”
“I’ll tell him you said that. And Carter is cool with this?”
“Are you kidding? She’s excited to be a part of it.”
As Joe got to his feet, Sarah stood and scooted around her desk. She took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes.
“Don’t be mad at me, okay? I hate it when you’re mad.”
“I’m not. I’m— I worry.”
“I know. And I think it’s sweet.”
She grabbed his face, pulled him toward her, and kissed him hard on the lips. Embracing her, he laid her head against his chest and stroked her hair.
“Don’t forget to stop at Party City on the way and pick up your fake police badges,” he said.
“Honestly. We’re fake reporters.”
“Oh, that’s better.”
She pulled away. “I’d better get going. I have to pack. Carter and I are leaving as soon as she gets off work. Oh, and can you please make sure to feed Gary, give him fresh water, and change his litter box?”
“I don’t have time to—”
She kissed him on the nose. “Thanks. You’re a sweetheart.”
“How long will you two be gone?”
“I’m guessing three or four days.”
“Okay.” He smiled. “I’ll let you know if the ground opens up and swallows Casa Abrigo to the sounds of Carmina Burana.”
She opened the door and, seeing Rachel walking in with the coffees, followed her sister into her office.
As Joe observed Sarah leaving, his thoughts returned to the morgue. Once again, he was staring at Gail’s body, only now it was Sarah who was lying there. Then, Sarah became a little girl who couldn’t have been more than seven. Her body was broken and battered, her skin a translucent blue.
He was sixteen and living in New York, he remembered. He’d recently gotten his driver’s license. If only he hadn’t been in such a hurry that day, the accident would never have happened. And his mother wouldn’t have had to… Putting the memory out of his mind, he slipped quietly out the back.
Franklin Chestnut stood staring at a light box filled with a series of radiographs. The coroner had seen the results of wild animal attacks before. Usually, it was the victims’ dogs who were responsible. In other cases, it was mountain lions and bears in the forest. But birds?
After carefully examining the body and retrieving bits of raven feathers, Franklin concluded that Gail Cohen had been surprised by the ravens when they crashed through the door leading to her balcony. How was it possible those creatures could break glass? He referred to photos taken at the scene and noticed the ghostly images of those first ones that had tried to break through and died. They almost looked as if they’d been painted on the unbroken parts of the glass. The police report indicated that the neighbors who called 911 thought they heard something shatter, followed immediately by the victim’s screams and insisted only seconds had passed between the two sounds.
Franklin was tired. He’d meant to call Beverly to let her know he’d be late. She was probably on her way to the restaurant. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. It was their anniversary, and he needed to get going. Something kept nagging at him, though, and he couldn’t get a handle on it. It was something about those birds. Sighing in frustration, he put on his jacket.
“Not just any birds,” he said to no one. “Ravens.”
.
It was after six and dark outside. Blanca had already left for the evening. Rachel had been so busy organizing her files, she didn’t realize what time it was. Shutting down her computer, she decided to lock up for the night. She hoped Eddie hadn’t waited for her and had given Katy her dinner.
After the new security alarm equipment was installed, Rachel always followed the same routine. She would lock the front door, then check the computer monitor in the storage room to ensure all the video cameras were working. On her way out the back, she would set the alarm and lock the back door.
As she approached the front of the realty office, the door opened, revealing a man standing in the backlight of a streetlamp shrouded in mist. It was drizzling outside, and the light limned the figure strangely, making it seem otherworldly—possibly threatening.
“Can I help you?” she said, her voice trembling.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Michael Peterson stepped into the light, letting the door close behind him. It shut a little too loudly, making Rachel wince. As usual, he was dressed impeccably. But there was something off. His hair? No, his eyes. They were like dark pools.
“It’s okay,” she said, glancing around for an escape route. “We’re closed.�
�
He acted as if he hadn’t heard. “I tried calling Sarah. That’s when I decided to come in person. Do you know where I can reach her?”
There was something unsettling about the way he was smiling at her. She couldn’t put her finger on it. But she wished he would leave so she could lock up and go home.
Something told her to keep the information vague. “She’s out of town, I’m afraid.”
“Oh? Business or pleasure?”
“I’m happy to take a message.”
“That would be great.”
He looked around the office, as if trying to determine whether Rachel was alone. When he looked up, he must have noticed one of the newly installed video cameras, its red light blinking silently as a warning. His expression turned grim.
“Well,” he said, his lips transforming into a rictus grin. “Guess I’ll wait to hear from her, then. Please let her know I stopped by.”
Before Rachel could answer, he headed for the door and grabbed the knob. She followed, intending to lock the door after him. He stopped and turned, and she almost ran into him.
“I only came to find out how Casa Abrigo is coming along. You wouldn’t happen to know if it’s ready to go on the market, would you?”
Rachel realized she was perspiring. She made a conscious effort to speak evenly so as not to betray fear.
“Well, Joe and Sarah normally handle that side of the business. I just run the office.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. See you.”
He opened the door and slipped out into a cold, hard rain. Exhaling, Rachel scurried to the front door and, her hand shaking badly, locked it after several attempts. Returning to her office, she grabbed her purse, set the alarm, slipped out the back, and ran to her car as if the devil himself were after her.
As the plane taxied off the runway, Sarah turned her phone on. Carter had just awakened—that girl could sleep through anything—and was yawning and stretching. It had been a long day. They’d flown from Santa Barbara to LAX on United, then hopped on a nonstop Delta Flight to Kansas City International Airport. Sarah groaned when she remembered they still had to pick up the rental car and drive fifty miles to Lawrence. It would be two hours before she could lie down in a hotel bed and close her eyes.
“Sleep well?” Sarah said to her travel companion.
“Great. What about you?”
“I don’t sleep on planes.”
“Too bad.”
Sarah noticed the voicemail waiting for her and was about to listen to it when she saw they had stopped at the terminal and people were getting out of their seats. Putting her phone away, she climbed out and got their carry-ons from the overhead storage. Carter’s was Tumi, and again Sarah wondered how the girl could afford such an expensive brand. Maybe her parents had money?
Soon, they were on the rental car shuttle heading for Avis. Sarah had forgotten about the voicemail and was telling Carter about the time she had the best barbecue of her life in Kansas City after her plane was diverted there in bad weather.
As they pulled out of the airport in their Ford Escape, Carter fired up Google Maps on her phone and punched in the TownePlace Suites in Lawrence. She’d chosen the hotel, insisting it was better to be downtown, where they could have quick access to restaurants—and Starbucks. Sarah didn’t need convincing, since this was a Marriott property and she would get points anyway.
It took only a few minutes to get to the I-29, and soon they were zipping south doing seventy. Incredibly, they reached the hotel in forty-five minutes. They had reserved two rooms and, after checking in, Sarah realized she was no longer tired and wanted to eat something.
“Meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes?” she said to Carter.
“You read my mind. Gonna grab a quick shower and change clothes.
“Me, too. See you soon.”
They were on the same floor, but their rooms weren’t close together. As Sarah let herself into her room, she thought about what a nice travel companion Carter was. She wasn’t loud, never complained—even when the idiot in front of her tried putting his seat all the way back during the meal service—and she didn’t seem to mind being stuck in a middle seat.
Sarah had finished showering and was brushing her hair when she noticed the voicemail again. She picked up her phone and listened to two messages from Joe going on about not being able to find Gary’s food and another about how he missed her, one from Katy wishing her a safe trip, and finally, Rachel’s message. Her sister’s voice sent chills down Sarah’s spine. Before calling her back, she listened to the message again, then got dressed.
Sarah and Carter had found a pub within walking distance of the hotel and settled on burgers.
“You seem distracted,” Carter said as their food arrived.
Sarah sipped her blueberry cilantro margarita. “I called my sister. Apparently, she’d had a visit from a client.”
“Good news?” Carter took a swig of her Cosmic IPA.
“Well, he seems interested in one of our properties. But he…frightened her.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure. Rachel wasn’t specific when I spoke to her. She said he seemed off. The thing is, he told her he’d called me before going over there. But his number didn’t come up on my phone. Anyway, I need to call him.” Sarah took a bite of her burger. “So, ready for tomorrow?”
“We’re meeting him at what time?”
“Ten. At Starbucks.”
Carter toyed with a french fry. “Sarah, do you really think we can pull this off?”
“Remember. If you believe you’re a reporter, then he will.”
“I’ve never been a very good liar.”
“Look sincere. Besides, we want to crack this thing, right? Oh, crap. I forgot my digital recorder.”
Smiling, Carter reached into her purse, pulled out a small device, and waved it in Sarah’s face. “Gotcha covered.”
“Carter, my dear, you are nothing short of amazing.”
After dinner, they decided to sit at the bar and have a drink. Several men wearing business suits circled them like lions at a luau. Smiling, Sarah whispered something to her friend. She reached over and began stroking Carter’s hand. The vultures got the message and wandered away. Sarah and Carter burst out laughing.
Sarah had always had trouble sleeping the first night of a trip and lay in her bed with her eyes wide open. It was late, and she wished she could drift off so she would be refreshed for their meeting. After several minutes, her eyelids became heavy, and she felt herself relaxing. But there was a faraway light shining in her eyes, and she wondered if it might be one of those emergency nightlights plugged into a wall outlet.
Sitting up, she squinted at it. It seemed to be moving toward her. Soon, it was large enough for her to see inside it. Sitting in the center of the light on a ratty double bed was a man wearing a T-shirt and boxers, rocking back and forth. He looked familiar.
Soon, the image was large enough that he was almost the same size as Sarah. Frightened, she retracted her feet and pressed up against her headboard. She could hear traffic noises and the sounds of voices. She was in a room in some run-down hotel. Outside, she could see a flickering neon sign from across the street. Though part of it was cut off, she could make out he Tap Ho.
The man continued rocking, and she could hear a soft chanting. He seemed to be doing something with his face—she didn’t want to see. As if aware he was being watched, he stopped and slowly turned to face her.
It was Peter Moody. And instead of eyes, he had two dark, bloody holes.
“Eyes on me, Sarah,” he said, and laughed like a lunatic.
Screaming, she woke to find she’d been dreaming. She was alone, and the only sound was of a distant siren outside in the night.
She thought about calling Carter, then concluded that at least one of them should be rested for the interview in the morning.
Twenty
Owen Daniels wasn’t what Sarah expected. She and Carter had arrived
at Starbucks early, wearing tasteful designer jeans, plain shirts, and flats—their idea of how women reporters might dress. Carter wore a black leather jacket and Sarah wore a jean jacket. Carter had sprung for black-frame Italian glasses to help sell their deception. And, in case their interviewee asked, she had made fake IDs that looked remarkably authentic.
As the women sat drinking macchiatos, a silver-haired man who looked like a gentleman cowboy walked in. He wore a modest gray suit with no tie and reminded Sarah of a Rotarian. Seeing the women seated by the window, he strode toward them deliberately.
“Sarah Greene?”
“That would be me,” Sarah said.
She rose and extended her hand, but the elderly gentleman was reluctant to take it. She wondered if he might be a germaphobe. After sneaking a glance at his naked wedding ring finger, she concluded he simply might be unused to being around women. After an awkward few seconds, he agreed to shake hands.
“And this is Carter Wittgenstein.” He nodded in acknowledgment. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Daniels. Can I get you something?”
“Regular coffee’s fine.”
“Um, sure,” she said, frowning at Carter who, to be honest, found the old man to be sweet, as out of place at Starbucks as a nun in a mosh pit.
While Sarah went to purchase a coffee for their guest, Carter took out her digital recorder and a small notepad and pen.
“That a recording device?” Owen said.
“Yes. I hope it’s okay. We don’t wanna to get anything wrong when we write our story.”
“Mm.”
Sarah returned with a grande drip coffee and set it down in front of Owen. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted cream, or…”
“Nope. Black is fine.”
Despite the rough edges, Sarah found that she liked Owen Daniels. She decided he was a no-nonsense man of the old school who didn’t slouch or swear. A little awkward around the ladies, but a straight shooter, nonetheless.
Carefully, he removed the lid from his cup with fingers that looked arthritic, blew on the hot coffee, and, squinting, took a tentative sip. He looked at Sarah as Carter hit the Record button.
The Girl in the Mirror Page 18
