“Oh. And here I thought I was doing so well. It just…happens, I guess.”
“The flashes, you mean?”
“Yes. I could be in a room minding my own business. I might touch something or come near a person or a thing. Cemeteries are a real problem, let me tell you.”
“Mm. Then, I would suggest avoiding the Lawrence Massacre self-guided tour.”
Sarah scrunched her nose. “Bad?”
“Not for most people. What else?”
“Or the visions could come to you in a dream,” Carter said.
Dr. Martin tsked-tsked. “Carter. Not you too?”
“Afraid so.”
“Anyway,” Sarah said. “There doesn’t seem to be any logic to it.”
The doctor raised her index finger. “Actually, there is. I’m not sure about the dreams, but in science, we know that all matter radiates energy. Even rocks. Technically, it’s electromagnetic energy. And, I think, you—and Carter—happen to be more sensitive than most. You’re like finely tuned radios picking up signals the rest of us mere mortals cannot.”
“Including from a computer monitor?”
“Surprising, I admit. But it happened.”
“Well, it’s annoying,” Carter said. “And scary sometimes.”
“I’ll bet. The danger, of course, is that repeated exposure to these events over time might lead to psychosis.”
“Meaning?” Sarah said.
“Meaning you lose touch with reality.”
Carter twirled the mint leaf in her drink. “But what if this is your reality?”
Before Dr. Martin could answer, a host carrying menus quietly approached the women.
“Ladies, your table is ready. If you’d like to follow me.”
Soon, they were sitting in a lovely spot away from the noise of the bar. They’d decided to leave serious business until after the food arrived. Steaks all around with plenty of starchy sides.
“So, what’s your story, Patricia?” Sarah said to the doctor. “You seem to enjoy the finer things.”
“You mean, I’m not your stereotypical nerd.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, I went to Smith. My parents have money, you see. I majored in biochemistry and minored in Jewish studies. What can I say? I was trying to get back to my roots.”
“But…your name is Martin.”
“Courtesy of my ex-husband. It looked better than Finkelstein on my business card. Like you with ‘Greene.’”
“Indeed.”
“And no one ever misspells Martin. I grew up with nice things, so when I could afford them again, I said, what the hell, and splurged.”
“So, your parents are—” Carter said.
“Rich, yes. You see, Carter—and I think you’ll appreciate this—I had this crazy idea that I could make it on my own. I only dated doctors and lawyers but ended up marrying a Wall Street investment banker. All while pursuing my career.”
“But Kansas?” Sarah said, scrunching her nose.
“It was a good opportunity. Never regretted it. Although I do miss the Bergdorf Goodman sales.”
“Any kids in the picture?” Carter said.
“A son. He’s a doctor. With a lovely family in New Rochelle. I try to see them as often as I can.”
“Wow,” Sarah said.
“It’s just money, Sarah.”
“No, I mean, you seem so…free. I guess you’re not what I expected.”
“People can surprise you. My patients taught me that. Speaking of which. As I told you earlier, Peter wasn’t a patient of mine. I lied when I said I didn’t remember him. I do. Absolutely. And even with my lack of experience back then, I always suspected he was faking.”
“You mean, mental illness?” Carter said.
“Yes. I reread his file before coming over here. Look, he could have checked himself out when he turned eighteen. That’s the law. Yet, he chose to remain until he was twenty-one. Why? Because he knew he needed help? No.” She leaned in conspiratorially and stage-whispered to them. “I think he may have been evil.”
“Is that a medical term?” Sarah said.
“I’m a Jew. And, like Catholics, we believe in good and evil. Some people can’t help what they are. But Peter. I think he reveled in it.”
“The darkness, you mean,” Sarah said.
“Yes. I remember he had made friends with another patient. Oh, I wish I could remember his name. A handsome young man. Poor thing suffered from schizophrenia. I was worried that Peter would corrupt him. I remember I approached Peter’s doctor about it. I’m not sure if he did anything, though.”
“Peter did check himself out, though, right? At twenty-one?”
“Correct. Apparently, we lost track of him after that. Then, as we know, he committed suicide.”
Sarah wrote something in her notebook. “Patricia, any chance we could speak with that other doctor?”
“Sadly, he passed away in 2011. Lung cancer.”
“I’m sorry. Do you think you could find out who the other young man was? Maybe call us or email the information?”
“I’d be happy to try. Such a tragedy. I remember reading about Peter’s death in the paper.”
Carter looked at Sarah. “He slit his throat, right?”
“Yes.”
The doctor drained the last of her cabernet and looked grimly at Sarah and Carter.
“But only after he’d torn out his eyes.”
It was late, and Dr. Martin had left to catch an Uber back to her condo, which was located near the hospital. Sarah wasn’t tired and wanted to debrief with Carter, so the women returned to the bar and ordered Taliskers.
“That woman can read me like a book,” Sarah said, taking a whiff of her drink and throwing it back as if she’d been interrogated by some hard-boiled detective.
“Seriously. Do you think she’s psychic?”
“Maybe. Which reminds me. What did Patricia mean when she said you’d appreciate that she was trying to make it on her own?”
“I…”
“Carter, you wouldn’t be holding out on me?”
“No… Okay, fine. My family is…wealthy. You may have noticed I don’t shop at TJ Maxx.”
“I was wondering about that.”
“It’s no big deal. They gave me everything. And, I guess, I was grateful. But…”
“You’re special.”
“Right. And I didn’t wanna stay in Sausalito and put them through the dreams and the visions and everything else that was going on at the time.”
“They must worry about you, kid.”
“I stay in touch, but I don’t provide too many details.”
“But why a server in a restaurant? Isn’t there something you want to do? Music? Real estate?”
The girl laughed. “I need to work some things out. I haven’t exactly been on a traditional path. I have a degree in philosophy from Berkeley and not much else.”
“Sounds like me with my stupid art degree. I mean, seriously. How did I think I was going to make a living? So, it sounds like you’re following in your great-great-great-whatever’s footsteps. I mean, studying philosophy.”
“I guess. And Patricia saw right through me as well. I wanted that feeling of accomplishment when you do something by yourself.”
“But, as a fallback, you always have the trust fund,” Sarah said, signaling the bartender for another round.
Blushing, Carter lowered her head and tossed back her drink. “That was uncalled for.”
“The truth hurts, baby.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Carter said. “Are we meeting Owen at the retirement home?”
“Although I don’t expect to get much from his sister. But we’re already here, right?”
“I feel like there’s so much we don’t know. About Peter, and now Hannah.”
“Yeah. We have got to locate her.”
Carter laughed. “So, do you think you and I are on our way to becoming psychotic?”
“I hope not. I pray a l
ot, you know? It helps.”
“Our family wasn’t religious. I guess I believe in God but…”
Sarah’s phone buzzed. She took it out, saw the unfamiliar number, and let it go to voicemail. The new drinks arrived, and the women raised their glasses.
“Here’s to pleasant dreams tonight.”
“Or no dreams,” Sarah said. “Speaking of which, any strange dreams you want to talk about?”
“I did dream something last night. I was planning to tell you. There was a man standing far off in a, a mist. I couldn’t see who he was, but I knew he wasn’t Peter.”
“A strange man? Sure this wasn’t some sex fantasy?”
“No,” Carter said, fake-punching her companion. “Then, another man appeared next to him.”
“Okay, this is getting pret-tee gay…”
“Shut up. Besides, they had their clothes on. As I moved closer, the two bodies—how can I explain?—they melded together into one person.”
“Weird. Did this combo-man say anything to you?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Definitely beyond my analytical capabilities,” Sarah said. “Maybe we should run this by Patricia.”
“No way. I’m done talking to shrinks, thank you very much.”
“Gotcha. Although, I think she was kind of into you.”
“Please stop.”
Back in her room, Sarah had undressed and was relaxing in bed, wearing a camisole. She wished Joe were with her and decided to call him when she noticed the voicemail. Hesitating, she dialed her ex-husband instead. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hay is for horses.”
“I hope the trip was worth it because I’m really missing you over here.”
“Oh, how sweet. Well, I’m afraid I don’t have any of those feelings. When we’re not working, Carter and I have been entertaining a number of promising young beef salesmen from the greater Kansas City area.”
“Very funny.”
“If you want to know the truth, I’m horny as hell.”
“Said the good Catholic.”
“Yeah, well…”
“For the record, so am I.”
“Okay, before we lapse into embarrassing phone sex, any more strange happenings at Casa Abrigo?”
“No. But I’m on the lookout. All these random repairs are burning through the cushion I built into our budget. Maybe we should get a priest in here.”
“I could ask Fr. Donnelly. You were being serious, right?”
“I wasn’t, but maybe it would be a good idea. You know, get the house blessed or whatever.”
“I think these incidents are tied to whatever is going on with that mirror. Joe, I want to solve this thing and put it behind us, okay? I feel like I won’t be able to relax until it’s over. Also, it may solve our problem with the house.”
“Okay. But what constitutes ‘over’?”
“That’s a tough one. I guess when the girl’s soul is at rest. Who, as we’ve come to learn, is not Hannah. I’ll explain later.”
“And you think you can make all this happen? Sarah, you’re not God. Whatever’s going on is—”
“Bigger. I know. But I seem to have this crazy gift, and like Fr. Donnelly said, God gave it to me for a reason. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do. And I love you, weirdness and all.”
She laughed. “That’s good to hear. Listen, tomorrow, Carter and I have to meet with the aunt. After that, we’re coming home. I expect your calendar to be clear tomorrow night.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Gary can be very demanding.”
“Night.”
“Goodnight, Sarah.”
Sarah lay on the bed, holding her phone and thinking about Joe. Had he meant it when he said he loved her? Dammit, Sarah. What else do you need? Hearing his voice, she realized she missed him more than ever and longed to feel his arms around her. She thought about their last intimate encounter, which reminded her she hadn’t gone to Confession. She made a mental note to call Fr. Donnelly. Glancing at her phone, she saw the voicemail again and decided to listen to it. Probably some stupid telemarketer.
“Sarah, it’s Donnie Fisk. You know, from Dubious? Listen, I’m wondering if you can meet with us at our offices in Burbank. It’s about that video we recorded for you at the cemetery. I’d like to show you something. Can you give my assistant a call so we can set something up? Later.”
Sarah listened to the message again. She sensed fear in Donnie’s voice and wondered what they could have seen that night next to Peter’s grave. She laid her phone on the nightstand and reached over to turn out the light when she heard a buzz. Looking down, she saw it was Lou.
“Hello?”
“Why haven’t you checked in?” he said, his voice flavored with irritation.
“Who is this?”
“Sarah, come on. I’m being serious.”
“Lou, I was going to call you tomorrow on our way to the airport. We still have to meet with the aunt.”
“Well, I’ll take whatever you got so far.”
“Okay…”
Sarah spent the next few minutes catching Lou up on their meeting with Owen Daniels and Dr. Martin.
“Doesn’t sound like much,” he said when she’d finished.
“Yeah, well. How about this? It turns out Hannah is alive. Or at least she was in 1990 when she and her brother returned to Lawrence.”
“What?”
“There’s more. You can add another girl to the mix. Seems there was a cousin, Nicole, who was staying with the Moodys that summer. But she ran away.”
“Do you think maybe Nicole is the dead girl?”
“At this point, anything is possible, I guess. But that newspaper photo. I was so sure it was Hannah. Anyway, I’m hoping to get a better picture tomorrow morning when Carter and I interview the aunt.”
“Okay, sounds good.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “I got a call from our skeptical friend Donnie Fisk. He wants to meet in their offices in Burbank. I think it has to do with that video they shot.”
“Maybe they found something. I think I should be there as well.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Can you call his office and set up a meeting for Friday? I’ll text you the number. I’m flying in late tomorrow and want to take Thursday off.”
“Sure thing. Hey, Sarah. Has Joe mentioned Gail Cohen at all?”
“No, why?”
“I was wondering how he’s doing. I’ll be honest. There’s some weird shit going on with that case. Vic Womble sent over a copy of the coroner’s report.”
“Well, are you going to tell me or…”
“Franklin has this theory that those ravens may have tried attacking her when she was in her car. We found images of birds on the windshield and passenger windows, just like the ones on the glass door in her apartment.”
“So, they were already chasing her on the streets?”
“Looks that way. She must’ve made it into the parking structure and headed up to her apartment. Anyway, her vehicle is in the impound. It’s a nice car. Always had a soft spot for black Bimmers.”
Sarah’s heart skipped a beat, and she pressed the phone closer to her ear.
“Lou, can I ask you something? Is the car by any chance a 328i?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“And did you find red paint on the right front wheel?”
“Are you messing with me?”
“I think I know who broke into our offices that night a few weeks ago. Gail Cohen.”
“What?”
“She followed me, Lou. I only lost her because I saw Tim Whatley and stopped. I’m sure it was her. Same car.”
“Weird. Well, I can think of better ways to die, other than having your eyes pecked out.”
“Her eyes…” Sarah said, her voice distant.
“Yeah. They were gone completely.”
“Like Peter.”
“What?
”
“Nothing. I’ll see you Friday, Lou.”
“Sure. Night, Sarah. Safe travels.”
After she disconnected, Sarah sat on her bed and tried imagining what it must have been like being blinded by a flock of wild birds. She pictured the raven who’d been watching her at Casa Abrigo. Long, spindly fingers of dread enfolded her in a cold embrace as the creature croaked at her, taunting her.
And promising her a slow, agonizing death.
Twenty-Two
By the time Sarah had arrived at the facility, signed in, and gone up to Colleen’s room, she wished she could transport herself home where she would find Joe and Gary waiting for her. She would make a show of hurrying toward Joe, then scooping up the cat instead. Joe would be furious. But she was in Lawrence, not Dos Santos. Though she’d spent an awful night without much sleep, she and Carter were on the hook to complete their mission.
Sarah knocked once, and Owen Daniels answered almost immediately. He wore a grim expression that seemed to have aged him another ten years. Sarah felt sorry for him. It seemed all he had was his sister, and she was slipping away from him more and more each day.
“Is this a good time?” she said. “How’s Colleen feeling?”
“A little dizzy. But mostly okay.”
He stepped back, allowing the women to enter. They found Colleen Moody sitting in a simple wooden chair facing the window. Her head was bandaged, and a purple bruise darkened one side of her swollen face. The curtains were pulled back, and Sarah could see a lovely view of the garden below.
“Colleen dear,” Owen said. “You have visitors.”
“I don’t talk to strangers when Morris isn’t at home. You know that, Owen.”
“Yes, I know. But they need to speak to you.”
She brightened. “Is it about my daughter?”
Owen turned to the women, exasperated. Sarah and Carter exchanged a look, and Carter stepped toward the window. She knelt beside Colleen and took her hand.
“I wish I could have met Nicole,” the girl said. “I’ll bet she’s a lovely girl.”
The old woman smiled, her eyes misting. “She is. And I miss her so much. She ran away, you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I don’t know what Morris and I were thinking. Taking her all the way out to California.”
The Girl in the Mirror Page 20
