Satan's Mirror Page 4
She looked at Dan, who had camera cases dangling from his neck. “What can I help you with?”
“Here.” He slung the straps of his video camera and his digital backup over her head. “Can you take a tripod?”
“If you can tuck it under my elbow.”
“Thanks.” He closed the door, and then picked up his own duffle and three cases of lighting equipment. “Think they’ll recognize us now?”
“Who knows?” She shrugged, walking with him toward the house. “I’m sure lots of people come here toting cameras.”
They entered a large room with a sitting area. Doilies covered the arms of the chairs. The antique furniture seemed in keeping with the house’s ambiance.
A man in a Penn State T-shirt looked up from a desk. “Welcome to the Please and Plenty. I’m Craig.”
“Hello.” She smiled, setting down her load. “I’m Emily Goodman, and this is Dan Hart.”
“We’ve been expecting you,” Craig said, taking out a register. “We have two suites available—the Comity and the Affluence. I’m sure you’ll find them to your liking. All our suites feature four-poster beds, whirlpool baths, and electric fireplaces.”
Emily signed the book. “Can you see the ocean?”
“Not even from the roof.”
“That’s a shame.” She motioned at his T-shirt. “I see you are a Nittany Lion fan.”
“My alma mater.”
“Mine, too. Sometimes I miss it.”
Craig grinned. “I don’t miss the weather.”
“No. I imagine you don’t,” she said. “This is a beautiful house. Are you the owner?”
“My family.”
“I’m pleased and a bit surprised you had two suites available on such short notice.”
“Well, it’s not season yet. And we had two people leave unexpectedly.”
“Really?”
He gave a knowing smile. “I know who you are, Ms. Goodman, and I can assume your purpose. You want to find the missing students.”
“Not at all,” she said, raising her hands. “That is police business, and I have no intention of getting in their way. I’m covering a story about a haunted house and an object called Satan’s Mirror.”
“I’ve heard the term. Aren’t you supposed to be able to see into hell itself?”
“You tell me. You’re the one living in spook central.”
“Actually, I heard about it while I was in Pennsylvania.”
“You did?” she said, taken aback. “Then Mr. Raynes and Ms. Lambert never asked you about—”
“They asked me about normal things. The San Sebastian Winery. The Saint Augustine Alligator Farm. I got them discounted tickets to the Colonial Spanish Quarter. That’s a kind of living museum where people dress as eighteenth century settlers and show how they cooked, tended livestock, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds fascinating,” Emily said. “So you’re saying our missing students never asked you about the ghost trade around here? Haunted houses? Palm readers?”
“No,” Craig said. “Wait. Yes, they did. The girl, Miss Lambert, was interested in seeing a psychic. I told her the best were on San Marco Avenue.”
“Why did she want to see a psychic?”
“The most common reason is a person’s love life.”
“I see.” She picked up her duffle bag. “Perhaps the two of them were having relationship problems.”
“That train of thought might impinge on the police investigation.”
Emily smiled. “Could you show us to our rooms, please?”
“Of course. Come make yourselves comfortable. I’m afraid you’ve missed breakfast, but our chef has a delicious cake planned for our evening treat.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Emily whispered to Dan. “We’re going psychic hunting.”
FIVE
Emily and Dan stepped from the inner office of Miss Tureau, Tarot Card and Palm Reader, into a comfortable lobby. The walls were two shades of blue with the darker on the bottom, reminding Emily of the sea and sky. Framed snapshots of sailboats completed the picture.
She extended her hand to the middle-aged woman. “Thank you for your time. I hope we weren’t a bother.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. Missing persons just aren’t my forte.” Tureau smiled as if relieved they were leaving. Her tailored suit made her look more like a stockbroker than a fortuneteller.
Then again, the two professions probably had plenty in common.
“Our fifth strikeout this morning,” Dan said as they stepped outside into steamy heat. “It’s bad enough no one will talk about Mickey Raynes. I can’t blame them for that. They don’t want to get involved in a police investigation. But one of them must have heard about that magic mirror. Why are they being so closed lipped?”
“Maybe they don’t know.” Emily walked away from the van toward a deli she’d noticed earlier. “Ross made it sound like we’re dealing with a cult. I see no evidence of one around here. So, it must be a secret cult. I love secrets.” She grinned.
“What do we do now?”
“We talk to the experts.” She yanked open the door of the deli. “Right after we get lunch.”
With two super-stacked sandwiches and iced cappuccinos to go, they climbed into the van and headed toward Plaza Park. Dan turned the air conditioner fan to high. It blew hot air for a few moments but quickly cooled. Dan moaned, his face inches from the vent. Emily chuckled.
He threw her a sour look. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to eat lunch outdoors. The park isn’t that special.”
“It’s beautiful. Even better, it’s just down the street from Flagler College. I’ll bet lots of students take their lunches there.”
“Not if they’re smart.”
“Oh, come on. After being cooped up in a classroom all morning?”
“Tell me these aren’t the experts you planned to see.”
“If anything is going on, they’ll know about it. The trick is getting them to talk.” She pulled onto Treasury Street and parked in a lot. The sun blazed overhead, turning the sky white. But as she climbed from the van, the sea breeze lifted her hair and billowed her cotton blouse. They would be comfortable enough. She grabbed the sack of sandwiches and the cardboard tray holding their drinks.
“How many cameras do you think you’ll need?” she asked Dan, who rummaged through the equipment he’d brought from the Inn.
“Just the essentials. Be prepared, I always say.”
“Uh-huh. Just try not to scare anyone off.”
He glanced at her, and then slung a small video camera around his neck along with his favorite Olympus digital. He shoved the rest of his essentials under the seat.
She locked the doors with her remote. “Everyone remember where we’re parked.”
“Aye, captain,” he answered with an exaggerated Scottish brogue.
They walked to Cathedral Place and across to the park. Emily was pleased to see groups of students strolling in all directions.
“What should we do?” Dan asked. “Pick a group at random and start asking questions?”
“We can’t appear too eager or they’ll never open up.” She glanced about the crowded park. “Let’s try to find a shady bench.”
But finding a cool place to sit was not as easy as she’d hoped. They settled for a grassy spot beneath a tree. Emily stretched out, feeling limp and sticky. She drank half the cappuccino, and then sighed, looking around. “I wish my grandmother had lived to see this place. She would have loved it.”
“From what you’ve told me of her, she wasn’t into anything as sedate as a stroll in a park.”
Emily chuckled. “She was into lots of things, one of which was painting. I have a watercolor of hers of a gazebo. I wish I had brought her here.” Unwrapping her deluxe roast beef sandwich, she took a large bite.
“Excuse me,” said a timid voice, “but aren’t you Emily Goodman?”
Emily looked up at a girl with a tanned face and sun-stre
aked hair. She gulped her mouthful of food. “Depends.” She smiled. “Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Good,” the girl said, kneeling beside her. “I love that show.”
“In that case, yes, I am Emily Goodman.”
“I knew it,” she squealed, pulling a notebook from a pink Hello Kitty book bag. “May I have your autograph?”
“Of course. What’s your name?”
“Sue.”
“To Sue,” Emily said as she wrote. “It was a pleasure meeting you at Plaza Park.”
“Are you in town on vacation?”
“Actually, we’re doing a piece on a haunted house.”
Sue laughed. “Plenty of those around here.”
“This house has a special mirror. Satan’s Mirror. Ever hear of it?”
“New one on me.” She slipped the notebook back in her bag. “Thank you for this. Sorry I interrupted your lunch.”
“Not a problem. Thanks for stopping by.”
Sue got up and hurried away. Emily watched her for a moment, and then took another bite. “That could’ve gone better.”
“I don’t think Ross gave us enough information on this one,” Dan said.
“It’s not just that. He didn’t give us any time. Usually, I have a chance to hit the Internet beforehand.”
He smirked. “This looks to be a hotspot. You can get some research done while you eat.”
“Sure, except I left my computer in the van.”
“Be prepared, I always say.”
Emily laughed. “That’s one point for you. Speaking of being prepared, I’d better check in.” She dialed her cell phone then waited. The phone rang five times and was about to go to voice mail when someone finally answered. “Hi, it’s me. How is everything going?”
“Not bad,” said Esmeralda. “April was late for school this morning.”
“Really? What happened?”
“I couldn’t get her to wake up in time. She said she couldn’t sleep last night because she was worried about you.”
“Oh, no,” said Emily. Damn Ross for booking her a red-eye flight—she should have been home with her daughter. “Why is she so nervous about this particular assignment?”
“She’s a little girl with a big imagination.”
“I’ll call back tonight and see if I can settle her down before bed.”
“She’ll like that. I’ll let her know to expect you.”
Emily slid the phone into her jeans. She picked at a blade of grass.
“Trouble at home?” Dan asked.
“April,” Emily told him. “She thinks a monster is going to take me away. Last night she said the most disconcerting thing—she believes in monsters because of me, because of all this.”
“The show?”
She nodded. “I tried to explain that it was my job to prove there are no monsters, but she just doesn’t get it. So now she’s terrified, and it’s all my fault.”
“Nah. It’s a stage they go through. My boy, Stephen, was afraid of everything at April’s age. He woke up screaming every night for a month.”
Emily looked at him, surprised to hear him speak of his son. He had lost the right to see either of his kids in a very messy divorce. “What did you do for him?”
“For starters, I didn’t argue the existence of monsters. I figure, how would I know? So I just held him until he fell back to sleep.”
“Your ex has no right to keep you from your children.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “I should burn in hell for the things I did to her.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I was a different person then. Young in all the worst ways. I stayed out all night, hung with the guys. When she was pregnant with our first, I told her flat out that I couldn’t be with her because her fat belly turned me off. I don’t know why she stayed with me as long as she did.”
Emily looked away, feeling like he’d let her see something slimy inside him. “You were a different person then,” she said, as if that made everything all right.
He crinkled the empty wrappings of his sandwich into a ball and put it into the bag. “Looks like some of your experts are heading back to class.”
“Yeah.” She stood, downing her drink and tossing her cup in the trash along with her half-eaten sandwich. “Let’s take a walk.”
She skirted the knots of kids, watching without being obvious, catching bits of conversation. Most of the boys had longer hair while the girls had close-cropped angular cuts. Nearly all had jeans hanging off their hips and bunched about their ankles.
But a group ahead wore studded, black jeans and shirts. Their hair had the glossy look of black dye. Two boys were involved in a good-natured argument while the others looked on.
One raised his voice. “End of story. Jason won.”
“It’s impossible,” the other told him. “Both Jason and Freddy are dead. They can’t be killed. The whole premise of the movie is unbelievable.”
“It doesn’t matter if Freddy is dead or alive.” Emily stopped beside him. “His head was chopped off. He can haunt dreams forever, but he is unable to hurt anyone.”
The first boy laughed. “Therefore, Jason won.”
“A fair point,” said the other.
“So, are you boys fans of old movies?” she asked him.
“Old B movies. You?”
“It’s a hobby.” She shrugged.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” asked a boy with knotted red acne.
“I’m Emily, and this is Dan.”
“You’re on that television show.” He snapped his fingers. “Do You Believe It?”
“Are you working on a story? Are we going to be on TV?”
“Yes to both.” Emily shot a meaningful look to Dan. She was onto something—she could feel it. “We’re following up on the disappearance of two tourists.”
“I heard about them. It was on the news,” said a boy.
Another said, “Just because they disappeared doesn’t mean they’ve been disappeared, if you know what I mean.”
“People vanish around here all the time,” said the acne-scarred boy. “I don’t see the fuss about these two.”
“There have been others?” she asked.
“The past five or six years, yeah. Drifters, mostly.”
“We don’t get many drifters in Saint Augustine anymore.” A boy laughed. “Bad rep.”
Emily nodded. “Rumor has it that these tourists were into something they shouldn’t have been. Something about a haunted house and a mirror.”
“Satan’s Mirror,” said the first boy. “Yeah, I know about that. It’s supposed to be pretty cool.”
“Is that right?” Emily’s heart leapt. She glanced at Dan to be sure he was recording. “What’s cool about it?”
He lowered his voice to a growl. “You see the devil.”
“And the devil sees you,” the acne kid said.
A ripple of laughter followed those words.
Emily nodded, taking out a pad to take notes. “This mirror is in an abandoned house?”
The boys clamored forward, anxious to have their views heard.
One said, “That’s the house on Weeden Street, isn’t it?”
“It’s locked tight,” said another. “You have to take the tour.”
“Which tour?” she asked.
“Private.” He snickered. “You won’t find it on a visitor’s map.”
More laughter.
“How do I find it?”
Silence befell the group, and they passed an odd look among them.
Emily sensed she was losing them. “So this missing couple might have taken the tour, got scared, and ran away.”
“Or maybe they were taken,” the boy with acne said. “Sometimes the devil leaps out of the mirror—”
“That doesn’t really happen,” said the first boy.
“You don’t know.”
“Wait,” said Emily. “You’re saying the devil actually materializes?”
“That’s dumb,” said the first boy. “Rank that against the rest of the ghost stories around here.”
His friend sided with him. “They just tell you that to sell more tickets to the tour. A lot of people like to be scared.”
“Then, it’s fake?” she asked.
“No, it isn’t,” said Acne.
“Have you been on it?” the first boy asked him.
“Of course not. I can’t afford that.”
“Have any of you been on the private tour?” Emily asked.
A rumble of mutterings rounded the group. If any of them had been, they weren’t about to admit it in this atmosphere.
One of the boys looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go.”
The group split apart as if they were pool balls.
“Wait!” Emily cried to their receding backs. “I need your names.”
No one returned.
“Well,” she said, slipping the pad into her pocket. “Usually they at least want me to have their names.”
She looked at Dan, who was replaying the video in his camcorder. From the right, a tall, thin man approached them. She could have sworn he jumped out from behind a tree. He was so heavily tattooed in symbols and designs it took a moment for her to realize he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“Excuse me,” he said around a dangling cigarette, “I didn’t mean to overhear. Are you looking for a tour of the Weeden house?”
“I might be interested. I heard it was expensive.”
“What price should we assign adventure?” He took a drag, and his sunken cheeks became more cadaverous. Handing her a business card, he said, “This is a good place to start.” With a quick glance over his bony shoulder as if afraid to be seen with her, he crossed the street and disappeared.
Emily blinked at the place she saw him last. “Did you get that?”
“Couldn’t,” said Dan. “I was in the wrong mode.”
“Talk about being prepared.” She looked at the business card. “Fortunes and psychic readings. Vanessa’s.”
SIX
The pungent stench of incense assailed Emily’s nostrils as she and Dan entered the Psychic Parlor. She blinked in the gloom. Thick, embroidered drapes covered the windows, and tapestries hid the walls. A large wooden table with several mismatched chairs sat in the center of the room. Behind it loomed a floor-to-ceiling bookcase stuffed with books.