Riddle Eighteen: The Mirror Number, Part II
Where the river bends and secrets run deep,
A Lotus blooms where the innocent weep.
A name once Laci, but Susie in truth,
Lives in New York, far from her youth.
A case by the water, a torso ashore,
A baby, a boat, and questions galore.
Salon Salon, where hands craft and mend,
A benefit hosted, a family to tend.
A mani-pedi won, a daughter in tow,
The faces were blonde, but the photos show—
A brunette remembered, a picture unclear,
The truth in the mirror, the motive in fear.
A Christmas not silent, a tree topper placed,
A killer's intention, a victim not faced.
He brought her belongings to taunt and to test,
But the Lotus stood firm, refusing to rest.
Across the street, two robbers in frame,
But look a bit closer—cleaners by name.
Not after the neighbor, but after the flower,
CIA shadows at midnight hour.
Two men arrested, their memories blurred,
Gaslit or paid, their voices unheard.
A two-day delay, a numbers game played,
Irony thick in the stories relayed.
A nephew with cancer, poisoned by streams,
Water like Brockovich, shattering dreams.
Not just one city, the sickness will spread,
A warning for all—don't be misled.
And if you would solve this riddle at last,
Trace every clue, connect to the past.
For the number, the names, the mirror, the lies,
Are woven together where the Lotus still lies.