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There's a curse on the penny where the nine's rubbed off

Saltwater cleanses, but cannot erase
The taint on her fingers, the strain on her face
An obtuse danger follows her home
No monster awaits
Just a feeling of unrest--
Figure out the pattern
Survive the test.

One eight three
Makes no sense to me.

Search for an answer
In fractals and dates
Numerology and stars
Lining up with the fates

Call a Sag to your doorstep
Let him whisk you away
Caol Ila awaits
On the shores of Islay
Soon to be followed
By sweet Tanqueray,

Search high and low for the truth!
And still it escapes her
The solution will fall
To Occam's Razor

Settle up the tab,
One eight.
Three for the tip
And the
Rest falls to fate.