Smoke in Mirrors

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “I can understand how strange it must feel to leave an office you had occupied for a long time.” Leonora sat down in one of the padded leather chairs and glanced at the stack of framed photographs on the desk. “Almost as bad as packing up a house where one had lived for several years.”

  “I’ll let you in on a small secret.” Roberta set down the pot. “This office has felt more like home to me over the years than my own house. That was true even when my husband was alive, I’m afraid. Cream or sugar?”

  “Neither, thanks.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. You drink yours black.” Roberta picked up the two cups and carried them back to the desk. She put one in front of Leonora and then sat down across from her.

  Leonora took a tiny swallow of the coffee. The bitter brew tasted more burnt than it had the last time, but who was she to judge? She hated coffee. She could manage half a cup at least.

  Roberta was not a small woman. Her chair groaned beneath her weight when she sat back in it. She drank her coffee with a reflective air. “Maybe we should both go home early today,” she said. “There’s really nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

  “That might not be such a bad idea,” Leonora said. She looked at the cartons on the desk. “Where are you going to hang all those photos?”

  Roberta regarded the pictures, head slightly tipped to one side. “I’m not sure yet. I think the kitchen wall would be a good place for them. But it won’t be the same. Nothing will ever be the same. Even when you think you’ve prepared for change, it always seems to come as a shock, doesn’t it?”

  Leonora thought about how her own world had changed in the past few days. “Yes. But some shocks are good for the system.”

  “You may be right.” Roberta sipped some of her own coffee and studied one of the photographs with a pensive expression. “It’s too bad that George didn’t live long enough to go on this cruise. He would have loved it.”

  “George?”

  “My late husband. He was a tenured professor in chemistry here at Eubanks.” The lines deepened around Roberta’s mouth. “He was the stereotypical absent-minded academic. Lived for his work. If he’d had his way he would never have left his lab. He died there, you know. I often think that he would have wanted it that way. Sometimes I wonder—”

  The sound of footsteps in the hall interrupted her. She looked up sharply. Leonora jumped, too. They had both assumed they were alone together in the mansion.

  “Probably one of the student assistants.” Roberta put down her cup and pushed herself up out of the chair. “I made it clear that no one was expected to come in today. But you know students. You have to tell them everything at least three times before they bother to remember it. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  She circled the desk and went out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Her muffled voice was just barely audible through the panel.

  “Julie, what are you doing here? I told you that none of the students were supposed to come in today . . .”

  Alone in the office Leonora looked down at her unfinished coffee. She had wanted the warmth and the caffeine, but the taste was so bad it wasn’t worth the effort of trying to drink it. She did not think that she could manage another sip of the dreadful stuff. But she did not want to be rude.

  She contemplated the potted plant in the corner for a few seconds and made her decision. The palm looked healthy enough to withstand a dose of caffeine.

  A wave of dizziness crashed through her when she got to her feet. Alarmed, she grabbed the edge of the desk. She wondered if she was about to faint. But that was ridiculous. She had never fainted in her life.

  The disorienting sensation passed. When the room steadied around her she walked slowly and carefully to the palm and dumped the remainder of the coffee into the pot. It vanished into the dark soil.

  When she turned around, the room wavered a little at the edges. The angles straightened in the next instant, but she did not find that reassuring. Something was wrong with her. She was ill.

  She had to get home. Maybe call a doctor. No, that wouldn’t work. She didn’t know any doctors here in Wing Cove. She would call Thomas.

  Yes. That was the answer. Call Thomas. He would take her to a doctor.

  First things first. She needed her car keys. They were in her satchel. The satchel was in the library.

  Okay. That was easy. Go upstairs to the library and get the satchel.

  Step One, go through the door.

  What was it about that door, anyway? Then she remembered what Roberta had said that first day when she had given her a tour of Mirror House.

  My door is always open.

  But Roberta’s door was closed now. She noticed that an antique mirror hung on the back.

  It was an eight-sided, convex mirror framed in heavily worked, badly tarnished silver. Dragons, griffins and sphinxes cavorted and writhed at the edges of the dark glass. A phoenix decorated the top.

  Late eighteenth century, probably, Leonora thought. She was becoming a real expert, thanks to all the time she had spent in the library upstairs.

  She had seen this mirror illustrated in some book. She just couldn’t quite remember the title.

  The room wobbled a bit.

  She moved unsteadily to the desk and leaned on it, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

  When the world was stable again she found herself gazing into the old mirror.

  And quite suddenly, through the growing fog that was creeping through her mind, she remembered where she had seen a picture of this particular mirror.

  Page eighty-one of the Catalog of Antique Looking Glasses in the Mirror House Collection.

  It occurred to her that when Roberta was seated at her desk with her door closed the old looking glass would reflect her image.

  The face of a killer.

  That was the message that Bethany, hallucinating wildly from the effects of the drugs, had tried to leave behind when she had circled the drawing in the catalog.

  The room blurred again.

  Drugged. She had been drugged. Just like Bethany. Just like Meredith.

  She breathed deeply. The lines and angles of the room steadied again. She walked very carefully around the desk. With luck Julie would still be here. She would ask her to drive her home. Roberta would not be able to stop both of them.

  She did not look into the depths of the convex mirror when she reached the door. She was afraid of what she would see. She got the door open and went out into the hall.

  There was no sign of Julie or Roberta, but she heard voices somewhere in the distance, coming from the front hall. Too far away. She could not understand what was being said.

  But there was no mistaking the faint sound of the mansion’s front door closing.

  Julie was gone. Despair threatened to freeze her right where she stood. It would be so much simpler to just sit down here in the hall and close her eyes.

  You can’t sleep yet.

  Of course she couldn’t just sit down and go to sleep. What was wrong with her? She had to get out of here. She had only swallowed a few sips of that drugged coffee, not the whole cup. She could do this.

  Think.

  Okay. There would be no help from Julie. That meant she had to get herself out of here.

  Keys. She needed the keys to her car.

  She pushed through the panic and started down the corridor toward the main staircase.

  Footsteps echoed in the distance. Roberta was returning to her office.

  Hurry. Need to hurry. The library. Keys in the library.

  She was on the staircase now. One foot in front of the other.

  The risers were uneven. Some steps were too high. Others were too low. She gripped the banister with both hands and used it the way a mountain climber used ropes to haul herself up the face of a steep cliff.

  “Leonora?” Roberta’s voice came from downstairs. “Where are you? I see you finished all of the coffee. You must be feelin
g quite woozy by now.”

  Time was running out. Roberta was searching for her.

  She made it to the top of the staircase, but she had to stop for a few seconds to get her bearings. The hall of dark mirrors had become a wormhole, a twisting path into another universe. Panic injected a dose of adrenaline into her bloodstream.

  Forget the wormhole. Don’t think about the world on the other side of the mirror. You’re not going there. You’re just here to get your car keys.

  “It’s all right, Leonora. I’ll take you home.”

  The killer was on the staircase now.

  She staggered forward along the shifting hall. A reflection flickered in one of the dark looking glasses on her left. Her own face? Or one of the trapped ghosts laughing at her?

  No such thing as a ghost in a mirror. You’re a trained librarian. You don’t believe in ghosts. And you didn’t drink all of the damned coffee. Keep moving. You stop, you die.

  Resolutely she kept her eyes on the floor, counting doorways, not looking in any of the mirrors. The library was the fourth door on the left. She remembered that very clearly.

  “I’m sure the hallucinations are very bad by now, Leonora.” Roberta spoke from the top of the staircase. “I gave you a very large dose and the drug acts very swiftly. My husband invented it shortly before he died, you know.”

  Don’t listen. Count doors.

  “Dear George. He was really quite brilliant. But he never saw the full potential of his creation. I did, of course. I had to get rid of him. But first, I made him write down the formula. Quite simple, really, when you have the correct ingredients. Why, you can whip it up in your own kitchen.”

  She tried to tune out Roberta’s voice. She had to concentrate on counting doorways.

  Number two.

  Number three.

  Desperation turned her stomach to ice. The library was too far away. She would never make it before Roberta caught up with her.

  She staggered past the third door. It was getting harder and harder to avoid looking into the mirrors. And she was getting tired. So tired.

  An image glittered briefly in the gilded looking glass on the right. Unable to resist, she looked into its depths. She could not make out the reflection in the dark glass, but she heard words in her head. Words from a dream.

  You can’t sleep yet.

  Car keys.

  What good would it do to get her keys? She could never get past Roberta. She might as well just sit down here in the corridor and wait for the end.

  No. She couldn’t do that. She had a date for dinner with Thomas.

  The thought sent another surge of adrenaline through her, knocking back some of the drug’s effects.

  “The drug can be made in various strengths. The weaker versions create amazing hallucinations and cause a person to be quite suggestible. Stronger versions also produce hallucinations, but not for long. One gets very drowsy, very quickly.”

  Keep going. Keep moving.

  “I gave you the strong dose, of course. The same dose that I gave to Bethany Walker and Meredith Spooner.”

  She put one hand on the wall and turned her head. Roberta was coming toward her through the shadows. She had something in her hand.

  A gun.

  “You killed Rhodes,” Leonora whispered. The words were thick and cumbersome in her mouth. “You were the one Thomas and Deke saw running away that night.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Rhodes. Such a handsome man. He was the one who came up with a name for my hallucinogen. Smoke and Mirrors. I thought it was very creative. He said a good name was essential for proper marketing. Mirror House gave him the idea, I believe.”

  “How did he . . . how did he know about you? And the drug?”

  “He figured out that I was mixing up the drugs the night I pushed Bethany off that bluff.”

  “How did he know that you killed her?”

  “I was a trifle careless, I must admit. Alex was out running rather late in the evening. He passed by Mirror House just as I was getting Bethany into her car. He knew something was wrong. He followed me. Watched me push her off the cliff. The next day I very carefully planted the rumors of Bethany’s drug use. And Alex put it all together.”

  “He tried to blackmail you?”

  “No, no, dear. He offered to form a partnership. I was the manufacturer and supplier. He was the middleman who actually sold the product. He’d had experience in that line, you see, and I had none. Most of his transactions were with out-of-town clients, of course. Wing Cove is such a small community. He feared that if he sold too much locally, others would soon figure out that he was the source. But he couldn’t resist experimenting with it from time to time, especially on some of his female clients.”

  “Why . . . why did you kill him if the partnership worked?”

  “It was a lucrative arrangement for both of us, but when everything started to fall apart I knew I had to tidy up before I left town. Mr. Rhodes knew too much about me. I couldn’t let him live, now could I?”

  “Why . . . why did you kill Meredith Spooner?”

  “Because for some reason that I was never able to determine, she grew extremely curious about the circumstances of Sebastian Eubanks’s death.” Roberta frowned. “She somehow managed to link it with Bethany’s suicide. I simply don’t understand how she put it all together. But that is neither here nor there now, is it?”

  “Why did you feed that drug to me? You were in the clear after you shot Alex. No one was even suspicious of you.”

  Roberta’s hand tightened around the gun. “I really couldn’t leave town without punishing you, Leonora. I blame you for stirring things up here in Wing Cove. You very nearly ruined everything. You must pay for causing me so much trouble.”

  “Why are you okay?” Leonora whispered. “You drank the coffee, too. I saw you drink it.”

  Roberta chuckled. “The drug wasn’t in the coffee. It comes in the form of a powder, you see. I merely sprinkled a little in the bottom of your cup before I poured. It dissolves instantly.”

  There were other questions she needed to ask, but she couldn’t do it now. Time to prioritize. The first job was to survive. She had that dinner date with Thomas tonight. Couldn’t be late.

  For a very important date.

  Oh, damn. She was losing it fast here. Get a grip.

  She realized she was sliding down the wall. Fear lanced through her. She closed her eyes, summoned all of her will and straightened. She had to plant both palms on the wall to hold herself upright.

  When she opened her eyes she found herself gazing into another dark looking glass. It was framed in gilded wood.

  You can’t sleep yet.

  She reached out with both hands. Gripped the old mirror and lifted it off its hook. It was heavy.

  “Oh, my, whatever do you want with that?” Roberta said. “Put it down. We must be on our way.”

  She held on to the mirror, never looking away from the nearly opaque reflective surface. “Where are we going?”

  “Why, to your car, of course.”

  “So that I can fall asleep at the wheel the way . . . the way Meredith did?”

  “Sleep is what you want most now, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t sleep yet.”

  “Put the mirror down, Leonora.”

  She ignored the order. Staring into the mirror as though transfixed by her own image, she turned and staggered into the library.

  Roberta would not shoot her here unless she felt she had no choice, she thought. Blood in the library would be hard to explain.

  “The hallucinations must be very, very bad.” Roberta came to stand in the doorway. “Don’t you want to sleep now, Leonora? You should be very sleepy. Perhaps I didn’t get the mix quite right this time. It is unpredictable and I was in something of a hurry when I made up this batch. What with getting rid of Osmond Kern and Mr. Rhodes and handling all the details of the alumni reception, things have been quite hectic around here lately.”

  “Kern. How di
d you manage his suicide?”

  “Oh, that was no trouble at all. He was already quite drunk when I phoned him and told him that something important had come up and that he had to meet me at the boathouse. When I gave him some coffee to drink, he didn’t hesitate at all. Probably thought it would sober him up. But the effects of the drug are intensified with alcohol. I got him into the boat, took him out a ways into the Sound and pushed him overboard. Then I went back to shore and set the boat free.”

  “Thomas will know. If you kill me, he’ll find you.”

  “By the time the authorities have finished investigating your accident, I will be long gone, Leonora. A new name, a new identity, a new life. I have been planning it for several months. It is all in place.”

  “No.”

  Leonora dashed the heavy mirror against the metal upright of the nearest bookcase. The old glass fractured and shattered, breaking into a dozen tinkling, screaming shards. The jagged pieces of mirror bounced and skittered on the floor at her feet.

  “Now, see what you’ve done.” Roberta chuckled. “Seven years’ bad luck, I’m afraid. But the good news is that you won’t live long enough to worry about it.”

  Leonora crouched slowly, cautiously, one hand clutching the edge of a bookshelf to keep herself from toppling forward.

  “Oh, good, it’s finally hitting you,” Roberta said. “Come along now. On your feet. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to sleep soon enough.”

  Leonora said nothing. She was too busy staring at the glittering shards that littered the floor.

  “We’ve wasted enough time.” Roberta came toward her down the aisle formed by the bookcases. “You and I must take a little trip. Get up, Leonora. Do you hear me? Get up right now.”

  She stayed crouched near the floor, looking at the fragmented images of herself in the shards. The bits and pieces of her reflections gave a whole new meaning to the words pull yourself together, she thought.

  She started to giggle.

  “Stop it.” Roberta transferred the gun to her left hand, reached down, grasped Leonora’s upper arm. She was a large, strongly built woman. She did not expect to encounter any resistance from her drugged victim.