Shattered Mirror

by Iris Johansen

  “No, I can see that,” Cara said softly. “I don’t believe you let your mother take much away from either of you, Darcy.”

  “You’re wrong. But it could have been worse. Sylvie was happy.” Her face clouded. “Until she wasn’t. Until I couldn’t feel her any longer.”

  “And that was when the nightmares started?”

  She nodded. “A few weeks after I came to live at the residence. The first day, I could feel a kind of bewilderment from her that I didn’t understand; and then I couldn’t reach her. I called Felicity and she said that Sylvie was fine. She was just on a new medicine that was making her a little fuzzy. They were trying to adjust it. I called the sanitarium and they told me the same thing. So I thought it was okay.” She whispered, “But I was still scared. I felt so alone without her.”

  And perhaps that was the reason why a strong, sophisticated, Darcy had clung to Cara during these last months. “Evidently you should have been afraid for her,” Cara said gently. “You believe that’s when…” She hesitated on how to put it. “You lost her?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t reach Sylvie. My mother had told me she was going on a cruise, and I couldn’t get hold of her either. But the sanitarium kept giving me reports that Sylvie was getting better. I don’t know anything about this.” Her hand was nervously clutching and releasing the blanket covering her. “But I’ve got to find out, don’t I? Since I saw her this afternoon, I’ve been just trying to survive and face the idea I don’t have her any longer … that I’m alone. It’s … hard.”

  “I know it is.”

  “I never expected to have her with me always. She’s been ill all her life.” She looked out at the lake. “But she shouldn’t have had a year, a day, not even one moment stolen from her. And someone did that, Cara.” She said wonderingly, “A bullet? Why? If you could have known her … It would be like shooting a baby deer. There’s no sense to it.”

  “There are crazy people out there. Sense probably doesn’t enter into a crime like this.”

  “But I have to understand.” She pushed back her hair. “Felicity must have lied to me. And so did the sanitarium. Why?”

  “You don’t have to deal with this now. Give yourself a little time. Once I tell Joe what happened, he’ll be on it right away. He’ll get your answers for you.”

  “Will he? You trust him, so I have to trust him. But in the end, I’m the one who has to find Sylvie’s answers. I took care of her, I made certain I protected the joy that had been given to her when so much else had been taken away.” Her voice was unsteady. “So I have to take care of her in this one last way.” She drew a deep, shaky breath. “But maybe not just now. I seem to be falling apart again.” She sat up in the swing. “I’d better go back to bed and pull myself together to prepare for tomorrow when I have to face Eve … and Sylvie. I have to know what happened here. Will you pave the way for me?”

  “I’ll be there with you.”

  “No, it’s going to be difficult, and you’d try to spare me. I have to do it on my own.” She suddenly turned and gave Cara a fierce hug. “Thank you.” The words were muffled in Cara’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that I’ve caused you so much—” She released her and jumped to her feet. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She strode quickly into the house.

  Cara slowly got to her feet and stood looking out at the woods. Eve had told her that the man who had delivered the skull had stood out there watching the house before he’d made his move. He was not there now she knew. She trusted that Joe was keeping him far at bay, if he was out there in the darkness at all. But the answers that Darcy was going to get from Eve tomorrow about the reconstruction were going to be as upsetting as she thought it would be.

  Because it would include that man lurking in the darkness with her twin’s skull occupying that gold-foil box.

  But she would pave the way with Eve as Darcy had asked her to do. Tell her the tragic story of Sylvie that had not really been tragic until that bullet had taken her life. It had been the story of self-sacrifice and togetherness and finding joy in every moment. Eve would understand and be able to bond with Darcy even as she presented her with the terrible reality of Sylvie’s death and the puzzle that surrounded it.

  Puzzle.

  But there was another aspect of the puzzle she had to confront that she’d not confided to Eve. She’d been too bewildered and uncertain that there had been any connection.

  But she couldn’t take the chance.

  Call him now?

  No question.

  She took her phone out of the pocket of her robe and dialed quickly.

  Jock answered in two rings. “It’s three in the morning. What’s wrong?”

  “All sorts of things. It’s not what—”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” Of course that would be his first concern after last night. “It’s not me.”

  “Eve? Michael?”

  “No. Let me talk, Jock.”

  “Talk.”

  “I just didn’t want you to waste time searching for someone who was trying to kill me when maybe he wasn’t.”

  “Cara.”

  “That didn’t come out right. Or maybe it did. I’m tired, and my head is spinning. I’m trying to say that I might not have been the target last night. Maybe I just came into the suite at the wrong time. And perhaps when he found out that I wasn’t Darcy, that was the reason he didn’t finish the job and ran out.”

  “Darcy? You believe he was after Darcy? Why?”

  “I don’t know yet. And maybe it wasn’t me who was being watched. You didn’t find any evidence from your contacts in Moscow. It’s a possibility, right?”

  “Not nearly as possible as your being the target. Are you trying to find a reason why you should keep your promise to Kaskov?”

  “I don’t have to find a reason, the promise is the reason itself.” She paused. “And I didn’t even think of a threat to Darcy until I walked in and saw that skull, and even then it took me a little time to—”

  “Skull?” The word came cracking through the phone.

  “Sylvie’s skull.” She hurried through the explanation to ward off the storm she knew was on the horizon. “So you can see it would be too much of a coincidence to have a link like this to Darcy in the same week as the attack on me.”

  Silence. “I can also see no reason why that skull was delivered to Eve in Atlanta, Georgia, when Sylvie was presumably killed in Zurich, Switzerland. Unless Darcy’s mother lied about Sylvie’s still being at the sanitarium there. And why involve Eve at all … unless it was because you were sharing that suite with Darcy. So was she targeted, or were you?” He was silent again, and she could almost hear his mind ticking through all the possibilities. “I don’t like any of it. Too many variables. Too many unanswered questions. I think I liked it better when I had the option that I could just zero in on any of Kaskov’s enemies who popped up on the radar.”

  “I don’t,” Cara said. “And I don’t like it that a sick woman was murdered for God knows what reason. Or that Eve is involved, and I’m not certain if it’s my fault. Or that Darcy is going through the pain of losing her sister.”

  “And you’re identifying with her,” Jock said quietly.

  “Yes. I’m identifying with everyone. All of them are innocent, and I want it to go away for them. Why do you think I called you in the middle of the night? You’re my best friend, and I didn’t want to be alone with this. Tomorrow, I’ll have to be strong. Not tonight. So I’m reaching out.”

  “You’re not alone. I’ll always be here.”

  She closed her eyes. He had told her that before, but it was good to hear it again. Always. She wanted so desperately to believe it. She could almost see him, his face intent, smiling at her. “I know.” She drew a deep breath. “And now I’ll go to bed, and you’ll probably do nothing of the sort since I’ve set your mind to working.”

  “Good guess. But I will wait a couple hours before I call Quinn a
nd get together with him on contacting Sylvie’s sanitarium and to try reaching her mother.”

  “You’re calling Joe?” She paused. “I didn’t tell Eve about last night yet.”

  “Somehow, I thought it might have slipped your mind,” he said dryly. “I told you I was going to call him. There was no way I was going to let you go down there without Quinn’s knowing there was a threat.”

  “I was going to tell Eve soon. Too much was happening.”

  “I’ll accept that. I’ll just take care of it.”

  “Did you identify that fingerprint you pulled from the stairwell?”

  “Not yet. But I’ll get Quinn to push it through Interpol, and we’ll see what happens. He has a hell of a lot of contacts. By the time I get to Nice, he might have a name for me.”

  “Nice?”

  “You said that was where Felicity Jordan lives. I’ll be on a flight there this morning. That way I won’t have to rely on phones or secondhand information. I have to know what’s happening. I want this over quickly.”

  Jock was moving with lightning speed, Cara realized. Well, when did he ever do anything else when he was motivated? That easy, almost radiant, charisma was completely deceptive, and only existed when conditions were also easy and nonthreatening. She should have known that he’d take control when she’d picked up her phone tonight. And that was okay when it only concerned information gathering.

  It was not okay if she had to worry about his running into men like the one who had nearly throttled her last night. But her attacker was not in Nice, he was in New York. Jock might actually be safer in Nice. “You’ll be careful?”

  “I don’t believe an overambitious stage mother will pose a real threat to me. But I’ll promise to be especially careful of her.” His voice was suddenly gentle. “Go to sleep, Cara. I’ll call you later and let you know what’s happening. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” He hung up.

  She slid the phone back in her pocket. She had no more information than when she’d called Jock, and he was far more skeptical than she had been. Yet she felt warmer, less helpless, more able to cope than before she’d spoken to him.

  You’ll never be alone. I’ll always be here.

  If she was careful, if she didn’t demand too much, that could be true.

  She turned and headed for the door. And for now she still had people who cared about her. She was far luckier than Darcy, who had just lost the one person who had completed her.

  So reach out and help her. Show Darcy that she was not alone either …

  * * *

  There was someone in the room …

  It was all right.

  No one to fear …

  Darcy slowly opened her eyes. The room was dim, the first rays of dawn were streaming softly through the window and falling on the foot of the bed and the rocking chair against the far wall.

  And shining on the chestnut hair of the little boy who was sitting in that rocking chair. He smiled at her. “Hi, I’m Michael. Want to have breakfast with me? Mama’s not awake yet, and she doesn’t like me to use the stove if she’s not around. But she wouldn’t mind if you were around to help, in case I set myself on fire.” He chuckled. “That’s what she always says. No way are you going to set yourself on fire today, Michael.”

  Darcy shook her head to clear it. “I’m afraid that I’m not qualified in that department. I don’t cook. I usually stock my pantry with Apple Jacks cereal.” She noticed for the first time he was barefoot and dressed in blue-and-white-striped pajamas. “Shouldn’t you go back to bed? Maybe it’s too early for you to eat. And don’t you have to go to school or something?”

  “Saturday.” He stood up and headed for the door. “It’s not too early if you’re hungry. And it’s good that no one is up yet. Come on, Darcy.” He smiled coaxingly at her over his shoulder. “We’ll get to have breakfast with Sylvie.”

  He was gone.

  And she was lying there in total shock. It was the last thing that she’d expected the child to say, and he’d said it with complete naturalness and eagerness. Maybe it was totally natural when you were the son of a forensic sculptor of the stature of Eve Duncan. And that sculptor was Darcy’s hostess, whose son had just run out of here to whip up some breakfast when he’d been forbidden to do it on his own.

  Not a time to lie in bed.

  She threw off her blanket, grabbed her robe, and ran out of the room and down the hall toward the kitchen.

  “I don’t think we have Apple Jacks.” Michael’s head popped up from behind the counter, where he’d been going through the pantry. “Mama says all that sugar isn’t good for you. We have cornflakes. Is that okay?”

  “Fine.” And didn’t require cooking, or any fire hazard for either of them. “You get the milk out of the fridge, and I’ll get down bowls and find some spoons.”

  “That drawer beside you.” He was already at the refrigerator. “Let’s sit on the couch in the living room. It will be better in there.”

  “Whatever you say. Though I thought maybe the porch?”

  “Not this morning.” His luminous smile lit his face. “Okay?”

  She had an idea that women were going to say okay to this heartbreaker for the rest of his life. “I was thinking your mother might not like us to risk the mess.”

  “No mess. We’ll be careful.” He was carrying his bowl into the living room. “Come on. It’s better…”

  “Whatever.” She found herself settling herself on the couch and dipping her spoon into the cereal. “How did you know what my name was, Michael?”

  “My dad told me when he took me to Burger King last night. He said not to bother you because you were sad and needed some time.” He put down his bowl and spoon on the coffee table. “But I knew you needed to have breakfast.”

  “It was nice of you to think of me.” She added dryly, “At five in the morning.”

  “It had to be early.” He was moving across the living room toward Eve’s worktable. “She’s beautiful with the sun touching her. I wanted you to see her.”

  She went rigid as she saw the little boy reaching across the pedestal toward the reconstruction. “I don’t think your mother would like you to touch—”

  Too late. He’d pulled the black velvet cloth from the reconstruction and tossed it on the pedestal. He turned and ran back to the couch. “See. The sunlight comes in that window and it makes her…” He started to eat his cereal. “You know.”

  Yes, she knew. Darcy stared, breathless. The diffused glow of light was forming an aureole around Sylvie’s head, highlighting every feature and making the skin appear to be illuminated from within. She had never seen Sylvie look more beautiful or more sharply defined and full of vitality. This wasn’t the look of the dreamer or the butterfly Darcy had known through the years. This was … different.

  “Your cornflakes are getting soggy,” Michael said.

  The pragmatic statement made her jerk her gaze away from Sylvie to Michael. His expression seemed sober, but was there the faintest hint of mischief in his face? Six years old. It had to be imagination. “How did you know that she’d look like this, Michael?”

  “I came out early sometimes when Mama was working on her. She didn’t look this good all the time, until Mama fixed her, but I liked looking at her anyway. And I think she liked me being here. But she’ll like your company better.”

  “Because we’re twins?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because she’ll like you knowing how good she’s been fixed.”

  “By your mother?” Darcy nodded. “She’s certainly done a wonderful job.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I told Mama the inside was already fixed, so all she had to do was the outside. But she matched it really good, didn’t she? Anyway, I thought that you’d like to have breakfast with Sylvie. And maybe she’d like it, too.” He scooted back on the couch and took another bite of cereal. “Was I right?”

  It was totally bizarre sitting here on this couch with this strange, endearing child who took
it for granted that she’d want to get up at the crack of dawn to have breakfast with a skull named Sylvie. Who spoke not of murder but of fixing, healing, and how Sylvie would want her to know that healing had taken place. It had not even occurred to him that there could be darkness, not sunlight, in what he’d shown her.

  Because there wasn’t any darkness.

  “You were absolutely right, Michael.” Darcy sat back and ate her cereal, completely comfortable to be here with the sun shining brilliantly on Sylvie. For some reason, it seemed to be the right place to be at the right time. “Now tell me what you’re doing at school. And then I’ll tell you what a fantastic star I’m going to be someday. Not as big as your Cara, but then she’s really one of those once-in-a-lifetime talents, and I’ve only got a terrific voice and star quality. But that will be enough, don’t you—”

  * * *

  “Michael, what have you been doing?” Eve stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips and trying to look stern. It wasn’t working. She was too relieved to see that Darcy was no longer the broken woman she’d been the afternoon before. She was still pale, but she appeared subdued but normal. “I’m sorry, did he wake you, Darcy? How long have you been up?”

  “Only a couple hours.” Darcy smiled at Michael. “We were just getting to know each other. Only somehow it ended up with me talking entirely too much about myself…” Her eyes went to the reconstruction across the room. “And Sylvie.”

  And nothing was healthier, Eve thought. Bless Michael. “I’m sure my son slipped in quite a lot about himself.” She looked at the empty cereal bowls. “I see you’ve had a light breakfast. Would you care to have something more substantial? Joe is going to take Michael to karate practice this morning, and he probably shouldn’t eat too—”

  “Karate,” Darcy repeated. She made the connection. “Gary.”