The False Mirror

by Dana V. Moison

  Jacob’s big, rugged hand delicately gathered the misplaced strands and moved them behind her ear. His touch was warm and gentle, not as she had expected.

  He moved closer so their noses almost touched. Jacob kept looking at her. She could feel his wine-ridden breath fluttering at her lips.

  She wondered if he could feel her breathing as well.

  She turned her head away abashedly. “I have a boyfriend,” she mumbled.

  “Why am I not surprised.”

  He pulled away and lifted himself off the couch. “Well, we have a long day ahead of us, and it’s getting late.” His eyes fixed on the little hand of the clock, which had just passed the number two. “We better get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, we should . . .” repeated Sharon, slightly confused. The official, businesslike tone of speech threw her off balance. Was it possible that she had imagined everything?

  Just when she started wondering to herself if red wine can cause hallucinations or delirium, her eyes were captured by Jacob’s gaze as he turned to the bedroom.

  “One lucky guy, your boyfriend,” he said right before he disappeared behind the door.

  CHAPTER 41

  September 19, 2013. Fairland, Oklahoma

  Becky and Justin were sitting at the dining table, devouring banana and chocolate chip pancakes. The kitchen looked as if a tornado had gone through it, with banana peels and splatters of the sticky batter scattered everywhere. Luckily for them, Justin’s mother was at a social event with her work that was expected to run late, so there was plenty of time to erase any evidence of the homemade chaos that had transpired in her precious kitchen.

  “Whoever said pancakes weren’t healthy?” wondered Justin as he took another bite. “They have carbs, calcium, and even potassium, thanks to the bananas,” he added with a triumphant smile.

  “A balanced breakfast, indeed,” said Becky and raised her glass of strawberry milkshake. “Cheers!”

  Justin laughed and clinked his glass with hers. “It’s almost dinner time, but what the hell? Cheers!”

  They looked into each other’s eyes and let the quietude of dusk envelope them. The flight to New York was scheduled to leave in a few hours. There was no way of telling when they would get to see each other again.

  Becky opened her mouth as if she meant to say something, but her cell phone vibrated and prevented her from starting the sentence. She studied the name on the screen for a few seconds before answering.

  “Hi, Uncle Jake,” she said softly. She could sense the tears welling up.

  Justin looked at Becky keeping quiet for most of the conversation, beside a few feeble yeses and some nods that the listener from the other side of the line couldn’t see. When she hung up, she looked at him and said almost whispery, “He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

  Exactly twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Justin and Becky walked hand in hand toward the door. Justin placed his hand on the doorknob, but before turning it, he pulled Becky closer to him and kissed her.

  “I’ll miss you, Becks.”

  “I miss you already.”

  Justin opened the door with his one hand while the other still held Becky’s hand. Jacob was standing in the entrance; his forehead was furrowed with lines of worry, and on his face was the expression of a man who hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a long time.

  “Hi, kids,” he tried to crack a smile. He looked at Becky, “It’s time.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  “It’s good to see you, Justin.” He shook his hand before he turned around and left.

  Sharon watched the young couple while Jacob headed back to the car, his back turned to them. Becky tiptoed to embrace the tall boy, and he, in response, lifted her up in the air and held her tight. Eventually, he released his grip. She kept her arms around him for another moment before she let go and marched to the car. Sharon noticed her glistening tears under the warmth of the Southern sun.

  The drive to the airport was particularly quiet. Jacob was driving, his gaze focused solely on the road, while Sharon was sitting in the passenger seat. She glanced behind her at Becky in the back seat, who was looking out the window at the familiar view she was leaving once again. She was wearing headphones, which, to the best of Sharon’s knowledge, were the universal leave-me-alone signal for teenagers. The radio played old songs that made Sharon hum along nostalgically, and she reached her hand out to turn the volume up. She couldn’t stand this awkward silence.

  Ever since last night, she and Jacob hadn’t said a word to each other, except for brief and concise conversations regarding the upcoming flight. Sharon wasn’t quite sure how to handle the tension between them or how to conduct herself. Not only that, but she was about to report to Ray Helborgen, the infamous mobster, that the two million dollars hadn’t been found, and to top it off, she still needed to show some progress in solving the most high-profile murder case in the past year. Well, yeah, perhaps it made sense that she felt a bit nervous.

  Even very nervous.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jacob smiling, his head not straying from the road. She wondered to herself what could possibly make the tough marshal crack a smile when she realized she was singing aloud – pretty loudly – to the song Sweet Home Alabama. She immediately stopped, but not before Jacob had given her an amused stare for a split second and returned his gaze to the road. Sharon turned her head to the window, trying to stifle her laughter, while Jacob was doing the exact same thing. They didn’t dare look at each other for the rest of the drive to the airport, but they were smiling the entire way.

  CHAPTER 42

  September 20, 2013. JFK Airport, New York

  He watched her enter the arrival hall. She was wearing navy blue skinny jeans and a white tank-top, partially covered with a bluish-gray cardigan. Her lustrous hair fell over her shoulders and enveloped her face – which now seemed a bit fatigued – with a golden aura. Her ocean-green eyes were searching for the exit sign when she noticed him. He responded with a graceful head tilt that pushed away a few strands of dark hair from his eyes – now gazing at her with a sparkle of excitement – and waved. She immediately advanced toward him, leaving behind the impressive man and the sixteen-year-old girl who accompanied her.

  “Chris! What are you doing here?” she asked as a big smile spread across her face.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him. “I missed you,” he said softly and kissed her.

  “I missed you, too.” Sharon curled up in his arms. “You probably had to wake up before sunrise to get here on time,” she added. “You really didn’t have to.”

  “But I wanted to.” He tightened his embrace.

  “Sharon, we’ll head out now. Thank you for everything,” she suddenly heard Jacob’s voice. She instantly disengaged from Chris’s hug and hoped he didn’t notice that her smile had momentarily faded.

  “Chris, I’d like you to meet Jacob Stanton. He’s the marshal who’s been working with me,” she introduced them. “And Becky, of course,” she added quickly.

  The two men shook hands with such determination that it reminded Sharon of opposing politicians. She felt a slight discomfort at this spectacle of testosterone and flashed an awkward grin. She looked at her boyfriend, throwing a suspecting stare at the marshal, keeping no more than a tight-lipped smile – and then it hit her: Chris hadn’t come to pick her up from the airport just because he missed her.

  He was jealous.

  A slight feeling of anger began to take over her. Did her boyfriend distrust her so much that he just had to come and check out the “competition” himself? Her fingers began to stretch agitatedly but quickly returned to their natural loose state.

  She had no justification to be mad at Chris. He had every reason to be jealous even if nothing had happened between her and Jacob.

  “You’re awfully quiet, is everything all right?”

  Sharon and Chris were on their way back to Manhattan. Her head was turned to
the window, just like on the drive to the airport with Jacob – only now, it wasn’t awkward tension, but rather guilt that was chewing on her from within.

  “Yeah, sorry, I guess I’m just tired.”

  “Too tired for sweet and sour chicken with eggrolls on the side?”

  Sharon’s neck lifted at once, and she turned to him with a wide smile, “You read me like an open book.”

  After a slight detour to their favorite Chinese restaurant for an early bird lunch takeout, the couple arrived at the tiny-yet-cozy apartment in Downtown Manhattan. When Sharon took out her keys, Chris noticed the Cherokee rose he had given her before she left for Oklahoma.

  “Sharon, I’m such an idiot.”

  Sharon turned the key and opened the door wide. “What is it this time?” she asked teasingly.

  “I was jealous.”

  “About what?” She was having trouble removing the key, which always got stuck in the lock, with a silent refuse to be released.

  “That marshal, Jacob.”

  The key was dislodged and fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Sharon didn’t look up.

  “I don’t know why I let it get into my head; after all, it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve worked closely with another man.”

  Sharon came in first and Chris closed the door behind them. She placed the take-out bags on the table, her back still turned to him. Eventually, she took a deep inhale and turned around. She had to tell him the truth, that his instincts were right about Jacob.

  But as soon as she looked into his eyes, she melted.

  “You have no reason to be jealous, Chris,” she shook her head resolutely. “I would never do that to you.” She placed her hand on her chest and felt her heart pounding. Would she live up to her word?

  Chris pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I know,” he rested his forehead on top of hers and looked deep into her eyes. They stayed that way for a while and then sat down to eat.

  CHAPTER 43

  September 21, 2013. Manhattan, New York

  Sharon sat behind her work desk at the Midtown South Precinct, her head buried between her hands. Her right elbow rested on a pile of papers while her left elbow slightly touched her coffee mug, decorated with the writing: Yes, I’m an addict, now can I have more coffee?

  A gift from Chris.

  “Keep up the good work, Davis. It’s good to know the taxpayer’s dime isn’t going to waste,” she heard Rob’s snarky tone of voice behind her.

  “Whoever said that all roads lead to Rome? No matter what I do, I reach a dead end,” she voiced in frustration.

  “Tracy Navarro?” The sarcastic note in his voice trailed away.

  “Who else?”

  “I thought there was some good progress after you found the photo of that necklace from the potential suspect on her Instalram account.”

  “Instagram,” chuckled Sharon as she corrected him. “I thought so, too.” Her forehead creased as her face took on a serious expression. “I thought I could trace whoever bought the necklace through the purchase details; but according to the records from Tiffany, it was paid for in cash. We have no way of tracing him. Game over.”

  “You’re right, that’s it.”

  Sharon raised her head and glared at Rob with astonishment. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? We can’t let this son of a bitch get away with murder! We have to do something!” Her voice began to climb upwards.

  She didn’t notice the subtle grin that crept over his face.

  “. . .That’s it, I’m going to Tiffany’s; someone there might remember something. I’m not giving up!” She rose up and thumped the table with her hands, exactly where her elbows had sunk desperately just minutes ago. “And you,” she turned a sharp gaze to her captain, “since when do you give up so easily? As my commander, you should encourage me to do everything in my power to . . .”

  Now she already noticed Rob was grinning from ear to ear. He provoked her, and it worked.

  “Damn it,” she flashed a smile. She sipped the rest of the cold coffee from the mug on her desk and made her way toward the exit. “I’ll report in two hours!” she called while marching forward in determined, quick steps.

  “Good luck, Davis,” Rob said quietly. He knew Sharon couldn’t hear him, but he still meant it.

  ***

  “Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Sharon was talking to one of the Tiffany & Co. sales representatives, showing her the Instagram photo of the spectacular piece of jewelry. According to the records at Tiffany’s, only one of these necklaces was purchased during a period corresponding to the upload date of the photo. Sharon desperately hoped that maybe one of the salespeople would remember something about whoever had bought this expensive necklace, priced at four thousand dollars. On the other hand, this was the most prestigious jewelry store in the city – presumably the world – so perhaps these kinds of high-amount purchases didn’t stand out.

  “Okay, thank you for your time.”

  Sharon left the store and arrived straight onto the busy boulevard. She stood in the middle of the sidewalk and looked around: skyscrapers, cars on the road, fancy shops next to street stands. It was a somewhat ironic reality that a Hermes scarf that cost a small fortune and its five-dollar pashmina knockoff were sold just a few feet from each other, separated by a pair of extravagant doors with the name of a high-end brand engraved at the entrance.

  Perhaps this was exactly her problem: the fact that she was branded as a police officer invading the privacy of the store’s precious customers. No one working on commission would want their customers to think they were gossiping. Even if someone did remember something, it wouldn’t be easy getting this information out of them.

  Sharon stood there for a while, trying to calculate her next step. She couldn’t go back inside after already identifying herself as a police officer. This course of action had turned out to be fruitless. If she tried to obtain a court order for the store’s security tapes – which, in the current state of evidence, wouldn’t get approved so easily – it would take time, without any guaranties that she could identify the buyer. After all, it was very possible that the suspect had taken precautions to disguise his identity, as evidenced by the cash payment. No. What she needed was inside information from one of the workers. That would be the most promising lead. But it didn’t seem like anyone was too thrilled about talking to her. So, what the hell was she supposed to do now?

  The passersby on Fifth Avenue were in constant motion, having trouble dealing with the young woman standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. People bumped into her and kept walking as if they had just stumbled over an insignificant obstacle and not an actual human being. She felt lost.

  Another vibration passed through her body, but this time it wasn’t the product of an external impact; rather, it came from the pocket of her jacket. The screen displayed an unfamiliar number. Sharon hoped it wasn’t Helborgen – she and Jacob hadn’t had a chance to formulate a substantiated plan in this area. Since the night they spent together in Fairland, she preferred to keep her distance. On the other hand, if she were to answer the phone, and it turned out to be Helborgen calling her private number listed under her real name, she would be in a much worse situation – plan or no plan.

  “Hello?”

  “Detective Davis, this is Will McKenzie.”

  Sharon was caught off guard. With everything that had happened in the last few days, she had completely forgotten about the existence of the handsome millionaire chasing after her.

  Well, as much as it was possible to forget something like that.

  “Hey, Will. How are you?” Sharon tried to recover and take control of the conversation.

  “Everything’s great. The question is how are you?”

  “Ah, I’m good . . .” she replied, not entirely sure if there was a hidden agenda behind the so-called innocent question.

  “It’s j
ust that I was worried when you didn’t join me for dinner . . .”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I was out of town this week. And, as I mentioned in our previous conversation, I’m spoken for.”

  “I didn’t invite you out on a date, just for dinner,” he insisted. “How about tonight?”

  Stubborn as a mule, Sharon noted to herself as a little smile crept to her lips. She opened her mouth to politely decline, but then she thought of something brilliant.

  “How about lunch instead?”

  CHAPTER 44

  September 21, 2013. Manhattan, New York

  Sharon couldn’t help but notice the black limousine that stopped at the corner of 57th Street and Fifth Avenue. Will McKenzie slid out of it, wearing a stunning tailored suit that probably cost more than a month’s rent – which was already too damn high. He reminded her of Mr. Big from Sex and the city.

  Chris was right; I really am starting to feel like Carrie-fucking-Bradshaw.

  “Detective Sharon Davis, finally I get to have the pleasure of meeting you in person.” He flashed a smile that revealed his pearly whites, along with a set of mischievous dimples that adorned his tanned skin.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Will.” She extended her hand for a shake as if she were encountering a work colleague.

  “It’s certainly a pleasure.” He held her hand and didn’t let go, staring deeply into her eyes. There was something mesmerizing about him.

  Sharon could easily understand how he’d been selected as New York’s most eligible bachelor.

  “You’re too beautiful to be a cop.”

  “And you’re too banal for an entrepreneur known for his innovative projects.” She sent him a teasing smile that could have easily starred in a Colgate commercial.