Mirror, Mirror

by Linda Randall Wisdom

  She wouldn’t take it the wrong way. She knew just how strong the bond between her parents had been. She envied them their love, but knew she never lacked for love of her own. Now her mother lay in a hospital bed, her mind trapped in a frail body. How sad her body could never keep up with her mind. And now, her mind had trouble even keeping up with her body. Every time Dana sat with her, she silently willed her mother to come back to her. To be with her.

  She looked upward. “Do you know if she’s awake?”

  “I’m sorry, dear. She had a difficult afternoon. She just dropped off to sleep about an hour ago.” Harriet kept an arm around her. “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll fix you something to eat. We can go upstairs afterward to see if she’s awake.”

  As the housekeeper guided her toward the kitchen, Dana purposely pushed her troubles out of her mind. For the next hour or so, she would let Harriet fuss over her and she would pretend nothing had changed.

  Time enough to worry when she left the house.

  Mac stared as the pages slid into the printer’s paper tray.

  Funny how words could change a person’s life.

  The report he was printing would tell a woman that her husband wasn’t her husband, after all. She might have the marriage license and the wedding video, but her alleged husband had a secret she knew nothing about. He had a wife living in another city. A wife he’d married some years before.

  She’d come to him because she feared her husband was having an affair and she needed to know the truth. Mac normally didn’t like following errant husbands. It never seemed to do any good, only bringing pain to the one needing to know. Except, she was so young, so vulnerable that he felt as if he’d kick a puppy if he gave her a flat no. He also didn’t want her looking for another private investigator and ending up with one with few scruples. So he followed the man who held an executive position in a medical supply corporation. Mac soon learned the man traveled extensively between two offices. That way he could stay part of the time with wife number one. Mac did some nosing around and learned that wife number one believed he had to travel a great deal. Wife number one gave him a boy and a girl. Wife number two was currently five months pregnant with their first child.

  Mac ran two copies of his report, which included the two marriage certificates and information about the first wife, who was also the legal wife. He’d leave it up to wife number two how she wanted to handle this problem. He knew he wouldn’t mind escorting the man straight to jail. This wasn’t going to be pleasant either way. He sensed she had an inner core she was probably unaware of just now, but it would appear when needed. She’d need that and more in the coming months. He figured wife number one wouldn’t waste any time in throwing the man in jail for bigamy. Jailhouse orange would replace his expensive suits, and a sheriff’s van, his fancy Cadillac.

  “Some guys think they can have it all,” he muttered, putting the stacks of sheets in two separate manila envelopes.

  “Don’t all men think they can have it all?”

  Mac looked up to find Dana standing in the doorway of his office.

  “Ms. Madison.” He nodded toward his extra chair. “Have a seat.”

  She stared at the envelopes on his desk. “A soon-to-be-satisfied client?”

  “Probably not,” he said cryptically. “What do you think of this?” He turned around and pulled an envelope off the top of the shelf behind him. He tossed it onto the desk next to the envelope. The contents spilled out. The bright pink lace lay there mocking her.

  Dana eyed the bag as if it would reach out and bite her. She looked up with her jaw jutting forward and eyes the hard color of cobalt marbles.

  “You didn’t tell me you found anything.”

  “I didn’t think I needed to. Maybe I’m wrong, but I had a hunch it didn’t belong to you. Didn’t look your style.”

  She pulled in a sharp breath that stabbed at her midsection. She sat still but her body vibrated with the fury she felt inside. No matter what she said, his excuse would be that he’d told her he wanted to inspect her house. She just hadn’t realized it meant going through all her personal belongings, too.

  “I would like to read the report now.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her crisp order.

  “How do you spend your nights, Ms. Madison?”

  She laughed, a harsh humorless sound. “That’s what I hired you to find out.”

  “Humor me.” He leaned back in his chair, fingers laced, hands resting against his flat belly. “What did you do three nights ago after you left your office?”

  Dana took a deep breath as she thought back. “I left my office early. I stopped at the Valley cleaners. Then I dropped by Flora’s bakery for a loaf of my favorite bread. After that, I went straight home. My housekeeper had left a casserole in the oven for me. I ate my dinner while watching the evening news, set my dishes in the dishwasher and called my mother’s house. She has great difficulty speaking since her stroke, so I spoke to her nurse. I finished a book I’d been reading the past few nights, had a glass of wine and went to bed.” Her smile was faintly mocking. “My, my Mr. McKenna. I seem to be doing your work for you. Was that exciting enough for you or do you want to know what brand of toothpaste I use?”

  His reply wiped the smile off her face.

  “Three nights ago, your bedroom light went out at 12:03. At 12:26, you backed out of your garage and drove downtown. You were dressed in a skirt that was up to your navel, a strapless top that could have doubled as a Band-Aid and come-hither high heels. You headed for the Crystal Tree Lounge, which is known for its ‘interesting clientele.’ There, you met up with a character named Big Al. Big Al’s a long-haul truck driver from Little Rock. The two of you drank tequila shooters until two a.m., when the bartender announced last call. You somehow found a liquor store that was still open. You bought a bottle of tequila and headed over to the Mayfield Motel. Room six. Not exactly the Hyatt, but they don’t ask any questions about lack of luggage.

  “The two of you played the horizontal mambo until about five, when you left good ol’ Big Al and drove back home. I gotta give you credit, Ms. Madison. I saw you that morning and you looked about as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, pardon the pun, as any woman I’ve seen. You had one hell of a busy evening and didn’t even suffer a hangover. I’d sure like to know what vitamins you take. Then you pretty much went through the same routine night before last. That time with a guy named Bud.

  “I also gotta say your community’s so-called private security patrol is a joke. They drove past your house twice and didn’t seem to think it odd that a strange man was parked along a side street for most of the night. I want you to get a security system ASAP.”

  Dana stared at Mac as if she’d never seen him before. Her pinpoint pupils and labored breathing warned him she was going into shock.

  “You’re lying,” she whispered between stiff lips. Her eyes lit upon the envelope. She picked it up and tore the papers out. After she scanned the pages, she shoved them back into the envelope. She dropped her hands back into her lap.

  Mac remained quiet, preferring to study her reaction. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but this quiet show of pain wasn’t it. Maybe because he was used to his female clients picking up whatever was handy and throwing it at him while screaming that he was scum.

  A lone tear made its way down her cheek. She did nothing to stop it.

  He had to break the silence. Concentrating on business at hand seemed the best way. He felt if he offered any word of comfort, she would shatter.

  “Did you keep a log of your mileage like I told you to?”

  She nodded jerkily. She took a deep breath and reached into her bag. She pulled out a small book and laid it on the desktop.

  Mac picked it up and leafed through the pages. The mornings that listed a different mileage than the night before coincided with the nights he’d followed her. He handed back the book, which she promptly returned to her bag. She stared at him as if knowing it wasn’t over. Bu
t her gaze also accused him.

  He hated to think how she’d react to his next piece of evidence. He pulled a photograph out of his drawer and tossed it on top.

  Dana’s eyes didn’t leave the damning photo. She looked defeated and physically ill as she gripped the desk edge.

  The woman in the photo was her. Yet not her.

  Mac remembered when he’d taken the photo. She was exiting a motel room. Her clothing was minimal, the kind a woman would wear if she worked standing on a street corner. Her hair was mussed and the look on her face was that of a woman very satisfied with herself.

  Dana refused to believe what she saw.

  “No,” she whispered, feeling the raw pain tear through her limbs. “No.”

  Mac pushed back his chair and stood up. He grabbed the battered brown leather jacket off the file cabinet and shrugged into it.

  “Come on,” he said abruptly.

  She stared at him, baffled by his order.

  “There’s only one thing the body needs in matters like this.” He walked over to her and grasped her arm, pulling her to her feet. He kept hold of her hand as he left the office and closed and locked the door behind him.

  “Are you saying you think you need to feed me?” she demanded, straining to pull away, but she could have been fighting a tree for all the attention he gave her.

  He flashed her a sideways look as he pushed the elevator call button.

  “Hell, no, we’re going to get a drink.”

  Chapter 3

  “A bar. Of course. Is this a man’s idea of a cure for all ills?” Dana looked around the darkened interior. She wrinkled her nose at the faint hint of smoke. She wouldn’t be surprised if most of the occupants ignored the no smoking signs posted on the walls. “Go to a dark bar and let alcohol solve all his problems.”

  “Not all his problems. Just the important ones. Thanks, Taffy.” Mac smiled at a voluptuous waitress wearing two circles of multicolored glitter and a G-string, as she deposited a bottle of beer in front of him and a filled wineglass in front of Dana.

  “Anytime, hon.” Her smoky voice fit the atmosphere. “You want to just run a tab?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you get us two of Barney’s cheeseburgers and some onion rings.” He looked Dana’s way. “Want barbecue sauce or chili on your burger? Either is guaranteed to put hair on your…” His eyes fastened on her chest. “Then again, maybe you don’t need it.”

  “I’ll have the barbecue sauce, please,” she told Taffy. “Do you have any salads?”

  The waitress’s friendly laughter was as smoky as her voice. “Nope, sorry, hon. Can you honestly see a salad bar in here?” She moved away.

  Dana picked up her glass and drank down half her wine.

  “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? In fact, probably more than one. You thought I’d be embarrassed to be in a bar. Or that I’d refuse to eat a cheeseburger. Your test seems to have backfired.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I was hoping the place would jog your memory.”

  Dana looked around again. Scarred wooden tables and chairs that could have been there since the Second World War. A bar along one wall, fluorescent advertisements for various beers and one light sculpture that was definitely X-rated. She was positive the woman in the picture would be at home in this place.

  She wondered vaguely if the waitresses ever got cold in their scanty attire, but noticed the customers treated them with respect. She was positive it had more to do with the burly-looking man standing behind the bar than good manners. She’d learned quickly that the jukebox didn’t play anything past 1972, and that anyone drinking too much was escorted outside to a cab paid for by the bar. The bartender tagged the car keys with the customer’s name and placed them in a locked box.

  This neighborhood bar knew its customers and did what was possible to keep them safe.

  John McKenna was obviously a regular here, since many greeted him by name. She felt the looks of curiosity directed her way, but he didn’t introduce her to anyone as he guided her toward a table in the rear.

  “Mr. McKenna—” she began.

  “Mac.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mac.” He tipped the bottle toward his lips. “Mr. McKenna’s my old man and we’ve never exactly been on speaking terms.”

  She took a sip of wine, more to reorganize her thoughts than to quench a thirst. “What do you think it is? Sleepwalking? Split personality?” Neither possibility sounded plausible. But she wanted a reason, any reason, to explain the insanity she’d just read about.

  “Either of those is up to a doctor, and you don’t seem to want to check it out that way.” He rolled the bottle between his palms. “All I know is what I saw. Sorry I couldn’t have taken more pictures. Of course, most of them couldn’t have been taken to your local photo shop.”

  She felt heat brush across her cheeks. She couldn’t have done any of those horrible things, could she? If she had, why wouldn’t she remember events such as he’d described to her?

  She automatically murmured her thanks when Taffy set a red plastic basket in front of her. It was filled with the largest cheeseburger she’d ever seen. A separate plate loaded with onion rings the size of dessert plates was set down between them.

  The aroma tempted her into carefully picking up the cheeseburger and taking an experimental bite. The almost narcotic rush of medium-rare hamburger and melted cheese along with the tangy bite of barbecue sauce jump-started her appetite. A second bite quickly followed, and she snatched an onion ring. She ate as if she hadn’t consumed anything in days.

  “You can’t have seen me,” she said, once half her cheeseburger was eaten. “Maybe you were looking at a neighbor’s house and thought you were looking at mine. That picture was taken in the middle of the night. It could have been someone who looked like me.”

  Mac shook his head. He held up a hand as he chewed and swallowed. “Sorry, sweetheart, you can lie to yourself all you want, but the story won’t change. There weren’t any mistakes. The houses on your block are too far apart to mix up your house with a neighbor’s. Plus, your closest neighbor is a sixty-year-old man with a bad-tempered bulldog who appears to be blind in one eye. The other neighbor is a scholarly type who cusses out the bulldog when he goes out to get the morning paper. No way either one of them could have gotten away with the outfit I saw.”

  She swallowed her food and hoped it wouldn’t come back up.

  “Was that the only time?” she whispered, pushing her food away.

  “Nope. The next night was pretty much the same.” He eyed her unfinished burger. “You going to finish that?”

  She shook her head and gestured for him to feel free. He did.

  “Do you think it will happen again?”

  “You said things were going on before you hired me. Since they haven’t stopped, I’d say it will.”

  Mac stared at her stricken features. He called out to Taffy and waited until she returned with a glass of club soda. He picked up Dana’s wineglass and handed it to the waitress. He waited until Dana took several sips of the soda.

  “My father dies, I suddenly have to placate clients who don’t want to negotiate with the daughter, my mother has a stroke that has left her without speech and unable to take care of herself. Now I have this to deal with,” she murmured, more to herself. “Maybe I should have seen a doctor instead of hiring you. I’m certain he would have suggested a vacation in a quiet, out-of-the-way place with a friendly staff.” She took a deep breath. “But leaving town won’t make this go away. I have to know.”

  Mac nodded. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but seeing a doctor might be a good idea. Have a checkup from top to bottom. Ease your mind, if nothing else. I’ve heard of people sleepwalking. Practically living another life without being aware of it.”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t disagreeing with his idea, just shaking her head as she thought about the events of the past hour.

  “Why do you think all this is happening?�
� he asked. “For most women going through this kind of harassment, it usually has to do with an old boyfriend who wasn’t happy about being dropped. They want to get even, and that way is to scare the hell out of the woman.”

  She shook her head again.

  “Then you won’t mind if I check it out further?” Mac polished off the last onion ring. “It never hurts to cover all the bases.”

  “No, I won’t mind,” she murmured.

  “Anything else?” Taffy asked, gathering up the baskets and Mac’s empty beer bottle.

  Mac cocked an eyebrow, silently questioning Dana. She shook her head.

  “Tell Barney all of it was great,” he said. He picked up the bill against Dana’s protests. “Don’t worry, I’ll just tack it on my expenses.”

  “Hey, Mac, don’t forget Duffy!” the bartender called out in a rusty voice.

  “Like he’ll let me.” Mac stood up and walked around, pulling Dana’s chair out for her. He guided her toward the front of the bar, then stopped and opened a door off to the side. A loud woof greeted him as a dog, as tall as the man, stood on his hind legs. He washed Mac’s face with a tongue as broad as a beach towel. Dana stood back, afraid the monster would attack her next. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless,” he assured her, pushing the dog down onto all fours. “Trouble is, he thinks he’s a lap dog.” He snapped a leash onto the dog’s collar and headed for the door with the St. Bernard leading the way. He raised his hand in farewell to the remaining customers.

  “I would have thought you’d have a rottweiler or a German shepherd.” Dana kept a wary distance from the dog, who stopped to sniff the building’s exterior before lifting his leg.

  “Duffy was on death row at the shelter,” he explained. “Seems his previous owner didn’t like him chewing all his shoes.”

  “You didn’t worry about him chewing yours?”

  “Not after I sprinkled them with cayenne pepper. He’s good company on a stakeout.”