Mirror Image (Capitol Chronicles Book 4)

by Shirley Hailstock

  He pulled the squat, silver, hot food truck up to the guard window, making sure it was close enough so that the guard couldn't take more than one step out of the door.

  "Hey," he called. "You must be Finch." He extended his hand. "From Smiley's description you couldn't be anyone else." The guard took his hand and shook it. "I'm Ernest. I'll be filling in for Smiley today. His back is out. You know."

  "That ole back problem again," the guard acknowledged.

  "I told him to see a doctor, but you know Smiley." He looked at him, knowing that by the end of today he would no longer have a job.

  The other man, in his fifties with silver hair, wore a white shirt with gold epaulets on the shoulders and a patch on the sleeve denoting the Princeton Security System.

  "I told him more times than I can remember to get that back seen to. I know how bad it can be." The guard put his hand on his own back, empathizing.

  Reaching next to him he pulled a bag up and extended it toward the guard. "Smiley told me you liked these and I was to make sure you got it.”

  A smile as wide as Montana split the guard's face as he dove into the bag and found piping hot apple turnovers inside.

  "Here, have some coffee, too." He handed him a cup. "I guess I better get on up to the door."

  "What's she calling for today?" the guard asked.

  He lowered his voice and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Red beans and rice. She absolutely has to have them."

  The guard rubbed his stomach and leaned toward him. "She's as changeable as a chameleon. If you get there and she's changed her mind and doesn't want them, just drop them back by here."

  He gave him the thumbs up sign and put the truck in gear. "I'll be sure to do that." He smiled his best grin.

  The red and white bar went up and he drove the truck, a modern version of the old chuck wagon, up to the studio door. Before he could get the awnings up, a small crowd gathered. They grabbed cakes, bagels, and sandwiches, and threw money at him as if they hadn't eaten in decades. Only one person asked about Smiley, and he repeated the story he'd told the guard.

  Then she came around—Marsha Chambers’ secretary. She held a silver tray. Her daily routine called for the tray. She put the packages he gave her on it. He produced the specially prepared meal he had for her.

  "It's red beans and rice," he volunteered. "Smiley's wife made it especially."

  "Thank you," Joyce said, accepting the covered Styrofoam package.

  "Here's her vegetable drink and a dessert."

  Joyce gathered everything and left. He didn't have to wait long. Hungry people were known to show up immediately and buy what they wanted. He closed down after only twenty minutes and made his exit, stopping only briefly to raise his hands indicating the entire meal had been taken by Marsha Chambers.

  Driving through the gate he sneered, looking into the rear-view mirror. "Bon appetite," he said. He hoped she enjoyed her meal.

  It would be her last supper.

  ***

  When Marsha entered her dressing room the smell was heavenly. Unlike the others, she hated eating in the dining room. She also knew they didn't like eating with her. In her room she could be as sloppy or messy as she wanted. She could hold a chicken leg or let the juice from corn on the cob drip down her arm. She could bite into ribs, knowing the sauce would paint her face and there would be no one there to see it. She could do all those things, but she never did. She never ordered that food anymore. Everything she ate seemed to add a pound, and the relentless camera found them as if it were a homing device.

  What smelled so good? she wondered. Her usual meal consisted of some kind of salad or a reduced calorie dish that only resembled real food. This heavenly smell could not be from either of those things.

  "Damn!" she cursed, opening the silver covered dish. "Joyce knows I can't eat this stuff."

  She turned, intent on screaming for her secretary at the top of her lungs, but the smell of the food crowded in on her. She'd taste it, but not eat too much. Maybe Joyce thought a good meal would make her less of an annoyance today. Oh, she knew what the crew thought of her. Since the incident with the kidnap attempt they had steered clear of her, assuming she would fly into another rampage.

  She was sorry for that, she thought as she took a seat at the table which had been set up in the dressing room. The tablecloth was white linen, pristine clean and complementing the silver and china settings which adorned it. Marsha scooped out a spoonful of rice and beans and added a slice of ham to her plate. Closing her eyes at the first taste, she savored the delicious food. She hadn't tasted anything this good since the show aired and she'd forced herself into a strict regimen to keep her weight down. Today that regimen could go to the devil. She ate everything and topped it off with the vegetable drink which only Smiley could concoct. She finished feeling sated, satisfied, and sleepy. She smiled as she stood up. Then she said, "Ohhh," grabbing her head. The room swayed in front of her, and her eyes blurred. "I guess I'm not used to such rich food." A little nap would do her good, she thought. Stumbling to the sofa, she lay down.

  "You've been bad." She wagged her finger as if there was a person standing before her. Marsha didn't hear the slur in her voice. "You can't eat food like this. It makes you feel too good." She giggled. "Then you have to pay." She closed her eyes, wondering when she had had food that tasted that good in the past. She couldn't remember.

  Chapter 5

  Duncan burst into the editing room. “Where’s Aurora?"

  "She's not here today." Fred Loring's attention was taken by the machine in front of him. He didn't look up at Duncan and couldn't see the concerned expression on his face.

  "Is she sick?"

  "Don't know. She said she had something personal to do. I didn't pry."

  Her mother, Duncan thought, checking the huge calendar over Fred's desk. Today was the first of October. She'd be at the nursing home. She was all right. His heart calmed.

  "Thanks, Fred."

  Leaving the room he went to his office and found the number of the nursing home. Punching it in he waited for someone to answer.

  He was becoming increasingly paranoid about Aurora. Since that day in the edit room when he'd tried to kiss her, he'd maintained a healthy distance. When they found Marsha today he couldn't contain the panic burst that ran through him at the thought that she, too, might have received tainted food.

  ***

  The woman in her mother's room was entirely different from the one who had been there when she arrived. The catatonic, gazing creature was gone. In her place was a personality Aurora often met when she arrived. Her mother still didn't know who Aurora was, but she was coherent at times and often said things Aurora understood.

  Usually the subjects were safe in her mind. Inanimate objects, cartoons, stories about things Aurora did not remember or that happened before she was born, if they happened. Her mother could be making up stories. Aurora couldn't tell. She only knew she preferred this woman to the other.

  Aurora jumped when the phone in her mother's room suddenly rang. No one knew she was here and no one called her mother that she knew of.

  "Don't be frightened. It's only the phone," her mother said as if she received calls all the time.

  "Do you think I should answer it?"

  "It's the only way to know whose calling."

  Aurora stared at her mother. That was a purely lucid and logical comment. Why could she be logical about an inanimate phone, yet not know her own child?

  "Hello," she tested.

  "Aurora? Are you there? It's Duncan. Are you all right?"

  "Of course," she said, feeling the stir of apprehension. Something had to be wrong, or he wouldn't call her there. She hadn't told anyone she would be at the nursing home. He knew, from being with her last month. "What's wrong?"

  "They just took Marsha to the hospital. We think she's been poisoned."

  "What!"

  "They're going to test the food, but Doc's pretty sure it's tainted."
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  "How did this happen?"

  "I don't know. Marsha always eats alone in her dressing room. When she didn't appear for the taping someone went to get her. She appeared to be sleeping, but we couldn't wake her up."

  "Is she going to be all right?"

  "I don't know. She was still unconscious when the ambulance left. I have to get over there. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

  She was fine. Today hadn't been a day she felt followed. She knew she should tell Duncan about that, but this wasn't the time. He had other priorities. She felt good that he'd taken time to call and find out she was all right before running to the hospital.

  "I'll be fine," she assured him. "You go to the hospital and let me know if there's anything I can do."

  He hung up. Aurora replaced the receiver. Quickly the feelings of warmth left her and she wondered about the person who'd tried to kill Marsha. This was no prankster kidnapping attempt. This was life-threatening.

  Aurora turned back, expecting to find someone there. Only her mother was in the room. She sat in the same place she'd been when Aurora arrived—a comfortable wing chair she'd had since she came to live here. It was a soft yellow with small flowers covering it. Cass Alexander stared into distant space. Aurora knew she'd retreated into her own world. There would be no recognition today.

  She approached her mother with a sad smile, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and said good-bye. Her mother didn't respond. Her world was now different, and inside it Aurora didn't exist, not even as a stranger.

  ***

  Princeton Medical Center moved to the small township of Plainsboro a year ago. In proximity, it was close to the studio. Aurora drove straight there when she left her mother. The building was spacious with undeveloped land surrounding it. Aurora parked in the gray-glass garage adjoining the hospital and rushed toward the emergency room entrance.

  The waiting room was empty except for a small child and her mother. The child was cradled against the mother as she gave information to the nurse.

  "Can I help you?" asked another nurse.

  "I'm looking for Marsha Chambers."

  The woman glanced at her then did a double take. Aurora knew the woman thought she was looking at the famous star.

  "Aurora?"

  She turned as someone called her name. "Duncan," she called and went toward him. He grabbed her hands as she came forward. She stopped, knowing she would have continued into his arms. "How is she?"

  "They pumped her stomach. She's going to be all right."

  "Good," Aurora said, letting out a breath.

  "She's sleeping now. She won't wake up before morning. Then she'll have to stay for a couple of days."

  Duncan looked dead tired. His shoulders were hunched over and his eyes were barely open. "Come on," she said. "I'll drive you home."

  As she turned toward the exit a man approached them. He stopped, staring down at her from a towering height. He said nothing. He wore a suit that had to be custom-made. His eyes were as black and piercing as his skin. He had the kind of face that she couldn't put an age to, but the chiseled character lines told her he'd seen a lot of street action. From which side of the law, she couldn't tell. Duncan looked up.

  "Aren't there any cops in this town except you?" he asked. There were hints of humor and fatigue in his voice.

  "Not that I know," the man said.

  "Aurora Alexander." He looked at her, then swung his gaze to the tall man. "I'd like you to meet one of Princeton's finest, Cooper Dean."

  Aurora extended her hand and it was swallowed by that of the giant in front of her. He must be at least six-foot-five.

  "Six-foot-seven," he said. "It's the first thing people want to know when they see me," he said.

  "I understand," she said, not acknowledging that she had been no exception. "The first thing people want to know about me is if I'll give them an autograph."

  "You do look amazingly like Marsha Chambers." She didn't know whether to say thank you or tell him it was a curse, not a compliment

  "Luckily, they didn't mistake you for her today," he went on.

  Today. He knew. She was sure of it. Duncan must have told him about the previous attempt. Word around the studio was that it had been just a harmless fan who'd tried to get Marsha's attention. In the past few weeks it had been all but forgotten. She'd thought it was, but this policeman knew.

  He addressed Duncan. "I need to ask you some questions."

  "Can it wait?" Aurora asked. "I was about to drive him home."

  "I'll ride with you. Then you can drop me back here on your way home."

  Forty minutes later Aurora was sitting on the sofa in Duncan's living room, holding a cup of coffee, her feet curled under her. Duncan sprawled at the opposite end of the sofa and Cooper Dean presided like a judge in an armchair across from them.

  "Tell me about it. You start." He indicated Duncan. "Apparently, someone delivered a meal to the studio with tainted food in it. Marsha ate it. The doctor said the food had a slow acting poison in it. When she drank the vegetable drink, it set off the poison. Whoever did it didn't realize that putting a sleeping potion in the food would slow the rate of absorption into the system. It probably saved her life."

  "See anyone strange at the studio today?"

  "I didn't. The guard at the gate said the regular delivery man didn't show up, but the replacement knew everything about him. He assumed it was all right. The truck comes every day."

  "Cancel it."

  "We've already done that."

  "Where were you while this was going on?"

  His abrupt change of direction startled Aurora. "I wasn't at the studio today."

  "Where were you?"

  "Visiting my mother."

  "Coop," Duncan said, "Aurora's mother is in a long-term care facility. If she went to visit her dozens of people would know it. She brings warm bread for the nurses and her mother. I've tasted it. They couldn't forget her visit.”

  "I'll need to verify it, anyway."

  "I'll provide you with the address." He angered her. She never thought she'd be a suspect. She was doing Marsha Chambers a favor by staying on this set when her own life could be in danger. Now that some mishap had befallen the star, she needed an alibi. Why hadn't he come around when someone had tried to abduct her?

  Cooper switched gears again. "Has anyone heard from the usual delivery man?" Aurora wondered who he was trying to throw off track. Or was this just his policeman's style?

  "We weren't able to reach him."

  "What's his name?"

  "I only know him as Smiley, but call Joyce. She knows everybody."

  "Does Marsha have any enemies that you know of?"

  Aurora couldn't imagine a woman like Marsha not having enemies. She was rude and unfriendly. Her ascent to the throne of daytime talk shows had been over the heads and on the backs of her predecessors. "I'm sure she has enemies. Who in this profession doesn't?" Duncan asked. "I only know one, for sure."

  "Who might that be?"

  "Me."

  ***

  Aurora pulled the car alongside the parking garage and cut the engine. Immediately the night wind began to sap the heat in the car. The night wasn't cold but sitting for a long time would be uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat and stared at the man, who took up more room than she thought possible in such a small car.

  "You haven't said a word since we left Duncan's. I assume you want to ask me something," she said.

  "Is there something you want to tell me?"

  The question was a trick question, she thought. He'd probably sat in the same psychology classes she had. But she had a degree and would be willing to match wits with him.

  "You know who I am, don't you?"

  "I know you're the woman who was mistaken for Marsha and almost kidnapped."

  "You said yourself the resemblance is amazing." He looked uncomfortable. Aurora wanted to smile, but forced her expression to remain still.

  "Do you know the man?"


  "I didn't get a look at him. He wore a ski mask, which I'm sure you already know."

  "You're right, but I mean was there anything else about him that might be familiar—cologne, feel of his arms, anything?"

  "No, Officer Dean. There was no comfort in his arms. I did not recognize his cologne or his manly smell. I'd say the two of us had never met before he tried to force me into the van."

  "I apologize, but I have to ask these questions. And the name is Coop."

  "You've known Duncan a long time," she stated.

  "We grew up together, went to the same schools. He's like a brother to me."

  "So you know he wouldn't have anything to do with poisoning Marsha Chambers?"

  "I'd be willing to bet my pension he's as innocent as a newborn baby."

  "But me, on the other hand—" Her voice was dead serious.

  "You," he said. "I know nothing about you except that you also dislike Marsha Chambers. I don't know why."

  "Be careful, Coop. You haven't read me my rights."

  "Do I need to?"

  She stared at him in the half light. His eyes were unreadable. They had been the same way in the cold light of the hospital and in the bathed light of Duncan's living room.

  "I did nothing to harm Marsha Chambers," she stated. "I find her actions toward other people rude. I attribute her behavior to survival."

  "Survival?"

  "She's afraid of everything—of losing her status as the best talk show hostess, losing control over the people who work for her, of the studio. She orders people around just so she can feel better about herself."

  "Go on, Dr. Alexander. Tell me more."

  Aurora took a deep breath and sat back. "I didn't mean to sound like—"

  "Like a doctor of psychology."

  "I'm not a doctor—"

  "Not yet. You have completed all the course work and need only to write the thesis to complete the program. Three years ago you abandoned work on that degree to impersonate Marsha Chambers. I can only assume the pay was better than working for Social Services."