The Mirror and the Mask (14 page)

Jane had expected Annie to stop by yesterday, looking for more work. When she hadn't, Jane began to get worried. Annie didn't
seem to understand that because she posed a threat to Jack Bowman, he posed an equal threat to her. Looking at Annie's W-4 form, Jane punched in her cell number. After several rings, voice mail picked up. She left a brief message, asking Annie to give her a call. She felt frustrated and concerned for Annie's safety, not that there was much she could do about it now. She spent the remainder of the morning working with her executive chef on the new spring menu.

Just before noon, the door to her office flew open. Jane didn't even need to look. The only person who ever sailed in without knocking was Cordelia.

“What's up?” she asked.

A copy of the
St. Paul Pioneer Press
was thrust in front of her face. “You should read the newspaper, Janey.”

“I know, but I don't have time.”

“Make time. Newspapers in this country are about to go the way of the pig-footed bandicoot because of people like you.”

“Did you come to harass me generally, or is there a point?”

“I'm here for lunch. You're buying.”

“Some special reason?”

“Because I solved that case for you.”

Jane swiveled around to look at her, amused to find that she'd made yet another one of her periodic transformations. Once again, it involved her hair. “What do you call that?”

“A rooster. Kind of Rod Stewart meets Tina Turner. Except my hair isn't long enough yet to do a full Tina.”

Cordelia's hairdresser had died her auburn hair black. The front and top were short and spiky, with layers in the back. Red highlights made her look as if her head had caught fire. Everything had been ratted for maximum fullness.

“I'm speechless,” said Jane.

“Yes, that's the proper response. Now, quit working and pay attention
to me. If you're nice, I'll tell you what you missed in today's paper.”

“Where do you want to eat?”

“In the main dining room. We can make a grand entrance.” She patted the side of her hair. “I'm in a white tablecloth mood. Oh, and I'd like to sit somewhere near a potted palm.”

“I think we can accommodate that.”

Once they'd found the perfect table, Jane ordered coffee for both of them, and an appetizer for herself. Cordelia ordered the grass-fed beef carpaccio, which came with a creole sauce and mixed greens. For dessert, she asked for the molten chocolate cake à la mode. “I'm eating light today.”

“I can see that.”

She rumpled the paper in front of her. “Okay. Listen to this. ‘Hastings Realtor Dies in Tragic Home Accident. Susan Bowman, wife of well-known Twin Cities builder and philanthropist Jack Bowman, died Wednesday afternoon at her home near Stillwater. Mrs. Bowman fell down an interior stairway. The exact cause of death has not been determined. Mrs. Bowman is also survived by two children, Curt and Sunny, and a sister, Grace Lee Ingersol, a longtime resident of Fort Worth, Texas.' ” Cordelia glanced up, an expectant look on her face.

“That's awful,” said Jane.

“ ‘The exact cause of death has not been determined.' ”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Annie Archer returns to Jack Bowman's life and two days later his wife is dead.”

“You think there's a connection?”

“Don't you?”

“Why would she want to murder her stepfather's second wife?”

“I don't
know
,” said Cordelia, eyes bulging. “That's just it. We may
be the only ones who know what's really going on. Things are happening behind the scenes that virtually shriek for our attention.”

“Then you'll be glad that I've done a little more checking around.”

“I am all ears.”

The coffee arrived. Cordelia added cream to hers; Jane took hers black.

“Okay, so I phoned resorts near Traverse City yesterday afternoon. I found a woman who knew Mandy Archer, Annie's mother. Her name is Helen James, and she works at the Bell House Resort on Lake Ann, which is about twelve miles west of Traverse City. She's in her early sixties now, still employed at the resort. Years ago, she said she considered Mandy a friend. Apparently, Mandy was fired from her job at the end of ninety-five.”

“How come she was fired?”

“Helen wasn't sure about the particulars, but she said that Mandy had become extremely erratic. She'd always been superconscientious and was well liked, but early that year she started missing work. Sometimes she didn't even call in with an excuse. And when she did show up, she'd blame other people for the things she'd forgotten to do. Helen said that by the time she got canned, she was acting hyper, nervous, sometimes almost paranoid, and at other times she was overconfident, almost pompous.”

“So what causes someone's personality to change abruptly?” asked Cordelia.

“Drugs?”

“That would be my guess. Did this Helen mention anything about the way Mandy looked?”

“Just that she'd always been very neat and tidy—and pretty. But by the end of ninety-five, when she was fired, she said she looked awful, like she'd aged ten years.”

“Meth,” said Cordelia.

“Was meth around back in the midnineties?”

“Probably.”

“I was reading up on the symptoms, and you know what? Taking meth can cause strokes and heart problems, even heart attacks.”

Cordelia tapped a finger against her chin. “You think Jack was giving it to her?”

“It's possible.”

“Man, I don't know. The Jack I met doesn't seem like the type to get involved with drugs.”

“There is no type. Remember the guy Jack swindled? His partner in Michigan? He said Jack had been in jail. I asked Helen about it. She said that after Mandy died and Jack took off, she'd heard some people talking. They said he spent time in prison for possession and sale of illegal substances, specifically cocaine.”

“Seriously?”

“The guy is as sleazy as they come. If he did have something to do with Mandy's death, and was selling drugs on the side, it explains why he needed to get out of Traverse City fast—and why he needed to change his name and disappear.”

“But look at all the good he's done in the Twin Cities, all the charity work.”

“People are never all good or all bad. That's why neighbors of serial killers can say ‘He was such a decent guy, so helpful.' ”

A waiter arrived with their food.

“This looks fabulous,” said Cordelia, slathering a slice of the raw beef with creole sauce. She closed her eyes and took a taste. “Ambrosia.”

“The thing is, from what I can tell, Annie doesn't have the full story on what happened to her mother. Helen told me Mandy didn't die in a hospital, she died at home. I should have a copy of the death certificate later today.”

“Could be another one of Annie's lies. You said she lied about Jack, said he was her real father.”

“I don't believe I used the word ‘lie.' ”

“Well, that's what it was. If you want my opinion, I think we should stop focusing all our attention on Jack and start focusing on her.”

When it came to Annie, Jane was totally confused. “Maybe.”

 

 

 

T
owers on the Green, where DreamScape Builders had its offices, was located in Apple Valley. The office park was ultramodern, with a man-made lake snaking through the campus. Annie parked her Corolla in the lot next to building 5490. On the way to the front entrance, she passed several huge metal sculptures, beams balanced on beams, all of them looking uncomfortably precarious. Spending four years with the Greeks and the Romans during college had left her with a distaste for modern art. This was a prime example. She couldn't see the point in it. Where were the beauty and the craftsmanship? It was nothing but an exercise in physics.

The first floor was an open court, with soaring ceilings and acres of polished granite. She stepped up to the reception counter and asked what floor DreamScape Builders was on. A young woman stood and pointed to a block of elevators. She told Annie to get off on six.

Riding up alone, Annie felt that same knot of apprehension in her stomach she'd first felt yesterday. She'd seen Johnny only once more
at his Stillwater house—for a few seconds as she and Curt were leaving. She could feel his eyes on her all the way out to her car.

Up on six, she approached the receptionist, a middle-aged woman in a yellow paisley dress.

“My name's Annie Archer. I called earlier to see if Mr. Bowman was in. I need to talk to him.”

“Mr. Bowman's not doing any business today,” said the woman in a hushed tone. “There was a tragedy in his family yesterday afternoon. You'll need to come back another time. I could set up an appointment for you if you like.”

“He'll see me,” she said. “Just give him my name.” She repeated it.

The woman appeared skeptical. She pressed a button on the intercom, picked up the phone, and spoke softly. “Mr. Bowman? There's an Annie Archer here to see you.”

Annie waited, the knot in her stomach tightening.

After setting the phone down, the woman scrutinized her. “I guess you were right.” She explained how to find the office.

Proceeding down a quiet hallway to the corner office, Annie found a burled wood door with Johnny's new name on it. She pushed it open.

Johnny was seated behind a Japanese-inspired inlaid wood desk, leaning back in a casual pose, dressed in a green, yellow, and orange Hawaiian shirt, much like the one he'd had on yesterday. The look on his face was impassive, but it was a forced aloofness, one that no doubt cost him.

The office was suitably extravagant. A matching inlaid wood credenza spanned one entire wall. It was filled with crystal glasses of every type and size, various wines and assorted bottles of alcohol. Along the other wall were a creamy brown leather sofa and two matching chairs. The remaining two walls were glass. His desk sat at the point where the two glass walls converged. The view of the parkland behind him was nothing short of breathtaking. There was a message
in the arrangement, of course: Jack Bowman, in his own small way, was king of all he could survey.

Without speaking, he nodded to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

She sat down. Folded her hands in her lap. Smiled at him. She'd used smiles for years to mask her emotions. That was why she never trusted smiles in others. “It's been a long time.”

“What do you want?”

“We'll get to that.”

“Tell me how you found me?”

“No, I don't think I will. But I'm sure you're curious. If I found you, that means others could.”

“Have you told anyone from Michigan where I am?”

“No.”

“Have you told Curt about . . . us?”

“Not yet.”

“You swear it?”

“On my mother's grave.”

That seemed to relax him. Arranging his face into something more friendly, he said, “You have no idea how much I've missed you. It killed me to leave like that. I wanted to tell you my plans when we buried your mother, but you were so angry at me. I couldn't trust that you wouldn't use it against me.”

“You mean like telling Glennoris where you'd gone? I hear you stole two hundred thousand from him.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”

“Is it true?”

“Of course not. That was
my
money, Annie. Not his.” He watched her for a few seconds. And then his face softened. “God, you're even more beautiful now than you were back in Traverse City.”

“So I'm told.”

He picked up a pen and tapped it nervously against a coffee mug. “How'd you meet Curt?”

“In a bar.”

“Okay, it's none of my business. But tell me this much. Are you two serious?”

“About what?”

He tossed the pen down. “You're still angry. You've come to make me pay. Fair enough. Tell me what you want and let's get this over with.”

She didn't respond.

“You want money, right? You deserve something for the way I treated you.”

“Think so?”

“Just stop with the attitude. All you're doing is making me mad.”

“We can't have that.”

“Annie, goddamn it, I love you. I always have.”

For the first time, his words penetrated. “Liar.”

“My life . . . it's a mess. It was a mess back in Traverse City and it still is. I've made so many mistakes. I try to learn from them, but I seem to dig myself in deep wherever I go. Do you have any idea what I'm talking about? Have you lived long enough to understand what life is really like?”

“I got the part about you not being able to learn.”

He rubbed his forehead, looked around the room. “I deserve that. I deserve anything you want to dish out. Just . . . don't hate me. That would kill me. If you'll let me, I'll try to make it up to you. I've got so much now. I can give you anything you want.”