The Mirror and the Mask (21 page)

Two hours later he walked out of the theater and glanced at his watch. It was still early. Too early to go home. His goal was to get back after the kids were asleep. If there was another argument, at least they wouldn't hear it.

Scanning the list of movies, he found another one that sounded okay—
Cloverfield
. He'd always liked monster flicks, but this one didn't hold his interest.

Fifteen minutes after the movie started, he found himself at a McDonald's buying a chocolate shake and cursing Barbara. With her sulking stares, she'd driven him out of the house and forced him to waste a perfectly good day, one he'd never get back. He might not be all that philosophically inclined, but he did think about his life. He knew all actions were motivated. That raised a particularly puzzling question. Knowing Susan as well as he did, knowing her history with men, why had he allowed himself to get involved with her? What made him think their relationship would be different?

Susan was the only middle-class person he'd ever met who insisted—actually believed—that her family was poor. He'd visited the family home in Fort Worth once a number of years ago. It was a spacious sixties rambler in a lovely middle-class neighborhood. Her father was a personnel manager at one of the major utility companies, and her mother was a grade school teacher. There was nothing deprived about them. And yet, for Susan, who went to school with oil men's daughters, it must have felt like poverty in her teenage soul.

When she met Yale Llewelyn, a young surgeon with a promising career ahead of him, she allowed herself, for the first time, to become serious about a man. Kristjan didn't doubt that she'd loved Yale. He
had no doubt that she'd loved Jack in the beginning, too. But with Susan, cold calculation was never off the table. Deep down, Kristjan admired that quality in her. It meant she could be ruthless, even conniving, but at least she'd been honest about what she valued.

Susan took what she wanted and rationalized away any personal guilt. Yale had been a good husband, but distant, often absent. Jack had been a lousy husband, but demanding of her time and attention. She'd used them both to make her dreams come true, but in the final analysis, something was still missing.

To Kristjan's way of thinking, the missing ingredient was a man she could truly love, one who returned her love wholeheartedly, a man who was neither a brute nor a depressive. The life they both yearned for might have had a chance to become reality if they hadn't both been blinded by the notion of having it all. Kristjan was grateful that he'd come to his senses before they went through with their plans, but in the end, his attempt to get Susan to listen to reason had come too late. With her feelings of entitlement leading the charge, she'd gone ahead full tilt. It was possible that her actions—and his—could still drag him over a cliff.

Kristjan had dinner at a steak house in Woodbury. He felt better after he got a couple of Manhattans under his belt. He lingered over the meal, his thoughts dulled by the alcohol, until he figured he'd waited long enough.

He walked in the front door a few minutes after ten. The lights were off in the living room. One dim light burned in the kitchen. He could smell that Barbara had burned dinner, whatever it was. He stepped over to the stairway and looked up, seeing a light on under the master bedroom door. He assumed Barbara was up there watching TV. Feeling beat, he decided another Manhattan was the cure. But before he could make it to the kitchen, a light snapped on behind him. He turned to find Barbara in the hallway.

“What's going on?”

She raised the nose of her father's hunting rifle. “I packed your clothes.” Nodding to several pieces of luggage by the living room couch, she said, “Take them and leave.”

“Why—”

“You shouldn't have left your laptop in the study.”

His face blanched. “We had an agreement. You don't use my laptop and I don't use yours.”

“All your rules made me wonder what you were hiding. I'm glad I took a look. Otherwise I wouldn't have known you were planning to murder me.”

The comment caused him to move back a step.

“Those websites you've been looking at? It's all there. Howto
murderyourwife.com
. How to make a murder look like a suicide. Or an accident.”

“I wasn't . . . no, no. I never—”

“You're incredibly stupid, you know that? What kind of imbecile looks at those sorts of websites on his own computer?”

“I . . . I—”

“Get out.”

“Just . . . wait. I need to explain.”

“What's to explain? I don't even know who you are anymore.”

“You've got to believe me. I never intended to harm you in any way.”

She waved the rifle toward the luggage. “I've already called a lawyer. He advised me to keep the laptop.”

“But . . . no, you can't. It has all my business information on it.”

“Tough. My lawyer thinks we may have an attempted murder case against you.”

Kristjan's mind reeled. How could he tell her the truth, that he'd been looking at those sites because Susan had asked him to?

“If nothing else, I won't have any problem proving you're an unfit parent. You'll never see those kids again.”

“Barbara,
please
.”

“You're a passionless man, Kristjan. A coward and a fool. You were under her spell, I understand that. Who's to say what you two were planning?”

His mind latched on to a thought. “You lied to the police for me. But there's a snag. I ran into someone the afternoon Susan died who could identify me, verify that I wasn't home when you said I was. If I call him, I can prove you lied. I never asked you to do that. I didn't need your lie because I didn't murder Susan.”

She held the rifle steady, her feet set wide apart. “Maybe you did, maybe you didn't. But if the police want to know why I lied, I've got all the proof I need on that laptop. I was afraid for my life. You made me do it.”

“But Barbara—”

“No more,” she said, her voice quiet but menacing. “You'll wake the kids.” She waved the rifle toward the door. “If I see your face around here or anywhere near me or my children, I'll call the police. Either that, or I'll use the rifle.”

There was nothing he could do. He picked up the suitcases and hefted them over to the door. Stopping for just a second in the entryway, he took one last look around him. He glanced back at Barbara, hoping she might take pity on him, but all he saw in her eyes was contempt.

 

 

 

A
ll I can say is, her showing up like that was a real beaker of acid in the face.” Cordelia sat amid the pillows on Jane's office couch, fussing with her gold lamé turban.

Jane had propped one of her legs on an open bottom desk drawer. She was concerned, although she'd never voiced it to Cordelia, that after a year and a half away, Hattie might have forgotten Cordelia. She was awfully little—only five.

“Octavia acted like we'd been cut off in the middle of a sentence and she'd come by to resume it. She didn't want to talk about Hattie—or anything else, for that matter. Just her. She never asked a word about you—or me.”

“You didn't learn anything about Hattie?”

Before she'd barreled into Jane's office, Cordelia had stopped to scoop up a bowl of fresh buttered popcorn from a cart in the pub. She popped a kernel into her mouth and looked miserable. “Hattie has a new fish tank. Radley, apparently, likes fish. I mean, what a cold, unhuggable sort of pet. And how incredibly
boring
. What can you do with
a fish? You watch through the glass as it swims to the right, swims to the left, swims up, swims downs, swims behind a plant, swims out from behind the plant. And then what? You watch the same thing all over again. I suppose if one fish eats another fish, a little drama is injected into their little fishy universe. But, I mean,
really
. Why not just watch mold grow on a rotting tomato. It's about as exciting.”

“Has anyone ever said that you're too timid with your opinions?”

Cordelia tossed a fistful of popcorn at Jane's head.

Sensing a food opportunity, Mouse got up from the rug in front of the cold fireplace, shook himself, and came over to see if anything had fallen on the floor.

“She left right after breakfast,” said Cordelia, her chin sinking to her chest. “I'm no closer to getting Hattie back than I was before she came.”

“Do you think there's a real possibility she'll let Radley adopt her?”

Cordelia's eyes rose to the ceiling. A few tense seconds passed before she erupted. “Yes. He'll make sure it happens before they divorce. That way, he can petition for full physical and legal custody as part of the final decree. Octavia will demand that the details be kept quiet. She can't let the world know what a disaster she is as a mother.”

“Maybe world opinion will prevent her from allowing Radley to adopt Hattie.”

“Nothing stands in her way when she's got a new man in her sights. At least Radley seems to love Hattie. If Hatts ended up leaving with Octavia, what happens then? Octavia drags her along to the villa in Abruzzi? And when the relationship with the count bites the Italian dust, what next? She gets dragged to a feed bin in Bohemia where Octavia consummates her next love affair with a cheese maker?”

Jane crunched down hard on a popcorn kernel to keep from laughing. “A feed bin in Bohemia?”

“An ice rink in Far Rockaway with a Zamboni driver? A rice
paddy in Mongolia with one of the hordes? Octavia likes to couple in the unusual, out-of-the-way places. She finds it stimulating.”

“She told you that?”

Waving the subject away, Cordelia said, “Oh, she's been that way forever. We both enjoy the occasional oddball trysting site.”

“You do?”

“Lower your eyebrow, Janey. You're looking way too Midwestern.”

“God willing and the crick don't rise.”

“Stop it.”

Jane's phone buzzed. Glancing over, she saw that it was the reception desk. “Just give me a second.”

“Can't. I'm already late. It's almost eight and I was supposed to be over at the theater half an hour ago.” Rising, she said, “Call me anon.”

“I will,” said Jane. She hadn't mentioned anything about her Internet search last night—what she'd learned about Annie. Cordelia would want to know, but there wasn't time tonight.

Leaning sideways, Jane pressed a button and picked up her phone.

“Jane, hi, it's Edward.” Edward Sandberg was one of her evening hosts. “There's a man on the phone looking for someone named Annie Archer. He says she works here.”

The Lyme House pub was short a bartender tonight. Since Saturday was the busiest night of the week, she'd offered Annie the evening shift.

Curious to know who might be calling, Jane said, “Did you get his name?”

“Curt Llewelyn.”

“What line is he on?”

“Two.”

“Thanks. I'll take care of it.” She pressed the lighted button and said, “Hi. I understand you're looking for Annie?”

“Yeah,” came a tentative-sounding voice. “She told me she was working there. This is a bar, right?”

“Restaurant and bar.”

“I need to talk to her. I tried her cell, but she doesn't pick up.”

“We don't allow bartenders to use their cells while they're working. I can have her call you back. Does she have your number? Is there a message?”

“Just tell her Curt called. That she needs to come home right away.”

Home
, thought Jane. Last she'd heard, Annie had been between motels. “Sounds serious.”

“If you could give her the message, I'd really appreciate it.”

“Will do.” Jane dropped the handset in its cradle, then sat back and considered the situation. It appeared that Annie was staying with Jack Bowman's stepson. How on earth, she wondered, had that come about?

Jane found Annie standing by a row of beer pulls, talking to a customer. Motioning her aside, she said, “Curt called. He wants you to come home right away. Sounded like an emergency.”

“That's all he said?”

“That's it.”

Looking around, Annie seemed to be thinking. “Can I leave?”

“Sounds like you better. Don't worry, I'll pitch in.”

Annie stepped into the storage room behind the bar and came back with her coat.

“Let me walk you out to your car,” said Jane. “I need some fresh air.”

Outside, fat, dreamy snowflakes swirled into cones beneath the yellow lamplights. The tang of woodsmoke from the restaurant kitchen drifted through the darkness.

“You're limping,” said Annie, moving away from Jane and looking down at her leg.

“It's an old injury.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Yeah. I'm not sure what's going on.” Her leg hadn't hurt this much in years. The pain only added to a general undertow of anxiety. “So, you're staying with Curt Llewelyn,” she said as they reached the Toyota.