Mirror Image

Whether the child was Tate’s or not, Carole’s abortion was a political issue, and Avery believed she had planned it that way. It made her ill to think about the negative publicity and grave repercussions if anyone ever found out. The public effect on Tate would be as profound as the personal one.

When Avery returned from her ride, Mandy was assisting Mona with baking cookies. The housekeeper was very good with Mandy, so Avery complimented Mandy’s cookies and left her in the older woman’s care.

The house was quiet. She had seen Fancy roar off in her Mustang earlier. Jack, Eddy, and Tate were always in the city at this time of day, working at either the campaign headquarters or the law office. Dorothy Rae was secluded in her wing of the house, as usual. Mona had told her that Nelson and Zee had gone into Kerrville for the afternoon. Reaching her room, Avery tossed the riding quirt onto the bed and used the bootjack to remove the tall riding boots. She padded into the bathroom and turned on the taps of the shower.

Not for the first time, an eerie feeling came over her. She sensed that someone had been in the rooms during her absence. Goose bumps broke out over her arms as she examined the top of her dressing table.

She couldn’t remember if she had left her hairbrush lying there. Had her bottle of hand lotion been moved? She was certain she hadn’t left the lid of the jewelry box opened with a strand of pearls spilling out. She noticed things in the bedroom, too, that had been disturbed while she was out. She did something she hadn’t done since moving into Carole’s room—she locked the door.

She showered and pulled on a thick robe. Still uneasy and distressed, she decided to lie down for a while before dressing. As her head sank into the pillow, it crackled.

A sheet of paper had been slipped between the pillow and the pillowcase.

Avery studied it with misgivings. The paper had been folded twice, but nothing was written on the outside. She dreaded opening it. What had the intruder expected to find? What had he been searching for?

One thing was certain—the note was no accident. It had been cleverly and deliberately placed where she, and only she, would find it.

She unfolded it. There was one line typed in the center of the white, unlined sheet:

Whatever you’re doing, it’s working on him. Keep it up.

* * *

“Nelson?”

“Hmm?”

His absent reply drew a frown from Zinnia. She laid her hairbrush aside and swiveled on her dressing table stool. “This is important.”

Nelson tipped down the corner of his newspaper. Seeing that she was troubled, he folded the paper and depressed the footrest of his lounge chair, bringing himself to a sitting position. “I’m sorry, darling. What’d you say?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Is something wrong?”

They were in their bedroom. The ten o’clock news, which they watched ritualistically, was over. They were preparing for bed.

Zee’s dark hair was shining after its recent brushing. The silver streak was accented by the lamplight. Her skin, well tended because of the harsh Texas sun, was smooth. There weren’t many worry lines to mar it. There weren’t many laugh lines, either.

“Something is going on between Tate and Carole,” she said.

“I think they had a tiff today.” He left his chair and began removing his clothing. “They were both awfully quiet at supper.”

Zee had also noticed the hostility in the air tonight. Where her younger son’s moods were concerned, she was particularly sensitive. “Tate wasn’t just sullen, he was mad.”

“Carole probably did something that didn’t sit well with him.”

“And when Tate is mad,” Zee continued as though he hadn’t spoken, “Carole is usually her most ebullient. Whenever he’s angry, she antagonizes him further by being frivolous and silly.”

Nelson neatly hung his trousers in the closet on the rod where all his other trousers were hung. Messiness was anathema. “She wasn’t frivolous tonight. She barely said a word.”

Zee gripped the back of her vanity stool. “That’s my point, Nelson. She was as edgy and upset as Tate. Their fights never used to be like that.”

Dressed only in his boxer shorts now, he neatly folded back the bedspread and climbed into bed. He stacked his hands beneath his head and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve noticed several things here lately that aren’t like Carole at all.”

“Thank God,” Zee said. “I thought I was losing my mind. I’m relieved to know somebody besides me has noticed.” She turned out the lamps and got into bed beside her husband. “She’s not as superficial as she used to be, is she?”

“That close call with death sobered her up.”