Mirror Image

Avery moved nearer and gazed up at him with concern. “We don’t have to go.”

“Eddy would shit a brick.”

“Let him. Everyone else would understand. If Michael Jackson can cancel a concert because of a stomach virus, disappointing thousands of adoring fans, you can cancel a dinner and disappoint a couple hundred.”

“But have Michael Jackson’s fans paid two hundred dollars a plate?” he quipped. “He can afford to cancel. I can’t.”

“At least take another pill.”

He shook his head. “If I go, I’ve got to be in full command of my faculties.”

“Lord, you’re stubborn. Just like you were about staying there this afternoon.”

“It made great video on the evening news.”

She frowned at him. “You sound like Eddy now. You’re running for public office, not best target of the year for every kook with a grudge against the system. You shouldn’t place your life in jeopardy just because it makes for good film at six and ten.”

“Listen, it’s only because I’m running for public office that I didn’t go after that son of a bitch who threw the bottle and beat the crap out of him myself.”

“Ah, that’s what I like. A candidate who really speaks his mind.”

They laughed together, but after a moment their laughter died. Tate’s warm gaze held hers. “That’s still my favorite dress. You look terrific.”

“Thank you.” She was wearing the black cocktail dress he had admired before.

“I, uh, behaved like a jerk this afternoon.”

“You said some hurtful things.”

“I know,” he admitted, blowing out a gust of air. “I meant to. Partially because—”

A knock sounded. “Seven-thirty,” Eddy called through the door.

Tate looked annoyed. Avery, at the height of frustration, yanked up her evening bag and marched toward the door. Her senses were sizzling. Her nerves were shot. She felt like screaming.

She almost did when one of the first people she spotted among the crowd at Southfork was the man she’d noticed once before, at the Midland/Odessa Airport.

* * *

The ranch house made famous by the television series “Dallas” was ablaze with lights. Since this was a special night, the house was open and partygoers were allowed to walk through it. The actual dinner was being held in the adjacent barnlike building that was frequently leased for large parties.

The turnout was better than expected. As soon as they arrived they were informed that it was a capacity crowd. Many had offered to pay more than two hundred dollars for the opportunity to attend and hear Tate speak.

“No doubt as a result of that fantastic news story today,” Eddy said. “All the networks and local channels led with it on their six o’clock telecasts.” He flashed Avery a complacent smile.

She slid her arm through the crook of Tate’s elbow, an indication that he was more important to her than any news story, or even the election itself. Eddy’s grin merely widened.

Avery was liking him less every day. His inappropriate dalliance with Fancy was reason enough for her to distrust his Boy Scout cleanliness.

Tate, however, trusted him implicitly. That’s why she hadn’t mentioned seeing Fancy coming out of Eddy’s room, even when Tate had provided her an opportunity to. She could sense a softening in Tate’s attitude toward her and didn’t want it jeopardized by bad-mouthing his trusted best friend.

She tried to put aside Eddy’s remark and all other worries as she walked into the cavernous building with Tate. He would need her to bolster him tonight. The injury was probably causing him more discomfort than he let on. An enthusiastic local supporter approached them. He bussed Avery on the cheek and pumped Tate’s hand. It was as she tossed back her head to laugh at a comment he made that she caught sight of the tall, gray-haired man on the fringes of the crowd.

She did a double take, but almost instantly lost sight of him. Surely she was mistaken. The man at the airport had been wearing a western suit and Stetson. This man was dressed in formal clothing. They were probably just coincidental look-alikes.

While trying to appear attentive to the people approaching them to be introduced, she continued to scan the crowd, but didn’t catch sight of the man again before dinner. From the head table it was difficult to see into the darkest corners of the enormous hall. Even though it was a formal dinner, people were milling about. Frequently, she had television lights blindingly trained on her.

“Not hungry?” Tate leaned toward her and nodded down at her virtually untouched plate.