The Mirror and the Mask (28 page)

Annie walked Dooley along the river before returning to the building. Holding him in her arms, she took the elevator down to the basement. They'd no sooner stepped off into the underground lot when he began to growl.

“It's okay, boy. I don't like it down here either.”

The parking garage was dank but well lit. It smelled of wet concrete, mud, and stale exhaust. As she passed the cement pillars, mentally counting them to help her find her car, Dooley struggled to free himself. “Just calm down.” The paramedics had frightened him. In his little doggy brain, he must know something was terribly wrong.

She'd parked her Corolla on the far side of column six. As she searched her pocket for her keys, she felt a sudden pain. The next second, she was on the ground. Dooley slid out of her arms. Dark athletic shoes with red shoelaces moved in front of her face. She felt her arms and ankles being tied. Tape was pressed across her mouth and a sack pulled over her face.

“Open the trunk,” whispered a gravelly voice.

She felt herself being lifted up, dropped on her side. Something hard dug into her hip.

“Get rid of the mutt.”

Dooley gave a terrified yip.

She tried to scream, but all that came out was a groan. She felt a tiny pricking pain in her thigh, heard the sound of the trunk being shut. The engine caught. Her body swayed back and forth as the car backed up. She tried to move her legs and found that she could, but something else was happening. She felt weird. Dizzy. Everything became softened, muted. She began to drift. Red shoelaces. Red . . .

 

 

 

E
ach tick of the clock on Jane's desk propelled a microblast of adrenaline through her body. The only thing she could think of to calm her nerves was a shot—or two—of brandy. At the moment, that was out of the question. When she eliminated caffeine or alcohol from her list of liquid choices, not much was left that appealed to her. Which was why she was sipping from a can of strawberry soda, the nasty junk she kept around for Cordelia. The fact that she was enjoying it worried her more than she would admit.

She'd arrived home by four thirty. One hour, four minutes, and nineteen seconds ago. Mouse greeted her in his usual way, bounding down the stairs from the second floor. He liked to sleep on her bed when she was gone during the day. If someone had rung the doorbell recently, he would have already been downstairs in the living room watching out the window. Since there was no message, no note, and Mouse had been upstairs, she was pretty sure she'd beat Annie back to the house. But if that was the case, where was she?

When the phone rang, Jane snatched it up so fast that Mouse jumped up and barked.

“Hello?”

“Jane?”

“Yes?” She didn't recognize the voice.

“This is Helen James again, remember me? I'm the woman who worked with Mandy Archer at the Bell House Resort back in the midnineties.”

“Oh, hi.” She tried to work some enthusiasm into her voice.

“You asked me to call if I remembered anything else.”

“Sure. Whatever you can tell me is much appreciated.”

“Mandy had a sister. She used to talk about her some. I got the impression they were estranged. I used to keep a journal in my younger days, so I dug it out. I was sure I'd written the sister's name down. Do you have a pen? It's Connie Dewing.”

Jane pulled a pad out of her desk drawer.

“Don't know if that's a married name or her family name. She lived—or used to live—in a small town in Connecticut called Barkhamsted. That's actually why I made the notation. I thought the name of the town was so unusual.”

“It is,” said Jane.

“I've always been fascinated by New England. Anyway, like I said, I don't know if she's still living there, but if she is, you might be able to find more information on Mandy. Of course, if all you're interested in is Mandy's child, then I don't think the sister could help you much. But it's worth a try, I suppose. That's all I called to say.”

“Thanks so much.”

“You're very welcome.”

Glad to have something to do, Jane called directory assistance for Barkhamsted, Connecticut. She learned that Connie Dewing was still living in town. She wrote down the number, then tapped it in. Five rings later the voice mail picked up, a woman's voice. “Hi,
you've reached the Dewings. Please leave a message and we'll get back to you. Thanks.”

At the beep, Jane stated her name, said she was calling from Minneapolis, that she wanted to talk to Connie about her sister, Mandy. She left her phone number and said she hoped to hear from her soon. If Connie and Mandy had been estranged, there was a chance the call wouldn't be returned. And even if it was, Jane wasn't sure what Connie could tell her. Still, it was worth the effort.

By six, Jane's impatience hit the boiling point. She had to do something, go somewhere, make something happen.

“Mouse?” She got up and walked around the desk. He was curled up on the love seat. “I have to go out again.”

He looked up at her sleepily, his tail giving a couple of halfhearted thumps.

“I need to make sure Annie's okay. You be a good boy. No long-distance phone calls while I'm gone.”

She pulled her coat from the front closet, deciding then and there to go back to Curt's apartment. This time, she intended to identify herself.

Outside, a light mist had begun to form. The temperature had been in the high thirties all day. With excess moisture in the air and no wind, the mist would undoubtedly become more dense as night deepened. Instead of taking the freeway, Jane drove down Lyndale and hung a right directly in front of the Basilica of St. Mary. The marquees along Hennepin's theater district were all lit up. It was a slow slog until she hit Washington Avenue and took another right.

Entering the condo's lobby a few minutes later, she walked up to the security phone and punched in the code numbers for Curt's unit. But this time, after a dozen rings, there was no answer. Turning around, she noticed an old guy in a tan jumpsuit pushing a broom across the granite floor.

“Excuse me,” she called, hurrying over to him. “I'm trying to find
Curt Llewelyn. He lives in four seventeen. He's in his twenties. Thin, tall. Dark hair tipped blond. It's an emergency.” She wasn't sure it was, but it felt like one, so the words just tumbled out. “I don't suppose you know—”

“He the med student?”

“That's him.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of evil tidings, lady, but he was hauled out of here about an hour ago. On a stretcher. Don't know what happened, but he looked bad.”

“You saw him?”

“Watched the whole thing.”

“Did you notice if there was a woman with him? Blond. Pretty.”

“Nope, it was just him and the, you know, . . . medics.”

“Do you know where they took him?”

“Said HCMC on the side of the van.”

“Thanks,” said Jane, already on her way to the door.

Hennepin County Medical Center was on the east end of downtown Minneapolis. She found a parking spot in the emergency lot, locked her car, and ran inside. She checked out the waiting room but didn't recognize anyone. Approaching a woman seated behind a glass wall, she said, “I was told Curt Llewelyn was brought in a little while ago.”

The woman turned to her computer screen, tapped a few keys on the keyboard. “Are you a relative?”

Once again, she was about to flunk the ethical person test. “His aunt.”

“Your name?”

“Jane . . . Johnson.”

“Take a seat in the waiting room. I'll have a doctor come out and talk to you.”

She found an empty chair and sat down. The room felt claustrophobic,
jammed with the maimed and the bleeding. It was a Monday night. She wondered what it was like on the weekends. She picked up a magazine but was too wired to concentrate. Forty-five minutes later, a middle-aged woman wearing blue scrubs and a white lab coat came out from the back and called Jane's name.

She raised her hand and stood.

The woman introduced herself as Dr. Stremel.

“Can you tell me how he's doing?” asked Jane.

“He's stable. We're transfusing him. I understand you're his aunt.”

“That's right.”

“Were you the one who called 911?”

“No, that was his girlfriend, Annie Archer.” It was a guess. Jane said the words with a conviction she didn't feel. “I'm surprised she isn't here.”

“Mr. Llewelyn was brought in alone. But someone, I assume it was the girlfriend, made the call and probably saved his life.”

“
Probably?
”

“The cuts in his wrists are deep. He's lost a lot of blood.”

A suicide attempt. It was the last thing Jane expected to hear.

“I wonder if you could provide us with the names and phone numbers of his parents? We need to contact them.”

“Both parents are dead.”

“Are you the next of kin?”

“He's going to be okay, right?”

“I hope so. We should know in a few hours.”

“His stepfather's name is Jack Bowman. He lives in Stillwater. I don't have the phone number with me.”

She nodded. “I'm sorry, but I can't let you see your nephew just yet. Are you planning to stay?”

“I'm not sure what happened to Annie. I'm a little worried. I think I may try to find her.”

“Give the stepfather's name to the nurse at the admitting desk before you go.”

“I will,” said Jane. “Thanks.”

 

After finding a lucky parking spot on Washington, directly across from the condo, Jane walked to the end of the block and waited for the light to turn green. The fog had grown so thick she couldn't see for half a block and couldn't risk crossing against the light. Once back at the security phone, she found the manager's phone code and punched in the numbers. A woman's voice answered.

“My name's Lawless. I just came from the HCMC. A friend, Curt Llewelyn, was taken there by ambulance—”

“Oh, of course, Ms. Lawless. I was so sorry to hear about that. How's he doing?”

“He's holding his own.”

“Was it a heart problem?”

“No, his heart is fine. I wonder . . . do you know the woman he was living with? Annie Archer?”

“I saw him with someone. I didn't know the woman had moved in with him.”

“Can you let me into his apartment?”

“Well—” She hesitated. “Is this an emergency?”

“Nobody can find Annie. She's not at the hospital and she's not answering her cell. I need to check the apartment to see if she's there. Actually, I don't need to go inside myself. You could do it.”

“Are you in the downstairs lobby?”

“That's right.”

“I'll check it out. Wait for me. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

Jane paced in front of the elevators. It didn't take long for the doors to open and a woman to walk off. She looked to be in her late fifties and introduced herself as Clare Varner. “Sorry. The apartment was empty.”

Jane could tell by the grave look on her face that she'd found evidence of the suicide attempt. She had the good grace not to mention it. She studied Jane for a couple of seconds and then said, “You're really worried about this person, aren't you.”

“I'm afraid I am.”

“Do you know what kind of car she drives?”

“A white Toyota Corolla.”

“We could check out the garage, see if it's there.”

“You're a lifesaver.”

On the way down in the elevator, Clare explained that they had more parking spaces than were strictly necessary to accommodate the tenants. “That way, they can invite a friend to park inside during the winter months, if they're willing to come down with their key to let them in.”

In the chilly garage, Jane scanned the rows of cars and quickly spied the rusted back bumper of Annie's Corolla. Heading toward it, she said, “There it is.”

“What hospital is Curt at?” asked Clare.

“HCMC.”

“Maybe she walked over.”

“It's possible, I suppose. You know, my mind is so muddled I can't remember what kind of car Curt drives.”

Clare nodded to a red BMW. “I think that's it.”

If both of their cars were still parked in the garage, what did that mean?

Jane moved slowly around the Corolla, giving it a thorough examination. She wasn't sure what she was looking for but figured she'd know when she saw it. She felt the hood to see if it was warm. It wasn't. A faint growl drew her attention to the next car over. A black Buick Lucerne. Bending down, she peered under the bumper. “Oh, my god,” she said, crouching all the way down.

Two small, scared eyes stared back at her.

She struggled to remember the name of Annie's dog. “Dooley? Is that who you are?”

He growled again, then began to whine.