The Mirror and the Mask (8 page)

Jane leaned back in her chair. It never completely surprised her when Cordelia knew someone she didn't. With her connections in the community, and her high profile as part of the arts glitterati in the Twin Cities, she often seemed to have rubbed elbows with everyone.

“He's a contractor. Owns a company called DreamScape Builders. And like me, he's big into charity. A really great guy. And loaded. Remember last year I sat on that board for SecondChance Minnesota?”

“The group that was putting up all that new low-income housing?”

“Right. Your father got me involved. Jack was on the board. He donated materials, time, design help, and a bunch of workmen for the project. I was at one of the sites one day and he was actually there, swinging a hammer. I mean, he heads a multimillion-dollar
company and he's out working with the rest of the crew. We got to talking. He'd heard I was the creative director at the Allen Grimby, so he pulled me aside. Like I said, he seemed like a great guy, big smile, easy to talk to. On the other hand, he wasn't above using his considerable pull to get what he wants.”

“And what did he want?”

“His daughter, Sunny, is a real theater freak. He'd taken her to New York several times because she's wild about Broadway. He told me she wants to be an actress when she grows up, that she has real talent. Anyway, Jack had heard that we sometimes took on interns at the theater during the summer. Most of the time the kids are college age, generally theater majors. His daughter was seventeen at the time—between her junior and senior year. That was last summer.”

“Did you take her?”

“Sure. I pulled a few strings. Why not? She was terrific. Like a sponge. She soaked everything up, never missed a day. So, as I said, I don't know Jack all that well, but I do know Sunny. And I've met his wife. She's a real estate agent, if I remember correctly. They live just outside of Stillwater. I took Sunny home one night, got a tour of the house, and was even invited to dinner. The whole family was there—Sunny, her brother, Jack, and the wife. The brother is kind of the intellectual geek type. Jack took some pictures that night and e-mailed them to me. I'll find them and send them to you so you'll know what they all look like.”

“Sure. Do that.” Jane wasn't sure how to reconcile what she'd learned about John/Jack from Steve Glennoris with Cordelia's information. Then again, John had been in construction back in Traverse City, and he was still in construction, so that fit. Had he taken the money he'd stolen from Glennoris—and maybe money from an insurance payoff from his first wife's death—and parlayed it into a fortune?

“Sunny's not Jack's biological daughter,” said Jane.

“I know. She's very open about it.”

“Neither is Annie.”

“But I thought you said—”

“Maybe Annie calls him Dad because that's how she thinks of him.”

“Yeah, okay, but if she's really his stepdaughter, you'd think she'd mention it to you.”

“You're sure this Jack Bowman looks like John Archer?”

“It
is
him, Janey. No doubt in my mind.”

“From what I just learned, he's not exactly the fantastic guy you think he is. If he was, he never would have disappeared from Annie's life.”

“People are complex. So are relationships. And we can all grow and change, right? Come on, Janey, let's get back to the point. Do I win some kind of award or what?”

“I admit, finding him was a stroke of luck.” It was the wrong thing to say. Jane could almost feel Cordelia's hand plunge through the phone line and grab her sweater.

“It wasn't luck. It was my unfailingly astute intuition. I knew that if I showed that picture around, I'd find the right bar. Don't give me up for Nolan, Janey. I'm the real deal.”

Cordelia couldn't seem to get it through her head that Nolan had something special to offer. Intuition could blow hot and cold. If Jane really did want to learn the business, Nolan offered her a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Not that she intended to take it. “I owe you, kiddo.”

“You bet you do. So, are you going to phone Annie? Give her the news?”

“Actually, she's working here today.”

“Great. Call me after you talk. As for me, I finally get to take off this hideous Nazi interrogation bra.”

“Pardon me?”

“It's a need-to-know kind of thing. You don't. Peace.”

 

Jane spent the next hour chasing down info on Jack Bowman and DreamScape Builders. She located a picture of him on his business website. He looked older, heavier, his temples graying. The photo convinced her, like nothing else had, that Jack Bowman was indeed John Archer.

Reading through the links, she learned that his company employed over a hundred people. Designers, architects, draftsmen, sales staff, plumbers, electricians, drywallers, concrete and patio specialists, excavators, landscapers, and on-site construction workers. The company was full-service: built houses, did remodels, and worked on just about everything else—all high-end.

DreamScape Builders had been founded by Jack Bowman in 1997, the year after he'd disappeared from Traverse City. By accessing local marriage data, Jane learned that Bowman had married Susan Greta Llewelyn in 2000. Susan brought two children into the marriage—Curt, who would now be twenty-six, and Sunny, seventeen. Susan was the branch VP of Northland Realty's Hastings office.

Besides being the president and CEO of a large company, Bowman owned both commercial and residential property in the Metro area. He also served on the boards of several charity organizations, and for the last four years had organized a local golf tournament to raise money for disabled veterans. On paper, at least, he sounded like a model citizen.

So where was the disconnect? Had Jack Bowman, alias John Archer, a possible ex-con, murdered his first wife, Mandy, making it somehow look like a natural death in order to collect on a hefty life insurance policy? Had he stolen from his business partner, Steve Glennoris, and never looked back? Had he changed his name and disappeared, relocating to the Twin Cities, parlaying his newfound wealth
into a booming construction business, a new marriage, and a new life? It seemed as if most of it had to be true, but there were still a lot of gaps to fill before Jane would feel she had a grip on who Jack Bowman really was. On the other hand, she'd found what Annie wanted.

Climbing the back stairs to the Lyme House kitchen, Jane found Annie chopping bok choy at a long table with two other prep cooks.

“How's it going?” she asked.

Annie wiped an arm across her forehead. “Honestly? I prefer bartending.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I'm always hungry.”

“Your shift's just about up. Let's go sit in the pub and grab ourselves something to eat.”

Annie reached around to untie her apron. “Let me clean up a little first. I'll meet you.”

On weekday afternoons, the Lyme House Pub was generally pretty empty. Today was no exception. With a book tucked under her arm, Jane pulled herself a beer. She took a table in the back by the round copper fireplace.

Annie walked in a few minutes later. She was dressed the exact same way she had been yesterday—cargo jeans and an army green sweater. Her long blond hair was wound into a bun, but without the health department–mandated hairnet, delicate golden tendrils fell on either side of her face. She sat down, her tired blue eyes working their way over the room, from the ceiling beams to the wall sconces glowing amber in the subdued light. “This place is terrific. I almost like it better than the Xanadu Club.”

“This was my first baby,” said Jane. “I helped design it.”

“It's exactly what I want,” she said, looking around admiringly. “Someday I hope to be set up just like this. Not with a restaurant, but I want to be my own person, answer to nobody.”

“That last part is difficult. I answer to my customers every day. To the bank. To my employees.”

“Yeah, I know. But you understand what I mean. I want this kind of stability and accomplishment.”

A waiter arrived to take orders.

“We've got some great specials,” said Jane.

Annie studied the menu. “I think . . . maybe . . . just a Diet Pepsi.”

Jane had the sense that her reticence was another money issue. “It's on the house.”

“Really?”

“What do you like? Fish and chips? Irish stew? Shepherd's pie? One of our famous pub burgers?”

“The stew sounds great.”

“It's lamb, not beef.”

“I know. I saw it being made.”

“And bring some soda bread and butter for me,” said Jane. “And a bowl of the potato corn chowder.”

“Coming right up,” said the waiter.

As he walked away, Jane slid the book across to Annie. “You mentioned yesterday that you like to read. I got you a copy of
Too Late the Phalarope
. It's one of my favorites.”

“Hey, you didn't need to do that.” She studied the cover, then began to page through the interior. “Honestly, this is so nice of you. I'm not reading anything at the moment. I'll start on it tonight.” She glanced at the back cover for a few seconds, then put it aside. “Did you get a chance to talk to that PI friend of yours?”

“I did.” She felt more guarded this afternoon, knowing that Annie wasn't the open book she'd appeared to be yesterday. On the other hand, there was no reason Annie should trust her.

“I think I found your dad.”

“Are you serious? That's terrific.”

“He's changed his name to Jack Bowman. It's probably not a legal name change. He owns a construction company in the Twin Cities, lives with his wife and two kids.”

Annie's face lost some of its eagerness. “He's remarried? And the kids—they're his wife's?”

It wasn't just an educated guess. “That's right.” She waited to see if Annie would admit she wasn't Jack's natural child. When she didn't, Jane decided to play it on Annie's terms. She had a right to her secrets. And yet Jane felt let down.

“Where does my dad live?”

She gave her all the particulars, as much as she'd learned so far.

Annie pulled a small notebook out of one of the pockets of her jeans and wrote everything down.

“He's quite wealthy,” said Jane.

“Wealthy,” Annie repeated, her eyes drawn to the fire. “Huh.”

“I talked to a man he worked with in Traverse City. Steve Glennoris. He said your dad stole from him. A couple hundred thousand dollars. They had a joint business account and your dad wiped it out before he left town.”

Annie didn't say anything, just nodded.

“Did you know about that?”

“No. But it doesn't surprise me.”

Jane took a sip of beer. “Just so you know, Jack's life seems to be full of secrets. I was told he'd taken out a life insurance policy on your mom. When she died, he may have inherited a sizable sum.”

Annie's eyebrows furrowed. “He never said anything to me about an insurance policy.”

“He also may have served time in prison.”

“Oh?”

Jane could have pegged that reaction as a lie from a mile away.

When their food arrived, Annie tucked into her stew as if she
hadn't eaten in decades. Picking out some of the biggest pieces of meat, she set them on her bread plate.

“You don't like the lamb?” asked Jane.

“No, it's not that. I want to save some for my dog. He's in the car.”

“Has he been out there all day?”

“He likes to snuggle in my sleeping bag in the backseat when he gets cold. But with the sun out, it must be fifty inside the car, so he's fine. Nothing to worry about.”

Pulling her soup closer, Jane decided to take a diplomatic tack. “Look, I don't know what went down between you and your father. That's none of my business. But when you consider that your dad may have served time in prison, and that he also may have stolen money from his business partner and received a large life insurance payout after your mother died, and add to that the fact that he's assumed a new,
false
, identity, two questions present themselves. First, are you absolutely sure you want to contact him? He sounds like a guy who wouldn't be particularly happy to have someone from his past pop up out of the blue. In fact, if you do contact him, I'd urge you to be careful. You could blow his present life out of the water.”

“What's the second question?” asked Annie.

“You said your dad had nothing to do with your mother's death, that it was completely natural. But do you really have all the details?”

Annie wiped her mouth on a napkin, giving herself a moment to think. “I assumed I did.”

“I'm asking because Jack Bowman may turn out to be a great guy, but at the moment, I'm not sure he's the man you think he is. I don't mean to pry, but what is it you really hope to gain from reuniting with him?”

Annie picked up her spoon and stirred the stew. “Answers,” she said. “For once in his life, I want him to tell me the goddamned truth.”