Mirror Image

Jack!” Nelson bellowed.
    “Dad, you know as well as I do that—”
    “
Enough!
When you can control your own wife, you can start criticizing Tate.”
    Jack glared at his father, then at his brother, then hunched his shoulders and stormed out. Dorothy Rae rose from her chair unsteadily and followed him.
    “I guess you’ll walk next,” Tate said to Eddy in the tense aftermath of their departure.
    Eddy smiled lopsidedly. “You know better than that. Unlike Jack, I don’t take these things personally. I think you’re wrong, but…” He gave an eloquent shrug. “We’ll know on election day.” He clapped his friend on the back. “Guess I’d better go break the bad news to our
former
consultants.” He left; Fancy was hot on his heels.
    Zee brought Mandy in. The atmosphere still crackled with animosity. Uneasily, she remarked, “I heard a lot of shouting.”
    “We got some things sorted out,” Nelson said.
    “I hope my decision is okay by you, Dad.”
    “As you said, it was your decision. I hope you’re prepared to live with it.”
    “For my peace of mind, that’s the way it had to be.”
    “Then stop apologizing for something that’s already done.”
    “I told Mandy we would walk down to Sundance Square for a while,” Zee said, interrupting the uncomfortable conversation. “I don’t think it’s going to rain anymore.”
    “I’ll come along,” Nelson said, scooping the child into his arms, his good humor seemingly restored. “I could use the exercise. And we won’t mind if it does rain, will we, Mandy?”
    “Thanks for backing me up,” Tate said to Avery when they were finally alone. “You haven’t always.”
    “As Jack rudely reminded me.”
    “He was upset.”
    “More than that, Tate. Jack despises me.”
    He seemed disinclined to address that. Perhaps he knew, as Avery did, that Jack didn’t like Carole, but he desired her. Maybe Tate ignored that calamitous fact in the desperate hope that it would go away.
    “Why’d you do it?” he asked. “Why’d you take my side? Did you feel like it was your wifely duty?”
    “No,” she said, taking umbrage. “I sided with you because I believe you’re right. I didn’t like them or their meddling or their advice any better than you did.”
    It had occurred to her that the men from Wakely and Foster might somehow be connected to the plot to assassinate Tate. That was another reason she was so glad to see the last of them.
    After the recent heated discussion, the suite suddenly seemed very quiet. Paradoxically, without all the other people, the parlor seemed smaller, not larger. Their silent solitude pressed in on them.
    Avery clasped her hands at her waist. “Well, I—”
    “Good of Mom and Dad to take Mandy for a walk.”
    “Yes, it was.”
    “She’ll enjoy the outing.”
    “And it’ll give you a chance to study your speeches without interruption.”
    “Hmm.”
    “Although I don’t think you really need to study them.”
    “No, I feel comfortable about today’s schedule.”
    “That’s good.”
    He contemplated the toes of his boots for a moment. When he looked up, he asked, “Do you think it’ll rain?”
    “I, uh…” She gave the window a cursory glance. “I don’t think so, no. It—”
    He reached for her, pulled her against him, kissed her neck.
    “Tate?”
    “Hmm?” He walked her backward toward the sofa.
    “I thought, after last night, you wouldn’t want…”
    “You thought wrong.”

Thirty-Nine
    “Boo!”
    Fancy sprang out from behind the door as soon as Eddy entered his hotel room. He didn’t even flinch. “How’d you get in here?”
    “I bribed a maid.”
    “With what?”
    “Uncle Tate’s jockstrap.”
    “You’re sick.”
    “Don’t ya love it?”
    “What’s that?” He pointed to a table in front of the large window. It was draped with a white cloth and had two place settings laid out on it.
    “Lunch. Crab salad in cute little avocado halves.”
    “You should have asked me first, Fancy.”
    “Aren’t you hungry?”
    “It wouldn’t matter if I were. I’ve only got a minute.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the telephone. After consulting the piece of scrap paper in his shirt pocket, he punched out the number. “Mr. George Malone, please.”
    Fancy stood on her knees behind him and ground her pelvis against his spine. “Mr. Malone? This is Eddy Paschal, with the Rutledge campaign. You called?” Eddy ducked his head when she leaned over his shoulder and