Mirror Image

be, where she would be watching for him, relying on him. His calls weren’t being put through to her, so she had no way of knowing that he’d frantically been trying to contact her.
    He stormed back into the newsroom as he pulled on his tweed blazer. “I’m going out.”
    “Out?”
    “What, are you deaf?
Out.
If anybody calls or comes looking for me, tell ’em to stay put or leave a message. I’ll be back when I can.”
    “Where are you…?” The subordinate was left talking to wisps of cigarette smoke.
    * * *
    “You’re sure he’s not there?” Avery was struck with disbelief. “I phoned earlier and—”
    “All I know is somebody said he went out, and I can’t find him, so I guess he’s out.”
    “Out where?”
    “Nobody seems to know.”
    “Irish wouldn’t go out the day of an election.”
    “Look, lady, it’s a madhouse around here, especially since Irish decided to split, so do you want to leave a message, or what?”
    “No,” she said distantly. “No message.”
    Feeling that she’d been cut adrift, she hung up and wandered back into the main room. Her eyes automatically sought out Tate first. He was talking with Nelson. Zee was ostensibly listening to their conversation, but her eyes were fixed on Tate with that faraway absorption that often characterized her.
    Jack and Eddy were downstairs seeing to the arrangements in the ballroom while carefully monitoring returns as they were reported. It was still several hours before the polls closed, but early indications were that Tate was staying abreast of Dekker. Even if he didn’t pull out in front, he’d given the pompous incumbent a good scare.
    Dorothy Rae had pleaded a headache earlier and gone to her room to lie down for a while. Fancy was sitting on the floor with Mandy. They were coloring together.
    On a sudden inspiration, Avery called her name. “Could you come here a minute, please?”
    “What for?”
    “I… I need you to run an errand for me.”
    “Grandma told me to entertain the kid.”
    “I’ll do that. Anyway, it’s getting close to her nap time. Please. It’s important.”
    Grudgingly, Fancy came to her feet and followed Avery back into the bedroom. Since the incident a few nights earlier, she had been much more pleasant to be around. Every now and then, traces of her recalcitrance asserted itself, but on the whole, she was more congenial.
    As soon as she closed the door behind them, Avery pressed a small key into Fancy’s hand. “I need you to do something for me.”
    “With this key?”
    “It’s a post office box key. I need you to go there and see if there’s something inside. If there is, bring it back with you and hand deliver it to me—no one else.”
    “What the hell’s going on?”
    “I can’t explain right now.”
    “I’m not gonna go chasing—”
    “Please, Fancy. It’s terribly important.”
    “Then, how come you’re asking me? I usually get the shit detail.”
    “I thought we were friends,” Avery said, turning up the heat. “Tate and I helped you out of a jam the other night. You owe us a favor.”
    Fancy chewed on that for a moment, then flipped the key in her palm several times. “Where’s it at?” Avery provided her with the address of the post office branch. “Jeez, that’s a million miles from here.”
    “And you said half an hour ago that you were tired of being cooped up in this friggin’ hotel suite. And I believe that’s a quote. Now, will you do this for me?”
    Avery’s demeanor must have conveyed some measure of the urgency and importance of the errand because Fancy shrugged. “Okay.”
    “Thank you.” Avery gave her a hard hug. At the bedroom door, she paused. “Don’t make a big deal of leaving. Just go as unobtrusively as possible. If someone asks where you are, I’ll cover for you.”
    “Why so hush-hush? What’s the big secret? You’re not screwing a postman, are you?”
    “Trust me. It’s very important to Tate—to all of us. And please hurry back.”
    Fancy retrieved her shoulder bag from the credenza in the parlor and headed for the double door of the suite. “I’ll be back,” she tossed over her shoulder. No one gave her a second glance.

Forty-Eight
    Fancy lifted her hip onto the stool and laid the small rectangular package she’d taken from the post office box on the polished wood surface of the bar. The bartender, a mustached, muscular young man, moved toward her.
    The smile she blessed him with had been designed in heaven for