Mirror Image

which were easily smashed with the silencer attached to the barrel of the pistol.
    Covered with shards of opaque glass and stygian darkness, Irish McCabe’s body was left there on the floor. The assassin knew that by the time it was discovered, his death would be obscured by another.
    * * *
    Prime time had been given over solely to election returns. Each of the three television sets in the parlor was tuned to a different network. It had turned out to be a close presidential race—still too close to call. Several times, the network anchors cited the senatorial race in Texas between the newcomer, Tate Rutledge, and the incumbent, Rory Dekker, as one of the closest and most heated races in the nation.
    When it was reported that Rutledge was showing a slight edge, a cheer went up in the parlor. Avery jumped at the sudden noise. She was frantic, walking a razor’s edge, on the brink of nervous collapse.
    All the excitement had made Mandy hyperactive. She’d become such a nuisance that someone from the hotel’s list of baby-sitters had been hired to keep her entertained in another room so the family would be free to concentrate on the returns.
    With her mind temporarily off Mandy, Avery could devote herself to worrying about Tate and wondering where Irish and Van were. Their disappearances didn’t make sense. She had called the newsroom three times. Neither had been there, nor had their whereabouts been known.
    “Has anyone notified the police?” she had asked during her most recent call. “Something could have happened to them.”
    “Listen, if you want to report them missing, fine, do it. But stop calling here bugging us. Now, I’ve got better things to do.”
    The phone had been slammed down in her ear. She wanted to drive to the station as quickly as she could get there, but she didn’t want to leave Tate. As the hours of the evening stretched out, there were two certainties at play in her mind. One was that Tate was about to win the Senate seat. The other was that something dreadful had happened to her friends.
    What if Gray Hair
had
been stalking her, not Tate, as Van had suggested? What if he’d noticed her interest in him? What if he’d intercepted Van this morning as he reported to work? What if he’d lured Irish away from the TV station?
    It made her nauseated with fear to know that a killer was in the hotel, under the same roof as Tate and Mandy.
    And where was Fancy? She had been gone for hours. Had something happened to her, too? If not, why hadn’t she at least phoned to explain her delay? Even with Election Day traffic, the round trip to the post office shouldn’t have taken much longer than an hour.
    “Tate, one of the networks just called the thing in your favor!” Eddy announced as he came barreling through the door. “Ready to go downstairs?”
    Avery whirled toward Tate, holding her breath in anticipation of his answer. “No,” he said. “Not until it’s beyond a shadow of a doubt. Not until Dekker calls and concedes.”
    “At least go change your clothes.”
    “What’s wrong with these clothes?”
    “You’re going to fight me on that to the bitter end, aren’t you?”
    “Till the bitter end,” Tate replied, laughing.
    “If you win, I won’t even care.”
    Nelson walked over to Tate and shook his hand. “You did it. You accomplished everything I expected of you.”
    “Thanks, Dad,” Tate said a bit shakily. “But let’s not count our chickens yet.” Zee hugged him against her petite frame.
    “Bravo, little brother,” Jack said, lightly slapping Tate on the cheek. “Think we ought to try for the White House next?”
    “I couldn’t have done anything without you, Jack.”
    Dorothy Rae pulled Tate down and kissed him. “It’s good of you to say that, Tate.”
    “I give credit where credit’s due.” He stared at Avery over their heads. His expression silently declared just how wrong she had been. He was surrounded by people who loved him. She was the only deceiver.
    The door opened again. She spun around, hoping to see Fancy. It was one of the volunteers. “Everything’s all set in the ballroom. The crowd’s chanting for Tate and the band’s playing. God, it’s great!”
    “I say it’s time to break out the champagne,” Nelson said.
    When the first cork was popped, Avery nearly jumped out of her skin.
    * * *
    John’s arm grazed Fancy’s breast. She moved away. His thigh rubbed hers. She recrossed her legs. His predictable passes were getting