Mirror Image

again, even if it means sacrificing your own daughter’s welfare in order to prove it?”
    “No,” Avery declared hoarsely. She couldn’t endure his hatred, even though it wasn’t intended for her.
    “You no longer have any power over me, Carole. I don’t even hate you anymore. You’re not worth the energy it requires to hate you. Take all the lovers you want. See if I give a damn.
    “The only way you could possibly hurt me now is through Mandy, and I’ll see you in hell first.”
    * * *
    That afternoon she went horseback riding. She needed the space and open air in which to think. Feeling silly wearing the formal riding clothes, she asked the stable hand to saddle her a mount.
    The mare shied away from her. As the aging cowboy gave her a boost up, he said, “Guess she hasn’t forgotten the whipping you gave her last time.” The mare was skittish because she didn’t recognize her rider’s smell, but Avery let the man believe what he wanted.
    Carole Rutledge had been a monster—abusive to her husband, her child, everything she had come into contact with, it seemed. The scene over breakfast had left Avery’s nerves raw, but at least she knew what she was up against. The extent of Tate’s contempt for his wife was understandable now. Carole had planned to abort his child—or one she claimed was his—though whether she had done so before the crash would forever remain a mystery.
    Avery pieced together the scenario. Carole had been unfaithful and had made no secret of it. Her faithlessness would be intolerable to Tate, but with his political future at risk, he decided to remain married until after the election.
    For an unspecified period of time, he hadn’t slept with his wife. He’d even moved out of their bedroom. But Carole had seduced him into making love to her one more time.
    Whether the child was Tate’s or not, Carole’s abortion
was
a political issue, and Avery believed she had planned it that way. It made her ill to think about the negative publicity and grave repercussions if anyone ever found out. The public effect on Tate would be as profound as the personal one.
    When Avery returned from her ride, Mandy was assisting Mona with baking cookies. The housekeeper was very good with Mandy, so Avery complimented Mandy’s cookies and left her in the older woman’s care.
    The house was quiet. She had seen Fancy roar off in her Mustang earlier. Jack, Eddy, and Tate were always in the city at this time of day, working at either the campaign headquarters or the law office. Dorothy Rae was secluded in her wing of the house, as usual. Mona had told her that Nelson and Zee had gone into Kerrville for the afternoon. Reaching her room, Avery tossed the riding quirt onto the bed and used the bootjack to remove the tall riding boots. She padded into the bathroom and turned on the taps of the shower.
    Not for the first time, an eerie feeling came over her. She sensed that someone had been in the rooms during her absence. Goose bumps broke out over her arms as she examined the top of her dressing table.
    She couldn’t remember if she had left her hairbrush lying there. Had her bottle of hand lotion been moved? She was certain she hadn’t left the lid of the jewelry box opened with a strand of pearls spilling out. She noticed things in the bedroom, too, that had been disturbed while she was out. She did something she hadn’t done since moving into Carole’s room—she locked the door.
    She showered and pulled on a thick robe. Still uneasy and distressed, she decided to lie down for a while before dressing. As her head sank into the pillow, it crackled.
    A sheet of paper had been slipped between the pillow and the pillowcase.
    Avery studied it with misgivings. The paper had been folded twice, but nothing was written on the outside. She dreaded opening it. What had the intruder expected to find? What had he been searching for?
    One thing was certain—the note was no accident. It had been cleverly and deliberately placed where she, and only she, would find it.
    She unfolded it. There was one line typed in the center of the white, unlined sheet:
    Whatever you’re doing, it’s working on him. Keep it up.
    * * *
    “Nelson?”
    “Hmm?”
    His absent reply drew a frown from Zinnia. She laid her hairbrush aside and swiveled on her dressing table stool. “This is important.”
    Nelson tipped down the corner of his newspaper. Seeing that she was troubled, he folded the paper and depressed the footrest of