Smoke in Mirrors

Deke about it. There was nothing he could have done. There was nothing anyone could have done.”
    “Maybe there’s more to it. No marriage is perfect, and sudden death doesn’t give anyone a chance to say good-bye or resolve outstanding issues. Who knows what was going on in Deke’s and Bethany’s relationship in the weeks and months before her death? Maybe they were having problems. Maybe they had argued that morning and Deke feels guilty because he never got a chance to say he was sorry.”
    “You think maybe some of those unresolved issues are haunting him?”
    “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m just saying that he probably needs closure and he has convinced himself that finding Bethany’s killer will give it to him.” She hesitated. “Who knows? Maybe I’m here for the same reason. Closure. I never got to say good-bye to Meredith, either.”
    “This is damn complicated, isn’t it?”
    “Life is complicated and sex does not make it less complicated. If anything, it only muddles things.”
    Thomas said nothing.
    She glanced at him. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

    “Well, I’ve got to tell you that sex never seemed all that complicated to me.”
    “Which only goes to show.”
    He frowned. “What does it show?”
    “That men and women view sex from entirely different perspectives.”
    “Damn. How the hell did we end up talking about sex?”
    “You started it,” she said. “You asked my opinion and I gave it to you. I don’t think Deke can allow himself to be happy again as long as he’s obsessing on the past. So in answer to your question, no, I don’t think he is sleeping with Cassie Murray, and even if he is, I doubt that it would bring him peace or solve his problems.”
    “Then we need to get some answers,” Thomas said.

Chapter Five
    “Please make yourself at home while you’re working here at Mirror House, Leonora.” Roberta Brinks looked up from pouring coffee. “My staff and I will be very busy for the next several weeks, what with the annual alumni weekend coming up. I’m afraid there will be a lot of coming and going around here.”
    “Believe me, I understand the importance of alumni weekends,” Leonora said in honest, heartfelt tones.
    “A great nuisance.” Roberta chuckled. “But where would we all be without our generous alumni, hmm? In any event, I think you’ll find that you’ll be quite undisturbed upstairs on the second floor. No one uses that part of the mansion very much. And the third floor is completely closed off. It’s only used for storage these days.”
    “I appreciate the tour of the house,” Leonora said. “It’s quite amazing, really.”
    She dropped her heavy satchel on the floor, sat down inone of two chairs that were positioned in front of the desk and watched Roberta pour coffee.
    Roberta had introduced herself as the executive director of Mirror House. She was a handsome, robust woman of some sixty years who carried herself with an air of authority. Her hair, cut in a classic, patrician bob, had evidently once been very dark. It had turned a striking shade of silver. She wore a white silk blouse with a paisley scarf, a navy-blue skirt and a pair of pumps that matched the skirt.
    “I must admit I’m curious about the architectural style of Mirror House,” Leonora said. “I can’t quite identify it.”
    Roberta made a face. “Technically speaking, I believe that it is considered a cross between Victorian and Gothic. It has been declared quite hideous by several self-respecting architects. But Nathanial Eubanks was very rich and very eccentric. Rich eccentrics who endow private colleges and thereby make it possible for generations of lucky professors to obtain tenure are allowed to build bizarre mansions.”
    “Ah, yes. The tenure thing.”
    “Indeed.” Roberta winked. “And you must admit this place does have character.”
    Leonora privately thought that character was a polite architectural euphemism in this instance. Prior to her arrival in Wing Cove she had assumed that she’d had some idea of what to expect, but her first close-up view of the mansion this morning had sent a fluttery chill of genuine dread down her spine. She’d seen enough horror films over the years to recognize Mirror House for what it was: the sort of place where mad scientists engineered monsters in the basement.
    Fortunately, she thought, she was an academic, a clear-headed librarian who did not go in for that sort of nonsense.

    Nevertheless, there