Smoke in Mirrors

her, you know. She asked me once why I thought we had turned out so differently.”
    “What did you tell her?”
    “What could I say?” She raised one shoulder in a small shrug. “I lost my own parents, but I had my grandparents to take their place. There was no one to take care of Meredith. She learned the hard way how to fend for herself.”
    Thomas drank more brandy.
    “Well,” he said eventually, “that information does help to fill out a big chunk of the puzzle.”
    “What puzzle?”
    “You,” Thomas said. “I’ve been trying to figure you out from the beginning.”
    She liked the idea that he had been trying to figure her out. She had never considered herself the mysterious type.
    She took off her glasses. The small action was designed to buy her a little time to contemplate his comment. Absently, she fiddled with the temple.
    “I always thought of Meredith as the mystery woman in the family,” she said.
    “Nah, she was easy to understand compared to you. You, on the other hand, are a real enigma. At first, I assumed you were Meredith’s accomplice. Thought you were after the money.”

    “I know.”
    “You shredded that theory when you made the deal to hand over the number of that offshore account in exchange for my help in finding out whether or not she was murdered.”
    “Did you come up with another theory?”
    “I was damn sure Meredith wasn’t the type who had close friends. Couldn’t see any of her acquaintances giving up a good job and moving here to Wing Cove for a while just to get some answers about her death. Knew there had to be another reason why . . .” He broke off abruptly.
    She arched one brow. “What?”
    He looked at the eyeglasses in her hand, frowning intently. “That temple looks a little loose.”
    She followed his gaze. “Yes, I know. I’ve been meaning to find an optometrist and get it tightened. Haven’t had a chance.”
    “You’re going to lose that screw if you’re not careful. Here, let me see those.”
    He reached across the counter and plucked the glasses from her fingers. Before she could ask him what he planned to do he opened a door next to the refrigerator and disappeared. A light came on in a small room.
    She hopped down off the stool and went to stand in the doorway. She found herself gazing into a room filled with gleaming tools of all sizes and descriptions.
    Thomas stood at a workbench, studying a box filled with very small screwdrivers.
    “Thomas?”
    “I think I’ve got one that will fit. Yeah, here we go.”
    He took a tiny screwdriver out of the box and went to work on her glasses.
    When he was finished he handed them back to her. “How’s that?”

    She tested the temples. They were both snug.
    She put on the glasses. And was oddly pleased.
    “This is great,” she said. “I’ll have to get myself one of those itty-bitty screwdrivers. Then I wouldn’t have to look up an optometrist every time I need to tighten a temple. Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    She looked at him. “I’m here in Wing Cove for the same reason you are, Thomas.”
    “I know,” he said. “A family thing. I’ve got that much figured out now.”
    “Yes.”
    He smiled faintly. “And here I’ve been thinking that you and I had nothing in common.”
    She’d been telling herself the same thing. Over and over again.

    Thomas and Wrench walked her back across the footbridge a short time later. The fog had moved in, cloaking the cove. The low lamps that marked the jogging trail and the narrow bridge glowed weakly. The lights of the town at the tip of the wing were a blurry glow in the distance.
    At her door, she said good night, locked up and then went to the window and pulled the curtain aside. She stood there, watching, until Thomas and Wrench disappeared into the mist.
    There was something similar about the way both man and beast moved, she mused. An easy, fluid, deceptively unhurried quality that was the hallmark of natural-born hunters.
    A couple of junkyard dogs, all right. She wasn’t buying that line about Wrench being a reincarnated miniature poodle for a minute.

Chapter Seven
    The ancient swivel chair squeaked when Leonora leaned back in it. She waited a couple of seconds to make sure it wasn’t going to collapse under her weight. When she was sure it would hold, she stacked her ankles on the edge of the battered wooden desk and reached for the phone. She punched out a familiar number.
    Gloria answered on the second ring, sounding slightly