Smoke in Mirrors

frozen silence. And then the sound of footsteps running heavily toward the rear of the house. Thomas heard the muffled sound of the back door opening.
    Thomas took two long strides to the edge of the porch and looked around the corner of the house. He was just intime to see a dark figure silhouetted at the edge of the clearing.
    The figure paused, raised one arm.
    Thomas pulled back quickly, out of the line of fire. The shot crashed beneath the eaves of the house. Wood splintered in a porch post.
    And then there was only silence.
    “He’s gone,” Thomas said. “So much for finding out who Rhodes was entertaining tonight.”
    “Thomas?”
    The odd note in Deke’s voice made him turn swiftly.
    “What is it?”
    Deke gazed intently through the crack in the doorway. “We’ve got a problem.”
    Thomas walked back to the door and pushed it open wider. From the threshold he could see through the small front hall into the firelit living room.
    A figure dressed head-to-toe in black lay crumpled on the cushions in front of the low table.
    Thomas slowly led the way inside and came to a halt beside the body. Blood soaked the braided rug behind Rhodes’s head. There was more blood on the front of the black silk shirt.
    “Dead,” Deke said.
    The antique looking glass was uncovered. Thomas could see the reflections of a hundred miniature fires blazing in the multitude of tiny convex and concave mirrors on its surface.
    Small glimpses of hell.
    The room was a scene of chaos and destruction. Cushions had been ripped, exposing the innards. Drawers and cupboards stood open, the contents scattered on the floor.
    Thomas reached into his pocket for his cell phone.
    “Whoever did this was searching the place and we interrupted him,” Deke said.

    “They always tell you not to do that.” Thomas punched the emergency number on his cell phone.
    “Now we know why. Good way to get killed.”
    In the distance a heavy engine roared to life.
    The 911 operator came on the line. Thomas filled her in on the facts.
    “Yeah, sure,” he said, losing his patience with the endless litany of questions. “We’ll stick around until Stovall gets here. Not like we’ve got anything better to do. Tell him to watch for a small truck or an SUV on his way here. The guy who did this is driving something big.”
    He ended the call.
    The rising wind howled in the trees.

Chapter Eighteen
    The drive in front of the little rental house was illuminated by the glaring lights of three police vehicles and Wing Cove’s two ambulances. The crowd included medical personnel from the hospital, Ed Stovall together with all of the members of his small force, the mayor and a reporter from the Wing Cove Star .
    Murder was big news in a small town.
    “Been keeping a close eye on Rhodes for quite a while,” Ed Stovall said. “Had a hunch he was dealing. He’s got a background in chemistry and this S and M stuff is definitely something that got cooked up in a lab.”
    He stood ramrod stiff next to the gleaming front fender of his white SUV. Thomas figured it was mechanically impossible for Stovall to lounge casually against anything, even his own vehicle. The robotic construction of his compact frame probably did not allow for those options.

    “Elissa volunteered to go undercover for me,” Ed said. “A very brave woman. Insisted on doing her duty as a citizen. She got me a sample of some of that nutritional supplement Rhodes sold. I had it tested. Turned out to be flavored sugar crystals and cornstarch. Couldn’t arrest him for peddling snake oil. But I was still sure there was something else going on with him. You ever notice those weird eyes?”
    “Tinted contacts,” Thomas said.
    “I know. Creepy, if you ask me.”
    “I think Rhodes was trying to project a dramatic image,” Thomas said.
    “I would have nailed him eventually. Unfortunately, someone else got to him first.”
    Thomas watched two men load the gurney bearing Alex Rhodes’s body into the back of an aid car.
    Deke scowled. “You really think this was a drug deal gone bad, Ed?”
    He was furious and he was making little effort to conceal that fact. Thomas did not blame him. The conversation was not going well. As usual, Ed was not interested in their theories. He had already jumped to his own conclusions regarding the murder.
    “It all fits,” Ed said, stubborn as ever.
    “Okay,” Thomas said evenly, “say he was dealing drugs. Even if that was the case, what makes you so sure