The Mirror and the Mask

The Mirror and the Mask

 

 

 

 

 

A L S O   B Y   E L L E N   H A R T

 

S
WEET
P
OISON
T
HE
M
ORTAL
G
ROOVE
N
IGHT
V
ISION
T
HE
I
RON
G
IRL
A
N
I
NTIMATE
G
HOST
I
MMACULATE
M
IDNIGHT
N
O
R
ESERVATIONS
R
EQUIRED
D
EATH ON A
S
ILVER
P
LATTER
T
HE
M
ERCHANT OF
V
ENUS
S
LICE AND
D
ICE
H
UNTING THE
W
ITCH
W
ICKED
G
AMES
M
URDER IN THE
A
IR
R
OBBER
'
S
W
INE
T
HE
O
LDEST
S
IN
F
AINT
P
RAISE
A S
MALL
S
ACRIFICE
F
OR
E
VERY
E
VIL
T
HE
L
ITTLE
P
IGGY
W
ENT TO
M
URDER
A K
ILLING
C
URE
S
TAGE
F
RIGHT
V
ITAL
L
IES
H
ALLOWED
M
URDER

ELLEN HART

MINOTAUR BOOKS  
  NEW YORK

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

THE MIRROR AND THE MASK
. Copyright © 2009 by Ellen Hart. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

 

www.minotaurbooks.com

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

Hart, Ellen.

   The mirror and the mask / Ellen Hart. — 1st ed.
               p. cm.

   ISBN 978-0-312-37527-0

1. Lawless, Jane (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women detectives—Minnesota—Minneapolis—Fiction. 3. Missing persons—Fiction.

4. Minneapolis (Minn.)—Fiction. 5. Lesbians—Fiction. 6. Psychological fiction. I. Title.

   PS3558.A6775M57 2009

   813'.54—dc22

2009028479

 

First Edition: November 2009

 

10    9    8    7    6    5    4    3    2    1

For Diane Ferreira,
with much love

 

 

 

 

 

Maggie: “Truth, truth! Everybody keeps hollerin' about the
truth. Well, the truth is as dirty as lies.”

 

—Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,
Tennessee Williams

 

 

We are what we pretend to be.

 

—Mother Night,
Kurt Vonnegut

The Mirror and the Mask

Summer 1990

 

 

F
or the third time in less than ten minutes, Annie's mom rushed into the bathroom to redo her makeup. It was definitely weird behavior. Her mom had a routine that never varied. She was the assistant manager of one of the big resorts near Traverse City and always looked perfect when she left for work late in the afternoons. Today was her day off, so Annie figured something was up. On days like this, her mom usually dressed pretty grungy. Sweats. Tank tops. Old T-shirts. But this afternoon, she was so incredibly wired, rocketing back and forth between the bathroom and the bedroom, that Annie wasn't even sure her mom knew she'd come back from the mall.

Annie Andrews was thirteen. She and her mom lived in an apartment complex not too far from the Miller Creek Nature Preserve, which was a way cool place with lots of great walking paths. This was the best place they'd ever lived. There was a workout room, a playground, and even a putting green. Annie had taken up putting after her mom bought her a used putter for her birthday. If she did say so herself, she was getting pretty good at it.

But best of all, the apartment was close to the Grand Traverse Mall, where Annie met her friends almost every day during the summer. Her mom had always worked resorts, starting with her first job as a housekeeper at the Boardwalk Plaza in Rehoboth Beach, the town where Annie was born. Over time, she'd moved up the ladder all the way to management. After Annie's dad died of cancer—when she was five—they'd lived in a whole bunch of places. One time, Annie attended three different schools in a single year. But that was a while ago. Annie's mom promised that they wouldn't have to move again for a long time, which was good because Annie adored her current school. She was working on her first boyfriend and couldn't bear the thought of ever leaving.

Making strangling noises, Annie's mom wiggled into a tight pair of white jeans, examined herself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom, pressed a hand to her stomach, and let her shoulders droop. “Ugh.”

“What's up?” asked Annie from the doorway.

Her mom jumped. “Honey, you scared me. I didn't know you were back.”

“Figured.”

Pulling on a pink lace camisole, she stood with one hand on her hip, nervously turning one side, then the other, to the mirror. “I got a call while you were gone.”

“Yeah?”

“There's someone—a man—coming over in a few minutes. He's . . .” She hesitated, easing down on her bed.

“He's what?”

“Well, actually, he's somebody I met a long time ago. We've been writing each other for years.”

“You have? How come you never said anything about it?”

“This is kind of hard to explain, honey. He's . . . been . . . in prison.”

Annie arched her eyebrows.

“Nothing violent. He just made some bad decisions and ended up in jail.”

Annie didn't respond, mainly because she had no idea what to say.

“I . . . care about him a lot,” continued her mother, gnawing at a fingernail. “His name is John. Johnny Archer.”