The Mirror and the Mask (5 page)

“Did she give you the picture?” asked Cordelia.

Jane pulled one out of the back pocket of her jeans.

Cordelia studied it for a few seconds. “He looks really familiar. This is weird. I know this guy.”

“One of the bartenders at the club said he looks like some actor.”

“Yeah, Bruce Campbell.”

“Never heard of him.”

Cordelia was aghast. “You've never seen the Evil Dead trilogy? Or
Man with the Screaming Brain
?”

“Alas, no.”

“He does look like Campbell. Same prominent chin. Same purposeful,
squinty eyes. Same amused smirk. But I don't think that's why he's familiar. Can I keep it?”

“Why?”

“Because . . . because I collect pictures of people who remind me of Bruce Campbell.”

Jane gave her a pained look but let her have it.

Pulling the laptop closer to them, Jane said, “Nolan thought there was a chance we might be able to locate him. The main problem is, he's probably changed his name and his social security number. That really limits our options. Without his alias we can't do a local police check, a court check, a neighborhood check, a credit check, or an employment check. What I did end up searching was a Social Security Death Master File. That's for the entire country. There are a few sites that let you search the database for free, but most cost. And most aren't updated all that frequently. Nolan likes one called
RootsWeb.com
.” She typed an address into her browser and the website appeared.

“So is John Archer dead?” asked Cordelia, trying to stifle a yawn. She didn't want to put a damper on Jane's enthusiasm, but if this was how PI work was done these days, she thought it was deadly dull.

“None of the John Archers who were deceased fit our profile or his social security number.”

“What next?”

“We did a cross-country search for the name John William Archer. Found hundreds.”

“Yippee skippy.”

“Yeah, I know. It could take forever to get through them. Or at least longer than I want to spend. Annie said her dad had never been in prison, but Nolan suggested I check federal and state prison records anyway. Only problem is, that will take more time. No wonder private investigators cost so much. I can pop up the sites if you want to see them.”

“Thank you, no. I've already had my daily dose of frustration.”

Jane rested her elbows on her knees. “My feeling is that John Archer has been slippery from day one. Annie may realize that about him, or she may be completely in the dark.”

“Tell me again why she wants to find him?”

“Because he's her dad—and he disappeared. She said on the phone that she wants to put things right.”

“That could mean anything.”

“True. But as Nolan pointed out, when you're a working PI, it's not really any of your business.”

“You're not a working PI, so that doesn't apply to you. Besides, you can't be a good investigator if you aren't nosy.”

“You come from the Miss Marple School of Investigation. He's more—”

“Hard-boiled. Mean streets.”

“Well, yes. I guess you could put it that way.”

“And never the twain shall meet.”

“Actually,” said Jane, “I think they meet in me.”

“How very diplomatic.”

“None of the stuff I've got looks very promising. I need to catch a break, but so far I haven't found one.”

“Have you called Annie to give her the bad news?”

Jane shut down the computer. She contemplated the question as she sat back and took the last few swallows of her Moose Drool. “I thought I'd get up early in the morning, check out the rest of the leads I found in Traverse City. I'll talk to Annie later in the day if I haven't made any progress. She'll be at the Lyme House tomorrow, doing prep work in the kitchen.”

“How come you're going to all this trouble for somebody you don't even know?”

Jane looked at the bottle in her hand. “I'm not really sure. Partly, I guess I liked the feeling I got when I said I'd help her. I need that in
my life right now. Am I being too utterly earnest for your urbane tastes?”

“No, I get it. You need a problem to solve to get your mind off Kenzie.”

Jane gave her a sideways glance. “Maybe. But I like Annie. I'm curious about her. And quite honestly, I think there's more here than just a simple case of a daughter trying to find her long-lost daddy.”

“Is that a Miss Marple pronouncement or a Sam Spade observation?”

“It's a Jane Lawless stab in the dark. But I'd bet money I'm right.”

 

 

 

A
nnie waited while the woman with the pale, ferretlike face behind the counter called the Thrifty Comfort Motel's owner. The woman was always perfectly cordial, but at the same time sort of not there, like she was off somewhere in another part of the solar system. Annie didn't think it was drugs, just her personality, which, unlike the occasional illicit pharmaceutical, she was stuck with.

“He's not answering,” said the woman, holding the phone away from her ear.

“Could you give him my message?” asked Annie. She didn't want to show it, but she felt a little desperate. The owner had promised he'd leave an envelope for her with the night manager.

The woman waited a beat, then said, “Mr. Samuelson, it's Karen. There's a woman here—Annie Archer—who says you owe her for a bunch of housekeeping work. She's staying in eleven. Give me a call when you get a chance. Oh, and by the way, she's hasn't paid for tonight. She said the room rate was supposed to come out of her housekeeping money, but I don't see a note about it anywhere and I'm
supposed to charge her before I let her stay. Could you let me know what I'm supposed to do? Thanks.” She looked over at Annie. “When I hear from him, I'll let you know.”

“Does he usually call back pretty fast?”

“Depends. Just go on back to your room and I'll call when I know something.”

Feeling discouraged, Annie dashed back through the sleet, down the narrow, cracked sidewalk, past rusted screens, chipped paint, and heavy brown-curtained picture windows. Once inside her room, she brushed off her clothes. The last few days had been so mild that she hadn't expected winter to kick back in with such a vengeance.

Dooley, her dog, was lying in a tangle of blankets on the bed. When he saw her, he sat up and wagged his tail. She'd taken him with her when she left Steamboat Springs because she didn't know anyone who would agree to care for him indefinitely. She hadn't planned on being gone more than a week, but she couldn't be sure. And now it was going on seven days, with no end in sight.

“Hey, Dools,” she said, lying down next to him. She turned on her side and wrapped herself around him. “I guess we'll have to wait on dinner. After gassing up the car, we've got exactly twenty-two dollars in cash. I think we need to save it, just in case.”

Dooley was a small black poodle-cocker mix, all curly hair and sweetness. He was just over ten pounds. Whatever it was that had gone into making the sum and total of Dooley, he was her dog and she loved him. She was glad she'd brought him now because without such a gentle presence, she would have felt completely alone. Not that the feeling was new. Still, for the past six years, Dooley had worked his magic on her, taking the edge off some of her worst times.

They both dozed for a few minutes, Dooley no doubt dreaming of meat bones and green summer fields while Annie conjured up the woman she'd met at the Xanadu Club earlier today. Maybe lightning
would strike and Jane would locate Johnny. Whatever happened, this was probably Annie's last chance.

Sliding a hand into her pocket, she removed her cell phone and punched in her friend Tracy's number. It rang a few times before Tracy's boyfriend answered.

“Hey, Matt. Is Trace around?”

“This Annie?”

“Yeah.” She flipped onto her back.

“Wait a sec. I'll go get her.”

Tracy came on the line. “Hey, where are you?”

“St. Paul.”

“You actually went.”

“I had to. Listen, you're sure—absolutely positive—it was Johnny you saw in that bar last month?”

“As sure as I can be. I mean, I didn't talk to him. But I know what he looks like. It was him, Annie. I swear to god. Same smile. Same teasing look in his eyes. It was like déjà vu from when we were kids. Except he'd put on weight. Mostly around his middle. I'm not saying he looked terrible, but not like he used to.”

“And you said he wasn't alone?”

“He had some girl hanging on him. She looked young. How old would he be now?”

“Fifty-five. You can't remember anything more about the bar?”

“Look, between you and me, I was getting pretty wrecked that night. I'd been on the road for over a week and I was tired, sick of working and missing Matt. It was the third or fourth bar me and my girlfriend—Jenny—were at, so it was late, and I wasn't the one driving. Jenny was pretty wrecked, too. Remember I told you she was from Rochester? She didn't know where we were any more than I did. I wish I could remember more details about the place. There was lots of neon, I think. And a TV over the bar. For sure it was somewhere around West Seventh.”

Dooley crawled up on Annie's stomach and plopped down. Absently, she stroked his back. “Think hard, Trace. This is my last shot.”

Tracy was silent for a few seconds. “I was sitting in a booth, not ten feet from him. It was his laugh, Annie, that's what made me look over. You know what I mean. Part giggle, part howl. And he still had that sly, easy grin, the one that makes you think he's up to something. He looked . . . prosperous. Nice clothes. Leather, I think. I swear, the bartender seemed to know him. You didn't find anyone who could ID him from a photo?”

“Not a soul. You think the woman with him was his wife?”

“The way he was manhandling at her? Not likely.”

“Doesn't say much about marriage, does it.”

“Yeah, well, Matt and me, we're going to be different.”

Annie hoped she was right. Somewhere in this chaotic, godforsaken world, there had to be real love. Just because Annie hadn't found it didn't mean other people weren't happy.

“Hey, Annie? What are you planning to do when you find him?”

“I'm still exploring my options.”

“It was me, I'd buy a gun.”

Annie had given it some thought.

The landline in the room gave a jarring ring.

“I'm getting another call. I better take it.”

“Keep me updated, okay?”

“Will do. Love to Matt.” She switched off the cell and grabbed the phone on the nightstand. “Hello?”

“Archer?”

She recognized the motel owner's voice. “Mr. Samuelson. Thanks for calling back so quickly. You said you were going to leave me cash for cleaning those rooms, minus the price for staying the next couple of nights.”

“About that,” came Samuelson's high voice. “The guy in number
nineteen came to the office around three this afternoon, said his watch was missing.”

“Yeah? And?”

“An expensive watch. He said he noticed it was gone after the room was cleaned.”

“You think I took it? I never touched his watch.”

“He was pretty upset. So was I. Here's the deal. You listening? I'm not only not paying you, I want you out of that room immediately.”

Dooley tumbled off her stomach as she sat up. “This is total bullshit. You're just looking for an excuse not to pay me.”

“If you're not out of that room in ten minutes, I'll have Karen call the cops. Save us both some time and trouble and just get the hell out.”

Before Annie could respond, the line disconnected.

“Screw him,” she yelled.

Dooley growled, hopped off the bed.

Annie went into the bathroom and tossed all her toiletries into her duffel. Rushing around the bedroom, she picked up her clothes. She took Dooley's water bowl and dumped the water into the toilet. After stowing all her stuff in the trunk of her rusted white Corolla, she got Dooley settled inside the alpine sleeping bag in the backseat. And then she stomped down the row of motel rooms to number 19.

She banged on the door.

It took a few seconds, but a man finally appeared. He was unshaven, in a dirty T-shirt and sweats. “Yeah? What?”

“Did you tell the motel owner that your watch was stolen?”

His eyes were lit. She could smell the booze on his breath right through the screen. “What'd you say?”

“Your watch. I cleaned your room this morning. Did you tell the guy who owns the place that I took it?”

“My watch?” He held up his wrist, pointed to a crappy Timex. “Hard to steal it when I never take it off. The guy's messing with you.”

“Figured. He just tossed me out without paying me what he owes me.”