Finding Laura (2 page)

“Not particularly.” Laura looked at Cassidy’s effortless tan with envy and shifted a bit to make sure her shoulder remained in the shade of the umbrella. Life really wasn’t fair. With Cass’s pale blond hair and blue eyes, she should have burned to a crisp on a day like this. But did she? Oh, no. She just tanned a golden brown. Laura, on the other
hand, not only didn’t tan effortlessly, she didn’t tan at all; cursed with extremely fair skin, sunlight either burned her badly or else peppered her with freckles. She was ghost pale—and it was the end of yet another long, hot Atlanta summer.

“How can you not be curious?” Cassidy demanded. “The Kilbournes were here long before Sherman marched through, and the intrigues in that family have been grist for the newspapers for generations. You know they say that old Amelia Kilbourne killed her husband? And Amelia’s son died mysteriously, everybody knows that, when his two sons were just kids—”

“Cassidy.” Laura pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and shook her head. “Even supposing any of that ‘they say’ and ‘everybody knows’ stuff is true, do you really expect to see or hear anything of interest at an estate sale? If any of the family is even there, they’ll be behind satin ropes in rooms off-limits to the public. Bet on it.”

It was Cassidy’s turn to pull her sunglasses down her nose, and her bright blue eyes peered at Laura with undiminished interest. “Oh, the whole house is off-limits. The sale’s taking place in the side courtyard of the house. The way I heard it, when the prodigal son came home, he took charge with a vengeance. And no way was he going to permit strangers to tromp through the ancestral halls—even if he did want to sell them a few trinkets.”

“The prodigal son?” Laura asked despite herself.

“Mmm. Daniel Kilbourne. Amelia’s oldest grandson. He’s been up north enlarging the family fortune. Some kind of financial wizard, I take it. So, anyway, Amelia gets it into her head that the bursting attics and basement of the house badly need emptying, and announces an estate sale. And before you can say ‘scat,’ here comes Daniel to arrange everything.”

“Is there anything those newspapers of yours
don’t
know?”

Cassidy laughed and relaxed in her lounge, pushing the sunglasses back up her nose. “Not much. For instance, while the boys’ mother, Madeline, is said to be meek, mild, and completely willing to live in Amelia’s house and do as she wishes, both of her sons get away with murder—Daniel because he does what he wants despite the old lady, and Peter because he charms her into giving him his way.”

“Sounds like a lovely family,” Laura noted dryly.

“You haven’t heard the half of it. Honest, Laura, it’s like a soap opera! The old lady still technically controls most of the family fortune, but Daniel’s been running things for years, and word has it he has to fight Amelia every step of the way. He’s supposed to be hard as nails, and because of some kind of legal arrangement Amelia’s husband made just before he drowned in his own swimming pool, Daniel’s set to inherit everything when Amelia goes.
Everything
. The rest of the family will have to either be real nice to Daniel or else go out and get jobs once the old lady’s gone.

“And there are several relatives living in the house, you know. There’s Josie Kilbourne, some sort of cousin by marriage, I think; she doesn’t get along with Amelia’s granddaughter, Anne—who’s the daughter of Amelia’s daughter, who supposedly died mysteriously, and—”

Laura held up a hand in protest. “Enough! Cass, you’ve lost me.”

“I haven’t even mentioned Peter’s wife, Kerry,” Cassidy said in an innocent tone. “Don’t you want to know about her and the chauffeur?”

“Jeez, is there just a normally dull and boring Kilbourne?”

“Not so you’d notice. I’m telling you, it’s Peyton Place revisited.”

Laura shook her head. “Well, anyway, I’m really not interested in an estate sale, Cass. Or the Kilbournes, for
that matter. I have better things to do with my Saturday morning, thanks.”

Cassidy smiled slightly and, without looking at her friend, murmured, “You know, I bet they’ll have mirrors. Bound to, with a house that big. Just think—mirrors. Old ones, God knows how old. Mirrors you could never find anywhere else.…”

After a long moment, Laura said, “You’re evil.”

Cassidy turned her head and grinned at her friend. “I’ll drive. Oh—and can I borrow your blue blouse?”

LAURA’S OBSESSION WITH
mirrors had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. As a child, her family had teased her for her vanity, not understanding that it wasn’t her own reflection she gazed so intently into mirrors to see but something else. Something she couldn’t explain even to herself.

As she grew older, Laura learned to downplay her obsession, just as she had learned to downplay the other inexplicable things she felt, the things that made her different from those around her. She turned her obsession into something acceptable. She became a collector. She collected mirrors, hand mirrors. That might raise a few brows from time to time, but no one thought she was crazy to collect mirrors. Lots of people collected odd things.

She was still teased from time to time, but those who knew her best looked high and low for interesting mirrors when a gift was needed, because Laura was unfailingly delighted with them.

But no one, not her family, not even Cassidy, who was her closest friend, knew just how deeply her obsession ran. They didn’t know that she still looked into every mirror she encountered, not to check her hair or makeup, but still searching for that mysterious something she couldn’t even put a name to. They didn’t know that her collection of
mirrors went far, far beyond the thirty or so examples she displayed in her apartment.

Packed away in numerous boxes in the small second bedroom she used for storage were literally hundreds of hand mirrors. She didn’t buy every hand mirror she saw, of course. Some were too large or too small, too ornate or too plain, or whatever material they were fashioned in didn’t suit her. She had no mental list of characteristics, yet always knew instantly if a mirror just somehow wasn’t “right.” And eventually, all those she bought left her vaguely dissatisfied, no matter how excited she had been initially.

It occurred to her that she was searching for a specific mirror, but she had no idea why she would be. Or what that mirror represented to her. She didn’t even have a clear picture in her mind to go by, only flashes of intuition and the evidence of what she had collected through the years. Looking at those, she could guess that it was a fairly small hand mirror, fashioned out of some kind of metal and with an intricate design on the handle and back.

But why she searched so intently for such a thing, or what it could possibly mean to her, Laura had no idea. She knew only that it wasn’t possible for her to pass up a chance to perhaps find a wonderful new mirror, any more than it was possible for her to willfully stop the beating of her heart.

T
HE
K
ILBOURNE ESTATE
was set in one of the old and gracious suburbs of Atlanta, well back from the road and surrounded by fencing made up of red brick and wrought iron. The house stood amid stately oak trees on property that was thirty acres of immaculately groomed, meticulously planned and landscaped perfection. Various magazines and historical societies had named it the Most Beautiful Estate in Atlanta for so many years that it had
been tacitly retired from consideration in recent years so that other estates might carry the banner.

The huge house itself was very Southern, a plantation style more common to the Louisiana river country. Double galleries with six Doric columns on each level extended across the entire front of the main section, while two large wings stretched out to either side. The architectural details of the mansion mixed several periods, from the Doric columns that were classical, through proportions and symmetry that were Greek Revival, and right on into French and baroque touches.

Laura fell in love with the house immediately, which surprised her. She had never been drawn to places, and though her artist’s eye could appreciate beauty, no other house had ever made her fingers itch to paint it or called out to her soul to come in and explore its many nooks and crannies.

Not that either was possible, of course. The house hadn’t had its portrait painted since 1840, and during today’s estate sale, the interior of the house was quite firmly off-limits to all but family. There were uniformed guards standing about to make sure no one wandered inside or ventured out into the vast and celebrated gardens of the estate.

“They’re awfully fussy about having strangers about, considering how much of their business is public,” Laura murmured to Cassidy.

Bright-eyed with interest, Cassidy nodded. “No kidding. I guess we meekly follow the signs, huh?”

“I guess.”

There was a clearly and plainly marked path from where they had been told to park along the wide driveway at the front of the house around the north wing to a rear courtyard near the huge garage that was empty of cars—and filled with the furniture and items that were to be sold. The garage doors were all open, and there were also
several long tables set up near the garage, so that all items could be viewed prior to the auction.

Like everyone else attending, Laura and Cassidy had to stop at a registration table first and present a valid I.D. in order to acquire bidding numbers. With that accomplished, they moved toward the garage, where there were already a couple dozen people moving about even though the auction was still nearly two hours away.

“It looks like most of the big furniture is at this end,” Cassidy noted as she scanned the area. “The smaller stuff seems to be in that far corner. Listen, since I’m hunting a table for my bedroom and you’re looking for mirrors, why don’t we split up? We can meet back out here where they’ll hold the auction.”

Laura, who had caught the distant gleam of something shiny, nodded a distracted agreement and angled off to enter the middle garage door in a shortcut that would take her to the far corner. The interior was well lit and, since it was a reasonably cool morning, comfortable. Temporary shelving had been set up in rows at the far end of the garage to hold small items, and it was to that area that Laura was drawn.

She was virtually alone back there, since most browsers had started at the other end and hadn’t reached this area yet. It was very quiet, auction attendees being serious about their bargain-hunting and tending toward low voices and narrowly focused attention.

Laura’s attention focused very narrowly. She saw several wall mirrors first, hanging near the garage door in a grouping, and was, as always, drawn to them. She inspected each one, noting only in passing carved and gilded frames that were lovely. Her gaze was drawn to the bright, reflective surfaces of the mirrors. She stood before each one for at least a full minute, looking intently at the reversed image of the room behind her. That was what she
scanned searchingly; she never noticed her own reflection, only what lay behind her.

But whatever it was she hoped to see remained elusive and inexplicable. Sighing, disappointed as always, Laura turned away and began moving along the nearest row of shelves. She saw pretty much what she expected to see, given that an attic and basement had been cleared out after generations of a family had stored away what was broken or disliked. Old vases and figurines, decorative bowls, candlesticks, a pair of nice bronze bookends, several small lamps, ornate picture frames, mechanical clocks, stacks of old books, and so on.

She walked along slowly, absently noting that some items had been tagged with a price, meaning that the auctioneer would have a floor for the bidding and could not accept less than the tagged price. Other items bore only numbers, for sale to the highest bidder even if that high bid was only a few dollars.

Laura saw a couple of items she was mildly tempted by, but nothing grabbed her until she reached the last row of shelves. Halfway down the row and on the middle shelf, in a cleared space with nothing near it, was a mirror.

It was about fifteen inches long and seemed to be made of brass, though the metal was so badly tarnished it was difficult to be sure. The handle bore an intricate, swirling design that was stamped or cut deeply into the brass on both sides, while the nearly heart-shaped mirror was held lovingly between an edging of an even more elaborate pattern. Laura didn’t have to look to know that the back of the mirror would also be stamped with the swirling design; she didn’t recognize it, yet she felt an odd sense of familiarity.

More than that, she was conscious of a certainty that was immediate and absolute.

This was the mirror she had looked for all her life. She knew it.

She felt it
.

Her heart was thudding against her ribs, and Laura saw that her hand was shaking when she reached out slowly to touch the mirror. She merely touched it at first, tracing the complex design stamped into the metal with her index finger. Then, as if the precision of every movement were desperately important, she wrapped her fingers around the handle and lifted the heavy mirror.

She didn’t realize until she held the mirror before her face that she had closed her eyes. She was afraid to open them. Afraid of what she would see—or not see—when she looked. Afraid, suddenly, to find an answer to the puzzle of her obsession.

But finally, Laura drew a breath and opened her eyes.

She saw herself. Red hair and green eyes. A face even more pale than usual. A face that was never quite what she expected to see, somehow. And beyond her face, behind her, were the rows of shelving filled with items, and the square of brightness that was the open garage door.

Nothing more.

So. Only half the mystery solved. This was the right mirror, Laura was sure of it. But she still had no idea what it was she expected to see beyond her own reflection. Or if she would ever see it.

After a long moment, Laura gently returned the mirror to the shelf. She didn’t move away, but stood there gazing down on it, reaching out to touch it lightly again and again, while she waited for the announcement that the auction was about to begin.