Death in a Funhouse Mirror

 

 

 

 

 

Death in a Funhouse Mirror

 

by

 

Kate Flora

 

 

 

 

 

Published by:
ePublishing Works!

www.epublishingworks.com

 

ISBN: 978-1-61417-139-3

 

 

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

 

Please Note

 

This is a work of fiction.
 
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

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© 1995, 2011 by Kate Clark Flora

 

Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep
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Thank You.

 

 

 

Dedication

 

This book is for Karin Knudsen Rector and Pamela Boggs Franicevich, my first writing group, who have, together, given me seventy-five years of friendship and support.

 

 

 

Acknowledgments

 

Thanks to all the people who helped me make this a better book: Former Concord Police Chief Carl Johnson, for detailed criticism, comma excision, and professional advice; my readers, Christy Bond, Christy Hawes, Professors Frances Miller and Richard Parker, Dr. Jacqueline Olds, Diane Englund, Jack Nevison, Nancy McJennett, Loretta Smith, Emily Cohen and A. Carman Clark, who were so generous with their time and advice; to Thea's mentor, Margaret Milne Moulton; to Robert Moll for the picture; to my friend Melinda Brooks for directing my reading on women and psychology—any errors are my own; to Bill Plauger, for helping me become more computer literate, and bailing me out when I am not; to my husband, Ken, and sons Jake and Max, for their patience; to the great guys at Gateway, who keep sending those cow boxes. And of course, to my agent, Carol McCleary, who believes that "no" means "yes" or at least, "Let's talk again tomorrow"; and my editor, Claire Eddy, who mothers me gently while pushing me to make it better.

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

I looked over the top of my book at Andre, asleep in his lounge chair, looking gorgeous and ridiculous in the tiny red bathing suit that had been the reason it took us from nine o'clock, when we woke up, until almost eleven to get from the bedroom out to the deck. It was the kind of suit I used to look at in stores and laugh, unable to imagine anybody wearing one. In fact, I had laughed when he came out of the bathroom wearing it, until he pointed out that my bikini bottom was even briefer. I disagreed, and we ended up standing in front of the mirror, hip to hip, comparing.

For us, getting that close is always dangerous. There are a lot of things we disagree about. He's a cop, a Maine state trooper, and I'm a consultant to independent schools. Sometimes I find him too rigid, too judgmental, or so distracted by his work—he's a homicide detective—that he's completely unavailable. He says I'm too impetuous, and too prim—an unlikely combination, if you ask me, but that's what he says—and I also have an incurable tendency to get wrapped up in my work. We don't live together. We don't even live in the same state, which may help us get along despite our differences, but when it comes to our physical relationship, we have no disagreements. So, even though we'd planned to have breakfast out on the deck and spend the morning reading, we'd gotten sidetracked.

Staring at that little bathing suit had naturally led to staring at his body. I'd always assumed those small, revealing suits were for slight men, or men with the exaggerated vee shapes of models. Andre isn't built like that. He has what I think of as a sturdy body. Not stocky, he doesn't have an ounce of fat, but he has a substantial presence, nice strong legs, and a comfortably hairy chest. It's okay with me. I like substantial men. I'm no peanut myself. If I were a frightened crime victim, Andre Lemieux is exactly the kind of cop I'd want to show up and protect me, strong and kind and comforting. If I were a bad guy, I'd sit up nights praying that he never came after me. There's something about the hard glare in his eyes, and a subdued anger that emanates from him, that tells you how much he hates the bad guys and makes you sure he'll get them in the end. I'd been on the receiving end of his inquisitorial technique when my sister Carrie was killed. I knew how tough he could be.