Mirror Images

Mirror

Images

Laurie Norlander

Copyright © 2013 Laurie Norlander.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission." (www.Lockman.org)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-9952-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-9953-3 (hc)

ISBN:978-1-4497-9951-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013911512

WestBow Press rev. date: 7/17/2013

CONTENTS

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Afterword

Cover Art

Discussion Questions

About The Author

To my husband and best friend, Stephen

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I shall know fully just as I also have been fully known.

1 Corinthians 13:12 (NAS)

1

S uicide forgets to close the door. Old regrets creep in disguised as new. The idea of Ross Bauer ending his own life seared, but I couldn’t stop wondering how he’d done it. Black thoughts for a starless night. I’d fled Chicago eight hours ago, headed north for the funeral, and my eyes and shoulders burned. Without the city’s backlighting, the trees and underbrush crowding the narrow highway loomed like twisted sentinels.

When my cell buzzed, I groped for my purse. I’d spotted several deer grazing in the ditch and couldn’t afford a trip to the ER. I glanced at the display. Great. I eased off the gas, muted the Tchaikovsky bolstering my confidence, and squared my shoulders.

What’s up?

You tell me, Tony said. Did you get the money?

My eyes darted to the photo I’d propped against the speedometer. Angie was a beautiful baby with big brown eyes and rosy cheeks. I shuddered despite the mild temperature. The bank messed up the paperwork, but first thing tomorrow I’ll—

Save it, Madison. Your office said you quit and left town. Are you trying to kill your—

Please … I hated to grovel, but nothing mattered now except Angie. Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control.

I’m not the one with everything to lose, MJ. What if the old man had called your boss instead of me?

I struggled for composure. They knew everything about me. I knew nothing about them—except they had Angie. Tell him not to panic. I’m on my way right now to get the money from the family of an old friend.

Must be quite a friend.

They have a vested interest.

For your sake, I hope so. The birth mother’s having second thoughts.

The band constricting my chest tightened. But she picked me. I hated the whiny edge in my voice, but when I’d realized the girl was only fifteen, I stayed up all night updating my online portfolio with pictures and info I knew would appeal to a girl her age. I even claimed to like Justin Bieber. She can’t—

She can and will unless you get back here with the deposit. I’ll try—

I saw eyes in the headlights seconds before my brain processed the animal in the road. I dropped the phone, slammed on the brakes, and braced my arms. The sporty convertible skidded to a stop, barely missing the doe trapped in the glare of oncoming disaster. I knew how she felt. Leaning my head against the steering wheel, I sucked in air and tried not to cry.

Hooves clattered against pavement as the deer scrambled for safety. I heard the scream of crickets and the staccato of panic in my ears. Tony’s voice hummed from somewhere on the passenger seat, but I didn’t bother to look for my phone.

I cranked up the music and punched the accelerator. Caution was no longer an option.

I pulled into The Lodge Inn and turned down the stereo. According to Eunice, the waitress at the café where I’d stopped to eat, it was the only motel within miles. I yawned. The building was old—a squat, concrete structure—with a lobby in the middle and four small rooms on each side. The curtains in Room 5 gapped, permitting occasional glimpses of a shadowy occupant. Turquoise paint peeled off the door of Room 2, and weeds grew from jagged cracks in the sidewalk.

I cut the engine and climbed out before I could reconsider. My head throbbed. Despite a small security light on a pole by the road, an uneasy chill brushed my arms. I scanned the shadows and glanced toward Room 5. It was dark except for the glow of a TV, but I thought I saw the curtains move. I put up the top on the Audi and locked the doors before I hurried to the office. The gravel crunched under my sandals. Otherwise, the night was so still I could hear the hum of the neon sign over the door.

Bells on a velvet ribbon banged against the glass to announce my arrival. The dimly lit room was stuffy and smelled of fried onions. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck. I glanced at my watch and rang the bell next to a hand-lettered Ring for Service sign on the desk. I stifled my impatience and waited, not wanting to appear rude, until exhaustion brought my hand down again three times in rapid succession.

Yeah, yeah, hold your horses. A middle-aged man came around the corner, his cheeks nearly as red as the blazer he was pulling over his sagging belly. He stopped abruptly and stared.

My hand went to my hair. I spent a lot of money to have it colored and straightened, but like an idiot, I’d put the top down on the roadster when I’d stopped for gas earlier.

The man whistled. I blushed before I realized he was gazing out the door at the low-slung car. That’s some sweet automobile you got there, Miss. I bet—

How much are your rooms? Although I was tired enough to crash here, I was too practical to pay top dollar for the privilege.

Thirty-nine ninety-nine plus tax for single occupancy. He peered past me. "You are alone, aren’t you?"

I nodded, struck by another ripple of nerves. The man—Hank, according to his nametag—slid a registration card across the counter and handed me a pen with a big orange bobber taped to the top. I filled in the year and make of my car but hesitated over my name and license plate number. Depending how things played out tomorrow, I might not want to leave a paper trail.

The room’s clean if you’re worried, Hank said.

I’m just tired.

What do you do, Miss? His eyes assessed my smart outfit and expensive leather purse.

I’m a … I’m self-employed.

He seemed dissatisfied.

I’m a photographer. I blinked rapidly and reached for a credit card, wondering why I’d lied.

Madison James, the man read off my registration. So tell me, Madison, do you know Jim Doyle?

My jaw tightened. No.

Hank apparently thought I had no sense of humor. Madison’s the capital of Wisconsin. Doyle’s our governor.

I know. I held out my platinum card.

He glanced at it and frowned. Says here your name’s Madison Kowalski. Which is it, Miss? James or Kowalski?

I felt my face warm. Actually it’s both. Madison James Kowalski.

Ah. You’re one of those women libbers. He swiped my card and handed me a key attached to a worn leather fob.

You’re in Room 6. Go out the front and turn right. It’s the second door from—

I think I can find it.

You need a wake-up call, Ms. James-Kowalski?

No. Thank you.

Then you’re here for the funeral. Hank cleared his throat. Chris was a great guy. We all loved him.

The key slipped from my hand. I retrieved it and murmured something vague.

Hank leaned over to pat my hand. Well, good night, dear. I hope the rest of your stay is more pleasant.

I tried to smile. Would Hank be as kind if he knew why I was here?

The décor was dated, but the room was clean as promised. I shoved a Gideon’s Bible lying on the nightstand into a drawer and flipped on the air. It started with a rumble, flickering the light on the nightstand, and belched a slightly musty smell into the room. I let the air cool the sweat at the nape of my neck before I went to the car for my computer and overnight bag. Back inside, I retrieved a newspaper clipping from the case, threw back the orange floral spread, and flopped onto the bed.

I lay staring at the obituary for more than an hour, unable to tear my eyes from the photo of the handsome blond with the easy smile and twinkling eyes. Christopher Devin Rausbauer. The weight in my chest was real, but the unfamiliar name above the picture mocked my grief. I’d known—thought I loved—this man in New York when he was an unemployed dockworker calling himself Ross Bauer. I snorted. Obviously, I’d never known him at all.

2

F lanked by rows of headstones and mourners, I felt as conspicuous as a nun at Victoria’s Secret. It felt hypocritical to be here, but to use the tragedy to demand money from the Rausbauer family was indefensible. As my resolve wavered, an image of Angie’s face rose in its place. I set my jaw. According to the obituary, the Rausbauer estate was worth millions. What was fifty grand to them?

The woman in front of me shifted to her right, and I inhaled sharply. Ross was standing near the open grave—like Lazarus up from the tomb—a breathing mirror image of the man supposedly lying in the flower-draped, mahogany coffin.

You’re not losin’ your mind, a nasal tone whispered. That’s not Chris, God rest his soul. It’s Nicholas, his twin.

Oh. Adrenaline rumbled my heart like the bass from one of Ross’s favorite Black Sabbath albums.

The woman laughed, and several heads turned. I glanced up. It was Eunice from the diner. She’d traded her powder-blue polyester uniform and tacky name badge for a black knit suit with an American flag on the lapel.

You didn’t know? she asked.

The obituary just said he had a brother. My eyes ricocheted to the man, the little girl he held, and the attractive brunette at his side. Despite my history with Ross, I couldn’t be sure. It was hard to breathe, much less think.

’Course we locals could always tell ’em apart, but I ’spose to an outsider, it must be like seein’ a ghost.

An outsider. I pasted on a smile, willing to let Eunice misinterpret my confusion. The last thing I needed was this town crier of a woman curious about my past.

I’m not surprised Chris never mentioned him, Eunice said. They weren’t close.

Really? From the corner of my eye, I saw the little girl burrow her blond head into his shoulder. He grazed an affectionate kiss over the top of her hair. The child was at least four. Four. I thought identical twins had a special bond.

Maybe some, but those two were night and day.

How so? I asked as I cataloged details. Nicholas Rausbauer was disturbingly attractive with platinum blond hair and piercing aquamarine eyes, but that wasn’t the reason for my scrutiny. Standing here, bathed in sunshine and hindsight, it was easy to dissect the source of Ross Bauer’s alias. It was harder to decide if the man I once thought I’d marry was dead—or standing in front of me.

Chris did his family proud. Nic was the black sheep. He didn’t even come home for his daddy’s funeral.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Ross rarely talked about his family unless he’d been drinking and then only to rail about his father’s favoritism for his younger brother. I scowled. Younger by what? Three minutes? His wife is very beautiful.

What? Eunice followed my gaze to Nicholas. He’d shifted the child to his left arm and had his right snugged around the woman’s shoulder. Ashley’s not his wife. She’s Chris’s widow. And that’s her daughter, Sierra.

Relief rushed from my lungs. If Nicholas was Ross, at least he hadn’t been married the entire time we’d been together.

She sighed. I shouldn’t be surprised by anything that one does, but you’d think he could wait ’til his brother was in the ground before he started chasin’ after Ashley again.

Again?

Ashley and Nic dated until she met Chris and realized which Rausbauer was the real catch. She dumped Nic and married Chris a few months later.

That must have made for tense family reunions. I was deep-sea fishing, but Eunice didn’t seem to notice.

Hon, you don’t know the half of it.

I raised a brow. It was all the encouragement she needed.

Those boys were oil and water. Everybody loved Chris, but Nic—he was a troublemaker.

Perhaps it was habit, but I leapt to his defense. Sibling rivalry can be tough. I reached in my purse for a breath mint.

I ’spose. Nic was plenty jealous of Chris.

They were competitive?

They were boys. Always tryin’ to outdo each other. Girls, cars, sports. You name it.

Nicholas was into sports? I remembered my first conversation with Ross—a discussion of our mutual hatred for the Chicago Bulls. How could I be sure?

My husband coached their basketball team to the state championship. Chris was an amazing athlete. Nic was good too, but he rode the bench as much as he played.

Why was that?

Attitude. He hated bein’ told what to do.

I nodded, thinking I had my answer. Ross Bauer had always played by his own rules. When he vanished from our apartment three years ago, he’d taken my dreams, my self-respect, and my life savings with him.

Still I hesitated. Nicholas looked exactly like the picture in the obituary. I scowled and straightened my shoulders. It was irrelevant. No matter which twin was dead and which left to make restitution, my dreams of motherhood hinged on the Rausbauer family returning the fifty-one thousand dollars Ross had stolen from me.

I hate to gossip, Eunice said, but between you and me, Nic Rausbauer should be locked up.

I bit back a snicker. Really?

The boy’s a menace to society. Why, he almost killed Chris when they were kids. Shot him twice. Right in the chest.

My mouth dropped.

Pleased, Eunice lowered her voice. Of course, old man Rausbauer hushed it up. Claimed it was a huntin’ accident, but my best friend’s niece, Skye, was one of the first responders. She said they were lucky to get Chris to the hospital in time.

Despite my shock, I mentally connected the dots. If Eunice’s story was true, it was all the confirmation I needed. Ross had no bullet scars. I took an angry step in his direction. Twice? How could two shots be an accident? Falling for a con man was bad enough, but a killer … I don’t believe it.

Eunice looked offended, and I realized I’d spoken aloud. Well, it’s true. The Rausbauers are a powerful family. If Big Jake wanted somethin’ swept under the rug, that’s where it went, and that’s where it stayed.

No, I meant—

An older woman in front of us turned her head. Have some respect. She scolded. Father Hamm’s about to start.

My face flamed. Eunice rolled her eyes.

The priest’s voice rang above the murmur of the crowd. Friends, please join me in paying final tribute to a special man …

Although I tried to focus, Father’s eulogy quickly faded to a drone like rush hour traffic streaming past my high-rise. I gazed at Nicholas. Despite his obvious similarity to Ross, it was like staring at a stranger. Eunice’s lurid tale aside, it was hard to reconcile him with the man I once loved.

It wasn’t the expensive suit or the gold watch. It wasn’t even his hair—light now and neatly trimmed instead of a black, shoulder-length tangle—or his clean-shaven face. It was the unfamiliar, nearly translucent, blue eyes that replaced the chocolate brown ones I’d known. We’d lived together for five years. How had he hidden the fact he was wearing tinted contact lenses? And why?

I frowned, noting other, more subtle, differences. Nicholas seemed younger than the man I’d known in New York, and he’d gained some weight. His face was fuller and softer around the eyes and mouth. Gone were the careless slouch and slight droop to his shoulders that drew me to him that first night like a thrill-seeker to an accident scene. He stood quietly, staring dry-eyed at the ground for most of the short service. Although his expression was hard to read, it wasn’t the guarded mask I’d come to expect.

The growl of a semi shifting gears to the north interrupted my thoughts. The priest was reciting a closing prayer. I popped another breath mint. I’d have to move quickly. Using Ashley and Father Hamm as buffers, I’d confront Nicholas with my demands. To save face, he’d spin the theft as a misunderstanding or past due loan. I didn’t care as long as he promised to make it right.

I inhaled courage and wiped my hands down the sides of my dress. For years, I’d rehearsed the scathing things I’d say if I ever saw Ross again, but I realized now it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. My future was with Angie. All I wanted from him was my money. I set my jaw and vowed I’d have it back before the end of the day or Nicholas Rausbauer would be as sorry as I was that we’d ever met.

3

M y cell rang, splashing Beethoven over the hushed cemetery and jerking the priest’s head in my direction. I dug in my purse and hurried to the back of the crowd.

This isn’t a good time, Tony.

Hey, MJ. You get the money?

I’m working on it. I clenched my teeth, resenting the nickname my Bulls-crazy family had bestowed on me during the nineties. I glanced back. The crowd was dispersing, my chance to corner Nicholas and embarrass him into returning my money moving away with it. I gotta run.

There’s been a new development.

I froze in mid-stride. What?

You don’t just need the deposit. You need the entire forty grand.

Despite the beautiful spring morning, I shivered, feeling like I had as a kid when I dashed out to check the mailbox for Christmas cards without a coat. You said I had another month.

I didn’t want to worry you, but the baby was having trouble breathing and ended up in the NIC unit over the weekend.

Is she okay?

She’ll be fine, but the hospital bills are piling up. The birth mom’s father wants someone else on the hook before the baby’s discharged.

I’ll sign whatever they want accepting full responsibility.

Tony snorted. We’ve seen your net worth statement, kiddo. It’s as shaky as the market.

I swallowed my resentment. There’s more to being a mother than a fat bank account.

Don’t take it personally. You’re single, unemployed, and overextended. The birth mom took another look at portfolios and found a couple she liked. They have money to burn and a big house in Flossmoor.

But she chose me. She—

She’s fifteen. She’ll do whatever her dad says.

Then talk to him. Convince him money’s not an issue.

Look, Madison, I have to consider the best interests of the child. Parenting is a huge responsibility, even with a partner. Are you sure you’re ready for this?

I bristled. What about me, Tony? My interests? I’ve been trying to adopt for two years. You told me this was a lock.

I thought it was. Tony’s voice lowered. I strained to hear him over the sounds of car doors slamming and engines starting. Frankly, even if you come up with the money, they could choose the couple anyway.

I blinked back tears. Stall them ’til I get back. I’ll get the money and settle everything with the hospital before our meeting on Friday.

I’ll do my best, but we both know time’s not your friend.

Thanks. I’d be thirty-two this summer. I didn’t need a smart-mouthed young lawyer telling me my biological clock was ticking.

I’m just saying. Don’t—

I turned off my phone and looked over my shoulder at the stream of cars leaving the cemetery. Through a break in the trees, I saw Nicholas helping Ashley into a long black limo. My stomach churned as he slid in beside her and slammed the door on my hopes.

I hurried to my car. Tony had to be wrong. I couldn’t lose Angie. At my age, with no romantic prospects, this felt like my last chance. The heel of my left shoe sank into the soft grass. Distracted, I stumbled over the uneven ground and nearly fell.

Hoping no one had noticed, I glanced up and saw a man standing near my car. He was smoking a cigarette and grinning up the hill in my direction. When I blushed, he laughed, flipped the cigarette to the ground, and sauntered toward a white sedan parked at the end of the block. The stranger’s jet-black hair and dusky complexion seemed vaguely familiar.

He wasn’t a big man but carried himself with an air of authority. I followed his progress, half wondering who he was, half admiring the view. He unlocked his car and—to my embarrassment—whirled around, crouched low like a gunfighter, and caught me staring.

Before I could look away, he extended his hand in my direction with his index finger out and his thumb up like a cocked gun pointed at my chest. I watched as he pulled the imaginary trigger and made a pop with his mouth. Although the breeze carried off the sound, his amusement was unmistakable. White teeth gleamed in the sunlight like bleached bones in the desert sand.

I blinked stupidly as he slid into the car and drove away. I shook my head. I didn’t have time to worry about the man’s odd behavior. It was crunch time. I needed to track down Nicholas and do it quickly. I had seventy-two hours to keep my dream alive.

I unlocked the Audi and climbed inside. The black interior was stifling. I switched on the air and lowered the window. The cigarette butt smoldered in the street next to my car. The unpleasant odor dredged up a memory of my last night with Nicholas. Before I could edit the image, I saw his face, flushed with alcohol and rage. I smelled the smoke and the acrid stench of charred flesh. My hands shook, and I tasted bile in the back of my throat. I heard myself screaming.

I’ll kill him before I let him steal anything else from me.

4

M y tires chirped as I fled the cemetery. I passed a large church with a black limousine in front. The lot was crammed with cars. I imagined Nicholas and Ashley inside, plastic smiles in place, as they accepted the condolences of friends and neighbors and waited for the spectacle to end. Despite the growing urgency, I couldn’t bring myself to intrude.

I drove east of town for several miles before I slowed and reached into my purse for the directions I’d printed off MapQuest. Telling myself it was normal to be curious, I drove by Chris’s house, an architectural masterpiece of angled cedar, stone, and glass. The yard was landscaped and faultlessly manicured. The property seemed out of place in the rural setting, but I loved every ostentatious square foot. I pulled into the driveway and sat idling, visualizing the elegant brunette parading through its rooms.

Although Chris had been dead less than a week, if Eunice was right, Nicholas and Ashley may have already rekindled their old romance. The man I’d known was as impatient as he was passionate. I censored the disturbing image of Nicholas in his brother’s bedroom. If I were honest, my distaste for the wrongness of the idea had less to do with propriety than to my aversion for thinking about Nicholas with her.

I scowled at the obituary on the passenger seat. When I opened the Tribune on Sunday morning and saw Chris’s picture, I naturally assumed Ross was dead. My gut reaction belied my brittle insistence I was over him. My hands trembled as I reached for the clipping.

It was uncanny how alike the brothers looked. They had the same strong chin, full lips, and smoldering eyes. There was even a slight shadow under the man’s left eyebrow where I knew Ross—Nicholas—had a tiny birthmark. I marveled that identical twins were identical to that degree.

I scanned the clipping although I could nearly recite it from memory.

Christopher D. Rausbauer, 38, of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, died Friday, March 26, 2010, at his summer home in Churchill, Wisconsin, after committing suicide. He was born December 25, 1971, in Eau Claire, Wisconsin to Jacob and Elaine (Church) Rausbauer. Christopher graduated summa cum laude from UW-Madison in 1994 with a BA in chemical engineering and earned an MBA from Yale University in 1996.

Chris married Ashley Sue Pahl on June 21, 1997, at Christ Cathedral Church in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. The couple has one daughter, Sierra Joy. Chris was the founder and CEO of Rausbauer Enterprises, Inc. (REI), a Milwaukee-based extrusion die corporation.

I skipped the next two paragraphs lauding Chris’s business acumen and philanthropy and zeroed in on the last:

Christopher is survived by his loving wife and daughter, his devoted mother, Elaine, and a brother, Nicholas Rausbauer, of Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina.

Visitation will be …

It didn’t make sense. Why would a bright, successful man like Chris Rausbauer commit suicide? For that matter, why include such a personal detail in the obituary? I frowned at the discrepancies I noticed earlier. I could accept the hair dye and tinted contacts as Nicholas’s attempt to establish an identity apart from his overachieving twin. I could even sympathize with his need for an alias.

It was the other—seemingly pointless—lies that were harder to ignore. Ross claimed his birthday was the Fourth of July, that he was nine years older than I was, and that he was from Minnesota. Clearly, Ross-Bauer chose the fake name and phony vital statistics to complicate a skip trace, which meant he’d planned his con from the night we met.

My fingers curled around the clipping. At the last second, I hesitated. Despite his head-turning looks, Ross hated having his picture taken. Once I’d gotten over the worst of his betrayal, I’d dug through my box of old photos. I found only a few fuzzy shots I’d taken with my cell phone to show for our five years together. I flattened out the obituary and laid it carefully on the seat. I could laminate it and—

I heard a car and panicked. When it drove past the house, I glanced at my watch and slid the Audi into reverse. The last thing I needed was Ashley Rausbauer to catch me sitting in her driveway, mooning over her husband’s obituary picture and pretending he was Nicholas.

I’d barely cleared the property when an unmarked police car appeared in my rearview. I muttered a curse and drove sedately down the road. I managed two hundred feet before its lights came on. I pulled over and watched a middle-aged man in street clothes make his way to my window.

Afternoon, ma’am, he said, flipping open his badge. According to his ID, his name was Ben Wilson.

Is there a problem, Chief?

You tell me, Miss Kowalski.

I blinked rapidly. Chief Wilson was tall and thin with ramrod straight posture. He had graying hair, warm brown eyes, and laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. He reminded me of my dad. How do you know my name?

Can I ask what you were doing at the Rausbauer residence?

Nothing really. I was just … curious. My voice cracked.

Curious?

I cleared my throat and decided to be honest. I was involved with Mr. Rausbauer’s brother when I lived in New York.

So you’re here to support Nic.

Actually, I thought he was dead until I saw him at the cemetery with Ashley.

Ben’s eyes narrowed. Can I ask how long you’ve been in the area, Miss Kowalski?

I got to Churchill late last night.

"Will you be