The Mask

By Rebecca Gruettner

It was meant to be a festive night, her celebration for successfully completing a lucrative and high profile projectthe Milan Art Gallery & Museum. But the night turns out deadly for CEO Beth Gunther when her former fianc, the alias Serjio Milan, is murderedand a police detective cannot let go of the notion that she is his killer.

Fearing jail, Beth has no choice but to flee and start an investigation of her own. With help from family and friends, and from one other in particular, a handsome contractor named Parker Smith, she begins a dangerous hunt for a journal that may contain glues to the murdera journal that may also hold the key to Beths salvation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 1, 2004
• ISBN: 9781468515350

Rebecca Gruettner

REBECCA GRUETTNER, an amateur radio operator (KB9LFW) and a graduate of the college of engineering and applied science at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, has worked in the electronics manufacturing industry for over fourteen years.  She is the author of The FOX, an industrial espionage suspense tale that draws in part on her personal and professional experience, with a spin on her amateur radio hobby.  She now lives with her husband and three dogs in Franklin, Wisconsin.

Book preview

 1

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Midday Saturday, Late December

He had been living an enormous lie, had kept making excuses for keeping his dark and crooked ways a secret, all the while telling himself that the right opportunity to confess his truth had yet to present itself. As it was, he’d lived in constant fear, dreading that his deception would catch up with him before he could explain the facts to those who mattered.

But alas, it seemed he’d waited too long, and it appeared here and now that the worst imaginable would soon come to pass. The only certainty, regardless of any future action, was that he’d lost out completely, by now forfeiting his chance to own-up to the truth.

So it’s happened.

Victor’s words to himself echoed with the tension he felt deep within the pit of his stomach as he continued to peer out the window, careful to remain hidden behind the partially opened vertical blinds. Once again, he was casting sight upon the stranger in the older-model Chevy sedan. Although now, clearly visible inside the dull green car, the unknown person—a light-skinned black man, by what Victor could tell—was parked closer, across the street by the curb, only two homes down. And instead of lying low behind the steering wheel, as he’d been previously, the stranger this time was sitting upright, casually smoking a cigarette, seemingly reading a newspaper, occasionally glancing toward the house. No doubt another of Wade Hedrick’s hired hounds, Victor thought; hell, how do they always find him?

Victor had first noticed the tail late last night after he’d said good night to his beloved, Beth, who—for the first time in almost a year—was spending the night away from his bed. Thank goodness, weeks before, he’d managed to persuade her to place the deed to this recently purchased home in her name alone, attributing this enactment to his bad credit, yet another fragment of his bigger lie.

Victor pulled away from the window, glancing about the tiny living room with a heavy heart, wishing that he could’ve given Beth more, knowing that she deserved better. Their adequately furnished house wasn’t much to speak of—an eighty-year-old bungalow, though in excellent condition and in a pleasant neighborhood—but thanks to the Renoir Moulin de la Galette forgery, which Victor had sold on the black market a few months back, the home was almost paid for. He had not wanted Beth to be burdened were he to leave in a hurry … as he now planned on doing.

He resumed packing until a knock at the door stopped him.

A cautious peek through the peephole revealed a smiling and hand waving Rudy Meeks, a good friend … and the one to carry my message to Beth, Victor thought. Oh, how he envied Rudy’s free and easy spirit, so unlike his own, which would never be free. Before he opened the door, Victor drew a steady breath of resignation as he psyched himself for what was to come, another major turn in his life, which he could do little about.

Rudy sprang into the vestibule with his usual overabundance of energy. Hi ya, Vic—how ya doin’, there, guy? he said in his husky and characteristic Midwestern accent.

Anxious, not wanting to be observed more than necessary by the stranger outside, Victor closed the door expeditiously behind Rudy, who, unaware of Victor’s strained situation, continued unaffected toward the living room while smoothing his mop of dark, curly hair. The black wool-blend topcoat that he wore was unbuttoned, revealing a handsome tuxedo beneath.

So what’s the deal, here? Rudy asked with a shrug. I mean, why aren’t ya dressed yet, man?

Victor didn’t reply. Instead he glanced with despair at his own tuxedo, which lay on the sofa, beside his small suitcase, next to an undershirt still to be packed. He so desperately wanted to unburden to Rudy, but he just couldn’t, or more accurately, wouldn’t, unwilling to suck him into the nightmare. And now also he had no choice but to distance himself from this friend … and from those few others whom he’d come to care about.

But Victor had tortured himself about things for far too long; best get to it, he told himself.

He stepped toward the window, continuing to ignore the dull pain gnawing at his gut, and he pulled the vertical blinds aside fully, making sure that the stranger, still out there watching, would notice him. Behind him, he heard Rudy clap twice.

"Hey, come on, already, Vic. Let’s get goin’, here. Those jeans won’t do. And that Packers sweatshirt … huh! … though real sweet, there, guy, well, I’m afraid it just won’t cut it—yah know? And ya for sure don’t wan’ta be late for yar’ own wedding—am I right? He paused, probably to check his watch, and subsequently added, Yar’ big moment, Bud, which is only three and a half hours from now. More clapping. So come on, let’s get a move on."

Victor turned to him, still saying nothing, further formulating his next move.

Okay …? Rudy tilted his head inquiringly. What’s goin’ on? He approached, frowning, sliding his hands into the pockets of his long coat, and he peered out the window. So who’s the guy out in the car—someone ya know?

The stranger, having been made, casually folded his newspaper, flipped his cigarette into a snow bank, then started his vehicle. He departed slowly, his demeanor too nonchalant.

Rudy, evidently frustrated by now, eyed Victor with a knitted brow. Yah, so ar’ ya gonna tell me what’s goin’ on—or what?

Victor swallowed hard as his stomach contracted into an even tighter ball. There isn’t going to be a wedding, he said, his grieving soul writhing now also as he pulled away to put on his jacket.

Whoa …! Rudy was next to him in an instant, chuckling nervously, his deep-toned voice sliding up a few octaves, making him sound like some neurotic hyena with a sore throat. No, no, buddy … now’s not the time ta get cold feet, here. O’course there’s gonna be a wedding. Beth loves ya. His thick tone remained unnaturally high. "Heck, and I know that ya’r crazy about her, too."

Victor paused. I love Beth more than life itself, he said with a gloomy heart. He felt a stinging in his eyes as they welled with moisture. He turned away. But that’s how it is.

After closing his suitcase, Victor grabbed its handle and then moved toward the only painting that he wanted to take with him, but he soon stopped and from his jacket pocket pulled the note—the note he’d agonizingly written only minutes before—and he handed it to Rudy. Make sure she gets this right away, will you?

Rudy took the folded piece of paper, his brow furrowing once more. "Ahh, man …" He shook his head while contorting his baby smooth face into a pained expression. Is this what I think it is?

Victor picked up the covered canvass. Yeah … it is. He started walking but stopped again when he felt Rudy’s hand on a shoulder. Victor could feel the slight tug, though he refused to turn around, fighting a sudden urge to smash something.

Ya’r not doin’ this, Vic, Rudy said, his mighty voice having returned.

Oh, no? Well, just watch me.

Seizing the back of Victor’s jacket, Rudy stopped him yet again, Rudy spewing out sourly, Will ya stop being such a damn jerk, already? ‘Cause no way—I’m not lettin’ ya do this to her, man.

Victor’s insides now boiled with self-hatred. Let go of me.

But he didn’t give Rudy the chance to withdraw. Dropping his suitcase, he whirled then threw a punch into Rudy’s soft gut, causing Rudy to double over in agony before tripping back onto the hardwood floor. Overwhelmed with regret only an instant later, though, Victor extended a hand. Oh, hey, man, I’m—

WHY AR’ YA DOIN’ THIS? Rudy shot out as he brushed him away.

Victor backed off; his friend’s look of disgust was more than he could bear. It’s none of your business, he replied sternly. He had to remain strong … for everyone’s sake.

IT IS MY BUSINESS, DAMMIT, Rudy let out. He pulled himself up, clutching at his stomach, eyeing Victor with disappointment. Beth’s like my sister, for chrissake! I care for her a lot … guess I kinda thought ya did too.

How could he begin to explain to Rudy … much less to Beth … Just leave it alone, okay?

So what now, wise guy? Rudy said, straightening. Ya just ride off into the sunset—or what?

I said to leave it alone, damn you.

"Yah, okay—but ya’r acting like some spineless worm, there, Vic. I mean, ya don’t even have the nerve ta tell her yar’self. Do ya?"

Rudy’s embittered words cut painfully in Victor’s mind, and like finely sharpened metal edges they continued to slash at Victor’s soul as he picked up his suitcase and strode toward the back door.

Rudy kept at it, shouting powerfully, "YAH, YOU GO ON AND RUN, ALREADY, YA WORTHLESS GERM. WELL, I’M TELLIN’ YA, VICTOR. YA BETTER DAMN, SURE DISAPPEAR FOREVER, MAN. YA UNDERSTAND ME? FOR I SWEAR, I’LL KILL YA—YA SON OF A BITCH!"

Thoroughly disgusted with himself, Victor pulled open the back door. DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT, he shot back, YOU WON’T SEE ME AGAIN. He stormed toward his car. As of right now, Victor Hugo is history.

 2

Beth Gunther stepped back from the full-length mirror in her old bedroom at her mother’s house in Brookfield, where she’d spent the night. Carefully, she straightened her long wedding gown. Well, what do you think, Mom? Do I look okay? Her stomach was aflutter with excitement; today, at last, she would become Mrs. Victor Hugo. She turned to her mother, who—usually a bundle of energy—continued only to stare at Beth as though in a trance. Mom?

Her mama finally spoke, crinkling her face, seemingly overwhelmed with emotion. "Oh, Beth, honey … you … you look stunning. I mean it. Victor is getting a lovely bride. She shook her head slightly, appearing incredibly tiny, almost comical in her loose-fitting, dark purple sweats and hair full of huge rollers. I just wish your father were here to … Her voice trailing, she pulled a tissue from within a long, plum sleeve and dabbed at the rims of her misty brown eyes. Darn it … I promised I wouldn’t do this."

Beth hugged her lovingly. "I wish Daddy were here, too, Mom,

but—"

Are we decent? Tabby Miller—an exceptionally talented architect, Beth’s business partner, and also her dearest friend since grammar school—stepped into the room. Tabby was already in her maid of honor outfit, a red and gold ensemble appropriate for Beth’s December wedding. Both Tabby and Beth’s mother had been at Beth’s side all morning, helping her with those inevitable last minute preparations; thank goodness everything was now in order.

Tabby stopped abruptly in front of Beth, blinking as though in surprise. Now, I know I’ve seen this gorgeous bride somewhere, she teased. "But where? Oh, I know. Must’ve been on the cover of Bride Magazine—of course! She smiled, face beaming. Beth, you look super." Her good friend always knew just what to say.

Thanks, Tabs. You look pretty terrific, yourself.

Tabby, making a face, tugged at her snug-fitting Empire formal. I’d look better if I’d lost those eight pounds like I wanted to. These days she continuously struggled with a weight problem, playing yo-yo with the thirty pounds she’d put on while in college, four years earlier.

No, really, you look great.

And she did. Though overweight, Tabby was still an attractive woman whose skin was smooth and flawless. The shade of the red dress that she now wore complimented her creamy white complexion beautifully, and the gown’s low, square neckline along with Tabby’s dark and lustrous hair that was pulled off the shoulder, accentuated her long, sexy neck.

Ummm, Beth added, inhaling deeply, and your new perfume smells great—J-Lo?

Tabby smiled coyly. "Yes, it is—and gracias, girlfriend. She turned to Beth’s mother. Hey, Mrs. G., don’t you think you should be getting dressed now? It’s almost time to head on out to the church."

With a quick hand, her mother reached for her rolled and recently dyed, reddish-brown hair. Already? She checked her watch. Oh, golley, yeah! Unrolling some curlers and mumbling something unintelligible, she jettisoned out the room.

Beth returned to the mirror, wringing her chilled hands. I can’t believe it. I’m actually getting married in less than three hours.

And it’s about time, don’t you think? Tabby took to fluffing the back of Beth’s gown. I mean, you’ve only known Victor for a short time, granted. But the way you two care about each other—well, I’m surprised you guys even waited this long.

Beth looked deeply into the reflection of her own eyes. I love Victor so much. She shuddered at a sudden wave of … something. It scares me a little.

Oh, don’t even, Beth. Victor’s crazy about you. You two are going to have a wonderful life together. Tabby fanned a chubby hand across the air in front of her as though marveling. I can see it all now, she said. "Victor’s talent heightens to new levels until one day he actually paints that masterpiece he’s always talked about. He’ll become famous. Another Van Gogh—or Monet, maybe. He’s certainly multitalented. Her eyebrows flew up. And you, my girlfriend, well, you’ll continue in your father’s footsteps, of course. You, Rudy, and me—together—we’ll shape your dad’s company into that mega-successful business that he always wanted. Along the way, you and Victor will make a whole bunch of babies for Aunt Tabby and Uncle Rudy to play with—right? Tabby’s eyes crinkled mirthfully. You better, girl."

"Babies… ." A sudden joy filled Beth’s soul as she reached for Victor’s photograph from a nearby dresser, wondering if their children’s appearance would favor Victor’s. Certainly a good thing because Victor was tall, dark, sleek, and though his nose had at one time been broken, he was still handsome with a head full of black, wavy hair. She smiled at the memory of the picture, where Victor, standing next to an easel, posed playfully in his yellow smock and dark French beret—worn askew, of course, because Victor was an artist. Oh, how she adored his luminous smile. I’d love to have Victor’s babies… .

A knock sounded at the door.

Who is it? Tabby called out.

It’s me, Rudy. I have ta see Beth.

Rudy Meeks, a mechanical engineer, was another of Beth’s business partners. He was also Beth’s life-long friend, whom she thought of as a brother. Rudy was Tabby’s new love interest, too; those two had known each other for years but had only recently started dating. Beth was extremely happy for them both.

Tabby uttered, Humm, while raising an eyebrow. Could be a trick, maybe. She grabbed Beth by an elbow and pulled her to the door, where she then turned the handle.

Through the small door opening, Tabby let out to Rudy, Gosh, hon, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Victor? You’re his best man, for cripes sakes. You’re supposed to be helping him get dressed and stuff.

From behind Tabby, Beth added with a dash of warning, Victor better not be out there. She couldn’t help but smile with excitement, though. It’s bad luck for a groom to see his bride before the wedding, you know.

I have ta talk ta ya, Beth. Rudy sounded troubled. Can I just come in?

Her smile fading, Beth looked at Tabby, who returned the gaze—again from under a furrowed brow.

Tabby hiked a shoulder after the thought-evoking moment, and she called out to Rudy, Okay, hon, but just hold on a sec. She shut the door and gestured for Beth to move. Just in case, she whispered to her.

After Beth was adequately concealed behind the large mirror, Tabby let Rudy into the bedroom, after which she hurriedly shut the door behind him and promptly positioned herself as a shield—arms extended at her sides—between him and the full-length mirror, Beth peeking from behind it.

Well? Tabby urged. What’s so important that you have to come in here like this, hon?

Beth withdrew from behind the furniture. Something wasn’t right; she felt it as she watched a disheartened Rudy pull a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket.

What is it? she asked.

He spoke as though his throat were constricted. Beth, I … I—

Oh, for pete’s sake, Pumpkin. Tabby pulled the paper from his hands. Let me see that. She read silently, speedily. After a short gasp, she covered her mouth, gazing at Beth with nut-brown eyes about to pop out of their socket.

"NO, Tabs. Rudy grabbed the note back, folding it. It’s for Beth, hon. He side stepped around Tabby and handed Beth the white piece of paper. I’m sorry, kiddo. Gee … I mean, heck … well, I don’t really know what else ta say, here."

Beth felt a pinch of dread in her stomach. What’s this?

Just read it, okay? He pointed at the paper.

The handwriting was Victor’s:

Beth, my love,

I’m so sorry, but I can’t go through with this wedding. Someday you’ll understand, and I hope you’ll forgive me. Please believe that I’m doing this out of love for you. I care and love you more than you know.

Yours always,

Victor

Beth looked directly into Rudy’s speckled brown eyes. Oh, this is good, she said, forcing a laugh, feeling a huge lump swelling in her throat. You really had me going there for— She was forced to swallow. "This is some sort of joke, right?"

Rudy said nothing.

"Well, it’s not funny … Jesus, Rudy. I can’t believe you’d pull such a cruel prank."

Rudy’s eyes took on a wounded look. This isn’t comin’ from me, kiddo.

I … I don’t believe you.

More silence.

Rudy, what’s this about?

But Rudy only shrugged faintly while running a hand through the shaggy, ebony mop atop his head.

A sickening wave of anxiety now welled up in Beth’s belly as she gathered the folds of her gown and then hurried to the door and opened it.

She looked about the spacious second-story hallway. Okay, sweetheart, you’ve had your fun. You can come out now.

No response …

Victor? But Victor wasn’t there, she realized in growing despair. Nevertheless, This isn’t funny anymore, she said further, as she neared the banister that overlooked the expansive foyer below.

Beth stopped, gripping the railing as she shut her eyes tightly. "Victor, please … please … don’t do this to me."

A thought occurred to her.

Her spirits brightened, she rushed back into the room, found her purse, and dug for her wireless. With trembling fingers, she pushed the buttons. After pulling the phone up to an ear, she waited—but Victor didn’t pick up at the other end.

She disengaged the connection and lingered with phone in hand. He’s going to call me any minute now, she said haltingly, … I … I know he is.

She looked at Tabby, who was biting on a red fingernail, and then she eyed Rudy, who shot his gaze to the floor, shrinking as though wanting to disappear. It’s just some stupid joke, right, guys? She felt her throat tightening again.

Rudy, looking like a sad little boy in a man’s long coat, still averted his gaze until, Nah, kiddo, he finally said in his deep voice, he’s really gone.

What …?

Beth shook her head in disbelief, remembering making love to her beloved only a few hours ago.

I was just with him last …

She recalled how adoringly Victor had looked upon her as she’d posed for him with only a silk sheet draped from a shoulder; the sheet resting low across her backside, her body half-turned toward Victor.

He told me that he …

Victor had wanted to put the finishing touches on the painting after finally conceding to her request to add a colorful, decorative mask that would safeguard her identify from the world; her partial nude painting was meant only for Victor’s eyes.

Victor told me that he loved me. He—

Her anguish now at a peak, Beth jerked off her veil. A big fat teardrop escaped her right eye as she tugged at her lacy gown, tearing one of the sleeves before the dress finally came off. She attempted to crumple the disinclined, pillowy wedding gown before tossing it toward a far corner of the room.

A blurry Tabby made a spinning gesture with an index finger as she quietly said to Rudy, Ah, hon?

Oh! Rudy whirled.

Tabby approached frowning, handing Beth the pair of jeans that had been draped over a chair. What are you gonna do, Beth?

Anger, confusion, and sorrow seeped through Beth’s veins as she tugged into her jeans.

I’m going to see him, of course.

She wiped at her eyes, no doubt her unstoppable tears ruining her makeup that had taken her an hour to meticulously put on … but what does it matter now? she thought. Her grief—like some menacing black hole devouring all space around it—was about to consume her completely. But she fought it, summoning that last bit of inner strength, managing somehow to remain standing.

Shakily she added, "Victor has to talk to me. He … he has to explain himself. And if he wants to end it … well, fine!" She wiped at her wet cheeks again. "But he can’t just leave me hanging. Not like this. He can’t just say good-bye in some … in some stupid note."

Beth inhaled deeply, another attempt to re-box the slew of emotions that continued pouring out of her—but was unsuccessful. Choking back a sob, she staggered into the walk-in closet and from a drawer withdrew a sweater. She pulled the sweater on, then she slid her feet into some loafers, all the while a sharp pain continuing to stab at her broken heart. Before she raced out, she grabbed her suede coat that hung on a hook behind the closet door.

Halfway through the bedroom, she halted abruptly when Rudy seized her by an arm.

He’s not over there anymore, Beth—for real. He packed his stuff. I saw him take off. Victor’s gone.

Gone …?

The one man whom she’d truly loved had evidently just jilted her.

How could Victor do this to me …?

Beth’s unbearable heartache was now crushing her, and the air in the room, now also, was suddenly not enough. She dropped to the floor, hyperventilating.

Christ! What was she to do without … without Victor?

Wade Hedrick slowly maneuvered his motorized wheel chair behind the last pew of the wide center isle in the big church. The Catholic cathedral, emanating a mild scent of fresh flowers, was packed with finely dressed people awaiting a wedding ceremony that was already forty-five minutes late in commencing—and most likely not to take place at all. He looked about carefully but saw no sign of