Reflection

By Andrew Neiderman

In this suspense novel by the bestselling author of The Devil’s Advocate, a Catskills realtor’s life begins to unravel after discovering her doppelganger.

Cynthia Palmer Warner is worried her imagination is running away with her. Her husband, Stephen, and brother, Jason, are working long hours to grow the Palmer family business, and Jason’s misogynistic attitude seems to be wearing off on Stephen. Stephen is antagonizing his wife more and more and Cynthia can’t stand it. But when she finds old news clippings about Karla Hoffman, things get worse. Karla was the same age, had the same face and the same odd marital dilemma. The trouble is, Karla was murdered by her brother fifty years ago, and Cynthia can’t help but wonder if she’ll meet the same fate . . .

“An expert weaver of suspense.” —Fresh Fiction

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Release date: May 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9781504084406

Andrew Neiderman

Andrew Neiderman is the author of numerous novels of suspense and terror, including Deficiency, The Baby Squad, Under Abduction, Dead Time, Curse, In Double Jeopardy, The Dark, Surrogate Child, and The Devil’s Advocate—which was made into a major motion picture starring Al Pacino, Keanu Reeves, and Charlize Theron. He lives in Palm Springs, California, with his wife, Diane. Visit his website at Neiderman.com.

Book preview

cover.jpg

Reflection

Andrew Neiderman

For our daughter, Melissa v

who has Nanny’s eyes v

Chapter 1

Cynthia Warner smiled to herself after she read the first line of her horoscope in the morning paper. Good preplanning brings financial success. No kidding, she thought. She shook her head and then sipped from the mug of hot coffee she held just below her chin. It amazed her how many people had such faith in these things and read them religiously. She had to admit, though, that even though she was skeptical, she always read it.

When she gave it serious thought, she realized that she could empathize with the followers of astrology. All of us have this desperate need to know our futures, she thought, me included. And don’t we all sit back and wonder what different choices we would have made had we known what we know now about ourselves? Would I have married Stephen? Would I have become a real estate agent, or would I have competed with Jason to take firm control of the family’s business?

Questions like those could become tormenting. Perhaps it was better to leave it all to fate, fate and good effort and yes … good preplanning. Thank you, Jeanne Dixon. She laughed aloud. She did feel somewhat giddy this morning. She felt that way because she was optimistic, and there was nothing that made life as full and as rich as waking up feeling optimistic.

The feeling wasn’t unwarranted. Stephen had already called from the Palmer Building to tell her that the Bloomfields, clients interested in the old Rose Hill House, would be at her office a half hour earlier than expected. They were that anxious. Stephen, on the other hand, was cynical about it. It wasn’t characteristic of him to be that way, but as of late his being uncharacteristic had become a characteristic. She tried to ignore it. She didn’t want anything to damage her natural high.

She had listed the Rose Hill House only a little more than a month ago when Ralph Hillerman had come to her office to tell her he was going to definitely move his father into an adult residency very soon. Presently, the old man lived in the big house with Patsy Marshall, a widow Ralph had hired to care for his father; but she was going to move off, and the old man had degenerated considerably during the past month or so.

After all, he’s nearly ninety, Ralph told her. He sounded as though his father had abused him by living so long.

Less than a week after she listed the place, the Bloomfields called. She sent them photographs, and they called again for more details. Soon after, they made today’s appointment.

Cynthia looked up from the yellow Formica kitchen counter. Stephen and she had designed the house, and she had insisted that the kitchen be open and airy. She liked waking up and coming into its brightness. There was a twelve-foot bay window on the east side to welcome in the light of the rising sun. On bright days like this one, when the thin, maple shutters were folded back, there was no need for any lights. Jason always complained about the room when he was in it during the early morning hours. He thought the yellow flower wallpaper was too busy and the light beige tiled floor did little to subdue it.

You need sunglasses in here was his frequent comment. Stephen used to laugh, but lately he was in agreement about it and had been suggesting they call in Jason’s decorator.

If I ever agreed to it, she told him, it wouldn’t be Jason’s decorator. He is so swishy. He makes my skin crawl when I’m near him.

Stephen didn’t disagree, but that didn’t stop him from bringing it up again. He had brought it up as recently as yesterday. She’d simply ignored it.

The counter opened onto the dining room in their long, brick ranch-style home, and from where she was sitting she could see herself clearly in the full-length wall mirror on the far wall: As it was, the room was large, fifteen by twenty, and the mirror exaggerated it. Sometimes she felt a bit silly when there were only the two of them dining.

For a few moments this morning as she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt as though she were staring into the window of another house, looking at a total stranger. Only two days ago she had gone to Nikki’s Salon and had her hair stripped and dyed blond. Then he fluffed and blew it out until she looked like Melissa Grant in her cover girl shot on Cosmo. Stephen had commented favorably about the model’s look, and Cynthia thought this dramatic change in her appearance might jolt their relationship back on track.

Before this she had been wearing her dark brown hair pinned back or brushed straight down over her shoulders. When she pinned it back, she thought it emphasized the smooth lines in her neck, the sharp sculptured curve in her chin and jawbone and the depth of her hazel-green eyes. That was the face Stephen had fallen in love with, the face he had called, Indian perfect, dramatic like a tribal princess perched atop a palamino horse, your hair dancing in the breeze, the western vista spread out around you, embracing you in your heritage and natural beauty.

Once upon a time he could talk like that, spin words poetically, capture a feeling or a mood in a phrase and turn it over and over like a fine jewel. It was why he was such a successful insurance sales man, why her father was happy when they married and he could come into the family business. He had the gift of language, and he could tell people what they wanted even before they wanted it. Everyone admired him. Even Jason admired him and suffered no apparent jealousy when Stephen was quickly promoted to vice president of the Palmer Agency.

Of course, after their father died, her brother, Jason, became the president of the firm, but it was as if he and Stephen were partners. Jason never seemed to make a serious or important decision without Stephen’s approval anymore. They had such a good business relationship that Cynthia was often jealous of them. She used to wish that Jason would feel more threatened by Stephen. She couldn’t remember them ever having a serious argument, at least none that she knew of or that was conducted in public.

You spend more time with Jason than you do with me, if you think about it, she once told him, but he just shrugged it off. When she gave it more thought she realized it was hard to have an argument with Stephen. He had a way of isolating himself, retreating into a shell of thoughts. She imagined that he treated Jason the same way, and if there was one thing that Jason couldn’t tolerate, it was being ignored.

She was wise enough to know that she wouldn’t enjoy working with them, so she eschewed the insurance business and went for her realtor’s license instead. She took over an office at the Palmer Building, a modern two-story structure constructed on a two-acre lot her father had bought years and years ago just outside of Woodridge, a small upstate New York Catskill community. From her office on the second floor she could look out at Ulster County and the beautiful Shwangunk mountain range. Sometimes she just sat there staring out at the gently sloping hills and blue sky, either hypnotized by the vista or stimulated by it to think deeply philosophical thoughts.

She was starting to do that now, but Shirley Watson, her cleaning girl, turned on the vacuum cleaner in the entranceway, and the noise snapped her out of her reverie. She considered her appearance again. How would these clients today take to this new, glamorous hairdo? she wondered. They were coming up from New York City; the husband was a corporate attorney. They should be cosmopolitan enough, she thought. It was just that she had detected that they had a stereotype image of what people were like in the Catskills: countryfolk whose idea of a good time was the Saturday-night bingo game in the firehouse. Toby Bloomfield had said, We’re looking for an escape, a place so quiet that the crickets keep you up at night.

And yet they wanted something big enough to house a number of guests on weekends, their own private retreat. What was better for such purposes than a retired tourist house, a turn-of-the-century structure that was in rather good shape, situated on a back country road with nearly twenty acres of flat land and rolling hills. There was even a lake on the property, big enough for rowboats and light fishing. She explained to the Bloomfields that the Rose Hill House had begun as a farmhouse and expanded into a tourist house. As farming became more difficult and tourism became more profitable.

How interesting, Toby Bloomfield squealed over the phone.

Ordinarily that might have put Cynthia off, but the Rose Hill House was interesting. Old man Hillerman had built and operated it with his wife, but like so many of the small resorts in the Catskills, it had died a rather abrupt death in the mid-sixties and become a haven for memories and dreams, a monument to a bygone era when the railroad was in existence up here and moderately priced family vacations were in vogue.

Carl Palmer, Cynthia’s father, had begun his agency insuring such places because most of the other agencies were afraid of something they had prejudicially labeled, Jewish lightning, a fire in a resort when the Catskills had a bad season. There was never a fire at the Rose Hill House, but Ralph Hillerman, like the children of many other resort families, had no interest in continuing with the traditions and the tourist business. He became a professional businessman in his own right, and the Rose Hill House—named after his mother, Hillerman shortened to Hill for advertisement reasons—became a drain and a burden to him. As long as his father, who had survived his mother by ten years, was vigorous and feisty, there was little he could do about it. But now with the old man nearly senile and confined to a wheelchair most of the day, the options were reduced. For the Hillermans the Rose Hill House had to come to an end.

Cynthia couldn’t help feeling sorry for the old man, even though she agreed with Ralph’s decision. She had met Ben Hillerman briefly when she went up to inspect the property. He made her feel like an undertaker measuring him for a coffin, and she was happy when Patsy took him to the kitchen to eat.

He knows why I’m here, she told Ralph.

Oh sure. Despite his condition, you’d be surprised at how much he understands, Ralph Hillerman told her. But he’s drifting in and out of reality more and more now. It would be cruel to prolong this any longer, even though they don’t come any tougher. He and my mother made this place work no matter what the cost. I hate to see it the way it is now. It’s a shadow of itself, just the way he is.

Of course I can’t see it the way you do, Cynthia said, but I feel the Rose Hill House still has character. You can sense it. There’s wisdom in these old walls and real drama. Think of the different people who had stayed here. She inhaled as though she could smell the history in the old tourist house. Ralph smiled and shook his head in admiration of her enthusiasm.

I never heard a real estate agent talk about property the way you do, he said. You make it sound alive.

Well, it is, in its way, she said, and she believed it. That was her edge, what made her successful. She did much more than pay for her share of the space and facilities she took up at the Palmer Building. She never gave Jason the opportunity to present her with a statement of liabilities, and Stephen had to admit to her financial acumen. But she wasn’t as happy about all this as she could be.

When she told Paula Levy, her best friend, about it, Paula said, You’re too successful. It makes Stephen feel unimportant, maybe even unnecessary. Believe me, men like to feel essential. As soon as you show them you can do without them, they whimper. You can hear it in their voices, in their sarcasm.

Paula, divorced, remarried, separated and currently reconciled, wasn’t someone to hold up as successful when it came to her relationships with men, but her coldly analytical way often cut to the truth. Like most everyone, Cynthia thought, Paula could see what was wrong with other people faster than she could see what was wrong with herself.

Lately Cynthia had been thinking that Paula might be right on the money with her theories. Just as Paula had predicted, she was beginning to detect a note of ridicule and sarcasm in Stephen’s words. It was a tone that was more characteristic of her brother, Jason, than of her husband. It was even in what he told her this morning when he called about the Bloomfields.

Your big-time New York clients want to play in the mountains, he said. How did he know it was only play? Why did he assume she’d be unsuccessful, or was Paula right—was he hoping she would fail? Was Stephen, with all the success he and Jason were having, jealous of her?

She knew Jason didn’t expect her to ever sell the Rose Hill House. Maybe he was responsible for making Stephen so cynical about, it. It was a big property, a real estate agent’s dream sale of the year. Still, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Stephen believed in her and encouraged her? It was amazing what a little optimism could do for a couple, the light it could add to their lives. Why couldn’t Stephen see that? What blinded him?

She put the coffee mug in the sink and went into the dining room to inspect her full figure in the mirror. Perhaps the cherry-pink skirt and frilly, blue blouse were too bright and too informal for these clients. This was big money, and she didn’t want to appear inexperienced. Everyone said she looked like a woman in her late teens or early twenties as it was. Very few strangers guessed she was thirty, and clients who spoke to her on the phone first always had this surprised look on their faces when they finally met her in person. It was as though they expected her to go get her mother. She did have that deep, Lauren Bacall voice.

A youthful appearance ran in her family. Her mother’s skin was smooth to the day she died, and her father never really looked his age. Jason was the same way, only in his case she wasn’t sure it was an asset. At thirty-two he still had the look of a college freshman—smooth, light skin with soft, very light brown hair. He shaved daily, but he could go for nearly a week before the evidence of a beard would show. Once he tried to grow a mustache. She figured he wanted to look older, but all he produced was a pale peach fuzz that was impossible to detect from more than ten feet away. He had her hazel-green eyes, or rather, she had his since he was two years older. He wasn’t much taller at five-foot-ten, and his slim, almost fragile build sometimes made them look like twins.

Stephen looked his thirty-five years. He was six-foot-one and wide shouldered. Recently he let his tight, athletic build slip, but he still had a strong, authoritative voice and a commanding presence. He was so dark skinned that he always looked tanned, and he had licorice-black hair and a beard that was so heavy he had long since given in to the two-hour shadow and grown a full beard. He kept it beautifully trimmed. Cynthia was happy with it because she felt it gave his face strength and brought out the brightness in his brown eyes.

She remembered the week he grew it, because that was the only time she could recall Jason being jealous of him. He had told him it made him look straggly and disheveled. Appearance was such an important thing to Jason. He had even implied that Stephen’s beard would hurt business. But she had encouraged him and he had kept it. Now she wondered if her encouragement about anything could make a difference when it came to the business and his work with Jason.

More and more these days Cynthia felt she had not only fallen in love with a different face, but with a different person. She had never expected him to be so monomaniacal about his work. He and Jason were in the process of building the biggest agency in the tri-county area. They had taken on fifty new companies and had expanded from life, home and car into more exotic realms like racehorses and even the fingers of a pianist. The agency had grown from a company of two agents to ten, not including Stephen and Jason. Now they were talking about opening a branch office in Orange County, as well. She hated to take Jason along when they went to dinner or a show. Inevitably they would talk shop and leave her to fend for herself.

It was the eighth year of her marriage, and she and Stephen had been talking about children for the past two. The discussion hadn’t gotten any more intense. She didn’t want to be the only one pushing for it. Paula had told her that unless the husband and the wife wanted children with the same fervor, they could become an instant burden for one or the other. It made sense.

Again, listening to Paula, she had developed a similar philosophy when it came to the lovemaking between her and Stephen. Her signals had to be received and returned with the same enthusiasm, or she would turn over and wait for another occasion. Lately she was doing that more and more, so she experimented with the new hairdo and waited to see his reaction.

He was surprised she would make such an abrupt change, but the surprise didn’t translate into immediate pleasure. He did look at her in a new way, but she thought he looked more amused than attracted. Paula said it was something he would have to get used to.

Men can’t be as impulsive, she told her, especially businessmen like Stephen and Jason. They have to check things out with their brokers first. Oh, don’t worry, she added, one day he’ll just look at you like he did when you two first met and he’ll say, ‘My God, you’re beautiful.’ They both laughed.

If only that would happen, she thought. She looked at her watch, saw that it was time to go and hurried out of the house. She was anxious to start the day.

Stephen and Jason were busy with some investors when she arrived at the Palmer Building. Judy Dobbs, the secretary who worked for her as well as for Stephen, told her they were having a meeting about Florida condos.

Condos? Since when have they been interested in condos? She really meant it to be only a private thought but she said it aloud.

Oh, it’s been a few weeks, Mrs. Warner, Judy said. Cynthia could see the twenty-eight-year-old woman’s look of glee. Cynthia knew she had a crush on Stephen. Judy was un­married and somewhat socially immature, even though she was a good secretary. She had a plain face with dull brown eyes and a chubbiness that produced an emphatic double chin. She was continually on a diet, but she continually cheated on that diet, too. Cynthia saw her as no threat, but she was annoyed with the teenage-like pleasure she obviously got from knowing something about Stephen that she didn’t know.

Really, Cynthia said. She didn’t continue the conversation, but she couldn’t hide her unhappiness. This involves real estate, she thought. They should have had her in on the discussions or at least told her about it beforehand, but Stephen hadn’t even mentioned it.

But she didn’t have a chance to pout about it because the Bloomfields were right on time. She had just picked up her phone to call Jason’s office and interrupt them when Judy buzzed. Cynthia told her to send them in immediately.

She liked them because there was no look of surprise on their faces; no doubt in their eyes when they confronted her. She thought they were both probably in their fifties, but they had a youthful vibrancy that was infectious. Toby Bloomfield had a slim, well-proportioned body. She wore designer jeans and a blue, light cotton sweater. Sid Bloomfield, dressed in a tight-fitting black sweatshirt and jeans, was tall and slim, too. In fact they looked like graduate students from a Jack La Lanne health spa. They talked quickly and excitedly, and they had an optimism that matched her own this morning and foretold a definite sale.

They liked the area; they liked the ride up. It was much less in travel time than they expected. No problem to hop up here for a weekend. Why, they could even shoot up for an evening in the middle of the week if they wanted to. And the village … it was just as they had envisioned: one main street, small mom and pop stores, little or no traffic, laid-back and quiet.

Like a Norman Rockwell painting, Toby said.

We call it economic depression up here, Cynthia said. They laughed, but they were laughing at everything. She had never seen such a giggly, middle-aged couple, and she found herself feeling somewhat jealous of the joy they took in each other. She wondered whether or not Stephen and she would have that kind of closeness when they were the Bloomfields’ age, especially since they didn’t have it now.

On the way out she wanted to stop at Jason’s office and make some comment about the meeting they were having, but the Bloomfields were so anxious for her to take them to the property, she couldn’t hesitate for a moment. As soon as the Rose Hill House came into view, Toby Bloomfield became animated. She clapped her hands and moved about in the car like a child brought to Disneyland for the first time. Her husband was a little embarrassed by her excitement, but he was obviously just as pleased himself by what they were seeing. They went about the place like people who had found their long-lost home. Never had they expected to find anything so perfect on their first try.

That’s why we came up here so early, Toby told her. We have other listings to examine, but now I don’t know if we’ll even bother.

Mrs. Marshall greeted them at the door. Ben Hillerman was still living there, but he was confined to his room on the bottom floor. They went through the remainder of the house—the large kitchen and big dining room, the two sitting rooms and the large living room with the fieldstone fire-place that took up an entire wall. They checked the upstairs rooms and even climbed up the small attic ladder to take a peek into the area that now housed some old furniture, knickknacks and family heirlooms.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Ralph Hillerman left some of that stuff here with the house. Cynthia caught the way the Bloomfields looked at each other when she said that and she thought, frosting on the cake, an old trick she learned from her father—hold back on some goody until the end and then just slip it in casually.

Afterward the Bloomfields went out to walk over the grounds and look at the lake. Cynthia left them alone for a while. She knew the way houses were really sold. If you were too anxious to sell it, used too many high-pressure techniques, people were often frightened off. It was better to let her clients ease into the sale like someone easing into a hot bath. Customers usually talked themselves into something faster than