The Face of Deceit

Laurie looked down at him, her eyes bright and flirtatious. “You need to bring your older brothers up here, if they talk like you.” As the heat rose in his cheeks, she laughed. “And especially if they blush like you.”

“French toast is not protein.”

Mason twisted in his seat at the sound of Tyler’s baritone voice to find the officer standing behind him. “No,” he agreed, “but it’s some mighty fine eating.”

“Following us, Mr. Madison?” Karen’s voice teased, but she pulled out the extra chair at the table and motioned for him to sit.

He did, removing his hat. “Not yet. We’re out of coffee at the station, so I came over to get some to-go cups. Mom won’t go to the grocery until this afternoon.”

“Mom?” Mason asked.

Tyler cleared his throat. “My mother is office manager for the police department.”

“Peg’s terrific,” Karen said. “She’s like a mom to the whole town.”

Tyler shifted in his chair, then focused on Karen. “How are you doing?”

She examined her fingernails. “I’m all right. I think.”

Mason touched her arm. “Show him the picture.”

Karen perked back to life. “Oh!” She dug in her purse, pulling out the envelope and handing Tyler the Polaroid. “Those are the four vases. I sold them originally to a dealer in Boston. The name is on the back of the photo, but they moved recently. I’ll e-mail you the new address.”

“Please do. You never know where a clue may pop up.” He held the photo close to his face, studying every detail. “Are they distinctive?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. I do a lot of vases, many of them of a similar design. Each vase is unique, unlike the others in some way, but they are all of the same type.”

Tyler rubbed his thumb over the print. “What’s this face on them?”

Karen shot a warning glance at Mason and shook her head. “Just one of my trademarks. I do a lot of face vases. They’re my bestselling item.”

“Is it always the same face?”

“More or less. As I said, my trademark. It’s what people expect on a Karen O’Neill face vase.”

“That’s what drew me to do the article,” Mason interjected.

Tyler looked up at him. “What article?”

Mason explained about the magazine article he’d written and his own interest in “face vases.” “One of my grandmothers had a couple of ‘face jugs,’ which tend to be prominent in the South. But sculpting face masks on pottery artifacts is centuries old. Usually they’re stylized, even exaggerated or grotesque.”

Tyler peered at the picture again. “So this isn’t anyone in particular?”

Karen shook her head. “No. Like I said, it’s just out of my head.”

The young police chief squinted. “Looks familiar, though. Are you sure this isn’t based on someone you know?”

Karen’s curls trembled and her lips tightened. “Positive.”

Mason watched, his brow tensing. “It’s the same with writers.”

Tyler looked up from the picture, puzzled by the interruption. “Beg pardon?”

Mason spoke quickly. “Novelists, I mean. They don’t usually base a character on any one specific person. Too easy to get sued, especially nowadays. Characters tend to be composites of people they know, folks they think they know and stuff they just make up. Artists do the same sometimes, especially with abstractions or art like this. Not real. A representation of real.”

“Ah.” Tyler looked back at the photo, obviously not completely convinced. “Good job making it look familiar, anyway. Do you mind if I take this? I’ll get it scanned and get it back to you within a couple of days. And don’t forget to e-mail me that address. I’m sure New York would like to know how the vases got to that auction.”

Karen sighed, a touch of relief on her face. “Keep it as long as you need it. But would you e-mail me the scan? I’ve been meaning to get that done to the old pictures anyway.”

Tyler tucked the picture into his shirt pocket as Laurie brought his four coffees to go in a cardboard box. “Sure. I’ll send it over as soon as I have it.” He stood, put his hat on, then handed Laurie a five-dollar bill as he took the box. “Thanks.”

Mason watched him go, then turned to find Karen staring at him. “What?” he asked.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He glanced up at Laurie as she set his plate in front of him. “Thanks, Miss Laurie,” he said, picking up his knife and fork. “It looks better than anything even my mama ever put in front of me.”

Laurie grinned. “Thanks, sugar,” she said, picking up on his accent. She placed Karen’s plate down and winked at her. “Don’t let him sweet-talk you into anything.”

Karen stifled a giggle. “I won’t.”

Mason looked from one to the other, his eyes carefully held wide in what he hoped was an expression of innocence. “I have no idea what y’all are talking about.”

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t.” Laurie refilled their cups and beat a discreet retreat.

Mason watched her for a second, then turned back to Karen. “I didn’t have to do what?” he asked, a bite of French toast crowding one cheek.

“Distract Tyler. Thank you for doing it. That was just weird, him looking at the vase as if it were someone he knew.”

Mason swallowed and looked her over carefully. “Karen, how long has Tyler been a cop?”

She paused. “Not sure. Since college, I know. We went to high school together, but he’s older and I didn’t really pay attention. Maybe ten years. Why?”

“All that time here?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I know how you feel about the vases and that face, but you need to think about something, as well. Tyler’s powers of observation are skilled. Trained. This is a small town. He’s going to know most people in this area. Has to—it’s his job. Cops I knew back home could tell you family histories for every kid at the local high school, including who their granddaddies ran around with when they were kids. If he thinks he recognizes the face, then he probably does.”

Karen stared at her plate. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“Why? What if he’s right? What if your memory is picking up on someone you really know and plopping it on those vases?”

She put down her fork and turned to him. “It can’t be.”

“Why not?”

She took a deep breath and dropped her voice so low that he had to lean forward to hear her. “Don’t you understand? That face was chasing me. I was running away because I was terrified. I was running because the person attached to that face was trying to kill me.” Karen leaned back, watching Mason closely, waiting for a response.