Killer Image (An Allison Campbell Mystery) by Wendy Tyson

near-fatal gunshot meant for him over a decade ago? Once their mama died and Vaughn could see straight, he traded his own life for Jamie’s. Some form of restitution.
    Still, it was hard. Hard to see his brother motionless year after year with little hope for recovery. Harder to accept that Jamie stayed confined to the world Vaughn had created for him. Vertebra C3. Who knew one little body part could ruin two lives?
    He looked again at Jamie. It was like viewing himself in a mirror. A fun house mirror that twisted and contorted and thinned out the image. That was his real penance. To look in that mirror every single day. To see himself lying there and not be able to do a damn thing about it and know it was his fault. Because in the end, it wasn’t him. Worse. It was his identical twin.
    Eight

    The following day, Allison met with her Recently Divorced group.
    The group was discussing change and how hard it could be to build a life as a single person when your world was predicated on coupledom. Unfortunately, each woman had a very different idea of what single looked like. Allison watched the group before her. For a moment their mouths seem to move soundlessly and she caught just a slow-motion glimpse of this hodgepodge of clients: Midge, with her pillbox hats and buttoned-up anger; the morbidly obese and timid Tori; sweet-natured Diane; and Kit with her plastic features and edgy personality. Some days this mix of personalities seemed like an inflamed volcano—ready to blow.
    Today was one of those days.
    “You put an ad online?” Midge was saying. “How does the guy contact you?” In her excitement, she sat forward too quickly and her pink pillbox hat fell across her forehead. “I don’t understand these new dating rituals. It’s a shame you and Bob split. Do you ever think about what you could have done differently to save your marriage?”
    Oh, sweet Mary . Allison shook her head at Midge, who was cluelessly looking at Tori.
    “Men are visual creatures,” Kit said. “In any case, personal ads are not the way to go. You look desperate.”
    “ Kit ,” Allison said sharply. Then she looked around at the other women. “Ladies, you’re being unfair. First of all, what Bob did was about Bob and his issues. It was not about Tori.”
    Tori turned her head toward the group room’s window and stared straight ahead, avoiding Allison’s gaze. But Allison knew her well enough to read the signs: rigid shoulders, face muscles taut, hands clenched into claws, reddened eyes. In a few minutes, Tori would be reduced to a crying mess, all her Bob memories from the last two years rushing at her alongside the swell of emotion caused by the group’s fervor over her online dating.
    Allison thought carefully about what to say.
    Few of these women had stories Allison hadn’t heard before, but Tori’s was a new twist on an old theme. Her ex-husband, Bob, a forty-year-old investment banker, had had a succession of affairs, culminating with a poke to a nineteen-year-old blonde in Tori’s bed while Tori gave birth to their third child, nine miles away. Tori’s father found them together, the girl naked and bound, Bob wearing his son’s Superman cape and nothing else. Unable to hide from the truth any longer, Tori was divorced before the baby was weaned.
    Allison felt for Tori. There was something about Tori’s pain at living in the body she’d been given that nudged at Allison’s depths, reminded her of her own childhood memories. Allison looked at Tori now and saw the effort she had put into dressing that morning: black pants with a drape that softened the girth of her thighs, a subtle black-print blouse with material thick enough to hide the rolls of belly fat without adding bulk, a red scarf to draw attention to beautiful green eyes and glossy black hair, silver bracelets to pull the eye toward well-manicured hands rather than her enormous upper arms. Tori was beautiful. And she was learning. This was the polish that could