by Joanne Fluke
“Yes. That’s fine.” Maura nodded.
“Great! Now let’s get inside before Nita dies of excitement. She can hardly wait to see you!”
Maura watched while Jan punched in the code. The ornate gates slid smoothly open, and she took a deep breath, preparing for the first sight of the home she didn’t remember. As the little blue Miata moved forward through the ornate gates and up the winding driveway, she wondered what “tape” was, and how they could watch a movie in their own living room.
CHAPTER THREE
Maura stood for a moment, staring up at the huge, yellow brick house looming over her. She didn’t say a word. She was too stunned. She’d thought she’d seen everything when Jan had led her across the little wooden bridge that spanned a miniature ravine planted with wildflowers, but her first sight of the house she owned left her speechless.
“Well? What do you think, Mom?”
Jan turned to her with hope in her eyes, but Maura shook her head. “I’m sorry, honey. I can’t remember ever seeing it before.”
“That’s okay.” Jan’s smile was falsely bright. “You’re probably sick of being asked, so I’ll stop. But you’ll tell me if you recognize anything, won’t you?”
Maura nodded. Jan was very perceptive. “You’ll be the second to know, kiddo, right after me.”
“That’s another thing you always say!” Jan looked pleased. “Our house is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Very. Actually, it’s more than beautiful. It’s the home I dreamed I’d have someday.”
Jan nodded. “That’s what you said when we bought it. You told me that it was your dream come true. Are you ready to go in and face Nita?”
“I think so.” Maura frowned slightly. “Is there something I should know about facing Nita?”
“She always rattles things off in Spanish when she’s excited. And she speaks so fast, you have trouble following her.”
Maura looked at Jan in surprise. “I speak Spanish?”
“Sure. Nita says you speak like a native. You took intensive Spanish when you were a senior in college, and . . .” Jan stopped suddenly and stared at Maura in alarm. “Uh-oh! You’re not a senior yet. You’re only a sophomore . . . right, Mom?”
Maura almost laughed. The whole thing seemed so crazy. But she gave a little nod. “I’m afraid you’re right. I don’t remember anything past the second quarter of my sophomore year. We’ll have to tell Nita to speak English until I can take another Spanish class. She does speak English, doesn’t she?”
“Oh sure. Nita’s bilingual. That’s one of the reasons you . . .”
Jan stopped suddenly as the door was flung open and a short, heavyset Mexican woman in her late forties came barreling out. She threw her arms around Maura, and kissed her on the cheek. And then she said something in rapid-fire Spanish, ending with the word Maurita.
Maura was startled for a moment, but then she hugged her housekeeper back. It was clear that Nita was genuinely fond of her. And something about the happy tears in Nita’s eyes and the genuine warmth of her embrace convinced Maura that she was much more than a paid employee. She had the feeling that she’d shared secrets with Nita in the past, asked for her advice, and relied on her good judgment. And then a picture popped into her mind that made her draw in her breath sharply.
Jan saw the expression on Maura’s face, and moved closer to take her hand. “What is it, Mom? Did you remember something?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. This crazy picture popped into my mind, just for a second. I was sitting at a table with Nita, drinking coffee with . . . with cinnamon. Do you make cinnamon coffee, Nita?”
Nita looked delighted as she nodded. “Yes, Miss Maura. Cinnamon and chocolate and chicory. I used to make it for you every night, when you came home from work. But I don’t make it much anymore. Mr. Keith doesn’t like it.”
“You can still make it. Can’t you, Nita?” Jan’s voice was eager.
Nita nodded again. “Yes. I will do it now. Take your mother to her room, Jan. She should change into that pretty blue outfit she likes so much. I moved it to the front of her closet. And then bring her to the kitchen. The coffee will be ready by then.”
Maura’s head was beginning to pound as she stepped into the house. It was vaguely familiar, but she didn’t actually recognize anything as Jan let her up the stairs to her bedroom.
“This is your room.” Jan indicated a closed door. “Keith’s is right next door, and mine is down there at the end of the hall. Do you want me to help you change?”
Maura turned to her with a smile. “No, honey. I think I could use a little time alone. Give me a few minutes to change, and I’ll tap on your door when I’m ready.”
Jan nodded, but she seemed reluctant to leave. Maura smiled again as she realized why. “Don’t worry, Jan. I’ll be fine. And I promise that I’ll come and get you right away if anything jogs my memory.”
“Okay.” Jan walked down the hall to her room, but she stopped, her hand on the doorknob, and turned back to face Maura. “There’s a white telephone on your bed table, Mom. It’s got an intercom system. Just lift the receiver and press number three if you need me.”
Maura watched as Jan went into her room and shut the door. Jan had said that this was her room. And Keith’s room was right next door. They were husband and wife, and they’d been married for over two years. Most married couples slept together, in the same room. Why did they have separate bedrooms?
It wasn’t a question that she could ask Jan. And she certainly couldn’t ask Keith! He’d seemed pleasant enough when he’d come to the hospital to visit, but she remembered absolutely nothing about him. Was she in love with Keith?
Maura shivered slightly as she thought about her husband. Keith had flown to New York last night. He’d been very apologetic when he’d come to the hospital to tell her about the series of business meetings he had scheduled. The meetings were very important. Keith had told her he’d be gone until the end of the week, but he’d offered to cancel if she needed him at home.
Naturally, Maura had told him to go. Jan would take her home, and help her settle in. There was really no reason to cancel his trip. They had the rest of their lives together.
Keith had hugged her, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. He’d told her that she’d always been very understanding. It was one of the reasons he loved her so much. And then he’d left to catch his plane.
Maura had mixed feelings about Keith. She wanted her husband at her side, but she was also relieved that he was gone. Keith represented one more set of problems she wouldn’t have to deal with immediately. She had plenty of time to prepare for her husband’s return. But even though she tried not to worry, she was naturally concerned about what Keith would expect from her.
Maura’s hand was trembling as she grasped the doorknob and turned it. What sort of relationship did she have with Keith? Did he come to her room to make love to her? Did she go to his? Or was their marriage in name only? Nita was their housekeeper. She would certainly know. But how could she ask Nita such a personal question?
Maura took a deep breath and let it out again, gathering the courage to open her door. What secrets would this room hold? Bedrooms were private places. Would her bedroom hold clues to the missing years of her life?
She had to find out. Maura took another deep breath and opened the door. She stepped in quickly, closed the door behind her, and gasped at the lovely furnishings. As a young college girl, she’d stretched out on her inexpensive cotton bedspread and stared up at the perfectly square acoustical ceiling of her dorm room, dreaming about the day when she would have a bedroom exactly like this. It wasn’t a square little box, like her dorm room, or the small bedroom she’d had as a child. This was a huge rectangular space, with all sorts of wonderful nooks and crannies. It even had a bay window with a window seat!
As Maura moved farther into the room, she began to smile in delight. The colors were perfect; ivory and rose with touches of forest green. The bedspread had pr
inted Victorian lace on an ivory background sprinkled with cabbage roses and scattered rosebuds. Rose clusters and ivory satin piping decorated the draped lace pillow shams, and the sheets and pillowcases had lovely Victorian lace at the hems. The table by the bed was draped with a cloth of the same design, and a boudoir lamp with a fringed, rose-colored shade sat in the exact center of the tabletop.
The bed seemed huge, and Maura knew it must be king-sized. She laughed softly as she sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress and stroked the lace border of the pillowcase. She was five feet, nine inches tall, and after years of coping with a small, twin-sized bed, she’d promised herself that the first purchase she’d make would be a king-sized bed.
And what a bed it was! Maura’s smile grew broader as she noticed the ornate brass headboard. It must have cost her a fortune! Nothing she saw, as she gazed around her, could be found at the bargain basement sale. What she’d thought was wallpaper was actually ivory satin material, covered with lace.
Maura gasped as she noticed the curtains. They were lace and satin, and it was clear they’d been made especially for this room. The floor was hardwood, polished to a dull gleam, and it was partially covered by a large, tapestry-style rug with a design of scattered roses.
There was a wingback chair in the corner of the room covered with mauve velvet. A lamp with a fringed shade stood beside it, and Maura suspected she’d sat there often to read. At the foot of the chair was a mauve and green footstool that looked like a genuine antique with its Queen Anne legs and needlepoint roses.
Without knowing why, Maura was drawn to the footstool. As she ran her fingers lightly over the lovely needlepoint design, she began to feel vaguely uneasy. There was something about the footstool she should know, some secret that would provide a clue to her past.
The phone rang suddenly, startling Maura, and she reached out to answer it without thinking. “Hello. This is Maura.”
“Hi, Mom. Are you almost ready?”
“Yes . . . almost.” Maura felt slightly guilty. She hadn’t even opened the closet. “Could you give me five minutes more, honey? I’ve been busy, looking at my room.”
“Sure, no problem. Did you recognize any . . . uh . . . sorry, Mom. I promised you I wouldn’t keep asking.”
Maura grinned. It was clear that Jan was trying to be polite in spite of her overwhelming curiosity. “No, honey. But I do think my bedroom’s gorgeous. It’s exactly what I always wanted. The person who decorated it must have known me very well.”
“I guess!” Jan burst into laughter. “You did it yourself, Mom. You said it was silly to hire a decorator when you knew exactly what you wanted.”
Maura was amazed. Her bedroom seemed so perfect in every detail, it rivaled the pictures she’d seen in decorator magazines. “Did I furnish any more rooms?”
“You did the whole house.” Jan’s voice was warm. “And you did such a fantastic job, a photographer from Home Beautiful came out to take pictures. There’s a copy of the magazine around here somewhere. I’ll find it and show you.”
“But how did I know what to do? Did I take any classes? Or read books on interior decorating?”
“I don’t think so. Of course I was only six when we moved in here, and I don’t really remember. You could ask Nita. She knows everything about you.”
Maura nodded. “I’ll ask her. There’s another thing, Jan, and I’d really like your opinion. Can I trust Nita enough to ask her some . . . uh . . . personal questions?”
“Of course! Nita’s not just our housekeeper, she’s your best friend, and you used to tell her everything. Her feelings would be hurt if you didn’t ask her lots of questions.”
Maura was smiling as she hung up the phone and opened her closet to find the blue lounging outfit. It was a lovely design, and it reminded her of the gi she’d worn when she’d taken karate in college. But her gi had been made of scratchy white cotton, and this one was fashioned from brushed velvet terry cloth in a startling turquoise color that reminded her of the pictures she’d seen of the Aegean Sea.
She examined the pants as she pulled them on. They were a simple cut with elastic around the waist, and a drawstring for added adjustment. They had the comfort of sweatpants but there was no elastic around the ankles and this made them much dressier.
Maura removed the top from the hanger and smiled as she noticed the wide sleeves. It was robelike, sporting wide lapels that were triple stitched to give it a distinctive gi style. The cuffs were also triple stitched, and they could be easily shortened by folding them up. A wide belt of the same soft material was attached with loops around the waist. She was about to slip it on when she noticed the tag. It said MYSTIQUE. The gi must be one of her original designs!
It took only a moment to slip on the top and tie the belt. Maura was pleased as she walked across the room. This was a very comfortable garment. There was no restriction of movement, not even when she bent down to put on the pair of soft leather sandals she found by the side of her bed. Had she sold these fashionable gis in her boutique? She’d have to remember to ask Jan.
There was a notebook on the table next to her bed, and Maura flipped it open. It was blank. No clues to her elusive past here. She chose a pen from the holder next to it, and jotted down several questions to ask Nita. Jan was right. Nita could provide valuable information about the life she’d lived in this house.
Maura sighed and took one last look around her. She wished she could stay here in this lovely room, where she could hide from the unfamiliar world outside. But hiding was the coward’s way out, and although Maura knew every little about the person she’d been, she was certain that she’d never been a coward.
“Time to go.” Maura picked up the notebook, squared her shoulders, and walked to the door. Then she opened it and stepped out to start living the life she no longer remembered.
CHAPTER FOUR
He tried not to show his nervousness as he sat in the straight-backed chair and waited for the inner door to open. He’d shaved so closely this morning, his skin was sore. There was no stubble, not even a hint of a shadow on his rugged cheekbones, and his clothes were carefully chosen. He wore gray slacks, a light blue shirt, and a navy blazer. The image that faced him in the waiting room mirror was that of a highly-paid company executive. It was exactly what they wanted to see. They didn’t like to think of him as a hired killer. It offended their sensibilities. And while he was wise enough to know that his appearance probably wouldn’t make any difference, it was one less thing for them to criticize.
How long were they going to make him wait? He glanced at his watch and frowned. He’d been here for fifteen minutes, making sure to arrive precisely on time. When he’d knocked on the door, one of them had come out and told him to wait, that they’d call him when they were ready. And even though his ears were finely tuned for any sounds beyond the inner door, he’d heard nothing except faint traffic noises filtering in from the outside.
While he was waiting, he went over the whole thing again. He’d done his part, rigging the car so the brakes would fail, resulting in a fatal accident. As he’d followed them down the highway, he’d felt an unaccustomed twinge of sympathy for the woman. She was a pretty thing, very classy, the type of woman who’d always been out of his league. But orders were orders, and it couldn’t be helped. Both of them had to die.
Everything had gone according to plan. The brakes had gone out, and the car had crashed through the guardrail. There had been only one hitch, one factor that had been impossible for him to calculate. Someone had used a car phone to call for an ambulance.
Just thinking about what had happened next made him shiver. He didn’t like to relive the next few minutes, but they would be bound to ask questions. He had to be ready to defend himself, to explain why his plan had failed.
The limo passengers had piled out of the car to stare down the steep embankment. And the girl had been carrying a video camera. There was no way he could have climbed down there to see if he’d been successful. He
would have been captured on tape. So he’d rushed to the edge of the embankment and pretended to be just another observer, staring down at the wreck and hoping that the ambulance attendants would bring up two zippered body bags.
He could still remember his relief when they’d carried up the first body bag. But then he’d noticed that a second team of paramedics was still in the ravine, taking a long time with the second victim. Each minute that passed had seemed like an eternity, and he’d begun to shiver in the warm night breeze. The flashing red lights on the ambulance had washed the pale faces of the crowd with what looked like blood, and he’d reached out for the rail to steady himself.
He’d heard a shout from below as a medivac helicopter had appeared on the horizon. It had hovered low over the ravine, the noise of its blades matching the staccato beat of his heart. There had been no reason to stick around for confirmation. If both accident victims had died, they wouldn’t have called for air transport.
He’d wanted to leave, to go home and hole up with a bottle of Scotch and the mindless drivel of late-night talk shows on the tube. But he was a pro, and he knew there’d be too many questions if he tried to leave. The lady next to him had been praying, her fleshy cheeks wet with tears. He’d thought about praying, too . . . praying that the helicopter would crash and finish his work, pleading with the God he’d never believed existed for a DOA at the emergency room door. But none of that had happened. She had recovered. And now he was sitting here waiting, preparing for the worst.
This was a new situation for him. He’d never failed on an assignment before, and he stared at the door, willing it to open. He wanted to give his report and leave . . . if they’d let him leave. But the door remained firmly closed.
