Deadly Memories

by Joanne Fluke

  The run would take forty-five minutes, longer if she found she was out of shape. When she’d finished, she’d come home to shower and dress in the one of the business suits she’d found in her closet.

  The big breakfast. Maura frowned as she thought about eating pancakes and sausage, or eggs and bacon. There was bound to be a big glass of orange juice, and Nita might even make hot cereal. She’d have to force it down somehow. Jan had written that she believed in the value of a large, well-balanced breakfast.

  The boutique was next. Since she wasn’t sure exactly where it was, she’d ask Jan to drive her there. Instead of her morning meeting, she’d ask her employees questions and try to learn how her business worked. She’d spend most of the day going over her ledgers and receipts, and she’d ask Jan to pick her up at precisely four o’clock.

  When she got home, she’d relax until dinner at seven. Nita seemed like a very sweet woman, and she’d probably make all of her favorite foods. Even if she no longer liked them, she’d pretend she did. And after dinner was over, she’d talk to Jan and Nita, or read, or listen to music until ten, when she habitually went to bed.

  Maura frowned. Where was the excitement? She’d always craved adventure, but it seemed to be missing from her life. She supposed there must have been a reason why she’d developed such a boring routine, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Her schedule seemed totally inconsistent to the life she’d anticipated when she was in college. She didn’t want to get up early and work in her studio, her morning run sounded horribly boring, and she certainly didn’t want a big breakfast. She’d prefer to sleep in late, and have coffee on a tray in her room, but she couldn’t do that. They’d expect her to follow her normal routine.

  Maura’s eyes snapped open, and she stared up into the darkness. Why did she have to do everything exactly the way she’d always done it? There was no law that said she had to get up at the crack of dawn. The police wouldn’t come to arrest her if she didn’t go on her morning run, and absolutely no one would stand over her and force-feed her that big breakfast she didn’t want to eat.

  Should she change her routine? Maura began to smile as the idea told hold. Perhaps it was time for her to live dangerously. She’d sleep until she woke up. And then she’d ask Nita to bring her coffee and toast in bed. Forget the run. She wasn’t overweight, and she’d figure out some other way to get her exercise. And she didn’t have to go to the boutique tomorrow. Jan had mentioned that she had a capable staff, and her business could get along without her for the next couple of days. She’d go to the boutique when it was closed for the night so she could familiarize herself with her business practices in private. And while she was at it, she’d go over her personnel records. It would be easier to face her employees when she knew more about them.

  The moment she’d decided, Maura flicked on the light and reached for the clock. She pressed in the alarm button with a deliberate snap, and flicked off the light again. Until circumstances proved that her routine was useful, she’d indulge herself.

  Maura was smiling as she snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes. She felt better than she had all day. Jan’s profile had been very helpful, telling her what her schedule had been like, but this was her life and she was taking charge of it again!

  CHAPTER SIX

  Maura opened her eyes and groaned as she glanced at the clock. The alarm hadn’t sounded, but it was five A.M. Perhaps she was a creature of habit, after all. But just because she was awake at this ungodly hour didn’t mean she had to actually get out of bed. She could always roll over and go back to sleep.

  There was a tall cypress tree outside her window, and Maura smiled as she heard the birds start to twitter and stir. Although it was still dark, a mourning dove anticipated daybreak with its soft, sad song. The eerie notes hung in the predawn stillness, echoing through the ravine. And then, from the distance, a second dove answered, calling out its sorrowful lament.

  There was a note of poignancy in the dove’s call that made Maura shiver. The melancholy notes brought unwelcome thoughts of death and dying, of grieving and weeping for a loved one who was gone, never to return.

  Maura pulled the covers over her head and snuggled up in their warmth. She tried to put such morbid thoughts out of her mind, to think of something pleasant that would lull her back to sleep. But the doves kept calling out mournfully, back and forth, their cries softer now as they were filtered through the blankets, but still perfectly audible.

  She had almost dropped off to sleep when another sliver of memory pierced her mind. It was so clear, it made her gasp with intense feelings of loss and desolation. She was standing on a hill of snow, under a large tree. Its branches were bare and she could see a small fire on a level piece of ground in the distance. The firelight cast flickering red shadows against the white surface of the snow. It would have been a pretty picture, if she hadn’t known why the fire existed.

  They were thawing the ground for his funeral, three men dressed in long, dark coats with fur caps on their heads. The fire would burn for three days, until the ground was soft enough to dig his grave. And then he would be buried. He was gone from her, forever.

  It was bitter cold, so cold that she could barely feel her feet, encased in warm, lined boots. She was wearing a parka, black with a fur lining, and her hands were tucked into leather mittens lined with the same fur. There was something warm over her face, to keep out the frozen, night air. It was a woven ski mask with holes for her eyes and her mouth.

  In the very back of her mind, Maura protested. This scene was wrong. It couldn’t have come from her memory. Steve had told her that her husband had died in the summer. But the images were persistent, pulling her along as they continued with startling clarity.

  She was moving now, over the snow with a smooth glide. It was clear that she was on skis. She traveled down the hill another few feet, and stopped by another tree. Now she was close enough to hear them speaking in hushed voices as they placed wood on the fire. The words were foreign, but she understood them perfectly. They were praising him, one of their number they’d lost.

  There were tears in her eyes as she listened to their words of praise. He’d been a brave man, a good man, and he’d made them proud. They were glad the woman had escaped, but it was a pity she couldn’t attend his funeral to pay her final respects. What kind of world was it when his own wife wasn’t allowed at his funeral?

  His wife?! Maura gasped, but there was no denying what they’d said. They couldn’t be talking about her. She’d only lost one husband, Jan’s father. They must be wrong. Or perhaps she wasn’t this man’s wife. She could be a friend, a very close friend who was grieving his death.

  One man seemed to be the leader of the group. He was taller and slightly older than the rest. They listened as he spoke, and then they split up to ski off into the woods. She’d heard him say that they had to gather more firewood. But the older man stayed behind and she saw him beckon to her.

  Trees whirled past as she skied rapidly down the hill, and Maura felt doubt grow in the back of her mind. This couldn’t be her memory. Jan hadn’t mentioned skiing in her profile. As far as she knew, she’d never skied, and the woman in these images was clearly an expert.

  His arms opened as she skied up to him. He held her for a moment, patting her back, and then they turned toward a wooden shack at the edge of the clearing. There were tears in her eyes as he took her arm and escorted her there. She slipped off her skis, and opened the door. And then she was inside, alone with . . .

  The shack was cold. Ice cold. And there was a bundle on the bench, wrapped in blankets. She pulled off her mittens and folded down the blankets, gazing down through a blur of tears at his dear face.

  It was the man from the airport! The man with startling blue eyes, blond hair, and a vaguely Scandinavian face. Even in death, his color hadn’t faded. He was deeply tanned, and he looked physically fit. She reached down to touch his lips, the lips that had kissed her only hours ago. Warm lips that w
ere cold now, as cold as death.

  There was a tap on the door. It was her signal to hurry. She quickly pulled back the blanket a bit farther, and uncovered his hand.

  Her fingers were growing numb from the cold, but she slipped off his watch and opened the back. There was something inside, something wrapped in a thin piece of paper, which she took out and tucked into an inner pocket of her parka. And then she reached for his gold ring, turning it so the inscription glittered in the light from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. To Nick. Love forever, Emmy. Her hands were shaking, and she was blinking back tears as she slipped it from his finger and placed it on her own.

  There was another knock, sharp and urgent. Her fingers flew as she wrapped the blankets around him again, and hurried to the door. A nod to the older man, another brief hug, and she was snapping on her skis. And then she was flying over the snow, disappearing into the dense woods that surrounded the small graveyard.

  She looked back once, when she’d reached the safety of the trees. The clearing was deserted now. The older man had vanished. And then she saw them, a party of six men coming over the top of the hill. They had come for him. She had arrived just in time and they would fail to complete their mission.

  Faster, faster. She dug her poles into the snow and skied down another steep hill. She seemed to ski for hours, arms and legs moving in a practiced rhythm until she got to familiar terrain.

  There was a farmhouse over the next rise, and she zigzagged down to the barn. The hay was piled deep on the lee side, and she slipped off her skis and pushed them into the pile. And then she ran to the house to change into her nightgown and eat the snack the mother had left on the bed-stand for her.

  She saw herself cutting off a wedge of cheese and spreading it on a piece of coarse black bread. The cheese tasted like peanut butter and it was delicious. Gjetost. The name popped into her mind. Gjetost was brown goat cheese, and it was one of the things she loved best about being in this part of the world.

  She finished the snack and climbed under the covers. It was cold and she pulled the goose-down comforter up, all the way to her nose. Her dreams were uneasy, but somehow she managed to sleep right through the pounding on the door. And she looked appropriately dazed when they came to question her. Of course she could ski, but not very well. She was trying to learn, but she didn’t have much time to practice. She was an exchange student and her class work was very demanding. As a matter of fact, she had a test in calculus this morning. Could they possibly give her a ride to the university? The professor wouldn’t accept any excuses for being late.

  Maura’s eyes opened with a snap. Calculus?! This memory couldn’t possibly be hers. She’d always avoided math like the plague, and she’d barely managed to pass the required class in her freshman year.

  There was no way she could sleep now. Maura switched on the light and reached for her notebook. She knew this memory wasn’t hers. It must be from a book she’d read, or a movie she’d seen, but she’d write it down anyway.

  As she faithfully transcribed the images she’d seen, Maura blinked back tears. She had no idea why this dream, or whatever it had been, had affected her so deeply. What she’d seen hadn’t actually happened to her. It was impossible that she had been personally involved. She didn’t speak any foreign languages except Spanish, she didn’t know how to ski, she’d never taken calculus, her name wasn’t Emmy, and she’d never been married to anyone named Nick.

  Maura put down the pen and got out of bed, trying to shake off the effects of her disquieting dream. She dressed in the forest green jogging outfit Nita had laid out the previous night, and laced up her running shoes. She didn’t feel much like exercising, but doing something physical might chase away the sad feeling that still lingered with her.

  A glance at the clock told her that it was still early, barely six o’clock. She’d go down to the kitchen and put on the coffee. A good, strong cup of coffee might get her in the mood for her run.

  The house was quiet as she tiptoed down the stairs, her footsteps silent on the thick carpeting. She passed through the living room, pausing to touch the lovely grand piano that dominated the room, and hesitated, her fingers on the swinging kitchen door. Nita was up, and she was talking on the phone. Maura could hear her clearly. She was speaking in Spanish, but somehow the words were miraculously translated in her mind.

  “It is much too early to tell. She seems to have memory of some things, but not others.”

  There was a pause. Nita must be listening to the speaker on the other end of the line.

  “No. It is very little. A piece of furniture, that is all. And Jan’s baby cup. But the memory for those things might have come from before.”

  There was another pause and Nita sighed. “Of course I will. You know that she is also my very good friend. I will make her favorite dishes for dinner tonight. You will come, yes?”

  All was silent for a moment, and then Nita laughed. “I am not sure she is prepared for my hot salsa, but I will make the sweet tamales with pork and raisins. And pineapple flan for dessert. It is very good for her to have the family with her again, and I will make certain that she is ready before he comes back.”

  There was another pause, and Maura frowned. Was Nita talking about Keith? And why did she have to get ready for his homecoming?

  “Yes, you can count on me. And you can be certain that Jan knows nothing. You should not worry. I will call you immediately if there is concern.”

  Maura’s frown deepened. What was it that Jan didn’t know? And who was on the phone with Nita? She had a good notion to barge right in the kitchen and ask, but some instinct stopped her. Nita had sounded very secretive on the phone. And she’d been speaking in Spanish, a language she assumed that Maura no longer remembered. Perhaps it was best to wait and listen, to see if she could learn any more.

  Before she had time to really consider her actions, Maura found herself quietly climbing the stairs again. She let herself into the bedroom and then she went out again, closing the door loudly behind her. She hurried down the stairs, making what she considered was a normal amount of noise, and called out as she reached the kitchen door. “Nita? Are you in there?”

  “Good morning, Miss Maura!” Nita smiled as Maura came into the kitchen. “Would you like coffee?”

  Maura nodded, and observed Nita closely. Nita’s smile seemed totally genuine, and she didn’t look the least bit guilty about her early morning telephone conversation.

  “Are you going to run this morning?” Nita waited until Maura was seated at the table, and then she brought over a mug of coffee.

  “I’m not sure. Do you think I should?”

  Nita nodded. “You always run, Miss Maura. You never miss a day when you are home, and your body is accustomed to the exercise. Perhaps you should not go too fast or too far, but I think you should try.”

  “You’re probably right.” Maura sighed in resignation. “It’d be a pity to get out of condition when it seemed to mean so much to me before. And who knows? I might just recognize something along my normal route and get my memory back.”

  Nita nodded. “This is true. You may remember something of great importance to you. I will go with you, if you like.”

  “You stay here, Nita. I’ll go.” Jan stood in the doorway dressed in gray sweats and running shoes. She was grinning as she turned to her mother. “You’d better thank Nita, Mom. You don’t know the supreme sacrifice she was willing to make for you. The only exercise Nita ever gets is dancing on Cinco de Mayo.”

  Nita laughed. “That is not true, Miss Jan. I get plenty exercise around here. Up the stairs, down the stairs, all day long. But you are right. I do not like to run unless someone is chasing me. It seems wasteful.”

  “Oh, sure.” Jan’s eyes were sparkling and Maura could tell that she loved to tease Nita. “It’s about as wasteful as making the beds every morning . . . when you know you’re just going to unmake them again, at night.”

  Nita looked amused, but she managed
to put on a stern expression. “That is different. I have explained it to you before, Miss Jan. A woman is judged by the house she keeps. Dishes must be washed, beds must be straightened. It is only right.”

  “Okay, you win.” Jan was laughing as she kissed Nita on the cheek. “And I was just teasing. My bed’s made. Come on, Mom. Finish your coffee and let’s go. If we don’t get started now, we’ll never get to the boutique on time.”

  Maura took one last sip of coffee and got to her feet. This wasn’t the time to tell Jan about her decision to play hookey from work. They’d discuss it when they were running . . . if she wasn’t too out of shape to talk.

  * * *

  When she came out of the bathroom, he was just hanging up the phone. She’d heard him talking and she knew who he’d been calling. He always called to check in, first thing in the morning.

  “So what did you find out?” She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, just enough to tease and tantalize, and then she climbed under the covers again. “Did her memory come back?”

  “No. She loves the house, though. Nita says she calls it her dream house.”

  “Of course it’s her dream house. She designed it, and it cost her a bloody fortune!”

  “A little bitter, aren’t we?”

  “Not at all.” She fought to keep her expression pleasant. It was impossible not to be bitter, after ten years of living in a dinky apartment with rented furniture, while almost every cent she earned went to pay off the bills her ex-husband had run up. “I’m happy if you’re happy. You know that.”

  “But you’d like to live in a house like that someday. . . wouldn’t you?”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Her fingertips touched his lips, sliding over the generous mouth and down to trail along his bare chest. She was crazy about him, and she was sure he would have married her if things had been different. With her talent and his brains, they could have been the hottest new couple in L.A., giving fancy dinner parties, and making important, social register friends.