by Joanne Fluke
“The Spanish Inquisition!” Maura began to laugh. “Remember that old Monty Python sketch? No one expects the Spanish Inquisition?”
“Of course I do. It was one of my favorites, right along with the Dead Parrot sketch,”
“And the Albatross, and Mr. Smokes Too Much, and the Lumberjack song!” Maura could feel her excitement grow. “When was that, Steve? It had to be the seventies, didn’t it?”
Steve nodded. “The late sixties or the early seventies. . . I’m not really sure, luv.”
“I’d better find out, right away! I might be remembering something from my missing years!”
“Take it easy, Maura.” Steve took both of her hands and squeezed them. “That’s exactly what I was talking about before. You have to relax and stop trying to force your memory to come back. It doesn’t matter when Monty Python did those sketches. You remember them, and that’s good. Rushing out to research it just puts you under pressure, and that’s bad.”
Maura signed and tried to relax, but relaxing was very difficult. She was very conscious of the way Steve was holding her hands. His fingers were strong, and she was sure they could also be gentle. Suddenly, she had the urge to feel those fingers on her bare skin, sliding over her back and . . .
“Maura? Did you hear what I said?”
Maura came out of her daydream with a jolt. “Yes, Steve. I heard you. And I know that you’re probably right.”
“Of course I’m right. I’m the doctor and doctors are always right.”
Maura laughed, and pulled away to reach for the carafe of coffee. She had to stop thinking about Steve as anything other than a brother-in-law. She willed her hands to be steady as she turned and smiled, holding out the carafe. “Would you like more coffee, Steve?”
“Just a half a cup. And then we’d better think about getting you to bed.”
The mention of bed made Maura draw her breath sharply. And even though she tried not to read anything into his words, her hands trembled slightly as she poured the coffee. She was sure that Steve’s remark was perfectly innocent, but her cheeks felt warm, and she knew she was blushing. Her reaction to him was completely irrational and she wished it would stop.
As they sat, watching the fire and sipping coffee, Maura did her best to relax. Steve was part of her family—a good friend and nothing more. The accident had played havoc with her emotions, and it was only natural to overreact. She’d have to learn her responses to the people in her life all over again to make sure they were appropriate.
“You’re very quiet.” Steve slipped his arm around her shoulders again, and gave her a little hug. “Is something wrong, luv?”
“No. Everything’s just fine.”
Maura smiled, but she felt more like crying. It was a good thing Keith was coming home soon. Once she got back to a normal life with the man she’d married, she could stop imagining Steve’s arms around her, and his lips on hers. She’d transfer all her affectionate feelings to her husband, where they rightfully belonged. Everything would be fine when Keith came home. The moment she saw him again, she was sure she’d stop wishing that she’d married her brother-in-law instead.
CHAPTER TEN
He checked his shoes, to make sure they were properly tied, and stepped into the elevator. It had been a very good week. He’d figured out exactly what to do to save his hide, and they had bought it. Now all he had to do was work out the details with them.
As he rode up to the fourth floor, he grinned at his image in the mirrored wall. His clothing was perfect, purchased especially for this job. With his carefully styled hair, and the special accessories he’d picked up this morning, he was sure he’d fit right in. The necessary social graces were easy. He’d played this part many times before, in the past. He was very convincing, and if he ever got the notion to go legit, he’d probably take up acting.
He tried on a smile and it looked good, but his grin was even better. It made him look younger, and he tried to remember what it had been like back then, back when he was a teenager.
* * *
It was a warm fall day with the big homecoming game coming up that weekend. Brightly colored leaves graced the trees, falling in brilliant piles of orange, and red, and yellow. There was a hint of smoke in the crisp afternoon air, and solid thuds from the football field as his friends beat their brains out, tackling the dummy. But he wasn’t outside, practicing with the Cardinals, Garrison High’s football team. He was sitting in a stuffy schoolroom, with a pull-down map of Europe covering the blackboard, making up an English test for Miss Morrison.
Miss Morrison was a dinosaur. She was a permanent fixture at Garrison High, ranking right up there with the battle-scarred desks, and the old metal lockers that lined the hallways. Miss Morrison was ancient. She’d been around when his father had gone to Garrison High, and even back then she’d been obsessed with the poem “Invictus.” She called it a good character builder, and every one of her students had to memorize it.
He wasn’t into poetry, and he’d seriously considered ignoring the assignment, but Miss Morrison had threatened to fail anyone who couldn’t recite “Invictus.” Since he had to keep up his athletic eligibility, he’d struggled through the damn thing, line by singsongy line, and phrase by preachy phrase. And since he’d missed class last Friday, he was here, after school, to recite it for her.
“I’m waiting!” Miss Morrison glared at him as he stood in front of the first rows of desks. As the class cut-up, she obviously expected him to fail. But he was prepared to recite the stupid poem perfectly. It would be such a shock, the old bat would probably have a heart attack.
“Out of the night that covers me. Black as a pit from pole to pole. I thank whatever gods may be. For my unconquerable soul.”
For a brief second, Miss Morrison looked impressed. But then she tapped her pencil on her grade book and glared at him again. “Go on!”
“In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of fate, my head is bloody but unbowed.”
As he went on, in his best radio announcer’s voice, Miss Morrison lost her severe expression. And by the time he’d reached the last line, she was actually beginning to smile.
“Very nice. Very nice, indeed.”
Miss Morrison made a mark in her grade book and snapped it closed. She was still smiling, and he was startled to see that her aging face looked almost pretty.
“Your recitation was the finest I’ve heard in over thirty years of teaching. Perhaps you should consider going into the field of education. With your gift for the spoken word, you could be an inspiration to your students.”
“Thank you, Miss Morrison.” He managed to look properly grateful. “Does this mean that I passed?”
Miss Morrison nodded. “Yes, indeed. With honors. You may go now, and join your compatriots on the athletic field.”
* * *
He still remembered the feeling he’d had, watching Miss Morrison smile. Her unexpected approval had come very close to influencing his life. For several days, he’d actually entertained the notion of teaching. But teachers were nothing but poorly paid servants of the school district, and he’d wanted much more than that. There was a whole world out there for the taking.
He gazed at his reflection in the mirrored wall, and grinned broadly. What would Miss Morrison think of him now? He’d used his gift with words in a way she could never have anticipated. But she might be pleased to know that he’d never forgotten “Invictus.” It had given him the idea to take control of his own future. And ever since he’d placed the call that had saved his skin, the last two lines of that silly poem had been running through his mind. I am the captain of my fate. I am the master of my soul. He was the captain. And he was the master, too. One phone call had convinced them that he was the only one who could pull off the job.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped out. There was a jaunty bounce in his walk as he opened the office door and went inside. He was in character. They were bound to
be impressed. Even his knock on the inner office door had the ring of certainty, and they called out for him to enter immediately. It was amazing what a little self-confidence could accomplish.
They were sitting at the conference table. The older man with the piercing eyes sat at the head. He was the leader, and although they never used names, everyone referred to him as the Eagle. The man with the soft voice sat on his right, an underling, but still very powerful.
The Eagle spoke first. “You’re certain you can pull this off?”
“I’m positive.” He sat down in a chair without being asked, and crossed his legs. “It’ll take a while. You’ll have to be patient.”
“How long?” The man with the soft voice looked concerned.
“A couple of weeks, maybe more. It’s tricky and you can’t rush an operation like this . . . not if you want it done right.”
“Understood.” The Eagle nodded slightly. “We have someone we’d like you to talk to. He’s waiting for our call.”
He watched while the Eagle dialed a number. He spoke a few words in an undertone, and switched to the speaker phone. “Our man’s here. You’d better bring us all up to speed.”
“Certainly.” The specialist’s voice was clipped and unemotional. “The subject is suffering from complete traumatic memory loss, for a period spanning the previous twenty-three years and seven months. Her family is attempting intensive therapy.”
“What kind of therapy are you talking about?” The Eagle leaned forward with a frown on his face.
“They’re using picture books, mementos, familiar activities and surroundings, anything that might evoke a memory. Thus far, their efforts have been completely unsuccessful.”
Now the man with the soft voice was frowning, too. “What do you think? Is there a chance she’ll remember?”
“There’s always a chance, especially since the daughter’s involved. She’s a psychology major at Princeton, and she’s following the advice of an expert in the field. Personally, I don’t think it’ll happen.”
“Why?” The Eagle was still frowning.
“Compare memory to a rubber band. When it snaps, it’s no longer functional. And it’s almost impossible to mend.”
“You’re saying her memory has snapped?” The soft-voiced man raised his eyebrows. “What about temporary amnesia?”
“That’s just it. Temporary amnesia is temporary. Even when the trauma is severe, memory loss seldom lasts this long. It’s been over three weeks since the accident. If she were going to regain her memory, I think she would have by now.”
“Maybe. And maybe not.” His voice was firm as he spoke up. “You’re dealing with statistics, and what you’re saying is probably true for the average case of memory loss. But there’s always an exception, and she might be it.”
“Is he right?” The Eagle spoke directly into the speaker, leaning forward to wait for the reply. It came only after long deliberation.
“It’s possible. Not probable, but possible.”
“Then we’ll have to wait and see.” He spoke up again. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“One thing. She’s very bright, and they’re giving her what amounts to a crash course on the past twenty-three years of her life. She may answer questions accurately, and this will give you the impression that she remembers. But she may simply be repeating the things that they’ve taught her.”
He nodded, and asked the important question. “How will I know?”
There was another silence. And then the speaker phone crackled to life again. “That’s extremely subjective. I would suggest a prolonged period of observation. Take careful notes, and give them to your contact. We will make the final decision.”
The Eagle reached out and switched off the speaker phone. He spoke softly into the receiver for a moment or two, and hung up the phone. Then he pushed back his chair and stood up.
“You know what to do. Let us know immediately if there’s any change.”
“Yes, sir.” He rose quickly, like a schoolboy who’d been sent on an errand. His instinctive obedience rankled. After all, he was a seasoned professional. But it was best to treat these men with respect.
“You’ll find that everything is in order.” The man with the soft voice smiled at him. “Pick up your packet at the usual place.”
“Thank you.” He turned and took measured stops to the door. He was playing the part of someone who could not be intimidated. His back was straight as he walked across the outer office and out, into the hallway.
Outward appearances were deceiving. He’d built his career around that basic premise. Even though he appeared to be completely calm and self-assured, he held his breath as the elevator arrived. And he didn’t begin to breathe normally again until he was back on the freeway, headed in the opposite direction.
* * *
“Isn’t he the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen?” Jan held the puppy on her lap, cuddled in a fluffy bath towel.
Maura nodded, and reached out to stroke his silky head. Steve had arrived, shortly after breakfast, with the Australian shepherd puppy. He’d made a stop at the pet store on the way, and he’d also brought them a huge box, filled with all the accessories the salesman had told him were necessary for a ten-week-old puppy.
“Look at this!” Nita’s eyes widened as she reached into the box and pulled out a rawhide bone that had to be at least three feet long. “I do not think he is ready to chew on something this big.”
“It must be for later.” Jan laughed. “What else is in there, Nita?”
“A basket for a bed, four different brands of dog food, and six rubber toys that look like vegetables. There is also a matching leash and collar, and a book on how to train him.”
Jan looked confused. “Train him? But I don’t really want him to do tricks. I think that would detract from his basic dignity and make him look silly.”
“Oh, Jan!” Maura started to laugh. “That’s not what training means. He has to be housebroken. That’s part of his training. And he has to learn how to walk on a leash. He should also learn to heel, sit, stay, stop barking, and lie down on command.”
“I understand about the housebreaking. But why does he have to learn all those other things?” Jan looked intrigued.
“You don’t want a badly behaved dog who’ll jump up on your guests when they come in the door. Or a dog who barks at every sound. Dogs need to learn the rules and obey them. A well-trained dog is much happier that a dog who isn’t trained at all. He knows what’s expected of him and he does it.”
Jan frowned slightly. “That sounds like a lot of work.”
“It’s not that bad.” Maura smiled at her. “Training really isn’t that difficult. It’s just a matter of consistency. Puppies want to please their masters, and you’ll be surprised how fast he’ll learn.”
Both Jan and Nita looked at Maura in surprise. There was a moment of silence, while they exchanged glances, and then Jan asked the question.
“Mom? You sound like an expert. Have you trained many dogs?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” Maura could feel a headache coming on, and she forced herself to relax. “I don’t remember training any dogs, but I do seem to know a lot about it.”
Jan nodded, and turned to Nita. “We’ve never had a puppy before, have we, Nita?”
“No. Only Bonnie and Clyde next door. And they were already trained. Perhaps you had a dog when you were child, Miss Maura?”
“I don’t think so.”
Maura shut her eyes and tried to remember. She could picture the small frame house where she had grown up, and there were no pets, except . . .
“I had a goldfish!” Maura’s eyes snapped open. She’d seen a glass bowl, sitting on her dresser. It was filled with bright blue gravel, a small ceramic castle with openings for the windows and doors, a green plastic plant, and a very fat goldfish swimming around and around in the water.
Jan frowned. “Think carefully, Mom. Are you sure that’s all you had
?”
“I’m positive.” Maura nodded. “I couldn’t have a dog or a cat because my mother was allergic to animal dander.”
Nita looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you had no dogs when you were a child, but think about when you went away to college. Did you have a dog then?”
“No. I lived in a dorm, and there were no pets allowed. If I did have a puppy, it had to be when I was married to Jan’s father.”
“Let’s call Uncle Steve and see.” Jan looked hopeful as she picked up the phone. “Keep your fingers crossed, Mom. You may have remembered something from those missing years.”
Maura watched while Jan punched in a number on the phone. She waited a moment, punched in another number, and hung up without speaking. Then she turned to her mother. “He’ll call us back in a minute.”
“But . . . how?” Maura was confused. “You didn’t leave a message.”
“I called his beeper number. Uncle Steve always carries his beeper, and he answers his pages right away.”
Beepers? Pages? Maura was confused. She must have looked as puzzled as she felt, because Jan began to smile.
“Sorry, Mom. I forgot that you wouldn’t know about beepers. Uncle Steve carries a pager that beeps whenever he gets a call. The first number I dialed was his pager number. When it answered, I punched in our number. His pager has a digital read-out so he knows who to call almost instantly.”
Just then the phone rang, and Jan reached out to answer it. “Hi, Uncle Steve. Sorry to bother you, but we need some information. Mom seems to remember training a dog, and we need to know if she had one when she was married to my dad.”
There was a brief silence and Jan frowned. “You’re sure? Not even for a little while?”
There was another silence, and Maura began to frown, too. Jan looked very upset.
“It’s all right, Uncle Steve. I was just hoping, that’s all. Are you coming over to see the puppy tonight?”
There was another silence and Maura found that she was holding her breath. She wasn’t sure whether she hoped he’d say yes or no. She wanted to see Steve, but it might be best if she didn’t. He seemed to arouse feelings in her that were totally unsuitable for a woman who was married to another man.
